In the dungeons, a man with a godly body hung suspended from the stone walls, his arms and legs chained tightly, each limb stretched painfully wide. His body, fresh and stunning, rippled with muscle — his abs gleaming in the flickering torchlight, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. His long black hair hung down in front of his face, obscuring it, but his posture was rigid and unyielding, like a predator waiting to strike.
CRACK
The sound of the whip slicing through the air echoed off the stone walls, a sharp and brutal crack as the leather lashed across his bare back. His head snapped back with the force of the blow, but his face remained an eerie mask of calm. Not a wince, not a twitch — nothing. His blue eyes burned with a quiet fury, glowering ahead but not at the men who inflicted the pain upon him. Instead, they seemed to look past them, into something far deeper, darker.
The silence that followed was thick with tension, the only sound the dripping of water from the damp stone walls.
From the corner of his eyes, the chained man watched the trembling guards as they prepared the silver and silverbane. His blue eyes narrowed, the pain from the previous blows making every fiber of his being burn, but he refused to show weakness. The silverbane was applied to the whip with practiced hands, and the guards circled him like vultures, ready to continue their torment.
As the guard approached, he stiffened, his body rigid, every muscle tensed in anticipation. His jaw clenched tight, his teeth grinding together as the pain surged through him.
CRACK
The sound of the whip slicing through the air echoed off the stone walls. His head snapped back, his breath caught, but his face remained impassive—no growl, no scream. He gripped the silver chains harder, the burning sensation from them digging deeper into his flesh, but his eyes stayed focused ahead, never wavering.
One of the guards let out a cruel laugh. "You see? I told you he'd break."
The group of guards chuckled darkly, their voices bouncing off the dungeon walls as they readied themselves for another strike. They reapplied more salve to their whips, savoring the anticipation of breaking the proud beast before them.
But before they could deliver another blow, the heavy wooden door to the dungeon creaked open, and King Theron stepped in.
"Enough!" His voice sliced through the air with authority, making the guards freeze mid-motion. Theron raised his hand as if warding off the very stench of the room. His face contorted in disgust at the foul scent that permeated the dungeon, the smell of sweat, blood, and iron overwhelming.
"Bring me a chair," Theron demanded, his voice smooth but edged with impatience. He strode across the stone floor, ignoring the scurrying guards, his eyes locked on the beast chained to the wall. He wore an arrogant expression, as if savoring the moment.
When he reached the man's side , Theron took in the sight before him with feigned admiration. The lycan, his blue eyes blazing with defiance, remained silent but stared right back, unyielding.
"The paintings did you no justice, Alpha," Theron said, a twisted smile curving his lips. "You truly are a sight to behold."
The lycan's handsome features, sharp jawline, and piercing gaze were not lost on Theron. The creature was stunning—unnervingly beautiful in his own right. There was a wildness to him, something dangerous, something that Theron both admired and hated. Many would fall in love with him at first glance and never fall out - including the Queen of Lunareth .
"How are you feeling?" Theron asked with mock concern, settling into the chair with one leg crossed over his knee in a display of arrogant comfort. His eyes studied the lycan closely, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "After almost unaliving your goddess? Your love. Your sweetheart. Your world. Your mate?"
The last statement lingered in the air, more like a taunt than a question. Theron knew he wasn't going to get a response. The lycan, an Alpha, was too prideful to show weakness or emotion. Theron might as well have been talking to a brick wall, but he was enjoying this moment far too much.
"She almost died, you know," Theron continued, staring lazily at his hands. He didn't need to look up to know the lycan was still glaring at him, those blue eyes burning with fury. "But don't worry, she'll be fine. You know her, strong woman."
Theron rose from his seat, pacing slowly in front of the lycan. His voice turned mocking, almost sing-song as he spoke. "She needs to watch you fight, after all. No, wait, I mean, she needs to be there during the fights. I want to witness something."
The King paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the Alpha, chained and defiant. Even in this position, Theron could feel the danger that radiated off him. But no matter how chained the lycan was , Theron still shouldn't lower his guard .
"I need to see if she'll recognize you, and if you'll recognize her," Theron continued, a dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "But you know it won't be that easy. Of course, nothing is ever simple with us humans, right? You two will have your memories wiped clean. That little incident you had earlier, almost killing her… I'm not sure if you were aware or not, but it doesn't matter. You'll forget it. And her, too. You both will be strangers to each other. I'll see how you 'mates' react when you meet again."
Theron took a few steps toward the door, his boots echoing through the dungeon as he turned to leave. But he paused, his gaze flicking back to the Alpha, whose fury was palpable.
"Oh, right," Theron said, almost as if he had just remembered something. "You two aren't mates, though. You are strangers. Always have been. Remember that, Darius ?" The name slipped from his lips with a smirk, quoting the lycan's words for the second time. "This will be so sad, slow, and... tragic again."
Theron paused for just a moment longer, savoring the moment of cruelty before turning on his heel. "Good luck, Darius. I hope you kill all those knights and leave a bad impression on her. Remember now, she's only human, and humans are fragile." His voice dropped into an almost mocking tone as he finished his sentence.
After quoting the lycan's third words, Theron laughed, the sound low and maniacal, echoing off the cold stone walls of the dungeon. His laughter was a chilling sound, full of malice, and it grated against the lycan's nerves.
As Theron stepped out of the dungeon, the doors slamming shut behind him, the raw growl from the lycan reverberated through the hall. It was a deep, guttural sound, full of pain and rage. The growl vibrated the air, sending a cold shiver down anyone's spine who dared to hear it. It was a sound that carried the weight of betrayal, the anguish of a soul torn apart, and the promise of vengeance that would be exacted in due time.
It was bone-chilling—a sound that pierced through the walls, lingering in the air long after Theron had left. The guards surrounding Lysander flinched, knowing full well that the lycan, though restrained for now, was a force of nature that would soon break free.