Chương 93: Chapter XXIV Verse II — A Soursweet Memory

As Galan crossed the hallway, the spirit of the celebration evaporated, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. He stopped, his gaze falling upon the painted eyes of the wives and concubines whom he had outlived.

"Wish you all were here right now," he whispered. He remembered walking this same hall with each of them—the memory of their perfume, their laughter, and their presence was a physical ache in his chest.

"Everything okay, Captain?" Galan straightened, the mask of the confident leader sliding back into place as he turned to Pheidon, who was washing dishes at the bar.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about." He still cares about them, even after all these years, Pheidon thought.

"Alright then. Get some rest, Captain."

"I will. Take care of the others for me."

"Will do." Pheidon nodded with a smile. Galan continued up the stairs, the yearning growing with each step. He entered his room, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. He walked to the bed, his hand brushing against the soft wool sheets, the touch sending a jolt of phantom memory through his fingertips. He sat on the edge, the mattress sinking under his weight, and stared at the carpet. The shadows seemed to dance, coalescing into the vibrant, laughing figures of his past.

He closed his eyes, remembering a specific night from thirty years ago. The 'Imperial Taste Test,' he thought, a tired smile on his face. Satanvubo, they took that game so seriously. He felt a silk cloth being tied around his eyes. He was in his memory now. Across from him sat Meredith, Theara, and Cu.

"Alright, Husband! Open up!" Theara's voice was full of playful energy.

"Guess who's feeding you, and rate it out of ten!"

"You three know I can still see with my mindcast, right?" This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Shut it, Bloodsucker. Open your mouth," Meredith growled. Galan sighed and opened his mouth. The first bite was precise, a cube of steamed herbal jelly placed perfectly on his tongue. It was the taste of optimal health.

"Cu," he said after swallowing.

"Eight out of ten. A bit too clinical, but I feel healthier already."

"It is the perfect nutritional intake for this time of night," Cu replied, her voice cool and composed. The second bite was an assault. A metal fork clinked against his teeth as a massive, hot chunk of seared boar meat was shoved into his mouth. It was salty, greasy, and delicious.

"Meredith," he mumbled through the meat.

"Seven out of ten. Tasty, but you really need to soften the meat."

"It's for the health of ye jaw!" she retorted.

"It'll fall off if ye keep eating what these two are feeding ye!" She actually believes that nonsense?

"Theara," Galan said, expecting the final bite. But there was no sound of utensils. Instead, he felt a soft finger press against his lower lip, placing a small, round object on his tongue. He bit down. It was a single, cheap, dried sour plum. It was just like the ones he used to buy for a bronze zorla as a child, before the weight of the crown, before the assassinations, before all the torturing, and before his first great loss.

The sharp, nostalgic sourness exploded in his mouth, and a broad smile spread across his face.

"Ten out of ten," he said, chewing slowly, savoring the dusty taste of his lost childhood.

"See?" Theara laughed triumphantly.

"He doesn't want fancy health food or giant roasts. He's just a big kid at heart!" Galan pulled the blindfold down.

"Not very fair, considering you've been with me the longest." Meredith and Cu stared at Theara, unimpressed. But she just giggled at Galan.

"But you loved it, didn't you?" Galan looked away, a small chuckle escaping him.

"Yeah… I did." The memory faded, the echoes of their laughter dissolving into the low hum of the ship's engine. Galan stared at the empty air where she once sat, the phantom taste of sour plum lingering long after the memory disappeared.

"You always knew how to win your little games, Theara," he whispered. He kicked off his sandals and lay back, staring at the wooden ceiling, his heart aching with a hollow, dull throb. And you always knew me better than I knew myself. He closed his eyes, hoping to dream of her. But sleep did not come. He got up and headed for the bathroom. The air smelled of pine and smoky birch, Meredith's favorite bathing gel. Always the mountain queen, he thought with a faint smile.

He stepped into the shower, turning the hot water on full blast. As he lathered his hair, he tried to let the steaming water wash away the weight of the day—the ticket reseller, the etiquette-obsessed fox, the vengeful ghosts, and his lost love. His mind slowly relaxed, the rhythmic hiss of the water filling his ears. The steam blinded him. The heat faded into a cold chill. And he drifted back into that fateful night once more.