CHAPTER 21: I’LL SUMMON YOU

Stephan twisted in his bed, half‑awake, half‑lost in fading shadows of the Abyssal Realm.Then his leg brushed against something, soft, warm, unmistakably human.

His brow creased. He cracked open one eye, vision still blurred from sleep.

A pale face came into focus. White hair spilled across the sheets like fallen ash.

And deep blue eyes stared back at him, unblinking.

For half a heartbeat, Stephan’s mind went blank.

What the fuck?

"Good morning, my Lord," she said softly, and for the first time since he’d forged her, Grief actually smiled.

"Huh?" Stephan grunted, the last of sleep burning away. His gaze dropped, tracing the lines of her form.

She was naked.

"What the hell?!" he hissed, bolting upright, "Grief!"

Grief’s pale eyes lowered briefly to her own body, then back to him, calm as ever.

"Did I do something wrong, my Lord?" she asked, voice still edged with that haunting echo.

"Why are you naked?" Stephan demanded, heat prickling at his neck. "And why were you in my bed?"

"I apologize, my Lord, if I have displeased you," Grief murmured, bowing her head slightly. "I only sought to serve you..."

"Serve me?" Stephan said, voice cracking. "...And just how exactly were you serving me, Grief?"

"By keeping you warm, my Lord," she answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her gaze briefly flicked over the whiteness of her own skin. "In the Land of Tawo, it was tradition. We kept our masters warm at night... with our bodies."

Stephan’s mind stuttered.

Keep... keeping me warm...?

Old, buried thoughts clawed at the edges of his control, things he’d fantasized about long before death had changed him.

Grief rose from the bed, the motion slow, almost ceremonial. Shadows slid off her body, leaving nothing hidden under the gray morning light. Her breasts, pale as polished bone, the gentle curve of her hips, the softness at odds with the dead calm in her eyes.

Stephan swallowed, blinking twice, his jaw tight. Then he wrenched his gaze back up, forcing steel into his voice. "Put on some clothes," he ordered sharply.

A beat.

"...Servant."

Grief bowed her head again, the ghost of that strange, serene smile still lingering on her lips. "As you command, my Lord."

She bent over to pick up Stephan’s coat, shadows parting just enough to reveal the soft curve of her bubble butt, pale and shameless under the morning light.

Stephan’s breath caught. His eyes darted away, heat crawling up his neck.

A soul servant trying to seduce me... really? he thought, half‑amused, half‑mortified.

He crossed the room, yanked open the small wardrobe, and rummaged until his hand found a black T‑shirt. Without turning fully around, he tossed it to her.

"Wear this."

Grief caught it in both hands, tilting her head slightly. "You don’t have a kimono, my Lord?"

"This ain’t no Samurai Jack era," Stephan shot back, sharper than he meant. "I’ll buy you something that fits later. Today."

"As your Grace commands," she answered softly, lowering her gaze, her pale hair spilling forward like ash.

Stephan raked a hand through his messy hair, jaw tight. "I’m going to shower," he muttered, turning toward the bathroom door. "Otherwise I’ll be late for work."

Behind him, her voice followed, calm yet edged with something dangerous,"Would his Lordship... require my services?"

He froze mid‑step, shoulders tensing. Slowly, he shot her a glance over his shoulder.

She was smiling faintly, serene, obedient... but those deep blue eyes held a spark that unsettled him.

Stephan swallowed once, the shadows coiling around his spine restless.

Then he looked away, voice low and rough.

"No. Stay here."

And without another word, he stepped into the bathroom, the door closing behind him, shutting out the pale, silent servant still waiting in the dim morning light.

After he’d finished showering, droplets still clinging to his collarbone, Stephan stepped out into the small apartment’s main room, only to freeze.

Grief was kneeling beside the low table, pale fingers delicately turning over an old portable radio, the silver antenna half‑extended. Her head tilted, white hair falling forward like a silk curtain.

"My Lord, your world is... strange," she murmured, brows gently furrowed. "Is this some kind of... magic? People speaking inside a box?"

"Put that down," Stephan ordered sharply, voice cutting through the small space.

She lowered the radio instantly, bowing her head.

Stephan let out a quiet breath, grabbed a black shirt from the chair, tugged it on, then pulled on dark trousers and laced up worn leather shoes.

As he buttoned the cuffs, Grief rose fluidly to her feet, blue eyes following his every movement.

"Are we going out, my Lord?" she asked softly, the edge of anticipation curling in her voice. "Let me fetch my sword....."

"No," Stephan cut in, already moving toward the door. His tone was calm but iron‑hard. "You’re staying here."

Grief’s brows knitted, but she bowed her head low. "As you command, my Lord."

"I’ll summon you if I need your service," Stephan added, his crimson gaze cold but firm. "Until then, don’t open the door. No matter what. Unless it’s my command."

She lowered herself deeper, the coat’s dark folds brushing the floor. "Yes, my Lord."

Stephan hesitated for the briefest second at the door, his hand on the handle.

The pale figure of Grief, head bowed, white hair spilling forward, looked strangely fragile, yet still carried the quiet promise of violence beneath.

Then he turned away, stepped out, and shut the door behind him, the lock clicking softly in the morning silence.

********

Today, Stephan arrived at his workplace later than usual. Becky was already behind the reception desk, head bent over the sign‑in log. When she looked up and saw him, her jaw dropped.

In just a single day, his entire presence had changed, a darker sharpness in his gaze, an almost predatory calm in the way he walked. His skin seemed to carry a subtle glow, as if lit from within by something she couldn’t quite name.

Stephan caught the look and let a faint, knowing smirk touch his lips. Of course she wouldn’t understand.

To her, it had only been a single night.

But for him... he had spent two hours in the Abyssal Realm, where time flowed differently. Inside, that meant two full days of fighting, bleeding, and hunting soul eaters.

Two days of death, rage, and power, carved into his very essence.

Everyone was already there in the Design Department when Stephan walked in. Conversations paused; every eye turned toward him.They were now truly aware of his presence, not just as the quiet guy from the back row, but someone much cooler, with an aura.

Anna Mary’s eyes widened at the sight of him, then dimmed quickly as if masking surprise behind indifference.

Eva’s, on the other hand, brightened, flashing him a smile that was almost too quick and eager, as if sensing something new coiled just beneath his skin.

Then his gaze settled on someone else: Yennefer.

So... she’d decided to show up today.

A cold, satisfying grin tugged at his lips. Just what are you playing at, Yennefer?

Their eyes locked across the room, hers defiant, almost daring him to move first. His gaze held steady, a silent promise curling behind it.

Too bad how much has changed since we last faced off two days ago, he thought, shadows whispering just out of sight. You have no idea what I’ve become.

"Challenge accepted," he murmured under his breath as he slipped into his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk.

Today... he would end her. Not out of necessity, but to sate the bloodlust that still pulsed hot and alive from the Abyss.