The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master-Chapter 138: Quiet Corridors

The last words of Baron Lucienor’s greeting faded into polite applause as the students began to drift deeper into the mansion.

Vencian moved with the slow current, shoulder brushing fabric and travel cloaks, aware of how the space compressed them. The house was respectable rather than grand. High ceilings tried to give the illusion of generosity, yet the corridors narrowed quickly, guiding bodies forward in careful lanes. Servants stood along the walls, ready and waiting.

Lucienor inclined his head toward the professors, satisfaction clear on his face as the formality concluded. He was a compact man, silver hair cut close, posture practiced from years of hosting people who mattered.

Professor Marothil stepped forward first. His assistant hovered half a pace behind him, hands folded, eyes alert. Professor Davisen followed, broader in the shoulders, his own assistant carrying a leather folio pressed to her chest.

"You have my thanks, Baron," Marothil said. "Your hospitality spares us a difficult evening."

Lucienor smiled. "The pleasure is mine. Young scholars bring life to old walls."

Davisen gave a quiet chuckle. "And noise."

Lucienor accepted that with a faint shrug. "A small price."

Vencian felt Elias shift closer. The prince leaned in, voice low. "This works only because the academy split us."

Vencian nodded. He had already felt the edges of the house testing its limits.

"They planned it well," Elias continued. "Three rotating groups. Each assigned a different site. We circle and regroup at the end."

The explanation settled easily into place. The academy’s excursions followed a familiar logic. To avoid overcrowding regional sites and to give each group time to observe properly, the class had been divided into three segments, each moving along a different route before converging again once the circuit ended.

The academy’s division of the excursion had placed Roselys with a different rotation, overseeing another cluster of students under Thalverin’s purview. She would not rejoin them until the circuit closed and the groups folded back together.

Marothil raised his hand, the gesture practiced. Conversation ebbed.

"The arrangements stand," he said. "Sleeping quarters are assigned. Rooms are divided by sex. Servants will guide you."

A ripple of relief followed. Travel fatigue showed itself in straightened shoulders and quick glances toward staircases.

The servants moved at once. They stepped forward in pairs, motion precise, eyes forward. Each gesture served a purpose. Doors opened. Lanterns were lifted. Paths appeared through the mansion’s interior as if rehearsed.

Vencian noted how they avoided speaking to one another. They passed in close proximity, turned corners, guided clusters of students, yet exchanged no words. The silence gave their work a clipped efficiency that left little room for error.

Aline came up beside him, expression bright despite the long day. Seris stood at her other shoulder, posture exact, gaze already measuring the staircase ahead.

"Well," Aline said. "I suppose we can call this mercy."

Elias smiled. "I will accept it in the form of a chair."

Aline laughed softly, then looked at Vencian. "We will see you later."

She reached for Seris’s arm, the familiarity between them easy and practiced. Seris allowed it, turning with a smooth motion toward the servants assigned to the women’s rooms.

"For now," Aline added.

Vencian inclined his head in reply.

They followed the servant up the staircase, their figures merging into the line of students as they disappeared along the upper corridor.

The servant led them away from the main corridor and into a narrower passage that shed its ornament as they went.

Her lantern cast a modest circle ahead, light catching on bare stone and plain plaster. Elias walked at Vencian’s side, close enough that their shoulders brushed when the corridor tightened. Two other students followed, both common-born by their dress and bearing, quiet and attentive in the way of people trained to occupy little space.

The further they went, the simpler the house became. Decorative trim vanished. The walls turned unadorned. Footfalls sounded sharper here, each step contained by stone that served function before display.

Elias leaned closer. "Shared room," he murmured. "There simply is not space for more."

"It still beats the road," Vencian replied.

The servant’s head remained slightly bowed, gaze fixed on the floor a few paces ahead. She walked at a consistent pace, lantern held steady, her silence absolute.

Vencian cleared his throat as the corridor narrowed further.

"The arrangements came together quickly," he said. "This visit was announced late. Does the house often receive guests on short notice."

The servant continued forward, lantern steady, head inclined, gaze fixed on the stone ahead. Her pace stayed the same.

Vencian watched the back of her neck for a moment, then spoke again, slower.

"I asked how preparations were managed so fast."

Footsteps echoed softly. No reply followed.

Before the quiet could settle into shape, another maid appeared ahead, stepping out from a side passage that had been easy to miss. She had black hair pulled back cleanly, dark eyes that assessed and dismissed in the same breath, and a polite smile set with practiced calm.

"The baron maintains a reduced household during travel seasons," she said. "Rooms remain prepared for visiting scholars and retainers. Additional staffing is summoned from the nearby estate when needed."

Her answer came smoothly, as if the question had been expected.

The guiding servant stopped at once. Lantern light steadied against the wall. The pause held, deliberate and contained.

"I see," Vencian said.

The black-haired maid inclined her head. "You left this behind."

She lifted his travel bag from where it had been resting against the wall behind them and extended it toward him. As Vencian reached for the strap, her fingers brushed his hand and lingered longer than the exchange required. The contact felt intentional, light yet precise.

Vencian took the bag and drew his hand back.

Her smile remained unchanged.

"This way," she said, already turning.

She crossed the final steps to a door set flush into the wall, opened it, and gestured them inside. The space beyond lay in soft lamplight, orderly and spare. Once they passed through, she stepped back, closed the door, and departed down the corridor, her footsteps receding in measured rhythm.

The room held a modest order. Two beds stood against opposite walls, frames plain, linens clean. A small desk sat beneath a narrow window that looked into an inner garden, greenery pressed close as if listening. A basin rested on a stand near the door.

The two common-born students entered last. One inclined his head toward Elias. "Please," he said, gesturing to the nearer bed. "We will take the other space."

The other nodded agreement, already setting his satchel down near the desk.

Elias dropped onto the offered bed and stretched out, boots still on. "I swear the road steals years," he said. "My back has complaints."

Vencian closed the door and checked the latch, fingers testing its hold. He said nothing, attention fixed on the quiet mechanics of the room.

Elias propped himself on his elbows. "Wake me if anything interesting happens."

The commoners exchanged a glance and smiled faintly, settling their things with efficient restraint.

Vencian sat on the edge of his bed. The quiet pressed in, shaped by stone walls and the distant hush of a house accommodating more bodies than it preferred. He let the moment stretch, thoughts aligning and then drifting, fatigue claiming ground he had meant to hold.

His posture slackened. The bed dipped under his weight.

Sleep took him there, unplanned and complete.

-- -- --

A hand closed around Vencian’s shoulder and shook him hard enough to drag him up from a shallow, disordered sleep.

"Up," Elias said. "Before they finish the bread."

Vencian blinked, breath catching as he oriented himself. The room came back in pieces. Stone walls. The narrow window gone dark. Elias already half-laced into his boots, movements quick and practiced.

"Dinner?" Vencian said.

"Being served," Elias replied. "They are heading down."

Vencian pushed himself upright, frowning as the last threads of sleep fell away. The surprise sat heavier than it should have. He had not intended to rest. His body had decided for him.

Elias tugged his other boot on and stood. "You looked dead to the world."

"I slept," Vencian said, more to himself than to Elias.

"That tends to happen after travel," Elias said lightly.

He reached for the door, then paused to study Vencian for a fraction of a second longer, then shrugged. "Eat something. Or do not. I will claim a seat before Davisen does."

He opened the door and slipped out, boots already quiet on the stone. The latch clicked back into place.

Vencian remained where he was.

The room settled around him as the house emptied. Footsteps faded along corridors. Voices thinned, then vanished. The inner garden beyond the window held still, leaves dark and pressed close to the glass.

He waited.

Time passed in counted measures. He tracked it by breath and by the distant cadence of the household, the shift from movement to rest. When the silence reached a point that felt earned rather than forced, he stood.

The air felt cooler now. He drew a steady breath, then another.

"Where were you," he said softly.

The space beside him shimmered, light bending in a familiar way as Quenya began to take shape, and before she could finish answering—