Chapter 2 - The Clash

The girl was brought to Sylus's private chamber, her small frame nearly swallowed by the plain white dress the maids had draped over her. Though clean, her pale skin bore a patchwork of bruises—angry purples and sickly yellows painting a picture of cruelty. Her jet-black hair, now free of grime, fell over her face like a silk veil, shielding her from the world.

She stood motionless in the center of the grand chamber, her trembling hands clutching the robe tightly. Sylus was already laying down on his bed. The faint flicker of torchlight reflected off his crimson eyes, sharp and unrelenting as they settled on her.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice low but laced with authority.

She didn't move. Her shoulders hunched further, her head bowing deeper.

Sylus's frown deepened. He moved closer, his boots echoing softly against the polished floor. "Do you understand me?" he asked, slower this time.

Her reaction was subtle—a twitch of her fingers, a slight intake of breath—but no answer came. After a moment, she shook her head hesitantly, more a reflex to stave off punishment than a genuine response.

His gaze narrowed, studying her. "You clearly hear me, but you don't understand a word I'm saying. Are you just slow-witted, or is it that you don't speak our language?" he muttered, his tone sharp with irritation.

The girl's lips parted as if to speak, but what emerged was not words. A faint, broken sound—somewhere between a whimper and a sob—escaped her throat before she clamped her mouth shut again, trembling harder.

Sylus's sharp eyes lingered on her for a moment, then dropped to the bruises scattered across her arms. He didn't need an explanation for their source. It was clear she had been treated as less than human, a possession, or more like a useless burden rather than a person.

"They've broken you," he murmured, half to himself. The disdain in his tone wasn't aimed at her, but at the world that had done this to her.

Still, his curiosity burned brighter than his pity. Sylus straightened, crimson eyes glinting as he raised his hand. Scarlet energy crackled to life, swirling around his fingers like living flame. The light in the room dimmed, as though the energy consumed it.

He regarded her coldly, yet with an edge of fascination. "They say no man can touch you. That their hands burn, repelled by some invisible force. Let's test that claim."

The girl flinched at the crackling energy, instinctively backing away as it reached toward her like a living phantom. Her trembling steps faltered until her back hit the cold, unyielding wall. With nowhere left to retreat, she stumbled down on the floor, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on the glowing red tendrils. Sylus ignored her fear, his focus unshaken as he extended his hand further, letting the energy close the distance. He was ready for the force—this unseen barrier that had thwarted all others—to retaliate. His power was unparalleled, but he braced himself, prepared for a challenge.

Yet the resistance never came.

The crimson energy wrapped around her hand like a silken thread. There was no recoil, no strike of power to match his. Instead, it moved her hand gently, lifting it with an almost eerie smoothness.

The girl gasped softly, her wide, tear-streaked eyes fixed on the glowing red tendrils that cradled her hand. For a moment, she seemed frozen in disbelief, her breath caught in her throat.

Sylus stared, his expression sharp and calculating, though surprise flickered in the depths of his crimson gaze. He lifted her hand higher, turning it slightly as though examining a delicate artifact. Still, there was no resistance—just the faint tremor of her fingers.

"The force doesn't reject my energy. Does it only repel physical touch?" he murmured, his tone low and contemplative. His energy dissipated, allowing her hand to fall back into her lap.

The girl quickly tucked her hand close to her chest, her trembling intensifying as though the experience had shaken her to her core.

Sylus straightened, his mind racing. This wasn't what he had expected. His power had never faltered, but he had anticipated some sort of struggle—an echo of the force that had kept every other man at bay. Yet there had been nothing. It was as though her power had recognized his, or perhaps submitted to it.

He turned sharply to his servants, who lingered nervously by the doorway. "Bring bread and water. Then leave us."

They bowed quickly, scurrying away to fulfill his orders.

Sylus returned his attention to the girl, who remained a trembling, silent figure on the floor. He crouched slightly, lowering himself to her level once more.

The maids returned quickly, setting a tray of food and water on the table near the girl. Their movements were brisk, but their nervous glances at Sylus betrayed their discomfort at being in the same room as him. Once the task was complete, they fled, leaving the two alone.

Sylus was still laying on his bed, now on his side, facing Her. His crimson eyes fixed on the girl, who remained motionless on the floor. She didn't even glance at the food. Her hands clutched the robe tightly, her knuckles white with tension.

"Eat," he commanded, his voice steady but sharp enough to cut through the heavy silence.

The girl flinched, her body trembling as she raised her head slightly. Her wide, frightened eyes darted to the tray, then back to the floor, as if afraid to look directly at him for too long.

Sylus's brows furrowed. "I said eat," he repeated, slower, more deliberate.

She didn't move. Her breathing grew shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly. The mere suggestion seemed to terrify her.

It dawned on him then—she didn't understand. Not just his words, but the very idea of the food being for her. How long had she been treated as something less than human? Beaten, caged, and forgotten. Her mind likely couldn't comprehend kindness, even in such a simple form.

With an exasperated sigh, Sylus got off from his bed and moved closer, crouching down to meet her level. The girl stiffened, shrinking back instinctively. He didn't bother hiding his irritation but reined in his temper.

"Foolish," he muttered, reaching out toward her.

His intention had been to lift her chin, to force her to face him. But as his hand moved, his fingers brushed the strands of her jet-black hair.

He froze.

So did she.

Her eyes snapped up to his, wide and filled with shock. Her breathing hitched audibly, and for the first time, she looked directly at him, trembling but utterly still. He then grasp those strands, feeling it under his touch. The texture of her hair was startling—silky, impossibly smooth, as though it had never known the filth and neglect that had tainted the rest of her life.

Sylus withdrew his hand slowly, letting those strands slipped from his fingers like water, his crimson gaze narrowing in contemplation. He had expected the invisible force to retaliate, to lash out at him as it had done to every other man. Yet there was nothing. No resistance, no barrier, no searing pain. He could touch her, as naturally as one might touch air.

She seemed just as stunned, her body trembling harder now, though whether from fear or bewilderment, he couldn't tell.

"I see," he murmured, almost to himself. His tone held no softness, but his mind churned. Whatever power had kept others at bay did not apply to him. It didn't recognize him as a threat—or perhaps it recognized him as something greater.

Straightening slightly, he picked up a piece of bread from the tray and tore off a small chunk.

"If you're too frightened to feed yourself, I'll do it," he said, his voice cold but devoid of malice. He held the bread in front of her mouth, his crimson eyes boring into hers. "Eat."

The girl stared at the offering, her gaze flicking nervously between the bread and his hand. She didn't move at first, as though expecting punishment for daring to accept it. Her lips trembled, her breath shallow and uneven.

Impatience flared in Sylus. "I won't repeat myself," he said sharply, his tone biting enough to jolt her into action.

Hesitantly, she opened her mouth. Sylus pushed the bread past her lips, his touch lingering for the briefest moment before he pulled away. She chewed slowly, shakily, her body tense as though bracing for a blow that never came.

"There," he said, his voice softer now, yet still cold. He placed the tray in front of her, within her reach. "You can eat on your own now."

The girl hesitated, her wide eyes filled with uncertainty, but the small act of feeding seemed to have loosened something within her. Her trembling hands reached tentatively for the bread, her movements cautious and unsure.

Sylus stood and watched, his expression unreadable. The sight of her taking the bread and bringing it to her lips with such trepidation stirred something in him—a flicker of emotion he couldn't quite name.