Essence was pulled out from the air, collapsing inward and reforming at a collective point in the center of the golden room. A shimmering sphere of essence pulsed in time with the steady rhythm of the heart it encased, swelling and shrinking with each measured beat.

  At its densest core, the essence thickened, coalescing into arcana that dripped down like liquid light, seeping into the placid heart below. With every pump of the heart, the arcana was carried through the body's bloodstream, woven seamlessly into the natural transmission of nutrients filtering the magical sustenance into every muscle and organ.

  The mastery required to shape such a flawless convergence of energizing arcana was nothing short of breathtaking. A sight of pure artistry, visible only to those gifted—or fortunate—enough to have the proper ocular insights to perceive those elusive dancing wisps of magical kinetics.

  At the center of it all, the man sat motionless, his body enshrouded in the omnipresent caress of essential force. The sphere of essence cradling his heart held both power and peril—one flaw in its formation, one single misstep, and it could collapse, crushing the life within him in an instant. Yet, such dangers did not trouble him. He was far too experienced for doubt, too precise for failure.

  To minimize the amount of interference from contaminants in the fragile, untamed essence, the man practiced his craft in complete isolation—utterly naked, free from even the faintest obstruction. His golden chamber was devoid of furniture, its walls pristine and unblemished, ensuring absolute control over the delicate process.

  With practiced precision, he intensified the concentration of essence around his heart, compressing it until its density grew so great that even the untrained eye could discern a faint, golden glow suffusing out of his chest.

  But the true spectacle lay deeper. As pure arcana coursed through his veins, it illuminated the intricate pathways of his cardiovascular system, a radiant map of power visible to all, regardless of magical perception.

  To the average layman—and even to most seasoned wizards—the man's magical control was a mesmerizing exhibition of tranquil artistry. A perfect harmony of essence and will. But to those whose consciousness had sunk deeper into the Soul Sea than most, they were unfortunately very aware that the room's atmosphere was anything but tranquil.

  "Oh, you must be sooooo hungry right now, aren't you? Aren't you? No need to answer—I know you're just dying of hunger! A little teensy snack of magic to tide you over until eternity? Pft, please. Don't make me sick.

  Don't even pretend that you couldn't go for a nice steak right now! A juicy, succulent steak, Mmm yeah. Imagine it with me, will you? Just a little red in the middle… but not too red.The fat sizzling, sending up those steamy, tantalizing wisps into the air. That unforgettable aroma curling into your nostrils, latching on—refusing to let go."

  The man's stomach grumbled.

  "YES!! YES!! Despair, puny human, at what you have lost! The weight of your greed is too great, the sacrifices too heavy for your shallow mind to bear. You have nary the choice but to humbly take your own life in repentance!"

  Unmoved, the man remained as stoic as ever. Eyes closed, mind steady, he continued the delicate art of magically feeding himself. Without so much as a flicker of emotion, he responded, "That was just my stomach reacting to an excess of arcana I accidentally let slip. Nothing more."

  To those with a more adept soul sight, the truth of the chamber revealed itself—there were, in fact, two individuals present. At the center of the golden room, the naked man lay perfectly still, his chiselled form resting against the smooth gold floor in a state of absolute meditative calm. But above him, a second figure flitted furiously about—an amorphous lump of gold, darting wildly through the air, spewing frustrated grunts and curses as it seethed in impotent rage.

  "Wretched, wretched human! Your dark, twisted corruptions of nature will be your downfall!" The lump of gold screeched to its indifferent listener, its fury vibrating through the chamber. It had no mouth to speak with, yet its entire form resonated like a furious tuning fork, sending its voice booming in every direction, saturating the room with its wrath.

  Of course, only those with the proper soul sight could perceive its words.

  Unfortunately for the man lying at the center of the chamber, he did possess such sight—meaning he had no choice but to endure the endless tirades of his indignant companion.

  The man knew that if he remained silent, the lump of gold would simply get louder. At least by responding, he could keep their exchange at a relatively tolerable volume. Besides, he had started to grow accustomed to the companion's constant presence and perhaps even enjoyed its company…. perhaps. "Isn't magic nature?"

  "ISn'T mAGic nAtuRe?" the gold mimicked with a mocking, exaggerated whine, twisting the human's words to sound as childishly ignorant as possible. "This is why the spirits curse you fauna! You never see a plant trying to redefine the universe—nooo… well…" The lump suddenly halted midair, its agitated pacing cut short. It shuddered. "there was that one time."

  A cold ripple passed through its rugged form, the memory momentarily pulling it from its righteous fury.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The man sighed. His golden companion had a habit of slipping into bizarre, nonsensical tangents he could never hope to follow. He cracked an eye open.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Just cosmic cataclysm stuff, you wouldn't understand…" the golden lump said, its voice dripping with smug superiority.

  Then, an idea came to mind. "wouldn't understand so much it torments you! Like a Curse! Yes, you must be drowning in your own empty mind. Do you hate how little you know? How little you will ever know with your pathetic human lifespan?"

  It burst into a fit of maniacal cackling, the sound reverberating through the chamber like a chorus of mocking bells.

  The man, as calm as ever, simply replied, "Nope, I have subordinates to do all that research stuff for me. I just need to know what's required in the now to best govern my people."

  The golden lump froze. Then, like a balloon pricked by a needle, it deflated—another attempted torment effortlessly circumvented.

  But then, the gold had another idea. A wicked idea.

  "Well…" it drawled, rubbing its metaphorical hands together with villainous glee. "I know something that magic can't fix about your curse. Sure, you can feed yourself with magic. But without the ability to touch another—oh, how alone you must be! How tired, how desolate! Yes! The great and mighty ruler forever denied the warmth of another! Oh, the woes of a lively, powerful man who can never again feel the touch of a woman! HAHAHAHA!"

  The man simply shrugged. "I guess."

  The gold's laughter came to an abrupt halt. It cocked its proverbial eyebrow.

  "Oh, the woes of a man who can never again feel the touch of… another man?"

  The man chuckled. "I don't swing that way."

  The gold wiggled thoughtfully. "Well, you must love something! If there is one undeniable truth about you humans, it's that you lust! Lust, lust, lust, lust, lust. It's practically your species' motto! Unless…no. It couldn't be."

  The gold suddenly froze, then, in a dramatic shift, wiggled bashfully in place. "Could it be that you have fallen for my supernatural beauty?" it mused, its voice taking on an uncharacteristic shyness. "You are a king; they do have a history of coveting power and wealth greater than their own."

  The man smirked, amused by the absurd dissonance between his companion's words and behaviour. "Not a chance, Goldy."

  Goldy sagged visibly, even drifting lower toward the floor in mild disappointment. "Well, it's your loss. You wouldn't recognize an elegant, handsome spirit even if it cursed you to timeless torment… which incidentally, it did."

  The man rolled his eyes, all the while making sure to keep his magical flow steady. "Well, I can at least agree that it is torment." He deadpanned.

  A thought struck him. He glanced at the floating lump of gold, curiosity piqued. "Were you hoping that I had fallen for you?"

  Goldy immediately straightened—well, as much as a rigid lump of metal could straighten. It hovered stiffly, utterly motionless. "N-n-no. Pft, what? How silly! Why would I care about the affections of a dirty little human? Do you care for the thoughts and feelings of the bacteria you step on?"

  There it was again—Goldy babbling about nonsensical things. "Bacteria?"

  "Oh, right. I keep forgetting. How could I rephrase this in a way your infantile brain can understand? Do you care for the thoughts and feelings of the ants you step on? You at least know what ants are, right?"

  The man was mildly irked by the condescending question. "Of course, I know what an ant is."

  Completely disregarding the man's response, Goldy perked up, its attention suddenly diverted by something else, an excited buzz of awareness thrumming at the edge of its consciousness. "Do you feel that? Oh, wait—how rude of me. Of course, you don't. Lousy human souls… I keep forgetting."

  The man groaned. "Just skip the insults and jump to the point."

  Goldy harrumphed with indignation at the man's curtness. "Your lard-laden lackey is on his way over. Looks like mealtime is over for you now."

  A mischievous grin rose from Goldy's non-existent face. "Have you had your fill yet?"

  Before the king could respond, his stomach beat him to it with an embarrassing, rumbling protest.

  The stomach's wails were music to Goldy's non-existent ears. "Let me guess… more arcana slipped into your stomach?"

  The man cleared his throat; now it was his turn to be embarrassed. "…yes." He hated to give the pestering yellow spirit even the most minute modicum of satisfaction, but the hunger did, in fact, get to him at times. After all, it had been twenty years since he had last eaten something real.

  From the other side of a pair of thick golden doors, a muffled thumping echoed. The deep voice of his servant became garbled through the rich metal. “Mffhm ffmmfh mhmhhmm mhfmfm.”

  The man in the center of the room carefully released his hold on the essence around him, cautiously guiding it away from his body so that he could safely allow it to dissipate back into the air.

  Standing up, he reached his arms toward the sky, releasing a long, satisfied sigh as his stiff muscles finally moved again, stretching out their hours of immobile fatigue.

  "Could you let Lade in, please?"

  Goldy gasped in mock horror, its voice dripping with incredulity at the man's audacity. "Who are you, you lowest lowly low lowlife, to tell the great me what to do?"

  The man regarded Goldy with a flat expression. "The lowest lowly low lowlife?"

  Goldy began to vibrate as though preparing to unleash its resonating voice—but it stopped itself before it could reply.

  Goldy had a conundrum before it. On the one hand, It could force the doors closed, as those doors remained under its own golden dominion, trapping the king and causing both him and Lade oodles of irritation at the cost of implicitly saying that the king was not, in fact, the lowest lowly low lowlife.

  On the other hand, Goldy could open the doors, allowing the pesky humans to go about their day, but this would mean Goldy would get the personal victory of having the king, in a sense, admit he was the lowest lowly low lowlife.

  Goldy felt a slight nagging sensation that this might be one of those conniving human mind games where the man was trying to trick Goldy into doing exactly what he wanted. But Goldy, being the clever spirit it was, saw right through this. Since the man was trying to manipulate Goldy, Goldy could use this meta-double analysis to deduce the exact opposite of what the man wanted and do that instead.

  It was clear to Goldy now: The king was accepting the title of "lowest lowly low lowlife" to goad Goldy into a sense of security—then, when Goldy refused to open the door, the man would laugh, having tricked Goldy into admitting that he was not the lowest lowly low lowlife.

  So Goldy would do the exact opposite.

  The two large golden doors creaked open, "Thanks, Goldy."

  "Noooooo… foiled again!" Goldy's entire form deflated as it plummeted to the floor, abandoning any pretense of levitation. It fell into a pit of despair. Another torture circumvented.