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They stopped in front of Sekhmet. They stared. Then all three spoke at once.
"You’re alive!"
"You’re taller!"
"You look like you fought a god!"
"You smell like—"
Sekhmet raised a hand quickly.
"Stop," he said, voice firm.
They froze.
Bat Bat puffed up.
"Obey master," it whispered loudly.
Sekhmet glared at Bat Bat.
The servant with flour on her cheek stepped closer, eyes wide and watery.
"Lord Sekhmet," she said, voice trembling. "We thought you were dead. There were rumors. So many rumors."
Sekhmet’s jaw tightened.
"Rumors," he repeated.
The broom girl nodded rapidly.
"They said you married a demon in purgatory," she blurted.
Sekhmet blinked.
"What."
The tray girl added with deadly seriousness, "They said you fought a shadow beast with your bare hands and ate its heart."
Sekhmet stared.
"Why does everyone in this city assume eating things is a personality trait," he muttered.
Bat Bat perked up.
"Eating good," it said.
Sekhmet sighed.
He stepped forward into the gate.
The servants followed like ducklings, and more kept coming.
Two young maids peeked from behind pillars, then hurried closer.
A stable boy leaned around a corner like he was spying on a legend.
An older servant man clasped his hands and muttered, "Thank the Null, he’s alive," like it was a prayer.
Whispers burst like fireworks.
"He’s really back."
"Look at his boots."
"Nightmare-grade?"
"His eyes... they’re sharper."
"Is that a bat?"
Bat Bat waved a wing like it was royalty.
"I Bat Bat," it announced.
Someone gasped.
Someone else whispered, "It speaks."
The older maid stepped forward, posture strict, eyes sharp.
"Enough," she snapped.
The courtyard fell silent.
She looked at Sekhmet, her gaze sweeping his coat, his boots, his face, taking in the changes.
Then her expression softened just slightly.
"Welcome home, young master," she said.
Sekhmet exhaled.
"Thank you," he replied.
The maid’s eyes narrowed.
"You stink," she added immediately.
Sekhmet blinked.
Bat Bat leaned in and whispered, "Stink like victory."
The maid pointed toward the house.
"Bath," she ordered. "Now. Before you sit on anything and curse it forever."
Sekhmet opened his mouth to protest.
The maid’s glare shut it.
"Yes," Sekhmet said.
The servants brightened again.
"Bath!"
"We’ll prepare the bath!"
"Hot water!"
"Oil!"
"Scissors!"
Sekhmet frowned.
"Why scissors," he asked.
The broom girl pointed at his hair.
"It looks like you lost a fight with a storm," she said.
Sekhmet touched his hair.
He could not argue.
They marched him inside like he was being escorted to trial.
The interior of Dawn House smelled like polished wood and spice incense. Familiar. The hallways were wide, with paintings and banners of the Dawn crest. Servants moved quickly, but their eyes kept flicking toward him like they were confirming he was real.
Sekhmet kept walking, trying not to show how strange it felt.
Being inside walls again.
Not having to listen for footsteps every second.
Not having to sleep in shifts.
The bath chamber was large, with a stone tub big enough to drown an arrogant noble in. Steam rose from the water as servants poured in hot buckets.
Splash! Splash!
They added scented oils, and the room filled with clean fragrance.
The older maid pointed.
"Undress," she ordered.
Sekhmet stared at her.
Bat Bat whispered, "Naked mode."
Sekhmet glared.
"Get out," he told the bat.
Bat Bat crossed its tiny arms.
"No," it said. "I guard."
Sekhmet pointed at the door.
"You will guard from outside."
Bat Bat hesitated, then flapped away reluctantly.
Flap... flap...
The door closed.
Sekhmet stripped off his coat, then his shirt, then everything else. The nightmare-grade coat and boots were set aside carefully like sacred items. His old clothes looked pathetic beside them.
He stepped into the tub.
Ssshhh...
Hot water embraced him like a forgiving hand.
For the first time in weeks, his muscles loosened without fear.
He leaned back, letting the water cover his shoulders.
His eyes closed briefly.
He could have fallen asleep right there.
But a servant girl cleared her throat loudly.
"Ahem."
Sekhmet opened his eyes.
Three servant girls were still in the room.
Watching.
Smiling.
Blinking like they were witnessing history.
Sekhmet stared at them.
They stared back.
He said slowly, "Why are you still here?"
The flour girl blinked innocently.
"To assist," she said.
Sekhmet’s shoulders sank.
"With what," he asked.
The tray girl held up soap like it was a trophy.
"Scrubbing," she said confidently.
Sekhmet’s eyes twitched.
"No," he said.
They looked disappointed.
The older maid reappeared like a summoned demon of discipline.
She clapped once.
Clap!
"All of you, out," she snapped.
The girls fled instantly.
Tap Tap Tap!
The maid turned to Sekhmet.
"You are not married," she said suspiciously.
Sekhmet coughed.
"What."
The maid crossed her arms.
"If you were married, you would look less surprised by being watched," she said.
Sekhmet stared at the ceiling.
"This city is mentally ill," he muttered.
The maid snorted.
"Scrub," she ordered. "And do not bleed in my tub."
Sekhmet looked down at himself.
His skin was clean now, but there were faint scars. Old cuts. Healing marks. Purgatory souvenirs.
He began washing.
Soap slid over his arms, his chest, his neck.
The smell of blood was stubborn, like it had learned his name. But with enough scrubbing, it finally faded.
After the bath, they dragged him to a chair and started cutting his hair.
Snip snip snip...
Clumps fell to the floor.
Sekhmet watched them in the mirror, feeling strangely lighter with each cut.
The servant girls hovered at a distance like hungry birds waiting for crumbs of attention. They whispered to each other, giggling.
"He looks handsome."
"He always was."
"He looks like he could kill someone with a stare."
"I like that."
Sekhmet pretended he heard nothing.
Bat Bat returned at some point and perched on the chair’s back, watching the haircut like it was entertainment.
"Pretty hair," Bat Bat commented.
Sekhmet muttered, "If you say one more thing, I will put you back in the void land."
Bat Bat went quiet immediately.