Request

As he pushed the door open, the creaking of the wooden frame was drowned out by the rush of anticipation coursing through him. Lyra, caught off guard by the unexpected visit, blinked up at him in surprise from where she sat by the hearth.

"My lord," she stammered, hastily pushing to her feet. "I wasn't expecting you."

Argon's response was a predatory grin, his gaze sweeping over her as he stepped into the room, the door closing ominously behind him.

"No matter," Argon responded dismissively, his eyes taking in her humble abode with a casual glance. "I just thought to check in on you. Are your needs being met? Is Eldrin faring well?"

Her lips curved into a shy smile at his inquiry, and she quickly nodded in affirmation. "Yes, my lord, you have been most generous. Your soldiers allow us to take ample food. Eldrin, he...he's been training with Brom."

Suddenly, a flicker of concern crossed her face, her hands nervously twisting the hem of her dress. She looked up at him, her gaze pleading. "My lord," she hesitated, her voice barely more than a whisper, "I know it's not my place, but please...I implore you to leave Eldrin out of the reserves. He is merely a child. I...I could not bear if anything were to befall him."

Argon studied her for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly. "Ah, so this is truly how you feel, is it?" He asked, his tone measured.

"Yes, my lord," she responded earnestly, her eyes never leaving his.

"Hm..." he paused, looking thoughtful. "Since I am so fond of you, Lyra, I'll accept your request." Her face lit up like the summer sky at dawn, her relief palpable. "But," he continued his voice firm, "I will speak to Eldrin. After all, it is his decision."

"Oh, thank you, my lord," she gushed, her eyes shimmering with gratitude. "You are so kind...Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" Her voice held a hint of promise, her gaze never wavering from his.

In the barely lit room, Argon stood rigid, the weight of countless ages etched into his silhouette. He grumbled, his voice rough yet oddly resonant in the quiet. "You know, now you mention it, I am feeling pent up. I'd like to take you now."

Across the expanse, Lyra paused her activity. "Of course, my lord," she replied, her tone dry.

"But," she continued, glancing momentarily at a simple clock on the wall. "Eldrin will be back soon."

Argon's gaze remained unwavering. "Never mind Eldrin," he retorted, his voice carrying a dangerous undertone. "He's a man now, he's seen worse."

The room's atmosphere grew denser, the silence swallowing the space as though time itself had stilled.

Without breaking the intense eye contact, Argon began to undress Lyra, his movements slow yet deliberate. Their breaths synchronized, echoing in the quiet room. The dim light in the room cast long shadows, enhancing the stark intimacy of their shared moment.

Lyra leaned into him, a shudder running through her as Argon's hands explored her form. She was bent over him, a soft moan escaping her lips, the sound swallowed by the cavernous room around them. It was a sound of submission, of anticipation, the echo of a desire held back for too long.

Despite the complexity and harshness of their situation, Lyra found herself drawn to Argon in a manner she hadn't anticipated after the amount of time and intimacy spent together. His attention, initially a dreaded imposition, had somehow morphed into something she craved, a peculiar mixture of fear and fascination. His cruel games and twisted humour had ignited a spark within her that she didn't fully understand. His dominance was as much repulsion as it was a twisted allure, making her a willing participant in their dark dance.

Adding to the intricate dynamics of their relationship was the presence of the young Saera. With her youthful beauty and captivating charm, Saera was a beacon that drew men like moths to a flame. Her presence had incited an unexpected reaction within Lyra - competitiveness. She found herself vying for Argon's attention, an urge she had initially brushed off as mere survival instinct but was slowly accepting as a complex blend of jealousy and desire.

His touch was insistent yet tender, stirring a primal response within her. Argon maintained his commanding presence, yet it was clear he was as much under Lyra's spell as she was under his. The energy between them was palpable as if the air itself was charged with the electricity of their unspoken connection.

Their silhouettes, intertwined in the twilight, cast an intricate dance of power and surrender. Every gasp, every moan was a note in their symphony of shared passion, echoing through the room and beyond, a testament to their raw, unabashed intimacy.

Their unspoken connection was tangible now, a potent force that held the room captive. It was a moment caught between the dying day and emerging night, a moment that was theirs and theirs alone, held in the infinite twilight.

The room was alive with the symphony of whispered gasps and soft moans when the rhythm was abruptly shattered. The door to the house burst open with a force that made the cold stone walls tremble, and in stormed Eldrin, his youthful face flushed and breathless.

"Mother! I'm back from training," He cried out, his voice ringing in the otherwise silent room. His arrival brought an immediate halt to Argon's movements. He and Lyra froze, their bodies still intertwined in a tableau of startled surprise and barely suppressed desire.

Lyra tore her eyes away from Argon's gaze, looking over at Eldrin. Her features shifted from shock to a hurried composure, a fragile mask of motherly calm struggling to hide her flushed cheeks and panting breath.

The intensity of the moment seemed to echo in the room; the tension was almost visible as their shared reality came crashing down. Eldrin's shout was a stark interruption to their shared intimacy, a glaring reminder of their responsibilities and roles outside this chamber. The twilight, once their shared refuge, was pierced by the harsh reality of the daylight world.

Eldrin's gaze fell upon the tangled forms of Argon and his mother. The sight was a cruel tableau, one that would forever be seared into his young mind. His mother, Lyra, lay beneath Argon's imposing bulk, her naked form stark against the rough fabric of the beddings.

But what cut through him like a dagger was not the mere sight of their intimacy but the expression on Lyra's face. The sight of his mother, usually the paragon of strength and grace, reduced to a plaything under Argon's domineering presence was horrifying enough. But what hurt him the most was the look of pleasure that danced in her eyes.

This was not the mother he remembered. The one who had once cradled him, who had whispered comforting tales of brave heroes and happier times. This woman lost in the throes of passion with a man who had brought nothing but dread into their lives was a stranger to him.

Eldrin felt a sour taste rise in his throat, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He wanted to scream, to protest, to tear away this gruesome spectacle that twisted his gut. But he stood there, frozen by shock and despair, his voice caught in his throat.

Eldrin had known, of course. There were whispers in the town, hushed conversations around hearths, and in the hard-set lines of his mother's face each morning. The knowledge that Argon claimed his mother every night was a bitter pill that he had been forced to swallow, a grim reality of their twisted existence under Argon's reign.

But seeing it firsthand was a different beast entirely.

Argon, unperturbed by Eldrin's entrance, straightened himself, his eyes never leaving the boy. "Your mother's really tiring me out today," he said, his voice almost casual, as though discussing the weather. "Fetch me some water."

As the words fell from Argon's lips, he watched Eldrin closely, studying the boy's reaction. The dread in Eldrin's eyes was unmistakable, a mirror of the fear and exhaustion that had seeped into his very being.

There was no more fight left in the young man. The spirit that once animated his eyes was gone, replaced by a deep weariness. Eldrin had been broken, not just by Argon but by the soldiers, the backbreaking work on the defences, and the harsh truth of his father's death.

Argon could see the weight of it all in the slump of Eldrin's shoulders; the despair etched into his features. This was no longer the fiery boy who had once challenged him but a shell hollowed out by sorrow and resignation. He had seen it before in others, but witnessing it in Eldrin carried a different weight.

The look on Eldrin's face was akin to receiving a fresh wound, his eyes reflecting the pain of another unseen dagger piercing his heart. Despite the sting of Argon's words, he moved, turning on his heel to leave the room. Argon watched him go, musing to himself. Lyra must have given the boy a serious talking-to for any disobedience. Her stern discipline and the boy's broken spirit were on full display.

After a few long moments, Eldrin returned, carrying a pail of water, his movements sluggish but obedient. His expression was painfully vacant, a stark contrast to the lively child he had once been. It was a sight that should have tugged at anyone's heartstrings, but for Argon, it merely fueled his resolve.

"Wait there, Eldrin," Argon commanded, his eyes never leaving the boy even as he moved to resume his previous activity. Eldrin obeyed, the pail of water heavy in his hands, his gaze on the floor.

The sight of his mother beneath Argon, their bodies entwined in a dance as old as time itself, was a visceral blow that struck him with the force of a blacksmith's hammer. Each gasp of pleasure, every movement under the dim light, was like a knife thrust into his young heart, carving out pieces of his innocence and replacing them with bitter pain.

Argon turned his attention back to Lyra, his movements hastened. The sight of Eldrin's suffering, oddly enough, served as fuel to his drive, intensifying his thrusts. It was a cruel game he was playing, one that Lyra was a willing participant in, their dark dance taking them to the climax quickly. The pleasure he found was not just physical but psychological, a warped satisfaction in the domination he held over this household.

With a final, powerful thrust, he filled Lyra with his seed, marking an end to their interlude. The room fell silent once more, the only sounds being their heavy breaths and the soft drip of water from Eldrin's trembling pail.

With a final, lingering look at Lyra, Argon disentangled himself and stood, the coarse fabric of his attire rustling against the quiet. He moved towards Eldrin, a triumphant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Reaching for the pail, he took a large swig of water, the cool liquid providing a stark contrast to the heated fervour from moments ago.

"Ah, that's good," he murmured, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes flickered back to Lyra, now a dishevelled image on the bed, and then to Eldrin. The boy was still standing there, a silent sentinel with a vacant stare.

Argon chuckled, the sound echoing around the stone chamber. "Wow, your mother is like a racehorse. Rode hard and put away wet," he declared, his laughter filling the room. The words were as much an insult as they were a twisted joke, another reminder of Argon's dominion over them.

Eldrin said nothing, his youthful face growing hard with a strange mix of despair and rage. Yet he remained still, holding onto the pail as if it were his only anchor in this turbulent sea of torment.

The room, once a place of intimacy, now reeked of cruel victory and harsh domination, a chilling testament to the twisted games Argon enjoyed. The echo of his laughter seemed to linger, a haunting soundtrack to the cruel dusk that had fallen upon their lives.

As the echoes of his laughter died down, Argon began to dress, pulling on his intimidating black armour piece by piece. The dark plates seemed to absorb the sparse light in the room, adding to his imposing aura. As he adjusted his gauntlets, he broke the silence once more.

"While I know I am cruel," he began, the armour muffling his voice slightly. "I also have a soft spot for your mother." He turned to Eldrin, a smirk dancing on his lips. "She's asked that you not become part of my reserve troops."

Eldrin's face dropped even further if that was possible. He looked as though he'd been punched in the gut, his heartache visible. Argon watched him, seemingly amused by the boy's plight.

"But," Argon continued, strapping on his chest plate. "While I will definitely heed her request." He paused for a moment, relishing the heavy silence. "A man must make his own choices in life. So, it's up to you to decide."

The statement hung in the air, an ultimatum and a challenge rolled into one. Eldrin was left standing there, trapped in a whirlpool of emotions, his youthful features twisted in a grimace of despair and confusion.

Argon's words, a cruel blend of hope and threat, left a bitter taste in the room. As he finished strapping on his armour, his dark figure became the embodiment of the twisted choices Eldrin was left to face, a stark reminder of the painful realities lurking in their twilight existence.

"I...I want to stay in the reserves," Eldrin's voice trembled as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the cold stone floor.

"No, Eldrin," Lyra interjected, her voice a whisper against the heavy silence in the room. She sat upright on the bed, her dishevelled state a stark contrast to the regality in her tone. "I told him, my lord," she continued, turning to Argon. "He just isn't thinking right."

Argon, fully donned in his dark armour now, looked from Lyra to Eldrin, his icy gaze calculating. He seemed to ponder over their words for a moment before he responded, "Hmm... well, come with an answer tomorrow."

With his final words echoing in the chamber, Argon gave them one last piercing glance before turning on his heel and exiting Lyra's house. The door closed behind him with a definitive thud, the sound marking the end of a chapter in their twisted tale.

Outside, the twilight had deepened, the sky above a murky blend of fading sunlight and creeping darkness. Argon moved through the near-empty streets, his black armour gleaming under the faint moonlight. The town, once bustling with life, was quiet now, an eerie calm settling over the rows of houses and the market square.

His destination was the old chief's house. He couldn't be bothered with Saera today, he'd had his fill and sent her away.

Retiring to the chief's room, Argon prepared for a night's rest. He peeled off his armour, placing it carefully on the stand, the dark plates a stark contrast to the room's aesthetics. He then sank into the large bed, the soft mattress a welcoming comfort after the evening's activities.

As sleep claimed him, the echoes of the day faded into the background, drowned out by the silence of the night. His reign of terror had come to a rest, if only for a few hours. The twilight had finally given way to the darkest hour, mirroring the harsh realities of their existence.