Kethari’s eyelids felt weighted with lead, each blink a monumental effort against the insistent hum of the Air-Current Skiff. Two years of forced exile from the Sun-Spun Archipelago had taught her one thing: there was no nap like a proper, undisturbed nap. And the capital, Oravari’s gleaming heart, was about to provide the ultimate opportunity. She nudged a large, intricately carved chest with her boot, a chest that contained her most prized possession: the ‘Slumber-Weave,’ a self-warming hammock spun from cloud-silk and enchanted with a perpetual gentle sway. It was the only reason she’d tolerated the tedious journey back. “We are approaching the Amber-Glass Estates, Mistress Kethari,” announced the skiff pilot, his voice a low thrum against the wind. Kethari grunted, her head lolling. Prestige, ambition, the relentless pursuit of artisan circles—it all felt like a distant, bothersome dream. All she wanted was a quiet corner, a soft cushion, and about three uninterrupted days of sleep. Grandmaster Othmar’s will had made her the wealthiest artisan in the capital, but it had also dragged her back into the very high-society drama she’d fled. She imagined the hush of her newly acquired, ridiculously opulent estate within the Estates, already picturing the sunbeams slanting across a plush, silken rug. A smile, slow and sleepy, touched her lips. This time, no one would dare interrupt her. This time, she would build her own sanctuary, a fortress of pure, unadulterated laziness. The skiff docked with a soft bump. Even before the ramp lowered, Kethari could hear it: a cacophony of tinkling crystal, orchestral strings, and too many excited voices. Her brow furrowed. Had she miscalculated the calendar? Was it a Solstice festival already? She stepped onto the polished obsidian landing, dragging the Slumber-Weave chest behind her. The air carried sharp drafts of spiced wine and bitter night-lotus. A red-carpeted path, flanked by glowing crystalline lanterns, led into what appeared to be an enormous, open-air ballroom. Gilded arches soared overhead, strung with luminescent garlands. Hundreds of Oravari’s elite, clad in gossamer robes and shimmering jewel-threads, milled across the terrace. It was a welcome-back gala. For her. Without her knowledge or, more importantly, her consent. Kethari’s eye twitched. This was precisely the kind of absurd, overly complicated interruption she had dedicated her life to avoiding. She spotted a cluster of people near a fountain carved like a leaping sun-cat. A woman, her face obscured by a cascade of dark, artfully braided hair, was weeping softly into the shoulder of a broad-shouldered man. He held her close, stroking her hair with a tenderness that made Kethari blink. The man was Vandir, her ex-fiancé. And the weeping woman was… her. Or, rather, someone who looked uncannily like her, down to the exact shade of obsidian hair and the delicate curve of her jaw. Vandir’s voice, a low rumble, carried over the music. “My dearest Tesia, do not weep. This contract, though it pains me to formalize our parting, is merely a necessary step. My heart, my longing for *her*, it endures. This arrangement is simply to soothe the immediate pain.” He then tilted Tesia’s chin up, his gaze intense, and leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her lips. Tesia’s eyes fluttered shut, fresh tears tracing paths through the faint shimmer of pearl-dust on her cheeks. Kethari felt a yawn building, slow and monumental. The sheer audacity of it all. To stage a public display of affection with a literal stand-in at her own uninvited welcome-back gala, and then have the gall to imply it was *her* fault for his enduring devotion? It wasn't anger she felt, but a profound, bone-deep weariness. This was too much effort. She cleared her throat, a small sound that somehow cut through the hum of conversation like a dropped crystal. Vandir froze, his head snapping up. His pale grey eyes dilated, then narrowed in disbelief. Tesia pulled free from his embrace, her cheeks draining of color. “Kethari?” Vandir breathed, the name a strangled whisper. “You’re… back.” Kethari leaned against her chest, arms crossed. She gave him a slow, indulgent once-over, then Tesia. “Indeed. Though I must say, Vandir, you’ve hardly wasted time. And here I thought you’d be mourning my exile with a bit more… decorum.” She yawned again, stretching her jaw. Vandir quickly regained his composure, a practiced mask of wounded nobility settling on his features. “Kethari, my dear. What an unexpected surprise! This is… Tesia. A valued artisan, assisting with the architectural revisions of the Vellum-Spire.” He gestured vaguely, his arm circling Tesia’s shoulder possessively. “We were merely… discussing professional matters. A private moment, regrettable that you should stumble upon it.” His eyes flickered to the crowd, who had begun to murmur, sensing drama. “Professional matters, you say?” Kethari drawled, her voice soft but carrying an edge of ice. “Or perhaps a contract to soothe your ‘tender grief’?” She mimicked his earlier inflection perfectly. “Because, if I recall, Vandir, the last time we spoke, you assured me your heart was irrevocably mine.” She paused, letting the silence hang heavy. Vandir’s face flushed. Tesia looked utterly mortified, her gaze fixed on the polished floor. “It was a trying time, Kethari,” Vandir said, his voice rising in an attempt to project authority. “Your sudden departure, your banishment… it left a void. And my family’s architectural conglomerate, the Grand Dominion Spires, required stability. Tesia has proven a most… capable replacement. I understand this might be difficult for you, but life, as they say, moves on.” He gave her a condescending smile. Kethari straightened, a languid grace in her movements. Her gaze, which had been half-lidded, sharpened. “Difficult? My dear Vandir, nothing about this is difficult for me. In fact, it’s quite convenient.” She pushed off her chest, taking a step forward. “Because, as of this morning, thanks to Grandmaster Othmar’s rather generous bequest, I am now the sole owner of the Grand Dominion Spires. Your entire architectural conglomerate.” The murmuring stopped. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Vandir went slack-mouthed, his color blanched. Tesia stared without blinking. “And the reason for this acquisition?” Kethari continued, her voice light, almost conversational. “Your corner office, Vandir. It has excellent sun exposure. Perfect for afternoon naps. So, consider us officially broken, you officially unemployed, and your longing officially irrelevant. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I have an office to claim. And a nap to finally take.” She turned on her heel, leaving a stunned Vandir and a mortified Tesia in her wake. The onlookers scrambled aside, clearing a corridor through the terrace. Kethari strode through the Amber-Glass Estates, ignoring the whispers and shocked stares, her sole focus on finding the most comfortable spot in her newly acquired empire. She located the Grand Dominion Spires’ main building, an imposing edifice of spun obsidian and amber-glass, and, with a satisfied sigh, found Vandir’s former office. It was indeed spacious, with a panoramic view of the floating city. Perfect. She pushed open the heavy, ornate door, her eyes already scanning for a suitable napping nook. The room was grand, filled with dark wood furniture and intricate blueprints. But as she stepped inside, a faint rustle caught her attention. A small, trembling form was huddled under the massive, carved desk, clutching something that glowed with a soft, ethereal light. It was Tesia, clutching an ornate, luminously crest-stamped disk.

The World's Most Expensive Nap