"You've been standing there for a few minutes now, aren't you going to say anything?" a female voice spoke to him emotionlessly.
It was a woman with black hair and eyes, wearing a white blouse and a black skirt, her hair tied in a ponytail.
"I'm here for the Velvet Hall," Mr. Valen, feeling out of place, said with a forced smile.
Upon hearing his words the woman raised a brow. "Are you sure?" She asked while giving him a once-over, her tone condescending.
Her words displeased him, his brows furrowing as he said. "That's unprofessional."
His gaze was sharp, and he was indeed angered by her brash words, but he didn't blame the receptionist; he smelled of weed and wore a hoodie with rumpled jeans.
With his appearance, he seemed out of place in the lobby of The Empire Fux Hotel, a five-star hotel around the middle of District Forty Two.
His response seemed to surprise the receptionist a bit, but she quickly regained her bearings, "I'm sorry, sir, I got carried away," she said and added, "May I see your ID?"
Nodding, Mr. Valen handed his ID over to her, and after checking it, she handed it back to him with an extra card labeled six, "It's the top floor table six, the bottom glows red on the elevator."
With that Mr. Valen walked straight for the elevator, the faint smell of oranges gracing his nostrils, it seemed to be from the air freshener they used, and for the first time in a while, he thought it smelled good.
Ignoring the glances he received from the other guests, he pushed the button and got in, waiting as the elevator closed.
But then, a swift whoosh caught his attention as he noted what seemed to be a dagger wedged between the elevator, forcing it to open up again automatically.
'The fuck,' he thought as he observed the dagger still floating mid-air, a sight that was nothing short of unsettling, as though he was observing something that defied the natural order of things.
But then a woman with glowing purple eyes walked in and his question was answered.
He rarely saw Witches, and even if he did, it was from afar, but seeing two in a row today was beyond him.
She smelled a bit like sulfur, but it was nice, her presence almost ethereal, like she was hardly there.
Straight, jet-black hair fell down her back, a contrast to her pale skin, and unlike the Witch before, she didn't wear the uniform; instead, she dressed like a man wearing black pants, leather shoes, and a white shirt folded at the sleeves.
Unlike the other Witch, she did not look upon him with disdain; in fact, he didn't know what to call the way she looked at him.
It was almost as though she was in love with him, staring him straight in his eyes, her gaze wanting but not.
"Obliviscor!"
She suddenly spoke in Latin confusing him greatly. "You want me to forget?" He asked, with no clue how he understood Latin.
He was not the only one surprised by this development.
At the sound of his voice, the Witch's face suddenly changed to an expression he could read.
It was a mixture of shock and surprise, "You know Latin?" She asked as she pushed the elevator button.
She was heading to the first floor.
The machine responded with a beep as the doors closed slowly, leaving Mr. Valen in a tight spot.
He did not know how to respond to her question.
He didn't know Latin, and even if he did, he didn't know how he knew it.
But immediately the door closed, the atmosphere changed, and the dagger, which was previously floating haphazardly in the air, moved.
"Whoosh!"
It cut through the air, then it stopped, the top pressing against his throat, forcing him to step back until his back touched the wall.
"What is going on?" He asked, his eyes widening. He wanted to scream, he wanted to struggle, but as he stared into her purple eyes he felt himself losing his will.
"Who are you?" She asked again, her voice like an enchanting command.
Mr. Valen was afraid, but even if he wasn't he was compelled to answer as honestly as he could, "I'm Valen, I'm an orphan so I don't have a last name, I'm twenty five years old, I work as a janitor at this city's GPV I'm here because of a class meetup-".
"Stop," the woman commanded, her eyes relaxing a bit as though she had realized what had happened before.
Mr. Valen, on the other hand, was relieved that she stopped him; he felt as though he would have rambled all of his secrets if she hadn't.
"Valen, is it? Have you ever thought about becoming a Wizard? Your mind harbours extraordinary strength," she suddenly said out of nowhere, but before he could inquire anymore, the elevator opened and she stepped out.
They had reached the first floor.
Watching her leave, Mr. Valen felt the faint urge to follow, but he controlled himself and pressed the button glowing red, her words resounding in his mind.
"Unfortunately, they won't let someone with a brain injury go anywhere near a gate," he muttered to himself as he waited for the elevator door to open.
And open it did, revealing a world of opulence beyond.
It smelled of exotic dishes that made his mouth water.
"So this is the Velvet Hall," Mr. Valen thought as he observed.
The Velvet Hall was a restaurant dimly lit, with soft ambient lighting and a quiet hum of jazz music in the background.
The tables were private, arranged in soft alcoves with plush velvet chairs that made the whole place feel a bit indulgent.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city.
The lights from below were like stars that reflected off the glass.
It was the kind of place where money and exclusivity oozed from every corner, and of course, Mr. Valen stood out like a sore thumb, earning glances from the waiters and guests alike.
He looked around, trying to find table six, but seemed to be experiencing some difficulty, how wouldn't he when everyone looked the same wearing a suit or a fancy dress.
One waiter noticed his confusion and approached him, asking, "May I help you sir?"
"Ohh, I'm looking for table six," Mr. Valen said softly, handing him the card he was given at the reception.
The waiter took it.
Observing the card, he smiled, knowingly, like he had heard a joke he didn't want to share, "Table six is rather large, so it's not in this room. May I lead you?" He offered.
"Yes, please," Mr. Valen agreed, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sudden attention and fake care.
This guy was a professional, he'd tip him but the waiter was probably richer than him.
They walked across the room, but even though he tried to ignore it, Mr. Valen could feel their judgmental gazes locked on him.
Fortunately, they passed by quickly and he arrived at a smaller but no less impressive room, which seemed more like a lounge than a restaurant.
The chairs were replaced with sofas, tables filled with food and drinks, which left the guests with a myriad of options to choose from.
Familiar faces from college turned to him before going back to their business, finding him less important.
Ignoring the smell of food mixed with alcohol, his gaze scanned the room, looking for someone, but they found him instead.
"Hey babe," a familiar voice called out to him at the other end of the room, and then his heart skipped a beat.
That voice, it was her in all her likeness, a living goddess that he was fortunate enough to call his.
Mr. Valen didn't even know when he walked up to that voice, his gaze admiring her beauty.
She sat with poise in the velvet lounge chair, her short black hair gleaming under the soft light like strands of obsidian.
A green dress clung to her frame, rich and flowing, as if stitched from envy itself.
Her eyes—icy blue with flecks of silver—held a quiet fire, the kind that made men, or at least made him forget to breathe.
Mr. Valen watched her, the world dimming around her presence. She didn't smile. She didn't need to. Just sitting there, chin slightly lifted, fingers resting delicately on the armrest, staring at him, a puzzled expression on her face, "Babe?"
She called out, breaking him from his trance, his smile growing as he muttered, "Hi."
"You couldn't think of wearing something more presentable?" She asked immediately, her puzzled expression transitioning to a small frown.
"That's what you get when you settle for a cleaner boy, what do you see in him Lia?" a loud voice suddenly interrupted them, earning a round of laughter from everyone.
This voice belonged to a brown haired girl on the right side of the room.
"Very funny Hannah," Mr. Valen forced a laugh, but Hannah ignored him and continued to converse with Lia.
There was no other seat, forcing him to stand awkwardly for a bit, but Lia, noticing this, tapped the armrest of her seat, which he sat on.
"Why did you smoke today of all days? You reek of weed," Lia whispered to him, her tone laced with disapproval as she added. "We'll talk about this at home."
A few minutes went by and the atmosphere was still as jovial as ever.
"And then Lia was like, we're fucking seventeen, and then the two guys started sweating in front of the cops," Hannah yelled the room exploding with laughter.
"Yeah, but when we showed our IDs, we got in a bit of trouble," Lia added.
"Don't spoil the fun Lia, it was still sick," another person chimed in.
Mr. Valen with a glass of wine in his hand then said, "I kinda feel like-"
"But you remember when we were late for class that winter right?" Another person interrupted him, prompting him to let out a defeated sigh while taking a sip of his wine. It's been like this all night; in fact, it's always been like this.
'That's why I hate these things,' Mr. Valen thought to himself.
"But you know Valen, a bit more effort could go a long way. It's hard to take someone seriously when they look like they just rolled out of a gutter." Hannah suddenly said to him, opening up the floodgates for the people who had reservations.
"This should be your first time in a place like this," one said.
"Do they even let the cleaners in here, or did you sneak through her purse?" another joked.
Mr. Valen could only smile awkwardly and sip his wine, enduring the sting of their words. Lia, on the other hand, said nothing; in fact, she seemed a bit uncomfortable at his presence.
It was then that a blonde-haired man wearing a suit walked into the room, commanding attention instantly, "What's up, my peeps, you enjoying yourselves?" he said, yelling even.
"Whooo!"
"Hell ya!"
The room responded in kind with everyone raising their glasses to the organizer of today's meetup.
'Andrew Vermont, last son of the Vermont family, his family owns multiple hotels around the alliance including this hotel, a typical rich kid,' Mr. Valen thought to himself as he watched the brown-eyed youth before him.
"Hey Andrew, saved you a seat," Hannah called out cheerfully, getting up from her seat and sitting on the armrest.
Seeing this, Andrew frowned a bit, "Nonsense, c'mon sit down," he said to Hannah, joking with everyone in the room until his eyes fell on Lia.
And then he walked closer, "My lady," he said, taking her hand and kissing it gently, his mockery of chivalry earning a short giggle from Lia.
"Stop playing, Andrew," she said as she redrew her hand, changing the conversation to asking about his well-being.
Mr. Valen, on the other hand, frowned, displeased by what he saw.
It was then that Andrew noticed him, "Hey, Val, my man, what's up, don't you have a seat?" Andrew asked.
"I'm fine-"
"Nonsense," Andrew yelled, then yelled again. "Waiter, we need an extra seat over here."
He was loud, the kind of person who stole attention wherever he went, but that wasn't a bad thing; what peeved Mr. Valen about him was his obvious infatuation with Lia.
A seat was brought shortly after, and Mr. Valen, being put on the spot, had no choice but to sit down.
With Lia's armrest now open, Andrew sat down there, his obvious actions seemingly overlooked by everyone but Mr. Valen.
They discussed more and more, laughter, drinks, and food flooding the room.
Unfortunately, Mr. Valen was not part of that discussion; instead, his eyes were locked on Andrew, who had leaned in to Lia, whispering sweet nothings to her, her giggles increasing.
'Calm down Valen, you're better than this,' he thought to himself, but then Andrew threw his arm around Lia's shoulder, their forms drawing closer, too close.
"What the fuck are you doing man," Mr. Valen exploded, his voice drawing attention from everyone in the room.
Andrew, shocked by the outburst, stood up, "Whoa man, insecure much? We're just having fun."
"Fuck your fun, you don't get handsy with my girl," Mr. Valen retorted copying Andrews accent.
Mr. Valen's mockery seemed to offend Andrew, his brows furrowing, his gaze possessing specs of disbelief.
"Who the fuck do you think you are," Andrew said as he stepped closer, his body language confrontational.
But Mr. Valen was not afraid, he stepped up, "I don't know, you tell me."
"Calm down guy!" Lia stepped in the middle, with Hanna holding Andrew back, "You're better than this, bro."
"What's up with you Valen?"
"Yeah, don't you know how to have a little fun?"
"You know what? Fuck this, the atmosphere is ruined, let's go, we're moving the party! But he's not invited," Andrew suddenly yelled pointing towards Mr. Valen while walking out, the others following soon after.
"Are you ok? What was that about?" Lia said as soon as everyone left, her form drawing close as she cupped his cheeks.
"I didn't like the way he was all over you," Mr. Valen responded, his words earning him a giggle from Lia.
"What?" Mr. Valen asked, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.
"I like it when you're jealous," she replied as she pecked him on the lips, her breath a mix of mint and wine.
Suddenly a voice broke through the air, ruining their intricate moment.
"Hey Lia, come on, we're waiting for you!" The voice yelled.
Said voice belonged to Hannah, and upon hearing that voice Lia rushed to pack her bag as she ran out.
"Ok, bye babe, I'll see you at home," her voice faded into the distance, her form disappearing into the exit, like it never existed.
Mr. Valen felt a small sting in his chest so he took a deep breath and looked around.
The room was empty.
The drinks were mostly full.
And the plates were full of food.
Mr. Valen sat down, he was alone.
He... felt lonely.