Sulfurware Side Story #1: The Velvet Hour in Mako

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Sulfurware Side Story #1: The Velvet Hour in Mako

Sulfurware Volume 1: https://www.nuubco.com/product/sulfurware-volume-1/

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Transcript

Sulfurware Side Story #1: The Velvet Hour in Mako

It was late—but in Mako, late was a concept observed only by clocks, and time here was irrelevant.
The realm shimmered as always, saturated in deep metallics and pulses of ambient light. Hover-lanterns bobbed lazily overhead, trailing streams of golden mist. The air was warm and perfumed with something ancient and expensive—scents designed to blur memory and sharpen charm.
Sama lounged beneath a towering glass canopy on a couch shaped like a reclining serpent. The furniture adjusted to his posture, of course.
In one hand, he held a cut crystal goblet, half-full with a plum-colored wine that moved slower than gravity allowed. Aether-aged, distilled in the vineyards of Mako’s terraces. “A storm in a bottle,” he’d once called it, and the description had stuck.
Across from him, sprawled on curved seating that arched like petals in bloom, sat his guests—members of his realm, or at least those important enough to gain his company during the Velvet Hour. That sacred period in Mako, when the music dimmed and conversation mattered more than spectacle.
“Tell me again,” Sama said lazily, swirling the wine, “how you convinced the human to give up a monopoly without bloodshed.”
“Bribery,” replied Aza, a diplomat with transparent skin and too much jewelry. “Which is just war with fewer steps.”
Sama chuckled, deep and slow. “Poetic. In a bureaucratic kind of way.”
To his right, Zenu, leaned in with a sly grin. Her eyes reflected other people’s depravity, and she never answered a question directly. “You’re not interested in their methods, Sama. You want to know if they fear you.”
“Everyone fears something,” he replied. “I’m just giving them better options.”
Laughter rippled through the group, but it was subtle, civilized—no one dared raise their voice too much in his presence. Not because Sama demanded it, but because his realm carried a certain gravity. You wanted to be composed around him, even when half-drunk on eternal wine.
A servant drone glided over, refilling glasses without eye contact. Sama nodded in appreciation and gestured it away. He preferred servants that didn’t try to talk back.
Outside, the skyline of Mako shined like stars, the towers lit not by electricity but by intention—every light flickering because someone wanted it to. Here, reality was a canvas, and Sama was its curator.
As he took another sip.
“Do you ever tire of this?”
Sama raised an eyebrow, amused. “Tire of wine, conversation, and the loyalty of the clever?” He paused, then smiled. “Never. Though I sometimes tire of those who pretend they don’t enjoy it.”
Aza raised his glass in surrender.
The Velvet Hour lingered. They spoke of politics, old secrets, strange anomalies in the realm of Mako. Plans were floated. Deals half-made. Truths hinted at and left unfinished.
And all the while, Sama drank, listened, and watched his realm glow.
This wasn’t a party.
This was power, dressed in silk and poured into glasses.