Lord Silas lounges in his grand throne room, a dimly lit chamber beneath the surface of the earth. The air is thick with the scent of incense, mingling with the faint stench of decay. The room is a twisted reflection of its master—dark, opulent, and suffused with an air of malignancy. Two young Junsui women kneel at his feet, their heads bowed low, their faces obscured by long strands of unkempt hair. They wear nothing but tattered gowns, their feet chained to the floor, the iron links clinking softly as they shift restlessly.
"Silas-sama, please use us as you will. Please let us serve you in the best way we can. Silas-sama!" they plead, their voices quivering with desperation, each word laced with a pitiful eagerness to please. They have been so thoroughly broken, their sense of self-worth so completely eroded, that they crave nothing more than the cruel touch of their master.
Silas grins, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as he listens to their desperate pleas. He relishes in their brokenness, in the knowledge that he has reduced them to this state of utter depravity. "Silence, you Stellots!" he commands, his voice a low, menacing growl. "You must wait your turn. If you are so desperate, then relieve each other. I have other matters to attend to."
He rises from his throne, pulling his feet away from them with a sneer of contempt. The women, denied the attention they crave, turn to each other, their chains clattering as they begin to obey his command. Silas watches them for a moment, his grin widening as they debase themselves further, then turns away, satisfied that they are as worthless as he has always known them to be.
As he exits the throne room, he is joined by Lazarus, his most trusted advisor and personal guard. Lazarus is a tall, imposing figure, his face obscured by a hooded cloak, only his sharp, predatory eyes visible in the shadow. He carries an air of quiet menace, a deadly calm that contrasts sharply with Silas's volatile nature.
"My Lord," Lazarus begins, his voice as cold and smooth as polished stone. "I've received a new report from our informant in the city. It appears Helios is still insistent on abstaining from human flesh and only drinks donated blood. It also seems Ouran had a minor—"
"I don't give a shit about Ouran's activities," Silas interrupts, his voice dripping with irritation. "As long as they aren't interfering with my plans, I couldn't care less what that creature does. But Helios… Helios needs to start consuming human flesh if he's ever going to reach my level. It seems it's time to play my next card in our little game."
Silas approaches a large, ornate door guarded by two towering minotaur servants. The minotaur are massive, their bodies rippling with muscle, their bull-like heads adorned with gleaming, curved horns. At Silas's command, they step aside, bowing low as he passes.
"All of you, be gone," Silas orders, his tone brooking no argument.
"Yes, my Lord, at once," Lazarus replies, quickly stepping back, followed by the minotaur guards who retreat into the shadows, leaving Silas alone as he pushes open the door and steps into the room beyond.
The room is a stark contrast to the grim opulence of the throne room. It is a large, but dimly lit bedroom, the walls draped in rich, dark fabrics that absorb the light, creating an atmosphere of suffocating intimacy. In the center of the room stands a massive bed, its posts carved with intricate designs that seem to writhe and twist in the flickering candlelight. Upon the bed lies a woman with long turquoise hair cascading down her back, dressed in a simple nightgown. She lies face down, but as Silas enters, she turns away from him, refusing to meet his gaze.
"My, aren't we in a mood today," Silas murmurs, his voice a mockery of tenderness as he steps closer. "And I bring such good news too. You'll soon see your beloved." His words are sweet, but they carry the bitter edge of a threat.
At the mention of Noah, the woman's resolve falters, and she turns toward him, her eyes wide with hope and fear. Silas's smile fades into a smirk, his amusement barely concealed. "Goodness, please don't make it so obvious," he chides, his voice dripping with condescension.
"Noah? You'll let me see him?" Her voice is trembling with a mix of anticipation and dread. As she shifts, the strap of her nightgown slips down her shoulder, a movement that does not escape Silas's notice. His eyes darken with desire as he reaches out, fingers grazing her skin as he fixes the strap back in place.
"Mm yes, I suppose I will," he purrs, his voice taking on a more sinister tone. "But you know you've got to do something for me first, right?" His smirk grows, his intentions clear as he watches her face contort with disgust.
"Do as you wish; I can't stop you," she responds, her voice hollow, her spirit beaten but not yet broken. She refuses to look at him, her gaze fixed on a distant point, her mind far from this room.
Silas's lips curl into a twisted smile as he leans down, his breath hot against her skin as he kisses her shoulder, then her neck. But instead of continuing, he suddenly pulls back, adjusting her strap with an air of almost parental concern. "No worries, my dear. I will not have my way with you today. It's no fun if you don't resist," he says, his voice a venomous whisper. "No, there's something else I need."
"What would that be?" she asks, her tone now defiant, her eyes flashing with a sudden fire. "I won't hurt him. If that's what you want, you should just kill me now." Her words are a challenge, daring him to do his worst.
"Mm, now that's what I like to see," Silas growls, grabbing her chin with a grip that is firm, almost painful. He forces her to look at him, his eyes boring into hers with a cruel intensity. "Understand, I can have you anytime I wish!" He presses his lips to hers in a kiss that is more about dominance than desire, then releases her roughly.
He straightens, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he looks down at her. "But for now, all I need from you is to go back to work and take care of Noah. Simple as that." His tone is casual, almost dismissive, as if he's asking her to perform some mundane task.
As he turns to leave, he glances back at her, a look of dark amusement in his eyes as he adds, "See you soon, Rachel." The door closes behind him with a finality that echoes through the room, leaving Rachel alone in the oppressive silence.
Rachel watches him go, her body trembling with a mix of fear, anger, and helplessness. As soon as the door clicks shut, the tears she has been holding back begin to fall, silent and bitter. She clutches the sheets around her, trying to draw comfort from the small fabric against the overwhelming sense of dread that grips her heart.
She feels trapped, suffocated by Silas's cruel games, his promises, and his threats. The thought of seeing Noah again, of being near him, is the only thing that gives her strength. But the price she must pay to do so is a heavy one, and she knows Silas will extract it from her without mercy.
Still, she resolves to do whatever it takes to see Noah again, to warn him, to protect him, even if it means enduring Silas's torment a little longer. But as she wipes her tears, a single thought echoes in her mind: How much longer can she bear this? What will happen if she can't survive?
As the candlelight flickers and casts long shadows across the room, Rachel pulls herself together. She knows what she must do, but the weight of it crushes her spirit a little more with each passing moment. Silas may have her in chains, but her heart and will are still her own—for now.