Chains of velvet, words of steel

There was no warning this time.

The door exploded inward, wood splintering against the far wall.

Kael'thar jerked around just as three men stormed into the room—broad-shouldered, dressed in matching dark coats, hands gloved, expressions unreadable. Trained. Obedient. Dangerous.

Behind them came the stepmother.

 "There you are," she said, her voice a slow blade.

The girl leapt in front of him. "No! What are you doing?! Leave him alone!"

One of the men grabbed her by the arm and tossed her back like she weighed nothing.

Kael'thar didn't flinch.

He didn't move.

He stood tall in the body of a teenager, chin slightly lifted, meeting the woman's stare like a king staring down a servant.

She raised a hand.

The men rushed forward.

He struck the first instinctively—his form clumsy in this mortal shell, but his angle was perfect. The man stumbled. The second got a hit in, a hard jab to the ribs. Pain. Real. Sharp.

Then—he was seized.

Two held his arms tight, dragging him across the room. His feet scraped the floor. He didn't scream. He didn't beg. He laughed. A low, cold sound.

"You should've killed me in my sleep," he said, voice calm and poison-laced. "Dragging me only delays your end."

"Zayn, stop it!" the girl cried.

But he was already being pulled out the door.

The sun hit his face for the first time that day. And before he could speak again, they shoved him into a black carriage.Out of place in this wasteland.

They drove.

And the farther they went, the clearer the lie became.

No crumbling ruins. No dirt roads.

The surroundings changed—first to cobblestone, then to clean pavement, then to an elegant district of the city with tall iron gates and lined trees. Fountains. High-tech surveillance towers. Statues of men in suits and beasts with wings.

He leaned forward as the car turned up a long, winding drive.

And then he saw it.

The mansion.

It wasn't just large—it was a fortress dipped in elegance. Towering white walls, massive black doors with golden insignias, marble columns stretching into the sky. Chandeliers visible outside. Armed guards. Uniformed servants tending to fountains and sweeping leaves that hadn't even fallen yet.

His eyes narrowed. "This… is mine."

The woman beside him chuckled. "No. This is mine. Remember your place in it you mutt."

The carriage stopped.

The door opened.

The guards yanked him out again. As he stumbled onto the smooth stone steps, Kael'thar paused and looked up at the towering front door.

"Interesting," he murmured. 

The woman leaned down beside him, her voice a whisper at his ear.

" Get to work,Zayn."

The grand double doors slammed shut behind him.

Kael'thar stood in the marble foyer, silent, barefoot, surrounded by opulence. Chandeliers overhead glowed like captive stars, portraits of unsmiling men and women glared down at him from gold-trimmed frames, and the floor beneath him was so polished, he could see the reflection of his new, lean frame.

This was a palace masquerading as a home.

The woman turned, her heels clicking as she tossed a clipboard at his chest.

"Read," she said, her tone businesslike, cold.

Kael'thar didn't move to catch it—it hit his chest and slid to the floor. He stared at her.

She tilted her head. "Oh? Pride? That still alive in you?"

He bent down slowly, not for obedience—but for calculation. He read the page.

It wasn't chores.

It was labor.

—Scrub all the toilets in the east and west wing.

—Sweep and polish all four staircases.

—Clean the kennels behind the house.

—Refill the firewood rack—carry from the bottom courtyard.

—Wash the carriages in the lower garage. All twelve.

Twelve.

Twelve.

Each task was designed to break a body. Not just to clean—but to humiliate. To wear down any sense of identity.

He raised his eyes slowly. "For a house of this size, you're remarkably understaffed. Or is slavery your only inheritance?" 

She looked at him surprisingly.

One of the guards stepped forward, fist clenched—but the woman raised a finger.

She smiled. "Zayn, Zayn, Zayn.i"

She stepped closer, face inches from his. Her voice dropped.

"Try to run… and they'll find your body in the river."

She smiled wider. "Speak a word of this to anyone, and I'll make you suffer—slowly. Painfully. Until even the worms are afraid to touch what's left of you."

Kael'thar didn't blink.

"Lovely threat," he replied coldly. "I've heard worse—from demons with bigger teeth."

A slapped struck his face,"Then get to work, boy. If I find one speck of dirt tomorrow, you'll be scrubbing it with your tongue."

She turned and walked away without another glance.

The guards followed.

Kael'thar stood alone in the marble palace.

He looked at the clipboard again, then tossed it onto a polished table with contempt.

"Let her play queen," he murmured.

He turned toward the east wing stairs. Not to obey.

But to begin watching.

Learning.

Because no cage, no threat, no poison disguised as silk would stop the mind of a god.

Kael'thar stood hunched over the sink, his fingers submerged in the warm water, scrubbing the grime off a plate. His thoughts wandered—his mind constantly calculating, observing, searching for weaknesses in the fortress that was this mansion.

 He was no longer the mighty overlord, but he hadn't forgotten how to manipulate people. He just needed time. Time and patience.

Then two twins walked in slowly In the room.

Two identical faces, both young a boy and a girl, probably no older than fifteen—blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and smirking mouths.

They walked into the kitchen like they owned it, making no effort to hide the sneer plastered across their faces as they looked at him.

"Well, well, look who's playing house slave," one of them—Lyle

Leaning against the counter with a mockingly pitying expression.

Kael'thar didn't respond. He kept his head low, finishing his task. This was beneath him, 

The other twin, Syla, giggled and sauntered up to him. "What's wrong, Zayn? No one can protect you now?"

He didn't even look up. His hands worked mechanically, his jaw tight with restraint.

That's when the first spit hit the plate.

The spit landed on the edge of the dish with a wet splat, leaving a slimy streak on the porcelain.

Kael'thar's jaw clenched. His fingers twitched as if he was about to retaliate.

Then the second spit followed.

The twins laughed, high-pitched, cruel. One of them—Lyle—shoved the plate toward him, knocking it out of his hands, and it shattered onto the floor.

"Oops," Syla smirked, "looks like we broke your little toy."

Kael'thar stood still. A deep, dangerous calm settling in his chest. He wouldn't dignify this with anger.

But the twins weren't done. They continued to mock him, tossing more plates at his feet, breaking each one with careless laughter. They shoved him to the side, their hands on his chest, pushing him into the counter as he stumbled, trying to keep his balance.

Just when Kael'thar thought it couldn't get worse, the door flung open with a burst of noise.

"What in the gods' name is going on in here?"

It was a fat maid, Mrs. Violet, a hulking woman with a broad, angry face. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Kael'thar on the floor, the broken dishes scattered around him like discarded toys.

For a moment, Kael'thar smiled there a flicker of pity, some shred of mercy from this woman. She would step in, stop the abuse, and the twins would face consequences. Yell at them, or at least ask questions

 Mrs. Violet's face twisted into something vile. Her lips curled into a sneer

"Well, well, Zayn, you're a pathetic mess," she spat, crossing her arms. "Can't even do something as simple as washing dishes without making a disaster.

The twins smirked and leaned against the wall, looking smug. Mrs. Violet's eyes flicked to the broken plates, then back to Kael'thar.

No mercy.

She raised her voice, her tone dark and full of malice. "You're no better than the filth you're cleaning. And if you can't manage the simplest chores, you're of no use to anyone."

Kael'thar open

ed his mouth, prepared to say something cutting, but the words died on his tongue when Mrs. Violet's hand moved.

She struck him across the face.

The slap was so hard it sent his head jerking to the side. The sting flared, but the impact… did not make him flinch.