Fractured Chains

Elyon's fingers grazed the cold metal of the chains, the touch feather-light but enough to send a shiver through his bones. His small hands moved cautiously along the links, the metal biting into his skin. He wasn't sure what he was doing or why—only that something inside him screamed to help, to free this creature trapped in the shadows.

As his fingers tightened around the chain, there was a sudden movement. The demon's hand, previously slack and motionless, shifted to the side. The gesture was subtle but forceful, a silent command for Elyon to step back.

Elyon's breath hitched, and he pulled his hands away. The room fell into silence once more, an oppressive quiet that pressed down on his chest. The walls seemed to close in, the dim light barely reaching into the corners. His eyes darted around, hoping to find something, anything, to anchor himself. But all he saw was stone, metal, and shadows.

He swallowed, his throat tight. "I... I thought I could help," he whispered, more to himself than to the demon. His voice seemed to dissolve into the stillness, barely making a ripple.

The silence stretched, an unyielding wall between them. Elyon bit his lip and reached out again, this time more determined. His fingers found the chains once more, his delicate hands trying to pry them apart. He pushed, pulled, and twisted, his strength no match for the iron, but he persisted. His lips pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "I've tried already."

Elyon froze. The voice was deep, rough around the edges, and carried a weight that made his chest tighten. He turned slowly, his wide eyes meeting nothing but the blindfold and the cascade of white hair.

The demon—Zephriel—remained still, his head still bowed, his body bound tight. His lips moved only slightly, the barest hint of motion beneath the strands of silver.

"It doesn't break. So stop your act, human. Too kind."

Elyon's hands fell to his sides. His lips trembled, and he shifted his weight, his knees protesting against the cold stone. "I... I wasn't trying to act. I just—" His words tangled in his throat, each one harder to force out than the last. "I only thought... maybe..."

Zephriel remained silent, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of his hair. His head did not lift, his body did not move, but his presence filled the room, a dark shadow swallowing the light.

Elyon's shoulders sagged. His embarrassment flared hot beneath his skin, a blush spreading across his cheeks. He turned away, sitting on the cold floor with his back to Zephriel. His knees drew up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around them, a protective barrier against the sharp edges of the room.

"I wasn't being kind," he muttered, more to the stone walls than to the demon. His voice was small, fragile, as if it might shatter under its own weight. "I just... I just thought..."

His words trailed off into nothing. He rested his chin on his knees, staring at the door, the way out of this dark, cold place. But leaving meant returning to Callan, to those eyes that watched him with intentions that made his skin crawl. Here, at least, he felt... safe. As strange as it seemed, the chained demon offered a security that the rest of the mansion lacked.

Minutes passed, the silence draping over them like a heavy blanket. The room had its own rhythm—Zephriel's measured breathing, the soft clink of chains whenever he moved, and Elyon's uneven breaths as he tried to steady himself.

Elyon's mind raced, a thousand thoughts all colliding. Who was this demon? What had he done to deserve such a fate? Why had Elyon been brought here, dressed as a bride, and handed to a creature bound and broken?

A soft sigh escaped his lips. "I'm not what you think."

Zephriel's head tilted slightly, a barely perceptible movement. "Aren't you?"

Elyon's fingers tightened on his arms. "You don't know me."

"I know enough." The demon's voice was steady, devoid of emotion. "You're here to play a role. Whether you're a willing participant or a pawn, it makes no difference to me."

Elyon's mouth opened, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. The truth was, he didn't know why he was here. His family had told him little, only that he was to marry, to obey, to play the part assigned to him. He had no choice, no voice in the matter. His whole life had been a series of silences, and now, in this room filled with shadows, it seemed nothing had changed.

He drew in a shaky breath, his voice small and trembling. "If I could... if I could break the chains, would you leave?"

A pause. The air seemed to hold its breath.

"No."

The answer surprised him. Elyon turned his head, peeking over his shoulder. "Why not?"

Zephriel's lips curved, not into a smile, but something darker. "There is no escape. Not for me. And not for you."

Elyon's heart sank. His hands clenched, nails digging into his skin. "There must be a way."

"Hope is a dangerous thing."

The words hung between them, sharp and jagged. Elyon closed his eyes, his mind swimming with uncertainty. His whole life had been a quiet surrender, but now, faced with this demon and his chains, something inside him stirred. A defiance, a spark that had lain dormant for too long.

His fingers reached out, brushing the chains once more. He didn't try to break them this time—he only held them, a fragile connection to the creature bound before him.

"If you won't believe, then I'll believe enough for both of us."

Silence.

But this time, it did not feel so empty.

And beneath the blindfold, behind the veil of white hair, Zephriel's lips moved, forming words too quiet to hear.

Yet, for the first time, the darkness felt a little less suffocating.