Omniphage of Apathy

After a dinner with the family, he went to his room to study on the books he received from the hidden library.

Every single time Vastarael looked at his bedroom, he couldn't help but feel... alive.

The room itself was enormous, almost unnecessarily so, with high, vaulted ceilings painted in a gradient of deep sapphire and gold. Hanging from the center of the ceiling was a massive crystal chandelier, but this wasn't an ordinary light fixture. It was an intricately designed blend of technology and artistry, with each crystal housing a tiny energy core that pulsed with soft, programmable light. Vastarael could adjust the brightness or the color with a simple command.

His bed, a very massive, four-poster structure carved from black special wood, polished to a mirror-like sheen. The posts were engraved with ancient runes, glowing faintly with enchantments that adjusted the mattress's firmness and temperature to his liking. The silk sheets, dyed in deep shades of royal blue, were impossibly smooth, practically gliding against his skin. Pillows of various sizes and densities were piled at the head of the bed, ensuring comfort no matter his mood.

One wall of the room was dominated by an enormous, seamless display screen that served multiple purposes. It was connected to the palace's artificial intelligence network, allowing Vastarael to access a wealth of information, communicate with others, or simply project breathtaking views of Spheraphase's landscapes when he needed inspiration. Currently, it displayed a slow-moving hologram of Anqerise's starry night sky, complete with constellations that twinkled and shifted as if alive.

The study area was where Vastarael spent most of his time, and it showed. His desk was massive and intricately carved, with hidden compartments for important documents and tools. Embedded in its surface was a sleek interface panel, where he could write notes, analyze data and manage his schedules. Surrounding the desk were shelves filled with books, some ancient with cracked leather covers and others modern, bound in sleek, metallic casings.

Then there were the gadgets.

Devices of all shapes and sizes littered the desk and nearby tables. Holographic projectors, advanced essence analyzers, and even a small, portable crafting station for rune designs. A few of these were gifts from his parents but many were inventions of his own design, prototypes he hadn't yet shared with anyone.

One corner of the room housed a small lounge area, complete with a curved sofa upholstered in rich velvet and a low table carved from his pure sapphire crystal. On the table sat a delicate tea set, always replenished by the palace's staff. This was where Vastarael often took a moment to unwind, sipping tea while thinking through complex problems or discussing plans with his siblings.

Even the walls of the room were special. They weren't just there to hold the space together. They were interactive, enchanted with a blend of technology. At a touch, Vastarael could summon holographic displays of maps, battle strategies or even his personal notes. One section of the wall featured a concealed weapons rack, holding a collection of intricately crafted blades, staffs, glaives and other tools he used for training.

The floor was a masterpiece in its own right, made of polished marble embedded with veins of glowing sapphire that pulsed faintly in rhythm with Vastarael's movements. It wasn't just aesthetic—these veins were connected to the room's essence flows, amplifying any spell or rune he practiced within its bounds.

Basically, this was his domain.

And then there was the balcony. Vastarael's room opened onto a wide terrace overlooking the sprawling palace gardens. The view was breathtaking, with fountains and flowerbeds glowing softly under the moonlight. Sometimes, when he needed a break from his studies, he'd step out and let the cool night air clear his mind.

Despite all the grandeur, there was something inherently personal about the space. Little details—like the neatly arranged books on his bedside table or the faint scent of ink and parchment that lingered in the air—made it feel less like a showcase and more like a home. It was a place where he could shed the weight of his title, even if only for a while, and simply be Vastarael.

Now, as he entered with his stack of books from the hidden library, the room seemed to hum in welcome. He placed the books carefully on his desk, already mentally prioritizing which ones to dive into first. This was his sanctuary, his domain and tonight, it would become a battlefield of knowledge.

Vastarael leaned back in his chair, glancing at the sleek analog clock perched on his desk. Despite its vintage design, the glowing digits embedded in its transparent face marked it as an advanced technological marvel.

It took him sometime to understand the time pattern. It's not everyday you see a clock with 13 numbers and the second hand moving 70 times a minute.

The time glimmered in soft blue light, showing it was already late. But instead of feeling tired, Vastarael grinned, cracking his knuckles in preparation.

"Alright," he said with a determined glint in his eyes. "I'm going to study everything until I get tired and pass out. Phaenora, are you ready?"

A calm yet slightly amused feminine voice echoed in his head.

[Yup Always ready.]

He chuckled, shuffling through the first book in his pile. "Good. Time to use your amazing brain to absorb all this information. Thank goodness for—oh wait, I do have a photographic memory. Let's go!"

The room fell into a studious silence, the soft hum of the chandelier and the occasional rustle of pages the only sounds. Vastarael was entirely focused, his hands a flurry of motion as he absorbed complex diagrams, ancient runes, and layers of strategic knowledge. Phaenora's guidance smoothed the process, occasionally offering insights that sharpened his understanding.

-----

It was hours later when the knock came at his door. It was soft but deliberate, breaking the quiet. Vastarael didn't even stir, too engrossed—or possibly too exhausted—to respond. After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing Adelasta standing in the doorway.

She was as composed as ever, her expression cold and unreadable, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze.

"Vastarael," she called softly, stepping inside. "I have something to ask you. Are you asleep? I apologize for coming late—"

When she didn't receive an answer, she furrowed her brow slightly and walked further in. Her icy demeanor melted just a fraction as she spotted him slumped over his desk, his head resting against an open book. Several others lay scattered around, filled with hastily scribbled notes and markings. The faint glow of the chandelier cast a golden light over his features, softening the sharp lines of his face.

Adelasta stopped in her tracks. She wasn't one to admire appearances—she prided herself on her self-control—but something about him in this moment struck her. Vastarael, normally so commanding and larger-than-life, looked... peaceful. Vulnerable, even. His long lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks and his breathing was steady and slow.

Her gaze lingered, almost unwillingly.

'How is someone this handsome even real?' She wondered, an unfamiliar warmth creeping into her chest.

He shifted slightly in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. She leaned closer, catching the faintest whisper:

"I... have to get stronger... for them..."

Adelasta straightened abruptly, shaking off whatever strange feeling had begun to take root. She glanced at the room, taking in the chaos of his study session. The books piled high, the notes scrawled in an almost frantic manner, the half-empty glass of water on his desk.

'He's working himself this hard,' she thought, a flicker of something—concern?—crossing her mind. She turned to his couch, spotting a neatly folded blanket. With careful movements, she picked it up and draped it over his shoulders, ensuring he wouldn't catch a chill.

As she stepped back, her gaze returned to him. She clenched her fists at her sides, frustrated by the strange stirring in her chest.

'Why does this happen every time I'm near him?' She wondered. 'He's just my Betrothed. Nothing more. Right?'

Still, she couldn't deny the pull she felt, nor the faint heat in her cheeks as she watched him sleep.

Her resolve hardened. Turning away from the desk, she walked to the door with quiet, purposeful steps.

"I won't let this get to me," she thought aloud. "If he's pushing himself this hard, I'll push myself even harder. I'll train until our duels are no longer short bouts. I'll make him work for every single victory."

"He's never going to win. I won't allow it."

She cast one last glance over her shoulder before stepping out and closing the door softly behind her. That warmth was still there, faint but persistent, as she made her way to the training grounds late at night.

"If this is what it takes to keep up with Vastarael, I'll do whatever it takes."