Chapter 53:Training

Eric awoke with a gasp, his chest heaving as his breath came out in short, ragged bursts. His frantic gaze darted around the room, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. The familiar stone walls of the prison loomed around him, but it was the suffocating weight on his stomach that made his heart skip a beat.

His body froze as his wide, alarmed eyes locked onto Alaric's piercing black gaze. Perched atop him, unnervingly still. His expression betrayed nothing, but the intensity in his stare sent a chill through Eric, as though Alaric could see straight into his soul.

"You've been out for a while now," Alaric said, his voice sharp."Unresponsive, even though I've been sitting here the entire time."

Eric blinked, his breath hitching as Alaric leaned forward, his face mere inches away.

"What were you dreaming of?" Alaric asked softly, his tone lighter now, almost curious. But his sharp eyes remained vigilant, scrutinizing every flicker of emotion on Eric's face.

Eric's mind reeled, fragments of the dream clinging to him. Flashes of cruel, unspeakable things burned behind his eyes. He felt something inside him crumble. His breath shuddered. Before he could think, he reached up and wrapped his arms tightly around Alaric, pulling him into a crushing embrace.

Alaric stiffened, his entire body going rigid against Eric's. "What are you—?"

"I missed you so much," Eric whispered, his voice trembling, raw with vulnerability.

Alaric's confusion flickered briefly across his usually unreadable face. He didn't pull away but didn't reciprocate either, his body tense as though unsure of how to react.

For a moment, neither spoke. Eric's arms tightened around him, almost desperate, as if letting go might shatter him completely.

"I saw so many cruel things," Eric admitted, his voice barely audible.

Alaric swallowed hard, his cold composure wavering. His first instinct was to mock Eric, shove him away, and reassert his usual control. But something about Eric's trembling voice and the way his grip lingered made Alaric hesitate. He didn't move—didn't want to move.

"I'm not going anywhere," Alaric said finally, his voice steadier than before but softer, lacking its usual edge. "Whatever you saw, it wasn't real."

Eric pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Alaric's gaze. His blue eyes were glassy, his expression a mix of fear and relief. "It felt real," he murmured, his voice shaking.

Alaric frowned, studying him. Was this some lingering effect of the dream? He wanted to press for answers but hesitated, unsure if Eric was ready to relive it.

Before Alaric could speak, Eric leaned forward, pressing his forehead against his. His eyes closed as though trying to steady himself, to ground himself in the warmth between them.

"I'm sorry if this is too much," Eric whispered, his voice fragile. "But I needed this. I needed… you."

For a long moment, Alaric said nothing, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Slowly, hesitantly, he allowed his body to relax, letting himself linger in the warmth of Eric's embrace.

"This is… unexpected," Alaric murmured, almost to himself. But he didn't pull away.

---

The two stayed like that for a moment longer, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable.

"You're quiet," Eric said softly, his voice still trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to meet Alaric's eyes, a faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Did I render you speechless? That's a first."

Alaric scoffed, though the sharpness of his usual demeanor wasn't there. "Don't flatter yourself."

But as Eric's grip loosened and Alaric sat back slightly, he found himself studying the man beneath him, the tension in his posture still lingering.

"Whatever you dreamed," Alaric said finally, his tone softer than he intended, "you should know I'm not so easy to get rid of."

Eric let out a shaky laugh, his hands still lingering on Alaric's arms as if unwilling to let go completely. "I know," he said quietly. "You're too stubborn for that. And even if you did leave, I wouldn't be able to stop you.I'm Powerless."

Alaric frowned, his piercing gaze narrowing. "Powerless?" The word left a bitter taste in his mouth, as if he hated the very idea of it.

"You're an idiot," Alaric muttered, leaning closer, his now-gray eyes searching Eric's face. His voice carried an edge, but there was something almost protective in his intensity.

Eric chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You know, for someone so old, you're surprisingly bad at comforting people."

Alaric raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "I'm not here to coddle you."

"No," Eric agreed, his smile widening slightly. "You're not."

They stayed like that for hours, neither saying much. Alaric shifted occasionally, adjusting his weight but never moving far enough to break the fragile connection between them. His mind wandered as he watched Eric's face—the faint furrow in his brow, the dark shadows under his eyes, the way his lips would twitch faintly, as if still fighting off the remnants of the dream.

Eric never went back to sleep. His arms stayed loosely around Alaric, his gaze distant as if trapped in some memory he couldn't escape.

It wasn't until the faint click of a lock echoed through the room that the spell finally broke.

Eric immediately released Alaric, his movements quick and sharp, as though trying to pretend nothing had happened.

Alaric straightened, his expression hardening as he slipped back into his usual unreadable mask. He watched Eric stand and stretch, noting the tension in his muscles and the stiffness in his posture.

The door creaked open wider, and Eric's body visibly tensed. His breath caught in his throat as a figure stepped into the dim light, her silhouette framed by the two guards flanking her.

It was Isabella.

Eric's chest tightened as he took her in. The sight of her was like a knife twisting in his chest—familiar and yet unbearably foreign. Her mask gleamed in the faint light, its smooth surface hiding the face he once thought he knew.

She stood tall and unyielding, her eyes barely visible behind the ornate mask.

Eric couldn't speak. His mind raced, caught between the memory of her betrayal and the gnawing ache of emotions he thought he'd buried.

Alaric, still seated, tilted his head slightly as he studied her. His expression was cool, unreadable, but his eyes flicked to Eric for the briefest moment, as if gauging his reaction.

"Looks like our peace and quiet is over," Alaric muttered, his tone laced with dry amusement, though his eyes remained sharp, tracking Isabella's every move.

Eric's voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Isabella…"

Her name felt heavy on his tongue, loaded with the weight of every question he wanted to ask and every wound she'd left behind.

Isabella tilted her head, her voice cold and distant. "You look surprised to see me."

The guards at her side shifted slightly, their presence an unspoken warning. Eric's fists clenched at his sides, his entire body wound tight.

Alaric finally stood."Well," Alaric said, his voice low and biting. "This should be interesting."

Isabella's eyes narrowed behind her mask, her posture radiating barely restrained hatred. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, carrying more weight than words ever could.

"You two know each other?" Eric's voice finally cut through the tension, but there was an edge of suspicion in his tone, his eyes flicking between them.

Alaric smirked lazily, the kind of smirk designed to provoke. His crimson gaze lingered on Isabella before shifting to Eric. "No," he said smoothly, his tone teasing. "Isn't that right, Isabella?"

Her hands clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening, but she didn't take the bait. Instead, she turned her attention to Eric, her voice clipped and distant. "We need to talk at the end of the day."

Eric's jaw tightened, his fists curling by his sides. "You mean after you've decided to play executioner?" he snapped, bitterness biting at every word.

Her mask betrayed nothing, but Eric could feel the weight of her gaze, the sharpness of her unspoken response. He swore he felt something beneath the hatred—hurt, regret—but it vanished as quickly as it surfaced.

"You'll understand soon enough," she said simply, her voice void of emotion.

She turned back to Alaric, and the tension between them seemed to thrum like a taut string, ready to snap. Without realizing it, Eric stepped closer to Alaric, instinctively blocking Isabella's line of sight.

Alaric let out a low chuckle, the sound rich and sharp as a blade. "How touching," he murmured, tilting his head to glance up at Eric. "You're protecting me now? That's new."

"Shut up, Alaric," Eric growled, his voice low and strained, but the slight shake in his hands betrayed him.

Isabella's head tilted ever so slightly, watching the exchange in silence. There was something coldly calculating in her gaze, as though she were observing pawns on a chessboard. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel, her boots clicking sharply against the stone floor. The two guards flanking her moved in perfect unison as they followed her out of the room.

The door creaked shut behind them, the heavy sound echoing in the stillness they left behind.

"Well," Alaric said after a long pause, his voice light but tinged with mockery. "That was fun. I'd almost forgotten how charming she can be."

Eric rounded on him, his frustration bubbling over. "What the hell was that?"

Alaric's smirk deepened, his expression maddeningly amused. "A reunion of two star-crossed lovers? No?"

Eric couldn't meet his gaze. Shame—or maybe confusion—coiled tightly in his chest. He didn't know why, but the sight of Alaric and Isabella facing off had stirred something in him.

"She hates you," Eric said, his voice clipped.

Alaric shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back against the wall with casual ease. "Hate is such a strong word. Let's just say… we've had our disagreements."

Eric stared at him, the weight of everything that had just happened crashing over him. He could feel it in his chest, like a storm brewing just beneath his skin. "You're lying," he said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm.

Alaric's smirk didn't waver, but there was something in his gaze—an edge, a flicker of something unspoken. He tilted his head, studying Eric with a predator's patience.

"You should be more concerned about why she's here," Alaric said at last, his tone softer now, though it still carried that sharp undercurrent.

Eric looked away, his jaw tightening as Isabella's parting words echoed in his mind. You'll understand soon enough. The knot in his chest tightened, suffocating, but he pushed it down, burying it beneath layers of frustration and doubt.

Yet, as his thoughts churned, one thing lingered. The moment he'd stepped between Isabella and Alaric, that strange, unnameable relief—it was still there. It made no sense, gnawing at him like a splinter lodged deep in his skin.

Alaric's voice cut through his haze of thoughts. "Whatever's twisting you up inside," he said, his tone as smooth as ever, "don't let it ruin the mood. I'm far too entertained to see you sulk now."

Eric shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted at best.

The door creaked open once again, its sound slicing through the heavy silence like a sharp blade. Isabella strode in with a sense of finality, her mask still hiding her expression. In her gloved hands, she carried two large cuffs, the dark metal etched with faintly glowing runes that pulsed with restrained energy.

Alaric's eyes flicked to the cuffs, his smirk faltering just slightly. He pushed himself off the wall, still maintaining a relaxed posture, but there was an underlying tension in his movements now. "Is this your idea of a gift, Isabella?" he quipped, his tone mocking, though there was a wary gleam in his eyes. "How thoughtful."

But Isabella didn't acknowledge him. Her gaze was cold and unyielding as she snapped her fingers. The two guards behind her moved forward in perfect synchrony, bypassing Eric completely to head straight for Alaric.

"Wait—what the hell are you doing?" Eric snapped, stepping forward instinctively.

Before Alaric could react, one of the guards slammed into him with the force of a battering ram. Alaric, amused by the sudden display of strength, didn't resist much, eager to see how Eric would handle it.

"Get your hands off him!" Eric growled, his fists clenching, heart pounding with fury. The sight of Alaric being overwhelmed set something off inside him, but a flicker of doubt gnawed at him. He'd never seen the guards move like this—this was beyond the usual intimidation.

The guards were quick and efficient, overpowering Alaric by sheer brute force, slamming the cuffs onto his wrists. The runes flared to life, and Alaric hissed, his body convulsing slightly as the magic took hold. His strength drained away in an instant, and he sagged forward, visibly weakened.

"Enough!" Eric shouted, fury in his voice, but it was mixed with an edge of helplessness. He lunged forward, ready to tear the guards apart, but before he could take another step, Isabella snapped her fingers again.

Eric froze mid-motion, his muscles locking as if an invisible hand had seized control of him. His breath hitched, and his entire body strained against the unseen bonds, but it was useless. He couldn't move.

"You're so predictable, Eric," Isabella said coolly, her voice sharp as it sliced through the tension in the room.

Eric's chest heaved as he fought against the hold, but his body refused to obey. All his anger surged, but there was a gnawing edge of fear that had him clenching his jaw, struggling against the paralysis.

The spell held him until Alaric was taken from the room, and then, with a final snap of her fingers, Eric was released. He took a deep, ragged breath, his muscles burning with the strain.

Before he could even think about what had just happened, Isabella stepped forward.

"Your turn," she said, her voice as cold as the steel walls surrounding them.

Eric stood tall, despite the wave of anger still coursing through him. "What now?" he asked, his tone sharp.

"You're coming with me," Isabella replied simply, motioning for him to follow.

He hesitated, his mind reeling. "And what if I don't?" he challenged, trying to hide the tremor of unease creeping into his chest. His fists clenched tighter.

Her head tilted slightly, her gaze unflinching, her calmness now bordering on ominous. "You could try defying me, Eric," she said, her voice almost mocking. "But we both know how that'll end. Grayson isn't nearly as patient as I am."

The mention of Grayson sent a jolt of fear through Eric, and for a moment, his defiance faltered. Grayson's name carried weight—a weight that crushed Eric's pride. "Fine," he muttered, his voice low, anger still bubbling beneath the surface, but now overshadowed by a nervous tension. He stepped forward reluctantly.

Isabella led the way, her pace unhurried, while Eric followed, his mind a whirlwind of frustration and anxiety. After several minutes of silence, he spoke up again, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the knot in his stomach. "Are you going to torture me now?"

Isabella didn't stop walking, but he saw her shoulders stiffen just slightly, a reaction he didn't miss. "No," she said evenly, her tone almost too calm. "But by the end of this, you'll feel battered and broken all the same."

Her words had a weight to them, settling heavy in his gut. "Care to elaborate?"

She glanced over her shoulder, her mask hiding her expression, but Eric felt her cold gaze cutting through him. "Starting today, you're going to train," she said, her voice devoid of warmth. "Relentlessly. Every weakness, every flaw—exposed and crushed. You're going to learn how to fight, how to endure, how to survive. And if you fail—" She stopped abruptly, turning fully to face him. "Grayson will step in."

Eric's stomach turned at the mention of Grayson. His mind flashed with memories of Grayson's twisted methods, the fear that crawled down his spine when he thought of him. The sadistic pleasure Grayson took in breaking people. He swallowed hard. "Why?" he asked, his voice low. "Why now? What the hell do you want from me?"

Isabella took a step closer, her presence imposing despite her calm demeanor. "Because you're weak, Eric," she said bluntly. "You've always been weak. And weak men are useless to me."

Her words stung more than he expected. He scowled, his pride flaring, but there was a twinge of uncertainty in his gut. "I'm not weak," he snapped, though his voice faltered slightly.

"Prove it," she said simply, turning back to walk. Her voice was devoid of emotion, the challenge clear.

Eric clenched his fists, a mixture of anger and a gnawing fear at the pit of his stomach. He kept his pace, following her down the cold, industrial halls of the compound. The flickering lights cast long shadows on the walls, making the whole place feel like a trap closing in around him.

They stopped in front of a large metal door. Isabella placed her hand on a scanner, and the door hissed open. Beyond it lay a vast, dimly lit training facility. Weapons racks lined the walls, sparring mats scattered across the floor, and various obstacles that looked more like instruments of punishment than tools for training.

"This is where it begins," Isabella said, stepping inside. "Your training starts now."

Eric stepped in after her, his eyes scanning the room warily. His stomach churned at the sight of dried blood on the mats—the faint stains of past failures. The air smelled of sweat and metal, thick with the scent of desperation.

Grayson stepped forward from the shadows, his massive frame looming over both of them. His face twisted into a cruel smile, his knuckles cracking ominously as he flexed his hands.

"If you fail," Isabella continued, her voice cold and final, "he'll make sure you never forget it."

Eric's heart pounded, his body tense. Grayson's presence was overwhelming, his cruel gaze cutting into him. Eric clenched his fists, but beneath the anger, there was a flicker of fear—a dread he couldn't shake.

Grayson's smirk widened as he stepped closer, his voice low and menacing. "Let's see what you're made of, pretty boy."

Eric braced himself, his mind racing as he prepared for what was to come. Isabella's cold gaze lingered on him, a silent challenge that only made his blood run hotter, but a part of him couldn't stop the terror from creeping into his bones.

And so, it began.