“We’re going to the Cult first,” he said. “It might get us in trouble, but I want her inspected by the proper authorities.”

  “Makes sense,” Theria agreed.

  They passed through the gate without issue. If Torm had said anything about them, it hadn’t been such a big deal that the guards cared. Their walk through the city was a bit strange. As the capital of Kumsyurt, there was a minority of Stringless present, second wives of influential nobles commonly. They inspected Celia as they walked past, a confused look on their face.

  Was it that unusual to see an adventurer with a (potential) second wife? No, that wasn’t it. It really was only the Stringless that gave them that kind of look.

  They did not stop to ask.

  The main Cult had the honour of owning the two halves of the Station of Resting. The enormous structures, too tall to be called pyramids yet too wide to be called towers, could have easily housed the spiritual heads of the Cult. However, that size provided logistical issues of actually finding them and it was broadly viewed as disrespectful to step into these temples of artifice without the intent of maintenance.

  Therefore, the main Cult had its headquarters in a sizeable mansion at the foot of the eastern half of the Station of Resting. It was a structure of white and yellow plaster, attempting to invoke the design elements of the Precursors. Its symmetry and used materials were far from crude, yet, after having dwelt in even a ruin of the real thing, Oras could not consider it more than a cheap, reverent imitation.

  There was pleasantly little going on, to the point that Oras could simply walk up to the gatehouse and request an audience with a high-ranking member of the Cult. It was the off-season and all these spiritual men did in these days was debate and answer letters from the local cults all over the peninsula anyhow. Taking a question in person was normal for them.

  Oras was brought into the mansion and into a decorated chamber. All windows were closed, to retain the cold of last night in the face of a hot day. They were in the colder half of the year, which only meant rainfall was more frequent. He had heard, near the southern coast and in the ocean beyond, the rain fell as frozen, fluffy flakes. One day, Oras wanted to witness that.

  After just a few minute’s wait, a man entered the chamber, two women with him. Judging by the fact that they held onto his arms, the redheaded Stringless and brunette human were his wives. All three of them wore simple grey robes, although cords around their waists emphasized the figures of the women.

  “What aid do you desire of the-” the priest began his greeting, only to stop when the Stringless on his arm abruptly ended all motions. “What is the matter, my love?”

  The doll-like woman’s green eyes stared at Celia, who stared back. “I can feel… what can I feel…?” she muttered. “It’s like being in the presence of the Supernatural Elephant or the hallowed machines at the heart of the Station, but much diminished… What… is she?”

  That provided an explanation for the weird looks they had gotten on the way. It also reinforced that telling the truth had been the correct decision. ‘If other Stringless can sense her origin instinctively, there never was any hiding her,’ Oras thought, then began his explanation. “We are the Dragonhoard party.” He gestured between himself and Theria. “New adventurers. About two weeks ago, we took a mission to verify the existence of a new ruin near the southern border.”

  The priest connected the dots immediately. “You ventured into them? And found her?”

  Oras nodded. “She was inside the last active sarcophagus, among a whole chamber filled with them. After we had released her, a Ceramic was alerted to our presence. We made a run for it and luckily managed to escape with only mild injuries.”

  “Which healed very nicely,” Theria added.

  “The mark of the Precursors,” the Stringless woman muttered, while her husband pulled her along to sit down on the bench opposite of the party. “You are a product of the ancient age!”

  Celia shrugged.

  “Is she incapable of speech?” the human wife asked.

  “Sadly, yes. I asked her many questions, but she is entirely mute.”

  “My verbal functions are operative, Master.”

  Theria and Oras whipped around in unison, staring wide-eyed at the blonde woman. Displaying the beginnings of a smirk, Celia tilted her head. There was a hint of pride and mischief in those golden eyes of hers.

  “Then why were ya silent this entire time?” Oras was agitated enough that he slipped back into his countryside accent. “I asked ya plenty of questions.”

  Celia raised an index finger to her mouth. She held the gesture for three seconds, then settled the hand back down in her lap. “I had been given an order to be silent. I was wondering when you would realize...”

  “I… you…,” Oras was flabbergasted. Celia was clearly smart enough to have inferred he wanted her to talk. “Are ya sassin’ me?”

  “Sassing my Master would be in poor taste.” The blonde woman responded. “But yes.”

  Theria burst out laughing at that moment. She was the only one in the room who found this joke funny. Oras remained confounded to the core. The priest and his wives lacked the context to understand all of this.

  “I have chosen now to speak up, as you have asserted my vocal cords are inoperable. Do I have permission to continue the explanation from my perspective, Master?”

  Oras recovered, his confusion replaced with the eagerness to hear her speak. “By all means,” he insisted.

  “I am a Servant Doll of the Octavia line, my Master has designated me Celia. I come from facility MC-0121. It is to my understanding that millennia have passed in the time I was kept in stasis. My operational knowledge, much to your disappointment, does not include any historical records. My purpose is to serve my Master, who, by my protocols, is this man.” She pointed at Oras. “My functions include the basis of housekeeping and combat. I know not of the Precursors in any capacity beyond the fact that they made me. I do not know of additional facilities. I do not have unique insights into their technology. I hope this summary satisfies.”

  “...The Stringless movement was right… we really were just disposable maids to the Precursors…” the redheaded doll among them stated.

  “Potentially,” Celia responded. “It appears a viable and likely interpretation of the circumstances.”

  The priest cleared his throat. “You are… quite calm for someone who was dragged out into another era.”

  “I lack the context to consider my current circumstances strange,” Celia responded calmly. “My operation requires me to follow my Master. All I know are these past couple of days. Panic would not aid me.”

  Oras shifted uncomfortable in his seat. A realization had come about that he was slow to put into words. “You have designated me as your Master?”

  “This is correct.”

  “And you will now… obey me?”

  “This is also correct.”

  “Do you have sapience? Free will?”

  “No. Why would I? My will is shackled to yours, Master, as is proper for your property.”

  The response had the mood in the room chill. Any hope that Oras had of the Precursors’ culture being a benevolent one was shattered. It was no fundament of his worldview, but it was still depressing to learn.

  On the positive side, it meant that the dissolution of the Empire of Strings 11 years ago meant that the modern Stringless had shirked off millennia of remnant programming. That culture war had been won by the right side.

  Which, in turn, meant that Celia’s conviction was just that: a strongly held, personal belief. If the descendants of the ancient String could do it, then so could the ancient String herself. Oras had to believe that. He may have had certain kinks, but the idea of owning an actual slave was… beyond vile.

  “If your will is truly shackled to mine… why did you see it fit to prank me?” Oras asked, slowly.

  “I believed it would entertain you, Master,” Celia responded without missing a beat. “Should this be incorrect, you are in your rights to apply the correction of your choice.”

  Was she truly completely subservient to his every whim, or had she been conditioned so deeply she just rationalized away any expressions of her free will? The Precursors had been masters of every technology imaginable. No doubt, that had included the magical schools of enchantment, alchemy, and mind control.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Celia’s behaviour implied that the Precursors had made the String, from the very basis of their biology, to be servants. It made absolute sense. Even after all this time, the common dispositions of Stringless made them ideal servants. It was etched so deeply into their genes that to take it out would be to make an entirely different species.

  “I did not expect to have this confirmation when I woke up today,” the priest muttered.

  “Neither did I,” his Stringless wife agreed.

  “I assure, my mental dependence will not diminish any independent operations I am set to,” Celia said, completely oblivious to the actual issue. “I will always operate in your best interest, Master. Such is the Maid’s Path.”

  The way she said those two words made Oras think there was more to them. It was a question for another time. He had enough to digest as it stood. “What if my best interest is that you develop free will?”

  Celia’s mouth opened, then snapped closed with an audible clack. She put a hand against her temple. “I would request…” She inhaled sharply. “...that you do not make this inappropriate demand. My… freedom of will is as absurd a concept as drinking soup with chopsticks.”

  As she explained, her headache ebbed away. By the end, she was back to sitting straight, her eyes forcefully vacant.

  ‘If there is no chance, then there would be no need for resistance,’ Oras thought.

  “Are we to understand that you will follow the words of this man and this man alone?” the priest inquired.

  “Correct,” Celia responded. “He is my Master. I will obey him and the members of his household.”

  “Could this ownership be transferred?”

  “If the proper procedures are observed.”

  The priest rubbed his chin and looked to Oras for his reaction.

  “By the will of Nature and the teachings of the Supernatural Elephant, she is my responsibility,” he stated.

  “...Very well,” the priest said as he got up. “You have come here and observed all proper rites. There is no reason to distrust you. I will bring this matter up with the head of the Cult - as soon as he returns from his trip south. I will put my word in that we shall give you a writ that will assure that none of the faith will attempt to take her from you. Until then, a writing of my own will have to suffice” He stopped for a moment. “Although I do still recommend you keep this quiet. Anyone else who knows about her?”

  “No one, although we do have a mentor, Torm of the Adventurer’s Guild. He refused to enter the ruin with us and left before we resurfaced.”

  “He ain’t stupid though,” Theria chimed in. “He’ll probably be able to add 2 and 2 together.”

  “Torm… I know the name. I believe he will keep quiet only because he does not want the attention.” That sounded like an accurate representation of the veteran. “Very well. The only problem you will face is this apparent… signal she gives of regarding her origin. Can you turn it off?”

  “I do not know if I possess this function,” Celia responded.

  “We will manage,” Oras assured.

  The priest nodded deeply. “You strike me as a capable young man, I believe you. Now… if all goes well, I will be back in a moment.”

  A moment turned out to be just a few minutes. The priest really was just moving to a different office with proper writing utensils. When he returned, he did so with an official decree written on the finest of papers the Cult could buy.

  “Thank you… I never caught your name, I am sorry.” Oras had been too swept up in the conversation this entire time to actually look at who he was dealing with.

  He was a… well-off man, with the belly to show for it. His wives seemed to appreciate having more of him to hold onto, so Oras was not one to judge. He was not bad looking either. For a priest, he had quite dark skin, tanned by the rays of the sun. Brown eyes and black hair were just the standard of these lands. He wore his hair and beard short. All around, he was the image of a High Priest of the Cult of the Supernatural Elephant.

  [AI Image]

  “My name is Karlos,” he said. “I never caught your name either, to be honest.”

  “Oras Gohman, my wife Theria, and you know Celia… shouldn’t my name be on the writ?”

  “...Yes, give it here for a moment.” Karlos hastened out of the room and then back in. “Adjustments made!”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I will have to report this to our spiritual leader. It is highly likely that we will summon you for further questions… I assume we can leave a message for you at the Adventurer’s Guild?”

  “That would be the most reliable way, yes.”

  “Then, just one more thing.” He handed Oras a bit of money. “To get her a set of her own clothes.”

  Oras looked at the gold coins that had been pressed into his hands. Who was he to refuse charity from the Cult? “Thank you very much,” he said, then departed.

  _________________________________________________________________

  They got Celia her new clothes first. Getting her to pick an outfit was pretty easy. She had a clear image in her head what kind of colour coordination a maid was supposed to have. It would have been satisfying to behold, had it not been accompanied by the constantly gnawing knowledge that she was acting on her programming.

  That being said, the final outfit was very aesthetic.

  Stringless preferred to wear clothes that did not cover the doll joints. Consequently, her chosen outfit had no sleeves and the long, black skirt had two cut-outs at the side to exposed her leg joints. Her slim waist was emphasized by a cross-laced, front-tied corset. It ended below the bust, making her small breasts seem larger than usual under the white, buttoned-up blouse.

  [AI Image]

  The outfit had been expensive. Oras would never have bought it, had it not been covered by the charitable funds Karlos had provided. What little silver had been left after, he put away as pocket money.

  “Thank you for the adequate dress, Master,” Celia said, once they were out of the shop. “You may remove them whenever it pleases you.”

  Oras grabbed Celia by the wrist and pulled her into a nearby alleyway. She continued along without a sound, complaint or surprise. That was until he shoved her against the wall. She let out a little gasp then, followed by a much louder squeak when he slammed his palm flat against the stone, right next to her head. He towered over her, the afternoon sun on his back casting a looming shadow.

  The idea was simple: if her mind was being dominated by some ancient enchantments, then he just had to be more dominant than them. He would dominate her with kindness!

  “Listen, you want to be my gorgeous maid, correct?”

  “The descriptor is yours to choose.”

  “You want to be my gorgeous maid. Correct?!” he doubled down.

  “...Correct,” she agreed.

  “Then I have a simple principle for you: I do not want free things.” He leaned in a little further, combing her silky, golden hair with his fingers. “Do you love me, Celia?”

  “You are my Master.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question.”

  “Doesn’t it?” she knitted her eyebrows.

  Oras tilted backwards, putting a bit more distance between them. Not a lot, he still had her practically pinned against the wall. “I will allow you to serve me,” he told her, “because I observe that to be your current nature. In what capacity you serve me is up to you. If you want to do the laundry or play the mute, that decision belongs to you as much as those clothes.”

  “You would have me guess your desires?”

  “I will have you act on yours,” he told her. “In my view, the best maid is one who serves out of her own volition, one who greets chores not just out of duty, but because she wishes to better the lives of those she serves. If it is your desire to serve, demonstrate it. Show that you aren’t a slave that just operates in the household.” He gently caressed her cheek, then stepped away. “I believe you will be the best maid. I don’t need to order you. You have your autonomy.”

  Celia raised a hand. He thought she would be touching her temple again. Instead, she put her hand where his had been seconds prior. “Love… autonomy…” She muttered to herself. “I confirm your order, Master. I will be your gorgeous maid.”

  “And there is nothing more gorgeous than a woman in love and delighted in her purpose,” Oras reinforced.

  “Understood. I will walk the Maid’s Path with the goal of understanding your every wish before you speak it.”

  Not quite where Oras had hoped to be going. Serving him autonomously was a step towards independence though, it certainly was better than slavish obedience.

  “It will be more efficient anyway. When you speak, you tend to speak a lot.”

  Well, she still had that sassy side.

  Theria tugged on Oras’ sleeve. “Where were my romantic alleyway talks, mhm?” the redhead teased him. “Years upon years and you just kissed me.”

  “I had to learn somewhere how to treat women first,” he whispered back.

  “Mhm… ya better treat me right tonight.”

  ________________________________________________________________

  Before they would go seek out an inn, they had a mission to confirm completed.

  “Huh, Torm was so sure you’d be dead,” the clerk greeted them. “Here you are… and you picked up a Stringless on the way?”

  “Yes,” Oras answered. Celia nodded as well. She had been instructed to lie. They had the writ in case anyone drilled deeper, but that was no reason to bring attention to her true nature. Luckily for them, while Stringless were common enough as second wives in Kumse, the amount of men that had second wives was quite small, even among adventurers. There was no one of the persuasion around. “Where is Torm, if I may ask?”

  “Went out with another party,” the clerk said. “He’ll probably be back in 5 days.”

  ‘That might be the end of our relationship then,’ Oras considered, pragmatically. Once their schedules were desynchronized, getting them back together would take one of them to take it slow. Oras did not see the point in it. They had learned a good amount from the veteran. For that, the Dragonblood would be thankful. However, their paths were guaranteed to diverge soon. Making it a now would make for very little difference.

  “On the off chance that you did survive, he only took a cut of the money, about 20%. He said it was reimbursement for a pulled back?”

  “That is fair enough,” Oras sighed. “How much money is left?”

  “Original reward was 15 gold, Torm took 3, so you are left with 12.”

  ‘29 gold,’ Oras thought, as he added the coins to his purse. ‘28 after we find an inn… 27 if we go for separate rooms.’ That was a question Oras had to decide on. Doubtlessly, he could tell Celia to just remain in her bed in the shared area, while he went after his husbandly duties. Perhaps a bit in poor taste, but was providing her a bit of privacy worth renting an extra room every time they checked in somewhere?

  Oras decided that he was going to hoard his coin like a proper dragon should. What would be the point in giving her a separate room anyway? Sex was natural, having another adult see them engaging in it was entirely harmless.

  An inn was quickly found, as was a room with two beds. Coin for the night and the meals exchanged hands and after they had their dinner, the trio retreated for the night.

  “Alrighty, ya stay over there,” Theria told the ancient String. “As for me… where do ya want me, Master?” She winked at him flirtatiously.

  “A splendid question,” Oras thought. The room wasn’t large, but between the bed, the floor, and the table, there was more than one surface to bend her over.