As Alistair settled in to sleep for the night, a strange sight caught his attention. He noticed his satchel, which was sitting on the ground next to him, beginning to emit a faint, otherworldly glow.
Alistair paused, rubbing his eyes with disbelief as he stood up. The faint glow emanating from his satchel caught his gaze, a perplexing sight in the otherwise dark surroundings.
Alistair cautiously approached his bag, curiosity piqued by the mysterious glow. He knelt down and picked up the bag, tilting it slightly to reveal the source of the illumination: a glowing book resting inside.
With trepidation, Alistair cautiously opened the book and was transported into a dark and ominous world within its pages. Horrifying images of people being tortured unfurled before him, their cries of agony and despair filling his ears. The graphic scene depicted the suffering of countless victims, their torment depicted in excruciating detail.
Alistair's eyes widened in shock at the scene that unfurled before him. The page now depicted a grand-scale war, the battlefield a chaotic symphony of violence and destruction. Warriors clashed in a desperate struggle for dominance, their movements filled with intensity and brutality.
Alistair's body trembled as he sank to the ground, his knees buckling beneath the weight of the horrific scenes unfolding before him. The darkness enveloped him, closing in with an oppressive force that left him struggling for air. The atmosphere around him grew thick and stifling, the air heavy with fear and despair.
Startled, Alistair's heart skipped a beat as a voice whispered softly behind him, a husky tone that sent chills down his spine. "Wake up, Alistair..." The words echoed eerily in his ears, the voice demanding his attention. He cautiously turned, his gaze falling on the figure lurking behind him.
Alistair's breath caught in his throat as he turned to see the figure's face - his mother, Isidora. A mixture of surprise and disbelief washed over him as he recognized her familiar features. "Mother..." he managed to utter, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness. Alistair's heart quickened, his mind racing to make sense of this unexpected encounter.
Alistair observed in astonishment as his mother's once warm and comforting smile shifted into a deep frown. The transformation was subtle but palpable, casting a shadow over the moment.
Isidora's voice remained firm as she spoke, her gaze fixing on Alistair. "Read the book I made, my dear... The one you brought with you." Her words hung heavily in the air, an unexpected command that echoed with an urgent undertone.
As Isidora gently released her grip on Alistair's hand and walked away, he stood baffled, his confusion palpable in his expression. He remained rooted to the spot, watching his mother's retreating figure with a mixture of confusion and uncertainty.
Alistair's voice trembled as he called out, "M-Mother!" His cry echoed through the chamber, his voice tinged with a mix of desperation and bewilderment. However, it seemed that his mother had disappeared into the shadows, unresponsive to his plea.
Alistair bolted upright in his bed, drenched in perspiration and panting heavily. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, the echo of the nightmare still clinging to his fractured thoughts. In the dim light, his trembling hand reached out as if trying to grasp something just beyond his reach. "Mother..." he murmured, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper.
Thorin's voice, filled with concern, broke through the remnants of the nightmare. He leaned closer, gently grasping Alistair's trembling hand and asking, "Alistair, you're awake. Did you have a nightmare?" His words held a soothing tone, an attempt to offer comfort.
Alistair shook off the lingering remnants of the nightmare, his disoriented state slowly giving way to lucidity. He turned to Thorin, his voice tinged with confusion, "Where... where are we?" His gaze swept around the unfamiliar surroundings, desperately trying to make sense of his new environment.
Thorin responded calmly, his tone laced with information, "We're in a different kingdom now." The words hung in the air, a stark reminder that they were no longer in familiar territory.
Alistair's curiosity piqued, and he inquired with urgency, "Which kingdom?" He sat up straighter, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any distinctive landmarks or clues that could pinpoint their precise location.
Thorin replied, "The kingdom of Foreset." The name rang with a sense of familiarity, and Alistair's expression shifted with a mixture of understanding and apprehension. He nodded silently, silently acknowledging the information.
Alistair's concern deepened as his mind flicked to their fellow companions. "Where are uncle and Lucius?" he asked, his gaze shifting between Thorin and the empty space around them.
Thorin explained with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Yvain and Lucius are just inside their room; they're alone in there. Why don't we go wandering around? It's the perfect time to stretch our legs."
Alistair and Thorin, energized and eager to explore, embarked on a leisurely walk through the unfamiliar surroundings. The cool air brushed against their skin, bringing a sense of refreshment that lifted their spirits. They walked side by side, their footsteps creating soft echoes in the quiet night.
Alistair's ears perked up as he heard Yvain's echoing voice, tinged with distress. Concern etched across his features, he turned to Thorin, his voice tinged with worry, "Thorin... why is uncle screaming?"
Thorin's eyes widened at the realization, and he quickly covered Alistair's ears, preventing him from hearing the intimate sounds that echoed from the room. In an attempt to protect Alistair's innocence, Thorin dismissed it, speaking, "It's just the wind... perhaps they're engaging in something painful inside there. Let's go, we shouldn't pay attention."
Alistair looked concerned, his expression showing he wasn't convinced by Thorin's hasty explanation. Sensing his concern, Thorin gently took hold of Alistair's hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Come on, let's just walk away from here," Thorin urged gently, tugging gently on Alistair's hand to lead him away from the source of the mysterious noises.
As Alistair and Thorin ambled through the bustling streets, sampling the local treats, Alistair's concern for Yvain and Lucius lingered in his thoughts. Biting into a delicious strawberry cookie, he voiced his concerns aloud, his words tinged with worry. "I hope uncle Yvain and Lucius are fine... I wonder what they're doing..." Alistair mused between bites.
Thorin chuckled softly as they continued their stroll, his demeanor relaxed as he responded to Alistair's concern. "Don't worry, they're probably just playing hide and seek or something. Those two are fine," Thorin reassured Alistair, his tone light and dismissive.
As Alistair and Thorin returned, they found Lucius and Yvain already seated, engaged in a quiet meal. The room seemed unusually still, the previous excitement of their earlier adventures replaced by a palpable sense of tension. Thorin and Alistair approached the table, their footsteps the only sound in the otherwise silent room. They took their seats, and a moment of awkwardness settled over the group, each one seemingly lost in their thoughts.
In an effort to break the heavy silence, Thorin spoke up, his voice a bit strained. "What's for dinner today?" he asked, his gaze shifting between Lucius and Yvain. The question hung in the air, the tension palpable as the others exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond.
Alistair, ever observant, noticed something unusual on Yvain's neck - a small red mark. Curiosity getting the best of him, he asked, "Uncle... did you get bitten by a mosquito?" Yvain's hand quickly shot up to cover the incriminating mark, a flustered expression crossing his face.
Thorin, quick to catch on, noticed Yvain's nervous reaction. He swiftly intervened, guiding Alistair to an empty seat nearby. "Sit down, Alistair," he instructed, his voice a mix of calmness and concern.
Alistair finally addressed the lingering question, his voice tinged with worry. "I heard you screaming in your room. Is Lucius hurting you or something?" His gaze fixed on Yvain, seeking answers in his expression.
Lucius, catching Alistair's concern, hastily responded, "We're just exercising," his tone casual yet tense. The statement hung in the air, leaving Alistair somewhat puzzled, the explanation not entirely alleviating his worries.
Yvain, aware of Alistair's concern, quickly attempted to brush off the issue. "It's nothing," he said firmly, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness.
Yvain halted as Alistair tugged gently at his sleeve, his expression tinged with surprise at the unexpected request. "Uncle... Can we talk for a while?" Alistair's voice held a trace of curiosity mixed with a hint of concern.
Yvain's gaze softened as he nodded to Alistair. "Sure, what is it, Alistair?" he inquired, giving the boy his full attention.
Thorin and Lucius retreated to their respective rooms, leaving Yvain and Alistair outside. The night enveloped them, the full moon bathing the surroundings in a pale, silvery glow. Yvain and Alistair found themselves standing in the quiet, the stillness of the night only occasionally broken by the faint sounds of the town.
Yvain and Alistair settled onto the ground, the night air cool and inviting. Alistair's question hung in the air, his curiosity piqued as he addressed Yvain directly.
Alistair inquired curiously, "If you are indeed my mother's brother, how come I never saw you while growing up?"
Yvain sighed deeply, his eyes closing momentarily as a mix of emotions flickered across his face. "I knew it, I knew you'd ask that question..." he said, a tinge of resignation in his voice. He then continued, his expression pensive. "I don't still remember everything about my past, but I'm starting to recall a few things..."
Yvain, weariness seeping into his voice, suggested, "Let's just go to sleep." The night's quiet had deepened, and the conversation had exhausted them both.
Alistair and Yvain returned to the shelter of their temporary abode, their footsteps soft against the wooden floor. As the night deepened, they found respite from the cool evening air, the door closing behind them with a quiet creak.
Alistair's curiosity continued to bubble, and he voiced his thoughts aloud, "I'm so curious... How come I never saw you in Glacirien while I was growing up?" The question lingered in the air, a subtle echo of the unknown history that lay between them.
Yvain ignored Alistair's question, walking quietly into the room he shared with Lucius. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Alistair alone with his thoughts. Meanwhile, Alistair entered the room he shared with Thorin, the sound of the door closing behind him, enclosing him in the silence of the room.
Yvain sat on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling off the side of the mattress. His expression was contemplative, his mind occupied with thoughts and memories that danced just beyond his grasp.
Yvain sighed deeply, the weight of secrets weighing heavily on his shoulders. He responded in a low, sorrowful voice, "Alistair will hate me for the rest of his life if he knew." The admission lingered, a painful truth that Yvain carried with him like a heavy burden.
****Warning: Abuse, violence, sensitive, SA the reader has been warned.****
Young Yvain stood before a knight in the midst of the night. The knight's voice broke the silence with a blunt announcement, "We found one."
Yvain's voice held a trace of confusion as he replied, "W-what? What are you talking about?" His young face reflected a mix of confusion and unease, his mind racing to understand the situation at hand.
The knight's grip on Yvain's arm was firm as he forcibly dragged the young boy away. Yvain tried to resist, his small frame struggling against the grip of the much stronger knight, but ultimately his efforts were in vain.
The knight reached a road, where a carriage stood waiting. Several other guards emerged from the shadows, aiding the knight in forcing Yvain into the carriage. The young boy's small frame was no match for their combined strength, and he was quickly lifted into the interior of the darkened vehicle.
Inside the carriage, young Yvain began beating his small fists against the door, desperation evident in his actions and voice. "Let me out! Let me out!" His young voice held raw anguish and a deep plea for freedom, but the heavy thud of his small body against the door only echoed hollowly in the enclosed space.
Young Yvain's desperate cries and futile attempts to escape were interrupted by the guard's reassuring words. The guard's voice, though tinged with a hint of reassurance, held little comfort for the young boy. "Don't worry," the guard assured him. "The king will only test if you're his lost child. Don't worry." The words, meant to soothe, fell flat as Yvain's sobs continued to echo within the confines of the carriage.
The carriage rumbled to life, wheels grinding against the ground as it began to lurch forward. Young Yvain remained inside, his sobs echoing through the cramped space, the outside world passing by, obscured by the thick curtains that barred his escape.
Time has passed when they arrived at their destination, the carriage stopped as the knight's grip was rough as he forcefully removed young Yvain from the carriage. The boy's small body was dragged roughly, his feet dragging across the ground as he struggled to keep pace with the knight's hurried strides.
As the pair approached the grand entrance, the knight halted for a moment, his grip loosening slightly on the boy's arm. He glanced down at young Yvain, a hint of formality in his tone. "Welcome to Floxglade," he said, his voice betraying no trace of warmth or compassion.
Young Yvain wriggled and writhed, desperately trying to escape the knight's grip. His voice trembled with desperation as he pleaded, "Let me go! I don't want to be here!" Despite his small stature and the seemingly futile struggle, a fire of defiance burned in the boy's eyes, his determination to break free unyielding.
With a firm grip, the knight and the guards began forcefully dragging young Yvain inside the castle, their movements unyielding. The young boy's protests and resistance were quickly overpowered, and he was helplessly hauled into the imposing structure.
High upon his throne, the king sat with a smug expression on his face, his gaze fixed on the young boy who was forcibly dragged before him. The king wore the confidence of a ruler, his eyes sharp and observant as he observed the struggling figure before him.
The king's gaze lingered on young Yvain, his eyes roaming over the boy sprawled on the floor, his small form trembling with fear. The king's voice rumbled with a hint of interest as he assessed the boy's appearance. "Hmm... this boy looks pretty," the king said, his large belly wobbling slightly with the motion of his words, his thick mustache twitching slightly.
The king's voice took on a chilling tone as he spoke, his eyes narrowing on the young boy. "This will be my first time doing this to a boy so you'll be my first," the king said, a strange mixture of excitement and anticipation in his voice. The gravity of the king's words hung in the air, the implication of his statement sending a shiver down the spines of the surrounding guards.
Yvain, his voice trembling with fear and desperation, called out to the king. "The knight said I'm here for a test?!" His small frame trembled on the cold floor, his eyes darting nervously to the guards and back to the king, searching for any indication of salvation.
The king's gaze never wavered as he responded, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes, a test if you can satisfy me," he said, his voice dripping with a sinister combination of authority and intrigue.
Yvain's small voice trembled with nervous confusion as he queried, "W-what do you mean test if I can satisfy you?" His young mind struggled to comprehend the nature of the task set before him, the ominous implications of the king's words leaving him filled with dread.
The king's chuckle echoed through the room, a dark gleam in his eyes. "Satisfy me with your body of course," he said, his tone leaving little room for interpretation. Yvain paled as the words sunk in, his small body trembling with fear and confusion. He was terrified of what was being asked of him, and his mind raced to make sense of the king's perverse request. "I-I don't understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The king's gaze remained fixated on young Yvain, his eyes roaming over the boy's trembling frame. The tension in the room grew with every passing moment, the silence punctuated only by the sound of the king's ragged breathing. The king slowly descended from his throne, his heavy footsteps echoing through the chamber. As he approached the young boy, the king's voice took on a more commanding tone. "You'll understand soon enough," he said, his voice chilling and devoid of emotion as he closed the distance between them.
The king issued his command, his voice firm and authoritative. "Take him to my chamber, Give him a bath," he ordered, gesturing towards the guards. The guards immediately sprang into action, nodding obediently and roughly grabbing Yvain by the arms, yanking him to his feet.
Inside the bedroom, Yvain was hastily stripped of his clothes and bathed by a few of the king's servants. The young boy's body was roughly scrubbed with sponges and soaps, thoroughly cleaning him from head to toe. The process was fast and efficient, a routine that the servants had clearly become accustomed to. Despite his protests and tears, Yvain's struggles were in vain as the servants completed the task, preparing him for whatever awaited him in the king's chamber.
As they finally finished, the young boy, now clean and trembling with fear, was presented to the king. Yvain's wide eyes darted around him, his petite frame barely covered by a thin towel, his wet hair clinging to his face. The king's gaze, fixed on him, left him feeling vulnerable and exposed, his mind racing with thoughts of what was to come.
The king looked up from his throne in the center of the room, his gaze immediately drawn to Yvain's slender form. The young boy stood just inside the chamber, clad in a silk robe that the servants had hastily provided. Despite the attempt at modest covering, the gauzy fabric did little to conceal the boy's thin frame, the outline of his youthful body clearly visible beneath the robe.
The king rose majestically from his throne, his gaze never leaving Yvain's trembling form. "I am King Joven the third, ruler of these lands and soon to be your new father." The king's voice echoed through the room, his voice cold, yet held a hint of possessiveness as he took a steps towards him, his own robe loosely tied around his muscular waist.
Yvain's voice quivered slightly, defiance and defiance mixed within it as he looked up at the king, a glimmer of defiance in his young eyes. "I'm Yvain," he said, his voice firm despite his fear. "I don't want you to be my father. Is there a father who do this to their child?"
King Joven chuckled at the young boy's defiance, his voice taking on a sinister undertone. "Yes," he replied, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity as he looked down at the trembling figure before him.
Yvain's confusion and fear turned to surprise as he processed the king's words. "Who?" he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.
King Joven responded simply, "Me." The king's admission came with a callous nonchalance, his expression remaining indifferent as he took another step closer, closing the distance between them.
King Joven's strong hands gripped Yvain's slender frame, roughly shoving him onto the bed. The young boy's small form bounced slightly on the soft bedding, a cry of protest escaping his lips as he futilely tried to resist. But the differences in strength and power were too great, and the king quickly overpower him, his larger frame pinning Yvain to the bed. With a firm grip, King Joven began tugging at the delicate fabric of the boy's robe, intent on exposing him. Yvain struggle against the king's touch, his small body squirming and writhing in vain as his resistance only seemed to fuel the king's sadistic desire.
The king quickly subdued Yvain's resisting arms, pinning them firmly above his head. Then, with a sadistic smile, King Joven leaned down, his lips pressing against the boy's tender neck. Each kiss lingered longer, a sickeningly sweet mockery of affection, as the king's tongue traced a trail of wet kisses along Yvain's soft flesh. With each kiss, Yvain's body trembled in revulsion, his fear and helplessness becoming more palpable as the king's ministrations became more possessive.
Yvain couldn't hold back the cry of pain as the king's teeth bit down hard on his tender flesh. His small body convulsed instinctively, a mixture of pain and fear coursing through him. "It... Hurts!" he whimpered, his voice strained as he gasped for breath.
King Joven repositioned himself, shifting his weight on the bed so he was now between Yvain's trembling legs. The king's body was imposing, its heaviness pressing against the boy's slender frame, an unwelcome and uncomfortable weight. The power imbalance between them was glaringly obvious, and the king seemed to revel in his own dominance and authority.
Joven leaned in closer, his breath warm against Yvain's ear. With a smirk, he whispered, "You know, you have such a pretty face. It'd be a shame for it to be wasted on a servant." His hand moved to caress Yvain's cheek, a deceptively gentle gesture that was undercut by the rough callouses and strength behind it.
King Joven's hand shifted lower, sliding down Yvain's trembling body. He moved with an urgency and lack of care, his touch lacking any gentleness. The boy's whimpers grew louder, tears welling up in his eyes as he desperately tried to jerk away. "No... Please... Don't," Yvain pleaded, his words choked and broken. But in this powerlessness, his objections only seemed to fuel the king's sadistic desires. Ignoring the boy's pleas, king Joven forced himself roughly inside, causing Yvain to gasp and choke back a cry of pain.
Yvain felt utterly disgusted and violated, the king's every word and touch adding to the horror of the situation. "You're so tight my boy..." the king murmured, a twisted mix of revulsion and satisfaction in his voice. Each movement of Joven's body pressed against Yvain's, feeling to him like a violation, a painful and demeaning intrusion into his vulnerability. He felt helpless and violated, his body shaking with a combination of pain, fear, and a growing sense of hopelessness.
Yvain couldn't suppress the whimper of pain that escaped his lips, his small body shaking with the weight of agony. It was a pitiful, plaintive sound, a desperate plea for mercy that echoed in the king's ears. But rather than eliciting sympathy, Joven only seemed to revel in the boy's suffering, his grasp on the boy's hips tightening as he continued his assault.
Yvain felt a deep sense of disgust and self-pity as he lay there, forced to endure the king's assault. He hated himself for being helpless, for not being able to fight back or escape. He blamed himself for not being strong enough, for being caught in this horrific situation. But most of all, he felt a deep revulsion towards the king himself, his fatness and perverted desires a mockery of everything pure and innocent. Every moment of this violation felt like further proof of his own powerlessness, and he could only cling to the hope that it would end soon.
With each harsh thrust, Yvain felt a wave of revulsion wash over him, the pain and violation merging with a deep sense of disgust at what was happening to him. No part of this experience felt right or good for him, no trace of pleasure or satisfaction. It was all a torment, a horror that seemed to echo in every fiber of his being, a sickening nightmare that seemed to stretch out before him with no end in sight.
Joven forced himself inside one last time, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he unloaded deep within Yvain's trembling body. "That's a good boy..." Joven whispered, his voice dripping with a twisted sense of praise and satisfaction. Each word felt like a sick mockery, and as the king's seed filled him up, Yvain felt a new wave of revulsion wash over him. It was a violation, a final insult to add to the long list of horrors he had endured.
As the king stood up and dressed himself, he left Yvain trembling on the bed, tears welling up in his eyes. The king moved with a cold, clinical efficiency, cleaning himself as if he had just finished a trivial task. Then the room was illuminated by the sudden glow of a lamp-lit, and Yvain caught sight of something that made his heart sink even further. There, in the soft light, was a trickle of blood trailing down his inner thigh - irrefutable evidence of the innocence that had been stolen from him. The sight was a brutal reminder of the horror he had just endured, and he could only lie
Yvain's broken sobs echoed through the room, his small body racked with the force of his tears. He felt utterly helpless, his mind replaying the sickening events of the past hours in a never-ending loop of horror. The sheets beneath him felt soiled, a constant reminder of the violation he had suffered. He wanted nothing more than to scrub away the memories, to wash the shame and pain away, but his body was too overwhelmed to even move. So he lay there, crying and feeling utterly disgusted by everything that had happened to him.l
Yvain curled up on the bed, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this pain was far from over. This was only the beginning, a sick and twisted routine that would likely continue night after night. The thought chilled him to the bone, his small frame trembling with a mix of fear and despair. He was trapped in a nightmare with no escape in sight, his future now nothing but a dark, endless stretch of torment.
The guilt weighed heavily on Yvain's shoulders like a heavy chain, his feeble mind consumed by self-blame. He cursed himself for not being strong enough to protect himself, for being weak and helpless in the face of the king's assault. Each passing second only reinforced the belief that he was to blame, that he was complicit in his own pain. The king's cruel words echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of his own powerlessness.
Yvain's voice rang out in a low, fierce whisper, the venom in his words surprising even himself. "I'll kill him..." he murmured, his small frame trembling with rage. "I will f*cking kill him..." The intensity of his hatred burned within him, a fire that threatened to consume all thoughts of self-blame and self-pity. He was determined to seek revenge, to make the king pay for the horror he had inflicted.
TO BE CONTINUED