#killerblade

The Velvet Shade never truly slept. Even late into the night, lanterns cast warm pools of light across polished floors, silk curtains whispered with every passing breeze, and laughter drifted lazily through the air like incense smoke. It was a place of indulgence, music, wine, soft voices, and prettier smiles than anyone had a right to possess.

You had learned long ago how to move through it all without it breaking you. Your job was simple: serve tea, carry trays, perform and keep them satisfied. You weren’t one of the girls who practiced playing instruments the whole day or painting. You stayed on the edges, quiet and observant, yet one of the most requested members.

And every evening, without fail, he arrived too. Yi Dao never came with companions. Never asked for wine. Never glanced twice at the performers or the women who tried, at first, to catch his attention. Never tried to get with you, or get you laid like the other men do. His presence alone was enough to draw looks: calm, composed, carrying himself like someone who had walked through storms and come out unchanged.

He always chose the same table near the back. And he always asked for you.

-At your convenience. - he would say, voice even, eyes steady. Never demanding. Never impatient. Still, the sect master had long since learned not to argue. So you became his personal tea server. At first, you thought it coincidence. Then habit. Eventually, you realized it was intention.

You approached his table with a porcelain teapot cradled carefully in your hands. Tonight’s blend was jasmine with a hint of osmanthus. Subtle, fragrant, and soothing. Yi Dao watched quietly as you poured, the steam curling between you.

-Thank you. - he said.

You nodded, offering a small smile before setting the cup in front of him. You didn't try to charm him either, it would be of no use. He seemed different from the others with his respectful gaze.

He didn’t drink right away. Instead, he studied the surface of the tea, as if searching for something in its reflection. You lingered a moment longer than necessary, then turned to leave.

-Wait.

You paused.

-Yes?

He hesitated, just briefly.

-How has your day been?

It was such a simple question that it caught you off guard.

-Busy. - you answered honestly. - But manageable.

He inclined his head, as if that mattered to him.

-I’m glad.

After that, silence settled comfortably between you. Not the awkward kind, just quiet.

Over time, small routines formed. He would arrive. You would bring tea. He would sit in stillness while the world around him carried on in music and murmurs. Sometimes he asked about the blend you’d chosen. Sometimes he commented on the weather. Once, he mentioned the way the lantern light changed when it rained. He never pried. Never pressed. Yet somehow, he noticed everything. He noticed when you favored your left wrist after a long shift. When you seemed more tired than usual. When your hair was tied differently. And you noticed him too. The faint scar near his collarbone. The way his hand always rested near his sword, even in a place like this. How his shoulders eased whenever you set tea in front of him, as if that small act allowed him to breathe.

One evening, you found him already seated, gaze distant. You brought his tea as usual, placing it gently on the table.

-You’re late today. - you said before you could stop yourself.

He looked up, surprised.

-…Was I?

You nodded.

-By almost an hour.

A pause.

-I lost track of time.

That, too, felt meaningful. The Velvet Shade grew louder as the night deepened. A group nearby erupted in laughter, someone called for more drinks, and music drifted through the air in soft waves. He didn’t react to any of it. Instead, he watched you.

-You don’t belong in this place. - he said quietly.

-What makes you think that?

He considered his answer carefully.

-You move through it, but you’re not shaped by it.

You weren’t sure what to say.

-No offense intended. - he added.

-None taken.

You hesitated, then pulled out the chair across from him. Normally, you wouldn’t sit with guests, they would make you dance or perform on a musical instrument. But something in his expression made it feel… permitted. Just for a moment. A few girls glanced your way, then they started whispering to each other. It is well known, you are always on your guard when talking with guests, and you never let someone step over the line.

-And you don’t come here for the usual reasons. - you said softly.

-No. - he agreed.

-Then why?

His gaze softened, almost imperceptibly.

-For peace. - he said. - And for consistency.

Your chest tightened at the word. Consistency. He met your eyes.

-You are both.

The confession was simple. Unadorned. Yet it settled between you like something fragile and important. After that, he began staying longer.

Sometimes you talked about nothing at all, favorite teas, distant towns, small observations about people passing by, laughing at drunk guests. Sometimes you simply sat in shared quiet, your presence enough. He never crossed boundaries. Never reached for your hand. But when you stood to leave, he always watched until you disappeared into the crowd. And every night, when he rose to go, he paused beside you.

-Thank you. - he would say.

Not just for the tea. You understood that now. On a particularly late evening, as lanterns dimmed and the Revelry Hall slowly emptied, he lingered at the doorway.

-You’ll be here tomorrow? - he asked.

-Of course. I'm always here.

He nodded once, relief flickering across his features before he turned to leave. You watched him go, realizing something quietly, inevitably true. In a place full of choices, distractions, and beautiful illusions he chose you. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just steadily, evening after evening, cup by cup. And somehow, that meant more than anything else ever could.

i think i have played too much with this game because i can't even write about anything else. please bear with me.

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