[Null POV] Year 5, Day 203 (Morning - Blood Wine Establishment)

  Hours passed.

  Many hours.

  It was nearly lunch now. Approximately 11:00 AM. Almost half a day since they'd entered the blood wine establishment.

  Kira, Null, and Twins: increasingly confused. Exhausted. Uncertain how this kept continuing.

  Void, 22, and X: still drinking. Still talking. Never stopping. Never passing out. Never reaching unconscious state.

  Clearly drunk as hell. Obviously completely compromised. But functional somehow. Still capable of conversation. Still ordering more wine. Still existing despite alcohol consumption that should have killed normal people hours ago.

  Talking mostly elvish. Ancient dialect. Musical. Flowing. Beautiful to hear even without understanding. Occasionally common tongue mixed in. Brief phrases. Fragments. But predominantly: just elvish. Incomprehensible to most of the group.

  Void used Null as personal hugging bag. Not talking much himself. Just: holding her. Enjoying the moment. Physical comfort. Presence. Connection. Occasional elvish murmurs. Content sounds. Happiness radiating through the bond.

  22 and X talked most of the night. Most of the morning. Most of the early day. Continuous conversation. Old issues processing. History reviewing. Tensions resolving. Relationship rebuilding through alcohol and ancient language.

  Some conversation between all three. Not much but present. Mostly X and 22. Brief exchanges. Shared moments. Cultural connection. But all in elvish. No idea what was actually discussed. Just: sounds. Tones. Emotions visible but words unknown.

  Kira and Twins forced to keep ordering more blood wine. Three drunk elves demanding refills. Servants' duty to provide. To serve. To enable despite concerns about consequences.

  Also: keeping anyone else away. Protective positioning. Ensuring privacy. Ensuring safety. Professional service despite exhaustion and confusion about how this kept going.

  The establishment ran 24/7. Never closing. Never stopping. People coming and going continuously. Different crowds. Different times. Different purposes. But always: operating. Always: serving. Traditional elvish culture preserved through perpetual availability.

  Shaman kept adding ingredients to the pot. Maintaining quality. Ensuring proper preparation. Traditional methods requiring constant attention. Fresh blood. Magical herbs. Sacred components. Everything tended carefully.

  By morning: crowd thinning. Night drinkers leaving. Morning arrivals sparse. But never fully empty. Always some elves present. Always some servants. Always some activity.

  Around 11:00 AM: shaman change occurred.

  New one arrived. Male. Older appearance. Traditional robes. Taking position at the pot. Assuming responsibility for preparation.

  Old shaman—female, elderly appearance—finished her shift. Released the pot to new caretaker. Then: walked toward their table specifically. Concerned observation visible on her face.

  She approached. Stopped beside them. Studied the three drunk elves. The servants managing them. The situation that had persisted all night.

  Asked question. Direct. Professional concern. "Servants of the elves. Have your masters ever brought you to this place before?"

  Kira answered. "No. First time."

  "Do you know anything about blood wine? Its properties? Its effects?"

  "No. We're... unfamiliar."

  The shaman sighed. Heavy. Resigned. Tired. Professional concern mixed with acceptance of inevitable stupidity.

  She looked at the three drunk elves. At Void holding Null. At 22 and X talking continuously in ancient language. At the evidence of all-night drinking session.

  "Blood wine has interesting properties," she began. Educational tone. Warning delivery. "You should understand what your masters just did to themselves."

  "First property: as long as you keep drinking more, you never get tired. Energy sustains. Body doesn't shut down. Mind stays functional. People can drink in a row for days. Literally days without stopping. Continuous consumption. Perpetual inebriation. Just... going forever."

  Pause. Weight building. Warning intensifying.

  "But the hangover when they finally stop? When alcohol is gone and body has to process accumulated damage?"

  Another pause. Emphasis. "EPIC. Catastrophic. Legendary. They'll wish they were dead. Those three—" gesture at drunk elves "—will probably regret this deeply once it hits. Days of suffering. Probably longer based on how much they consumed."

  Kira went pale. "Days?"

  "Possibly. Blood wine hangover is proportional to consumption duration. They've been drinking what—ten hours? Eleven? That's... that's significant. That's going to hurt. Badly."

  "Second property: if you drink blood wine, you remember everything later. Every word said. Every action taken. Every decision made. Every embarrassing moment. Every vulnerable confession. Everything preserved perfectly."

  "Even better—or worse depending on perspective—it reinforces those memories. Makes them clearer. Stronger. More permanent than normal memories. Carved into mind. Impossible to forget. Impossible to dismiss as drunken nonsense."

  "Nothing forgotten. Nothing lost. Everything remembered. Forever."

  The implication settled. Void would remember everything. The crying. The hugging. The vulnerability. The overwhelming emotion. All of it: permanent. Clear. Reinforced.

  "Third property: blood wine makes you calmer. Friendlier. More willing to act on deepest desires. Lowers inhibitions. Brings truth to surface. Makes people honest in ways they normally aren't."

  "There's old elvish saying: 'Day drinking blood wine can make enemies friends.' It's not THAT powerful. Not mind control. Not magical compulsion. Just... truth serum. Social lubricant. Barrier-lowering magic."

  She pointed at X and 22. Then at Void hugging Null.

  "But there is some truth in it, see? Old tensions resolving. Barriers lowering. Honesty emerging. Deepest desires acting. That's the wine working. That's what it does."

  The shaman straightened. Delivering final lecture. "Usually it's servants' job to stop dumb masters from drinking too much in a row. Cut them off before they make terrible decisions. Before hangover becomes legendary. Before they do something they'll regret despite remembering it perfectly."

  "But I guess your masters are also a bit retarded. And you didn't know to stop them. So now they'll suffer. And you'll suffer watching them suffer. And there's nothing to do now but wait for consequences."

  Shaking head. Resigned. Accepting inevitable stupidity. "Just... prepare for aftermath."

  Null asked practical question. Direct. Focused. "Is there something we can do? To help Master with the hangover? Make it less severe?"

  The shaman pulled roots from her storage. Dried. Prepared. Specific type. "Cook these. Make tea. Give when hangover hits. Will help a bit. Takes edge off. Makes it survivable instead of catastrophic. Reduces duration maybe. Eases suffering somewhat."

  She handed them over. Then shrugged. "But nothing really helps against stupidity. They chose to drink all night. They chose to continue for eleven hours. They'll pay the price. That's just reality. That's just consequences."

  Then she studied Null. Really looked at her. Professional interest. Linguistic curiosity. "You have really nice accent. Unusual. Musical. Where are you from?"

  Null uncertain. Didn't know how to answer. What was her origin? What language did she speak natively? Game language? English? Something else lost in translation between worlds?

  The shaman continued without waiting. "Has your master even learned your native language? To speak it properly himself?"

  Null: "Yes?" Uncertain about the question's meaning.

  The shaman smiled. Approval showing. "That's old elven tradition. Masters learning their servants' languages. Show of respect. Recognition of their value. Acknowledgment they're people worth understanding. Worth the effort. Worth the time investment."

  Null considered. Then asked: "Is it also opposite? Servants learning masters' language?"

  The shaman laughed. Genuinely amused. Warm sound. "It's near impossible for non-elves to speak elvish. They can learn to listen. To understand. Comprehension is achievable with dedication. But speaking?"

  She shook her head. "Complex. Extremely complex. The tones. The inflections. The musical requirements. The way words blend and separate. Very few non-elves ever manage it. Wrong vocal structure. Wrong hearing range. Wrong biology. Everything working against them."

  "Servants who CAN speak elvish are highly valued among elven families. Status symbol. Rarity. Proof of exceptional dedication and capability. But the language is just... extremely hard for non-elvish biology."

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Pause. "I've seen maybe handful in my life who managed it. And even then it's been partial. Broken. Heavily accented. Never perfect. Never native-level. Your master learning YOUR language is much more achievable. Much more common. Much more expected as sign of respect."

  Understanding settled. The tradition. The meaning. The gesture Void had made without Null fully comprehending its significance.

  Master learned English. Learned her language. Because he values her. Because old elvish tradition says masters should learn servants' tongues. Show of respect. Recognition.

  Filed away. Important. Meaningful. Appreciated.

  The shaman nodded farewell. "Good luck with the hangover. You'll need it."

  She departed. Returning to her home. Her rest. Her completion of long shift.

  The group sat with new knowledge. New warnings. New understanding of what was coming.

  After this new information, they made a decision.

  Time to leave. Call it. End this before it got worse. Before eleven hours became twenty. Before manageable hangovers became actually lethal.

  Kira coordinated. "We're leaving. Now. Before this continues indefinitely."

  Null moved to Void. He was drunk. Happy. Comfortable. Still hugging her. Still murmuring contentment in elvish.

  She took him. Princess carry. Gentle. Careful. Devoted attention. Cradling him properly. Ensuring comfort. Ensuring safety.

  He nuzzled into her shoulder. Content sound. "Mmm... Mistress... thank you... everything... perfect..."

  Null felt warmth. Master was happy. Comfortable. Safe. That was what mattered.

  X noticed the movement. The preparation to leave. His eyes focusing briefly through drunken haze.

  He said something. Elvish. Slurred but clear enough. Question. Request. Invitation.

  Void responded. In the local language. Also slurred. "Yes, let him come."

  No asking the group. No checking with others. Just: accepting. Inviting. Allowing.

  X coming with them apparently.

  The Twins moved immediately. Professional efficiency. Grabbed 22 and X.

  Literally grabbed. One each. Threw them over shoulders like bags of grain. No ceremony. No gentleness. Just: functional transport of drunk cargo.

  22: unconscious now. Finally stopped. Head lolling. Arms dangling. Completely undignified.

  X: still talking. Even while being carried. Still mumbling elvish. Still smiling. Still somehow entertained despite being transported like luggage.

  They moved toward exit. Professional formation despite chaos. Null carrying Void gently. Twins carrying 22 and X functionally. Kira managing logistics.

  The old shaman—still present, finishing final tasks—watched them leave.

  Her expression: trying not to laugh. Seeing the different care levels. The contrast.

  Void: princess carry. Gentle. Loving. Devoted attention. Cradled like precious cargo.

  22 and X: bags. Thrown over shoulders. Functional. Undignified. Efficient disposal of drunk problems.

  She made a funny face. Suppressing amusement. But said nothing. Professional courtesy. Just: watching them go. Accepting the absurdity. Few other peoples in there had similar looks.

  Outside: cool air. Late morning. Day well underway.

  The three elves unconscious now. No more alcohol input. Sleep hitting immediately. Bodies finally allowed to process. To rest. To shut down after eleven hours of impossible sustained drinking.

  Void: peaceful. Happy. Comfortable in Null's arms. Occasionally nuzzling. Content murmurs.

  22: exhausted. Finally done. Head lolling. Completely gone.

  X: still smiling somehow. Even asleep. Still entertained. Still pleased. Still looking like he'd had best time of his life.

  Kira summoned platform taxi. Orb out. Concentration. Magic pulse.

  Minutes: platform descended. Empty. Waiting. Standard service.

  They boarded. Arranging unconscious elves appropriately.

  Null keeps Void as before. Comfortable position. Supporting him properly. Devoted attention continuing.

  Twins just: dropped 22 and X on platform floor. Bags. Functional. No care given beyond "don't let them fall off during flight."

  Kira touched crystal. Willed destination. Seamstress's estate. Guest house. Home base.

  The platform lifted smoothly, moving through Central's late morning sky with professional ease.

  During flight, Null's life sense tracked their surroundings—always monitoring, always aware. A habit born of necessity, survival instinct she couldn't turn off.

  The people she'd seen in the establishment were now following. Four individuals keeping deliberate spacing beyond visual range, clearly tracking them.

  Never approaching, never closing distance. Just watching, monitoring, following from safe separation.

  Through network: ?We're being followed. Multiple people from the establishment. Maintaining distance.?

  ?Kira: Threats??

  ?Null: Unknown. They're not approaching. Not aggressive positioning. Just... watching.?

  ?Spy: Should we be concerned??

  ?Kira: Unknown. We'll inform the seamstress's people—they'll know if this is threat or just Central being Central.?

  ?Null: Makes sense. Watching for now.?

  The flight continued, the followers maintaining their distance with professional patience and persistence.

  The platform descended, landing smoothly at the seamstress's estate. The guest house waited ahead—familiar, safe.

  The followers remained distant, outside the estate grounds. Watching but not approaching the property itself, maintaining observation from public areas.

  They disembarked. Null still carrying Void, the Twins hauling their bags—22 and X both completely unconscious now. No more talking, no more movement. Just dead weight being transported.

  They entered the guest house. Quiet, peaceful, afternoon settling into the space.

  Null carried Void upstairs immediately to his room, to his bed, to proper rest.

  She positioned him carefully, setting him down gently and beginning the care ritual.

  Undressing him, removing formal wear piece by piece, everything handled with devoted attention.

  His body relaxed completely into deep, peaceful sleep. Content, happy even in unconsciousness.

  She arranged him comfortably in proper sleeping position, covering him with blankets, ensuring warmth and safety and everything he needed.

  He shifted slightly, reaching for a pillow and hugging it—replacement for Null, substitute comfort. Content murmur escaped: "...Mistress..."

  Null felt warmth spreading through her. Satisfaction. Rightness.

  But also something else. Something unusual. Something she'd never felt before during Master's sleep.

  No coldness.

  Master always felt cold during deep sleep. Always. Every night. Didn't matter how warm the room was. Didn't matter how many blankets covered him. Didn't matter what magical heating they tried. He'd shiver. Curl inward. Seek warmth that never came.

  She'd tried everything over the years. Warmer rooms. Magical blankets. Heated beds. Additional coverings. Nothing helped. Nothing changed the pattern.

  Not physical cold. Master had plenty of mana. Elves with that much internal power never suffered physically from temperature. The warmth inside them protected against environmental conditions easily.

  But he still felt it. Still experienced it. Mental scar from slavery. Two centuries of owners who saw no point wasting resources on slave comfort. Why give proper blankets or warm rooms or adequate clothing to property that couldn't be physically damaged by cold anyway? Beautiful elf probably looked better in less clothing for owner's eyes regardless.

  So Void had learned cold. Had internalized it. Had carried it into sleep where control slipped and old fears emerged and trauma expressed through phantom sensations that had no physical cause.

  Deep sleep always brought the shivering. Always brought the curling. Always brought that sense of cold that wouldn't leave despite every attempt to warm him.

  Until tonight.

  Tonight: no coldness. No shivering. No curling inward seeking warmth.

  Just: peaceful rest. Content sleep. Body relaxed completely without phantom cold intruding.

  The blood wine had done something. Knocked him out deeply enough—or affected him strongly enough—that even the mental scars couldn't reach him. Couldn't touch him. Couldn't disturb his rest.

  First time in five years. First time since she'd known him. First time maybe in two centuries.

  Master sleeping without cold.

  Null felt something expand in her chest. Relief maybe. Happiness certainly. Satisfaction that blood wine had given him this. That he'd experienced one night without trauma. One night of genuine peace.

  Master sleeping peacefully. Without cold. Without fear. Without two hundred years of slavery reaching into his rest.

  That was worth everything.

  She stood. Watching him sleep. Peaceful. Content. Perfect. Finally, truly perfect.

  Then descended to check on the others. Ensuring everyone safe, ensuring the situation was managed.

  Downstairs, the common area living room had furniture scattered appropriately for relaxation.

  On the couch: two bodies sprawled undignified, sleep-postures awkward and uncomfortable.

  22 and X, exactly where the Twins had thrown them. Like bags, like cargo, like problems disposed of functionally.

  No care given beyond "put them somewhere they won't fall." No undressing, no arranging, no comfort consideration. Just dumped on furniture and forgotten.

  The contrast was visible, obvious, complete.

  Void: loving care, gentle handling, devoted attention, proper rest meticulously arranged.

  22 and X: thrown on couch, ignored, disposed of functionally.

  Null observed this. Processed.

  Felt... okay about it actually. Maybe even somewhat happy.

  Different relationships warranted different care. Void was Master. Deserved everything. Absolute devotion. Complete service.

  22 was family. Worth protecting. Worth caring about. But this? She'd dug this hole herself. Drank for eleven hours knowing the consequences. Made her own choice. That wasn't Null's problem to fix.

  And X was stranger. Helpful stranger. Entertaining stranger. But still: stranger. Guest. Not family. Not Master. Just: person who'd helped and now slept on their couch because Void had allowed it.

  The Twins had handled it appropriately. Everyone who wasn't Master got bag treatment. Simple. Efficient. Only Void deserved special care.

  But also: Null felt glad—somewhat—that 22 had sorted things with old friend. That old tensions were resolving. That the blood wine had helped. That 22 seemed happier at end of night than beginning.

  Not evil. Not cruel. Just: practical about care allocation while acknowledging 22's wellbeing mattered.

  Proper prioritization. Efficient. Right.

  She noticed something else—the followers, the life signatures she'd been tracking.

  Gone.

  No longer there, no longer outside the estate, no longer watching. They'd left, departed, vanished while she'd been caring for Void upstairs.

  Interesting. Why leave now? Why watch until arrival, then depart?

  Through network: ?The followers left while I was upstairs. They're gone now.?

  ?Kira: Really? Just... left??

  ?Null: Yes. No longer present. Stopped tracking when we entered the estate.?

  ?Spy: Theory??

  ?Kira: Maybe they saw drunk elf masters being carried by servants. Thought easy targets, vulnerable, worth investigating. But then saw us arrive at the seamstress's estate—real protection, real connections. Decided not worth the risk. Too dangerous.?

  ?Spy: Possible. Makes sense. Opportunistic observation ending when the opportunity proved too protected.?

  ?Null: Acceptable theory. Moving on.?

  The mystery resolved enough—not perfect understanding, but functional explanation. Good enough for now.

  Kira looked exhausted. Professional but drained. "I'm going to rest. Actually rest. Before festival tomorrow. Before whatever comes next."

  "You should too," she added. Looking at Twins. "You two were perfect all night. Maintained discipline. Excellent work. Rest now. You earned it."

  The Twins perked up slightly. Pleased by praise. But tired showing through. "Yes, Kira-lady. We rest now."

  They departed to find their room, their bed, actual sleep after the long night of service.

  Null stayed. Standing in living room. Observing the two bags on couch. Ensuring they were breathing. Ensuring no immediate danger. Then: just existing. Waiting. Monitoring. Being present.

  Hours passed. Quiet. Peaceful. Restful. The house settling into afternoon calm.

  Late evening. The first sound was cursing.

  Loud, pained, furious. Elvish initially, then common tongue, then a creative mix of both. Profanity spanning multiple languages.

  22 was awake now. Clearly suffering.

  "Damn hangover. DAMN X. DAMN blood wine. DAMN everything."

  Null moved to couch. Observing. Assessing condition.

  22 sat up slowly. Clutching head. Expression: agony. Pure agony. Pain radiating from every movement.

  "If I only had Wyrmfang roots..." Her voice desperate. Pained. "This nightmare can take DAYS to go away. DAYS of suffering. Or I die here. Slowly. Painfully. Wishing for death but denied even that mercy."

  She looked at Null. Desperate. "Do you have any? Any Wyrmfang roots? Any hangover remedies? Anything? Please?"

  Null processed. Remembered. The old shaman. The roots given. The tea instructions.

  Cook those. Give tea. Will help a bit.

  She had them. Had the roots. She had the remedy. Had the help 22 desperately needed.

  But also: limited supply, only few roots. What old shaman had provided. Enough for maybe one person. Maybe two if careful. Not three. Not enough for everyone.

  Master would wake eventually. Master would need help. Master deserved priority. Master came first. Always.

  But 22 was suffering NOW. Asking NOW. Desperate NOW.

  The question formed. Internal. Uncertain.

  Should I inform 22 about the roots? Give or share them with her? Help her suffering?

  Or keep them for Master? Save them for Void? Prioritize him absolutely?

  The choice hung. Weighted. Significant. Revealing priorities. Testing loyalties. Forcing decision about who mattered more when resources were limited.

  Null stood there. Holding the answer. Holding the help. Holding the choice.

  Uncertain which path was right.