Overlord: Grand Herald [OC-SI]

8. Caution Sired by the Arcane

Day After The Transfer

Sebas 2​

As the sun waned beyond the mountains west, a wave of relief washed over the weary butler. Frayed was his mind forced to juggle tasks aplenty this day, he had at some point wondered if the day's demands would ever end.

A mild fear of the ever-day had begun to bloom in his chest— he had heard tales of the ëlf-home being such a realm and had worried the same might be true for their new home.

Yet the end did come, and with it the closure to the hordes of men beckoned by the elven ruler's benign edicts.

Thinking back on his worries he found them rather foolish.

A smile, unbarred by his usual sternness, graced the well-mannered butler's countenance as he wandered aimlessly through the sixth floor of the palace.

And in his wander, he enjoyed the pure splendor of the corridor's gleaming walls and carpeted floors, the views permitted by the drawn curtains filtered through arched windows, and the pleasant orange glow of dusk, now slumbering and replaced by the light of the mounted lanterns.

Yet even with the day's end so near, the floor was not empty.

A host of maids still teetered by with dusters and cloths in hand, bowing to him whenever they caught his passing. It seemed that little change had come to the palace, even with the great miracles bestowed by the new realm.

This gladdened him somewhat, though he remained uncertain as to why.

He suspected prying would ruin his mood and heart both which was still swelled by the day's developments. He had been a feather at the news, and he still was now...

"And who wouldn't?"

...not only had the king declared the day one of national celebration, but he had also made prosperity a less arduous endeavor for those who had long been deprived of its privileges

And though the royal had made himself scarce after these benevolent decrees, Sebas could not begrudge him, even if he knew the high-elven had only done so in avoidance of the tedium echoed by many of the opportunists he himself had invited.

No, as a dutiful aid, he had allowed the king his leisure, and only had their fair city been imperilled with catastrophe would he have disturbed him.

Upon reaching the corridors north of the sixth floor did something halt his stride, moving closer to the unbarred window, Sebas gazed toward the procession of carriages slowly moving towards the palace exit gates.

It seemed there were more visitors than he had initially expected.

He frowned, his eyes narrowing as his vision accumulated clarity.

Seamlessly, almost instinctively, the butler's intent slipped through the ghostly wall that kept his bloodline in slumber. He drew upon a fraction of his heritage, blending his mundane sight with that of the draconic.

The phantom echoes of hot scales rippled across his skin as the metamorphosis took shape in his eyes, the azure hue of his gaze blazing into a slitted crimson.[1]

The twilight world warped as sharpness and vividness became his vision. Privileged with this new clarity, his gaze roamed, searched, and understood. Perhaps he should have expected it sooner, yet wisdom was more often than not a conditional affair.

Among the visitors' carriages, there were also Liaqen— not the gaudy, luxurious ones reserved for royals and their esteemed peers, but the modest ones designated for common serfs. It appeared a few of the servants desired to enjoy this festive-occasion with the general public.