The shadows moved first.
Not abruptly. Not violently.
They peeled.
Like silk being drawn away from stone, the darkness clinging to the pillars loosened and slid downward, gathering along the floor in thin streams. The air cooled, not with the bite of cold, but with the sensation of something ancient adjusting its posture.
Ethan noticed it immediately.
"…Oh, that's new."
The shadows converged at the foot of the throne's dais, folding inward with precise elegance. The vague shape of a man emerged—first the outline of shoulders, then the crisp line of a tailcoat, then gloved hands crossing neatly at the waist.
By the time Ethan turned his head fully, the figure was already there.
And already bowing.
Deep. Perfect. Impeccable.
"Welcome back, Guild Master."
The voice was smooth, warm, and controlled to the point of art. It carried no distortion, no echo effects—just a natural resonance that filled the hall without demanding attention.
Ethan stared.
Then he laughed.
A sharp, delighted bark of amusement escaped him as he clapped once, the sound ringing clearly through the Guild Hall.
"Holy shit," he said, grinning broadly. "Okay, I'll give it to you—that's some next-level scripting."
The man straightened slowly.
Alfred looked exactly as Ethan remembered—and somehow more.
He was tall, slender, with silver hair combed neatly back and sharp, refined features that suggested both dignity and something predatory lurking just beneath the surface. His tailcoat was pristine, black fabric absorbing the light without dullness. White gloves hugged his hands perfectly, without a single crease or speck of dust.
He looked… maintained.
Not rendered.
Maintained.
"I am pleased you find my presence satisfactory, my lord," Alfred replied smoothly.
Ethan waved a hand dismissively, still amused.
"Persistent AI, real-time emergence, posture recognition—man, the devs really went crazy with this update." He leaned forward slightly, eyes bright with interest. "You even loaded before I finished calling you. That's new."
Alfred tilted his head a fraction.
"Forgive me," he said politely. "I am unfamiliar with the term AI in this context."
Ethan blinked.
The pause was brief. Too brief to register as anything more than novelty.
He snorted. "Right. In-character confusion. Nice touch."
Alfred's expression did not change. But something behind his eyes… watched.
Ethan leaned back into the throne again, stretching lazily.
"So," he said, tone casual. "How long were the servers down this time?"
Alfred answered immediately.
"Fifteen years, four months, and six days, my lord."
The words landed cleanly.
Precise.
Unembellished.
Ethan froze.
Not fully—just a hitch. A half-beat where his breath caught, his grin faltered, and his brain tripped over the sentence like it had encountered a step that wasn't there.
Then he laughed louder than before.
"Wow," he said, shaking his head. "Okay, okay. That's some commitment to flavor text."
Alfred did not smile.
He clasped his hands behind his back and continued calmly, as if delivering a routine report.
"During your absence, monster population levels remained stable within acceptable variance. No external breaches were detected. Marshal patrol cycles were maintained at optimal efficiency. Structural integrity of the Black Guild Realm remains uncompromised."
Ethan's laughter slowed.
"…Wait," he said, lowering his hand. "Hold on. You're still going?"
"Yes, my lord."
Ethan blinked. "That wasn't… a joke?"
"I do not joke during reports," Alfred replied gently. "It would be unprofessional."
The word unprofessional hit oddly.
Ethan leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Okay," he said, squinting. "So let me get this straight. You're telling me the game was 'down' for fifteen years. In-game time."
"Yes."
"And you're still… here."
"Yes."
Ethan chuckled under his breath. "Man. You guys really leaned hard into time dilation this patch."
Alfred inclined his head slightly. "Time has always flowed differently here."
Ethan waved the comment away. "Yeah, yeah. Instance time scaling. I get it."
He paused, then frowned.
"Actually… why didn't you despawn?"
Alfred looked at him.
Not blankly.
Not confused.
Just… attentively.
"Despawning was not appropriate," he said.
"…Why not?"
Alfred considered the question for a fraction of a second.
"It would be improper to abandon my post."
The words were simple.
They landed heavy.
Ethan stared at him, the smile on his face slowly thinning into something more thoughtful.
"Right," he muttered. "Because you're the butler."
"Yes, my lord."
Ethan leaned back again, gaze drifting toward the towering pillars as he processed this.
"Okay, so… follow-up question," he said lightly. "Did you ever, I don't know, go idle? Sleep mode? Reset cycle? Anything like that?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Too cleanly.
Ethan's brow furrowed.
"…No?"
"I stood watch," Alfred said calmly. "As is my duty."
"For fifteen years."
"Yes."
Ethan laughed again—but this time, the sound was quieter. Shorter.
"That's dedication," he said. "I didn't even log in half the time."
Alfred did not respond.
Ethan glanced back at him.
Something was off.
Not wrong. Not broken.
Just… unscripted.
Alfred wasn't waiting for a prompt. He wasn't pausing for dramatic effect. He wasn't looping idle animations or delivering canned responses.
He was simply there.
Present.
Ethan felt the amusement drain from his chest in a slow trickle.
"Hey," he said, tone shifting despite himself. "You… you don't talk like before."
Alfred tilted his head slightly. "In what way, my lord?"
Ethan hesitated.
That alone surprised him.
"…You used to pause," he said finally. "Like, between lines. There was always that half-second delay. Like the system was thinking."
"I see."
Now Alfred paused.
Just briefly.
But not in the way Ethan expected.
"I do not experience such delays," Alfred said. "I respond as needed."
Ethan swallowed.
The Guild Hall felt quieter.
"Alfred," he said, trying to keep his tone light, "did you ever… I don't know. Doubt I'd come back?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
He hadn't planned to ask it.
He hadn't even realized he was curious.
Alfred smiled.
It was small. Polite. Warm.
And absolute.
"Doubt would imply disloyalty."
Ethan's breath caught.
The pressure in his chest returned—not sharp, not painful—but heavy. Like realizing you'd stepped onto something solid that you'd assumed was empty air.
He looked away, jaw tightening briefly.
"…Right," he muttered.
Silence settled between them.
Not awkward.
Not empty.
It was the kind of silence that came from things being finished—not needing to be said.
After a moment, Alfred spoke again.
"Would you like a status report, my lord?"
Ethan didn't answer immediately.
He stared at the floor, at the faint patterns in the stone he'd once obsessed over getting just right.
Fifteen years.
Not of gameplay.
Of waiting.
He leaned back into the throne, the obsidian cold seeping through his coat, grounding him whether he wanted it to or not.
"…Sure," he said quietly.
He lifted his gaze back to Alfred.
"Let's hear what I missed."