The oak door to his father's study seemed heavier to Valos than any door in his previous life. He took a deep breath, pushing aside thoughts of yesterday's expenditures. «Investments. Merely investments in stability,» he reminded himself before pushing against the massive slab.
Baron Eldrid sat at a desk cluttered with stacks of papers. He didn't look like a formidable ruler, but... tired. Tired to the point of gray in his once-dark hair, to the point of wrinkles around his eyes. He looked at his son not with anger, but with quiet, faded sadness.
— Father, — Valos began, — I came to apologize. Not as a boy afraid of a whipping, but as a man who realizes that his recklessness strikes not only at tables in a tavern, but at the reputation of our house.
Eldrid was silent, his fingers slowly tapping against the wood.
— Words are one thing, — Valos continued, meeting his gaze. — Actions are another. I've compensated for the losses. Threefold. And I've started something else as well. I understand that my word means nothing right now. So I'm not asking for trust. I'm asking for a *chance*. A chance to prove that I can be not a burden.
He spoke evenly, without groveling, with a cold, almost businesslike directness. And it worked more powerfully than any sobbing. Eldrid leaned back in his chair, and in his tired eyes something new flickered — a faint glimmer of interest.
— "A burden"? — he repeated without mockery. — An interesting choice of words. Very well, Valos. You'll get your chance. But know this: my patience is not limitless. Don't make me regret this.
— I won't, — Valos nodded curtly, rising.
Leaving the study, he felt not relief, but a strange heaviness. His father wasn't a stern tyrant, but... kind. A tired, but kind man, still believing in his son. This thought was uncomfortable. And suddenly, a strange, chilling sensation seized him. The sensation of a intent, indifferent gaze, coming as if from the sky itself. As if a giant, invisible eye stared at him from the cosmic void, studying every muscle on his face, analyzing every thought.
Fragments of knowledge surfaced in his memory, the orbital station "Wanderer," the "Star Gazer" protocol...
«The "Star Gazer" protocol... — If this world is based on that book, then the station "Wanderer" is real. That means... possibly someone is watching me right now.»
He shook his head forcefully, trying to shake off the absurd paranoia. But the feeling that he was merely a character in someone else's palm had already settled deep inside him.