☀️ Arselia and Akonia

A couple of moments later, Garrett's consciousness once again plunged into darkness. The princess retreated to tend to her wounds and instructed her servant, Kline, to brief the newcomer when he regained consciousness.

"As you wish, Your Highness," Kline said, performing a familiar, rehearsed bow.
Along with the other nameless lackeys, they settled the newly summoned hero in his designated resting place. With apparent indifference, he assessed the appearance of yet another hero, for whom the poor princess had torn her delicate hands. Fortunately, the local healers were competent, otherwise, people of both high and low status might have started to develop strange suspicions.
The newcomer was quite different from the others he had observed at the villa. Was he from the same world, or a similar one? What was the purpose of casting him out from the embrace of the local gods into this new reality? No, dark thoughts crept into his mind that the summoning ritual worked randomly. And how useful to his mistress's plans would these random vagrants and bandits with the skulls of their victims be, when one could find more reliable and easier recruits even in our miserable reality?

While waiting for the dear guest to awaken, Kline assumed a pose of silent meditation on the floor near the entrance.

After taking only a few steps, Garrett felt an incredible weakness. The surreal picture faded before his eyes, his legs became like cotton and gave way. He fell back into darkness, but this time, nothing hindered his stay in oblivion. At first, there was only absolute darkness, a cosmic void in which nothing and no one existed. Then it was replaced by some meaningless flicker, a kaleidoscope of images, words, memories, chaotically changing and mixing in an impenetrable, dense whirlpool of the subconscious. And then, suddenly, it all ended. Neurons began to form into separate chains, indicating that he was alive, breathing, and lying somewhere. Garrett opened his eyes. He still felt completely exhausted, but the overwhelming weakness seemed to have subsided. Fragments of recent events flashed through his mind. Night, an alley. A skull, a knife blow. Music, candles, a floor painted with magical symbols. What was all this, a bad dream? Maybe he was drugged, or maybe it was a deathbed delirium? He looked around - the surroundings were completely unfamiliar. He sat up in the bed and ran his hands over his face, as if trying to shake off all these vague thoughts. He was not alone in this room. Some man was meditating near the entrance. Despite his apparent calmness and detachment, Garrett intuitively felt that he was watching him closely. "Damn it, did the cultists really tie me up and put a guard on me?" Be that as it may, there was no other way than through the silent guard. "Hey, hello," Garrett said to him.