Nexus: New World

Chapter IX — The Sanctum of Flow and Flame

Chapter IX — The Sanctum of Flow and Flame

The dawn unfurled like a golden veil soaked in dew and potential—yet it was not the sunrise that stirred the stillness, but a piercing cascade of shrieks from the eastern servants' wing.

“Kyaaaa!”

Bernice’s eyes snapped open.

Startled, the veteran handmaid rose swiftly from her modest cot within the maidens' dormitory, her senses honed by decades of routine and unspoken dread. Instinct told her something catastrophic had occurred—blood, perhaps. A fire. A demon invasion.

Clutching her shawl, she stepped briskly out into the hushed corridor, expecting to find horror. Yet the grand atrium, which usually bustled with linen-bearing maids and broom-wielding stewards by this hour, was… barren. Still. As if the mansion itself had ceased its breath.

“…No. Surely not…” Bernice whispered, suspicion slithering through her bones like a chill serpent.

She trailed the rising chorus of feminine exclamations toward the outer kitchenhall—a domed chamber half-woven of sun-baked brick and rune-carved wood, where spirits of steam and smoke often danced before breakfast.

There, a miracle was unfurling.

The young maids stood in frenzied worship around the northern wall, gasping and giggling like temple girls glimpsing a minor deity. When they noticed Bernice’s approach, they parted like petals before the matron flower, beaming with an unearthly brightness.

“Behold, Bernice! Look!”

Before her, nestled beside the old crockery cabinet and mortar-shelving, protruded a sequence of polished basin fixtures carved from cerulean-stone and gold-banded steel. From their sidewalls, a trio of arched flowglyph arms extended, their levers glinting like ceremonial swords. They were not mundane sinks—they were engineered altars to water itself.

Bernice stepped closer, suspicion yielding to awe.

She reached out with a trembling hand, twisted one of the levers—and was met with the rush of actual water, cold and clear, streaming down in smooth abundance. Not conjured by some grumpy spellcaster’s palm, nor hauled in jugs by aching backs—but here, immediate, obedient.

“Shishishishi!” one of the younger maids cackled joyously. “That’s not even the most marvelous part! You’ve got to see what he did to the latrine!”

With laughter and reverence, they seized Bernice gently by the shoulders and half-guided, half-dragged her through the side corridor that led to the dreaded communal latrine.

The air, usually thick with the stench of shared suffering, was—strangely—neutral. Clean. Inviting, even.

And once the doors were pushed open, Bernice froze.

What had once been a pit of filth and misery had now been wholly transfigured. A new reality had been installed. The floors were embedded with mana-veined drainage panels, which silently pulled waste through enchanted piping. Above them, the walls bore mounted flowglyphs and silver-rimmed flushing bowls—true thrones of sanitation, each with a curved seat and embedded rune-core for self-cleansing.

“Toilets,” whispered one maid, lips trembling in holy reverence. “Real fucking toilets.”

“Flushes right down to the river!” another chirped. “It’s like shitting into the arms of a goddess!”

“We’ve already tried it! It’s like the young master summoned a bathroom straight from a legend!”

“I’m still scared of that whoosh sound, but—damn—it’s growing on me.”

Clean, running water within the estate was no longer a luxury, but a reality. The burden of drawing water from freezing wells, of scraping filth by hand, of bending spines and snapping patience—it had been lifted.

And just as the chorus of praise reached a crescendo—

A voice.

A boy’s voice, warm and cocky as it leaned against the air.

“Did it turn out well?”

Elias stood in the hallway like a young artificer god surveying the awe of his worshipers. His arms were crossed with casual pride, though his eyes betrayed a hunger for their reactions.

The maids swarmed him, reckless in their adoration.

“Young master Elias—I adore you!”

“I swear my life to your plumbing!”

“I want to move into the bathroom and never leave!”

His face vanished beneath a sea of arms, bosoms, and perfume. Crushed by affection, Elias merely chuckled inwardly. These were inventions so basic in his previous life they’d be ignored. But here, they had sparked divine gratitude.

This world was beneath indoor plumbing, he realized. It deserved better. I’ll build it better—one flushed cunt at a time.

Slipping out from the clutches of his overwhelmed harem, Elias approached Bernice directly.

“I’ve something else to show you,” he said with quiet gravity.

The elder maid blinked, lips parting. She turned to the others—they, too, were surprised. Hadn’t the lavatory marvel been enough?

Apparently not.

Elias led the procession toward the maidens’ dormitory annex—a humble structure where servants slept, gossiped, wept, and rarely dreamed. The hallway curved like a spine, narrow and timber-framed. They passed bedrooms, wardrobes, and finally stopped at Bernice’s private washroom.

It was, until last night, a cruel joke: a bucket, a cracked dipper, and a raggedy cloth to pat herself down like a stray dog. That was the extent of her ablution.

Now, as Elias pushed the door open, the scent of warm stone and purified air greeted them.

Set into the far wall was a curved fixture of copper and silver, with a large saucer-shaped head covered in intricate drain-runes.

A single twisting lever waited beneath it.

“This,” Elias said, “is a shower.”

He turned the lever.

Water fell.

Not cold, not magical, not reluctant—but warm, consistent, flowing in a perfect arch from the saucer’s openings. The room filled with the gentle roar of a rainstorm made tame.

Bernice stepped closer. Her hand breached the stream—and her breath caught.

It was as if her skin was being kissed by clouds.

“…It’s warm…” she murmured, voice cracking.

“I remembered you hated conjured water,” Elias said, not meeting her gaze. “This draws heat from the stormcore beneath the mansion and pulls fresh water through filtered ley-conduits. No buckets. No weight on your back.”

The room was silent.

Not from awkwardness, but reverence.

Bernice blinked, and moisture pooled in her eyes—not from steam.

“You… You knew?” she asked, barely a whisper.

Elias scratched his cheek, suddenly bashful. “Nah, I just… wanted a shower myself. That’s all. Don’t read into it. Just a random idea.”

Behind them, the maids exploded with romantic hysteria.

“Kyaaa! He’s so modest! It makes me want to die!”

“He’s not just brilliant, he’s tender-hearted! My fucking ovaries!”

“Can I marry a plumbing genius?!”

Bernice, meanwhile, stood in the falling water with hands over her mouth. Her old spine, aching since youth, would no longer be bent to serve. And her heart, scarred from decades of invisible servitude, had been noticed—seen.

She would serve Elias forever, she knew then. Not as a maid. Not even as a woman.

But as a loyal soul who had been shown something divine.