CHAPTER 74: THALESSIA VIRE AELINHART

The moment she stepped through the door he held open, light—brilliant and blinding—struck her eyes with divine force. She recoiled instinctively, raising her arm in a rigid, practiced gesture to shield herself.

Then, slowly, the light faded. Or perhaps her eyes adjusted. And what she saw—what she walked into—was something no noble upbringing could have prepared her for.

A room. No, a sanctum.

Luxurious beyond reason. Grand in ways that mocked even the decadent opulence of high nobility.

She stood on a floor of polished marble, pale cream with veins of gold, so smooth it reflected her figure back at her like glass. Tall arched windows let in the moonlight—except... no moon she recognized. The sky outside shimmered with unknown stars.

Before her stretched a lavish suite of impossible detail. Velvet drapes in rich garnet. Tables of carved mahogany. Gold-trimmed chairs arranged beside a vanity—a dressing table unlike any she’d seen. It glittered with jewel-inlaid boxes, combs of ivory, and delicate crystal flasks that held perfumes and oils she couldn’t name.

Her eyes fixed on the ointments lined up in precise order—jars of muted black, others of rose and moonlight blue. She uncorked one. The scent—floral, but deeper, almost primeval—wrapped around her like a whisper of time itself.

These aren’t from this era...

It hit her like a revelation. Everything in this room felt ancient. Not old, but timeless. As if plucked from a civilization lost to memory and sealed away for someone... like her? No. That thought felt too indulgent.

She turned her head sharply at the sound of a voice.

"Don’t worry about them."

Thalessia froze. Her spine straightened like a blade.

"They’re safe. Each one in her own room, just like this."

That voice again—his voice. It was calm, effortless. Unseen, yet present. Her heart, trained to remain still in moments of tension, beat harder in defiance.

"Rest. Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to your seniors."

Then silence. No door. No magic glyph. The voice had simply... ceased.

She waited, half expecting some illusion to shatter. When none did, she exhaled, deeply, and let her guard drop—just enough.

Her footsteps were careful as she resumed exploring. She touched nothing without calculation, observed everything twice. A habit she couldn’t unlearn.

And then, behind a curved doorway... she found it.

A bath.

But calling it that was an insult. This was a temple.

The room was vast, marble and onyx fused into floral mosaics. A pool-sized bath, edged in gold trim and flowing with steaming, aromatic water.

The edges were adorned with carved pillars, each holding glowing gems. Beside them, strange instruments—brass contraptions with runes, shaped like ladles and sprays, nozzles and brushes, all elegant, seamless, foreign.

Above, the sky changed. She didn’t know how—perhaps by thought, or will—but the false sky above began to shift. From night into twilight. Then into a soft dawn.

She had never seen magic like this. Not even in the grand arcane halls of the Aelinhart estate.

Carefully, slowly, she undressed.

Her body bore the light mark of the brand—still tender—but her dignity remained intact. The slave trader hadn’t treated them cruelly. He had even ensured they stayed in a room—together—rather than cages. They had beds, food, water. A faint sense of camaraderie had bloomed. It was survivable.

But this?

This was not survivable.

This was overwhelming.

She stepped into the water.

And it accepted her.

The warmth was divine. Not just temperature—but in sensation. She sank deeper, surrounded by fragrance, by the soft touch of enchanted water that seemed to remove tension from her muscles before her brain could register it. Her long platinum silver hair floated like threads of moonlight across the water’s surface.

She let herself lean back, arms resting on the pool’s carved edge.

For a few minutes, she didn’t think of Alaric. Or what he was. Or what he might demand.

She just breathed.

Maybe this is how the goddesses bathed, she thought.

She wasn’t foolish enough to trust it. She knew better. But a part of her—cold, logical, mercilessly precise—began calculating again. This was not the luxury of a fool or a tyrant. This was deliberate. Purposeful.

She was being prepared.

And deep down, she knew—tomorrow would begin a new Chapter of her fate. One where she would either ascend to meaning... or vanish into obedience.

For now, though... she closed her eyes.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

The water clung to her skin like silk as she rose.

Steam coiled around her slender frame in spirals, curling like incense smoke across the marbled bath chamber. She reached for a towel—only to find a folded ensemble awaiting her on a cushioned stand just beyond the mist.

Not a robe.

A gown.

A faintly shimmering fabric—part silver, part moonlight. She touched it with cautious fingers, half-expecting it to dissolve into illusion. But no. It was real. It was alive.

The moment she slipped it over her shoulders, the cloth stirred of its own will. It slithered, smoothly, adjusting around her curves without clinging, fastening around her waist and shoulders with perfect precision. No buttons. No strings. It obeyed.

Her breath caught—just briefly. Then she composed herself again and walked barefoot into the main chamber, her hair still damp, the gown flowing like cloud-stitch along her legs.

She looked at the vanity once more. Still waiting. Still untouched. She would explore it later, maybe.

For now, food. A little food would be—

A sound. A gentle chime.

She turned.

The table had changed.

Where moments before there had been polished wood and nothing else, now it bore a tray, a teapot, and a constellation of small dishes. No plates. No cutlery. Just elegant finger-snacks, still warm, arrayed in a spiral pattern like an offering.

She blinked. She hadn’t said anything aloud.

The tea steamed in a pot shaped like a blooming lily. She poured it into the cup—white porcelain, gold-rimmed. The scent struck her first.

Not floral. Not spiced.

It was stillness itself. The scent of serenity. Of temples left untouched for centuries. Of midnight snow. Of drifting memory.

She took a sip.

And for the first time in years, her shoulders fell just slightly. The tension left her fingers.

The snacks were soft, chewy, fragrant. Their flavors changed subtly with each bite—first something sweet and light, then something savory and deep. She had never tasted anything like them. Not in noble banquets. Not in academy halls.

Even her upbringing, strict and refined as it was, could not place these ingredients. Not a one.

’What is this place?

What kind of man gives a slave this...?’

Her gaze drifted toward the massive bed.

A thing meant for royalty—or gods.

She approached it like a battlefield. Cautious. Ready to retreat. But as she brushed her hand across the covers, a sigh left her lips before she could contain it.

The fabric sank around her like warm snow.

And though the voice of doubt whispered in her mind, reminding her this was still captivity—beautiful or not—her body betrayed her. She sank into the sheets.

Her last thought before her eyes closed was not of escape. Nor fear. Nor even curiosity.

It was simple.

"If this is slavery, what then is freedom?"

The candlelight dimmed. The sky above the bath ceiling shifted to a starry indigo. Somewhere far away, unseen, a ward sealed.

And Thalessia Vire Aelinhart, soul marked and still unyielding, surrendered not to her master... but to sleep.

-To Be Continued