Chapter Text
⚠️TW : VIOLENCE, ABUSIVE ⚠️
A pair of legs belonging to a brown-haired young man darted swiftly along a dusty, ash-covered path. His steps quickened, carrying him farther from his village, now reduced to smoldering ruins. The raging flames had not only devoured the villagers' homes but also scorched the surrounding forest, leaving behind dry branches that jutted like skeletal fingers into the gray sky. Thick smoke still billowed, casting a grim shadow over the once-fertile land.
From a distance, faint screams and cries could still be heard, though they were slowly drowned out by the thundering hooves and shouts of the kingdom's guards, who slaughtered without mercy. Their swords glinted in the sunlight, yet no warmth remained—only terror that clung to every corner of the village.
"Run, run as far as you can!"
"Don’t come back here! Run as far as your legs will take you!"
Those words echoed in his ears—the voices of people who might no longer be alive. His chest tightened, his breath came in ragged gasps, but he kept running. His blistered feet and wounded body could not deter his determination to survive.
As the sound of approaching horses grew louder, he frantically searched for a hiding place. His sharp eyes locked onto a large, half-rotted tree still standing, its hollow trunk just big enough to conceal a person. Without hesitation, he leaped inside, squeezing himself into the damp darkness.
From within the hollow, he heard the horses draw near, followed by the triumphant shouts of the guards still hunting for any survivors. His heart pounded so loudly he feared it would give him away. Holding his breath, he tried to calm himself, praying they would soon leave.
"There's no one here!" shouted one of the guards in a rough voice.
"Search all the way to the edge of the forest! Don’t let a single one escape!" another replied.
He shut his eyes, praying silently they wouldn’t find him. Moments later, the sound of hooves gradually faded. Still, he remained motionless—he wouldn’t risk it.
Exhausted, the brown-haired man chewed on a piece of hard bread, nearly choking as he forced it down. It tasted like gnawing on dry wood, but it was the only food he had managed to save in his escape. His hollow eyes stared at the ground, his troubled thoughts spinning aimlessly.
"Again, my life is completely ruined." he muttered inwardly, his voice hollow even to himself.
Sometimes, the thought of giving up crossed his mind—to march straight to the palace and surrender himself to the king. But the moment he remembered the ruler's face, that urge vanished. The king was a tyrant, no different from the half-sister he had overthrown.
He let out a long sigh, trying to untangle the messy fragments of his memory about everything that had happened.
That king was once his knight.
Yes, he had once been part of the Frontera knights' order—had even tormented that knight in various ways, whether out of envy or youthful mischief. Yet who would have thought that the man he once deemed weak would rise, rally forces, and ultimately overthrow the tyrannical queen who had oppressed the people for years?
Then, the bastard son became king.
The shift in power had initially brought hope. The people cheered, believing peace had finally come. But instead, the hero became a new monster. Wildfires, massacres, and fresh atrocities spread everywhere—all to crush crime and rebellion against the kingdom.
"What is he really after?"
Sometimes, he wondered if the king’s actions were all for praise, as if he craved recognition as the savior. But other times, he suspected the king was searching for someone.
Someone very important.
Or perhaps … someone he deeply hated?
The cold night wind blew, making him shiver. He clenched his fist, crushing what little remained of the bread in his grip.
After swallowing the last bite of the hard loaf, he slumped to the ground, his back against the rough tree bark. His dirt-stained hands wrapped around his knees, then, with a slow movement, he lowered his head until his face was hidden between them. His breathing was heavy, as if each inhale burned.
Shit. Everything was completely ruined.
The thought echoed in his head, over and over, like an unshakable curse.
Lloyd Frontera─ ah, no. Lloyd had long discarded that name, shed his noble title, and tried to become just another nobody. A wanderer with no identity, no past, no place to call home.
But no matter how hard he ran, the past always caught up.
He let out a long sigh, his voice hoarse and weary. Was this karma? The question gnawed at him. Back then, he had treated people cruelly where he looked down on them, mocked them, even hurt them without remorse. He lived in luxury and arrogance, blind to the suffering beyond his palace walls.
Then, his parents died.
Suddenly, the world he knew collapsed. Without prepared everything, he was left alone, and his inability to face reality shattered him. Instead of rising, he chose to flee, away from his duties as a noble, from the responsibility of protecting his lands, from everything tied to honor and power.
He couldn’t do it.
His trembling hand scratched his head, though no itch bothered him. The motion was just an escape from the relentless thoughts tormenting him.
It all began when he drowned in grief, turning to heavy drinking to forget everything. He got drunk worse than ever before, so much that his body could no longer handle the alcohol he poured into himself. And finally, on some filthy street, he collapsed, vomiting blood, his vision blurred and breath nearly gone.
That was when he realized something.
He didn’t want to die.
But what did he want to live for now? He didn’t even know what to do.
Lloyd shook his head violently, as if trying to drive away the tormenting thoughts. It was too late to keep dwelling. Exhausted, he decided to close his eyes briefly, leaning against the inner wall of the tree that served as his temporary refuge. The warmth of the wood, still holding remnants of the day’s heat, felt comforting against his chilled skin.
'How strange', he thought vaguely before sleep took him. He should’ve stayed alert, should’ve been able to hear if danger approached. But physical and mental exhaustion had overwhelmed him.
When Lloyd opened his eyes again, the surroundings felt different. The clamor of troops that had filled the forest earlier was now gone, replaced by an almost suffocating silence. The air felt colder and fresher. A sign that dawn might be near.
"It's only a few minutes i take sleep." he rasped, his tongue dry and bitter. He rubbed his face with dirty hands, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness.
With slightly calmer nerves, Lloyd began crawling out of the hollow tree. The rough bark scraped his already wounded arms, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting out of this cramped space, breathing freely, finally—
The cold touch of metal suddenly pressed against his neck. Lloyd froze. Slowly, his eyes caught the glint of light reflecting off the sword now threatening his life.
Unconsciously, his head bowed in submission. His sharp Omega senses immediately recognized the overpowering scent of mint. The distinct fragrance of an Alpha exuding dominance. The aroma flooded his senses, making his knees tremble almost uncontrollably.
"W-wait," his voice cracked as the blade pressed deeper. Cold sweat trickled down his temples. His body reacted instinctively to the Alpha's unspoken command. His muscles tensing, heart pounding, his very instincts screaming at him to submit.
"It's been a while, Young master Lloyd."
That voice is deep, cold, laced with a piercing edge that stabbed straight to his marrow. Lloyd went rigid. His heart skipped a beat before hammering violently, as if trying to break through his ribs.
No.
It couldn’t be.
With slow, deliberate movement, Lloyd tilted his head back, forcing his gaze upward to see the speaker's face. And the moment his eyes landed on the figure atop the horse, the blood in his veins turned to ice.
His face paled.
Before him, sitting arrogantly astride a majestic black horse, was the person he had spent years avoiding—the one who haunted his nightmares, the specter that made him wake in cold sweat.
Pale mint hair, almost glowing under the moonlight, cascaded over broad shoulders. Deep blue eyes look cold and unreadable like an ocean’s depths pierced through him with an intensity that made Lloyd feel like cornered prey. His flawless, porcelain skin had long been the subject of courtly whispers, with many claiming his beauty was divine, too perfect for a mere mortal.
But Lloyd knew better. Behind that mesmerizing face lurked a madness just as terrifying as the tyrant half-brother he had overthrown.
Javier Asrahan─ No. Now, he is Javier Magentano, he king who ruled the kingdom with an iron fist, who burned many villages, who made people tremble at the mere mention of his name.
Damn it.
Why now?
Why at a time like this?!
Lloyd bit his lip until it nearly bled. His hands clenched, nails digging into the dirt beneath him. He wanted to run, to disappear. But his body felt leaden, locked in place by that icy gaze.
And atop his horse, Javier smiled. Not the warm smile of an old friend, nor the sneer of arrogance. This was a smile that made Lloyd’s blood run slow, like a serpent coiling around its prey before the kill.
"Lloyd Frontera—" Javier spoke again, slower this time, as if savoring each syllable with cruelty. "Or ... should I call you 'a runaway rat' now?"
Lloyd swallowed. His throat was parched. He could feel Javier’s amber scent growing stronger, flooding his lungs, forcing submission. As an Omega, his body reacted instinctively. His knees trembling, breath turning shallow, a primal part of him wanting to bow, to yield, to acknowledge the Alpha’s dominance.
...
Lloyd's blood like burned, his head throbbing as if beaten from within. His entire body felt feverish despite the cold night air surrounding them. Before him, the tyrant king sat rigid upon his trone, watching with a measuring gaze, like a cat observing a cornered mouse.
Coarse ropes bit into his wrists, leaving angry red marks on his pale skin. Every slight movement only made the bindings tighten further. Lloyd tried to take a deep breath, but his constricted chest refused to fill completely.
He had cast aside the Frontera name, abandoned his noble title, even tried to erase all traces of his past. Yet fate seemed to laugh at him, dragging him back into the very world he'd fought to escape.
Memories of his dead parents, his missing brother, all those shadows came haunting his mind again. And now, facing the man he feared most. The man he'd once looked down upon. He had to confront the bitter truth that his running had been pointless all along.
Javier's voice suddenly cut through the night's silence. "How does a man with no self-awareness end up in a village housing rebels?" he said coldly. "Are you one of their conspirators?"
Lloyd held his breath. His face, already pale from confusion and fear, turned corpse-white. His dry lips trembled, but words refused to form. He could feel Javier's piercing gaze dissecting him, as if reading every thought racing through his mind.
"You're didn't answer me, Lloyd," Javier continued, his tone making Lloyd's hair stand on end when met with silence. "Should I draw my own conclusions?"
Lloyd's throat went bone-dry. He knew every word he spoke now could decide whether he lived or died. Yet beneath the fear, a small spark of anger flickered. Anger at fate, at himself, and at the man before him who stared down with such unbearable superiority.
"...N-no. I'm just a commoner who makes a living farming─"
Lloyd's trembling voice was cut off by a sudden burst of loud laughter. Javier threw his head back, his deep, booming laughter echoing through the throne room, bouncing off the grand marble walls. Lloyd's face twisted in confusion as he noticed the strange reactions from the court officials and knights surrounding them.
They all turned their faces away, shoulders stiff, some even biting their lower lips. But what shocked him more was the absence of hatred or disgust in their eyes. Instead, there was only... pity? As if they were watching someone unknowingly step on a landmine.
Javier finally stopped laughing, but that sinister smile remained etched on his flawless face. His ocean-deep blue eyes narrowed as he stared at Lloyd, who now bowed his head low, his pale nape exposed under tangled brown hair.
"Drag this man to the special prison," Javier commanded abruptly, his voice icy. "Don't let him see the outside world until he receives his due punishment!"
"As you command, Your Majesty!" the soldiers answered in unison, their voices thunderous.
"Wait, what─"
Lloyd didn't get to finish his protest. Two burly soldiers already gripped his arms roughly, dragging him backward across the cold marble floor. His legs scraped helplessly, his worn boots squeaking against the polished stone.
"Hey! I'm really not part of the rebels! I swear I'm just a farmer─!"
His panicked voice faded as the distance between him and the throne grew. The grand doors, carved with the royal crest, slowly closed before him, swallowing his struggling figure whole.
In the throne room, now silent again, Javier remained seated, his long fingers tapping rhythmically against the golden armrest. A satisfied smile still played on his lips.
"Tonight will be a long night," he murmured to himself, eyes gleaming with terrible anticipation.
The palace guards exchanged knowing glances. They all understood, no prisoner had ever left the special prison intact, neither in body nor mind. And the King... he always savored every second of it.
...
"Let─ let me go!" Lloyd screamed, his voice breaking between fury and despair. Yet the royal guards' grip was unshakable as iron. His thin wrists twisted painfully behind his back, joints nearly dislocating under the pressure. His legs dragged across the cold, damp stone floor, leaving his entire body trembling.
They took him deeper, descending narrow stairs lit only by dying torches. The dungeon air was thick with the stench of iron, sweat, and something sharper. The reek of fear and suffering.
And then, he saw it.
Dark cells lined the corridor, holding figures that barely resembled humans anymore. An old man shrieked as an expressionless torturer pulled out his nails one by one with pliers. In another cell, a woman convulsed while her molars were pried loose with a rusted iron tool. Blood gushed from her mouth, stretched wide in a soundless scream.
But worst of all was the man at the end, his hands gone, severed at the elbows, while the executioner beside him calmly wiped a large knife still dripping with fresh blood.
Lloyd squeezed his eyes shut. His breaths turned short, erratic. His body, which had been thrashing, now went limp, surrendering to the futility of resistance. He could only stumble along with the soldiers dragging him, desperately trying to block out every sound reaching his ears.
"ARGHHH!!"
That scream so raw, so full of agony. Made Lloyd nearly jump. His eyelids clenched tighter, the hairs on his neck standing on end. He heard the splatter of liquid and didn’t need to look to know it was blood. Blood flooding the floor. Blood that might soon be part of his own fate.
He sucked in a sharp breath, willing his pounding heart to steady. Don’t think about it. Don’t listen. His mind scrambled for distraction. Childhood memories? No─ He doesn't remember having fond childhood memories. Counting? Maybe.
One... two... three...
But even behind closed lids, the images of the tortured haunted him. Blood. Screams. The grating scrape of iron tools.
After a few moments what felt like hours, Lloyd slowly opened his eyes as his body was shoved into the cell. The screech of iron bars locking echoed behind him. The two soldiers who had brought him turned away, the keys at their belts clinking sharply as they walked off.
Trembling, Lloyd crawled toward the cold iron bars, his pale fingers gripping the rusted metal tightly. His eyes swept over the cramped cell. Damp stone walls covered in meaningless scratches, an earthen floor soaked with something darker than water, and a low ceiling where spiders hung motionless in their grimy webs.
No one else.
No sounds.
Just him.
And in that silence, a deeper fear crept in. Other cells had screams, had torture, but at least that meant life still existed. Here? Only darkness waited.
Lloyd’s face stiffened as he watched the soldiers bow their helmed heads slightly in his direction. A gesture that confused him, though he couldn’t begin to guess why.
"No─ wait! Please─!" Lloyd suddenly screamed, his voice breaking mid-plea. His hands clawed through the bars as if he could drag them back. "I'll go mad alone here! Listen to me!"
But their steps didn’t slow.
Their armor clanked rhythmically, their iron-shod boots striking the ground with finality. No pause. No mercy.
Lloyd stared at their retreating backs, just as he had years ago when he abandoned his village. Just as he had when he chose to run.
The hands gripping the bars now fell limp.
"..."
The last sound was the distant dungeon door slamming shut, sealing all hope.
Lloyd drew a shaky breath, trying to calm his churning thoughts. The damp prison air sat heavy in his lungs, thick with rust and wet earth. In the silence of his cell, his mind raced through possibilities, any way to escape this fate.
If only he had stayed in that village ...
The thought haunted him. Maybe if he hadn’t kept wandering, hadn’t tried to outrun his fate, he wouldn’t be here, caged by the former knight who once lived under the Frontera roof. His fists clenched, nails digging into his already scarred palms.
His mind drifted further into the past. Javier Asrahan—now Javier Magentano, is the former king’s bastard. Lloyd remembered clearly how he, as the legitimate noble heir, had always tormented the quiet Javier. Not out of hatred, but envy. That reserved boy effortlessly drew attention with his striking looks and the aura of a natural-born Alpha.
Even if it was childish cruelty, the truth was, Lloyd never changed. While Javier rose to knighthood, he drowned in laziness and drunkenness, blaming his parents for their mounting debts.
The bitter memories spiraled deeper. His flight from home wasn’t just shame. It was terror. The day he learned Javier had coldly beheaded two of his family’s debt collectors, Lloyd realized one thing if his former knight was erasing every trace of the Fronteras.
The Baron and Baroness Frontera had always treated Javier well, even loved him like their own. But Lloyd? Lloyd was the stain in that picture. The useless blood heir who kept shaming the family name.
He hugged his knees tighter. The cell’s cold seeped through his thin clothes. In this darkness, it dawned on him. Maybe this was always meant to happen. Karma for a coward who kept running from responsibility.
"Hahh ..."
Memories flooded Lloyd. He’d changed his identity, become a farmer in a remote village, lucky to stay unrecognized until Javier caught him.
Finally, he slumped onto the icy prison floor, legs folding beneath him. His face twisted bitterly as he stared at the empty cell. In the end, darkness swallowed his consciousness, dragging him into uneasy dreams.
But the reprieve didn’t last. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed, followed by the overwhelming scent of Alpha pheromones that made Lloyd shiver.
His eyes fluttered open to find Javier standing before him, arms folded behind his back—as if hiding something. But Lloyd wasn’t foolish. He knew exactly what it was.
A whip.
"Hasn’t the Young Master rested long enough?"
Javier’s voice sliced through the silence, cold and measured. Lloyd lifted his trembling face, lips quivering around fragmented words. "Y-Your Majesty. Greetings to Your─" His voice hitched, his tongue betraying him with titles that no longer fit the man before him. His eyes narrowed, catching Javier’s expression hardening abruptly.
"My, my, Young Master," Javier sneered, his voice dripping venom. "Why call me 'Your Majesty'?" He stepped closer, each word a knife thrust. "Didn't you once call me a 'useless orphan' who relied on his face? Or—" His breath hitched, "—a 'stupid brat' because you couldn't stand being outshone?" Every quote was a deliberately reopened wound.
Lloyd flinched, an icy grip seizing his throat. "No, Your Majesty, I─"
"Shut up!" Javier roared.
The whip in his hand cracked through the air with an ear-splitting snap. Lloyd jerked violently, his entire body trembling like a dried leaf in a storm. His muscles locked, frozen in place like a rabbit caught in a serpent's gaze. Javier smiled, but it held no warmth. A lightless smile, lips stretching slowly while his eyes remained pitch black. "Now," he whispered, "let's begin today's lesson."
With viper-quick motion, Javier swung the whip downward. The sickening tear of flesh rang out as the lash split Lloyd's arm open. Blood welled instantly, soaking his white sleeve, spreading in a crimson stain.
"ARGHHHH!!!"
Lloyd screamed, his voice raw with despair. His hands clawed at the floor, pale nails scraping grooves into the wood. "Stop, please!" he begged, but Javier only laughed. A low, dark sound of sadistic satisfaction.
"Still daring to beg, Young Master?" Javier hissed, raising the whip again.
"Did you think I'd forgotten how you treated me?"
The lash landed again. This time across Lloyd's back. His shirt split, the skin beneath splitting like overripe fruit. Lloyd bit his lip until it bled, stifling the sob fighting to burst out. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each inhale like knives in his lungs.
Javier didn't stop.
He rolled Lloyd onto his back with his boot, forcing him to face upward. Lloyd's pale, tear-streaked face was now fully exposed. Red-rimmed eyes, bloody nose, lips bitten swollen.
"Look at you now—" Javier snarled, pressing the whip's tip to Lloyd's throat. "You were so arrogant. Treated me like a worthless stray. But who holds the power today?"
The whip cracked again, striking Lloyd's chest. His ribs screamed as if fracturing, and this time, he couldn't suppress the howl that tore from his throat. His cries shattered the silence of the chamber, but Javier only smiled.
"This is just the beginning, Young Master."
He raised the whip again, and again, and again. Each lash carving fresh wounds, each strike biting deeper, crueler. Lloyd's blood began pooling on the floor, his once-proud frame now trembling like a leaf in a storm.
Javier finally paused. Not from mercy, but because Lloyd had stopped reacting. His eyes were half-lidded, breaths shallow, body twitching weakly with every throb of pain.
Lloyd could no longer endure the torment. His body felt crushed by invisible hands, every gasp of air like knives shredding his lungs. His vision blurred. Javier's face, once sharp with malice, now just a smudged shadow in the haze.
Blood continued to pour from the wounds covering his body, soaking the white shirt now dyed deep crimson. His hands trembled uncontrollably, muscles seizing and refusing to move. Javier's figure looming before him felt like a dark tower ready to swallow him whole.
"It hurts ..." His attempt to scream came out as a hoarse whisper, barely audible. His lips were cracked, his tongue dry as desert sand.
Suddenly, his head felt struck by a mace. Violent dizziness overwhelming him. The world began spinning, Javier's mocking voice fading into a long, hollow ringing in his ears.
"Ah ... it's over ..."
His body collapsed helplessly to the floor. Every limb refused to obey. All he could feel was the cold stone against his cheek and the darkness swallowing his vision. Before consciousness fully left him, he heard Javier murmur faintly─
"That's enough for today." Javier muttered, wiping his bloodied whip on Lloyd's torn clothes.
He left the chamber, abandoning Lloyd in his own pooling blood, with one certainty.
This wasn't over.
"Is this... the end of everything?"
Then, only darkness remained.