The Song of Azariel

Orion

The door slammed harder than it needed to.

Orion stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched, heart still pounding like he hadn't left her cell ten minutes ago. Her voice was still in his head. That look in her eyes, like she'd stopped expecting softness from the world.

"She's not going to last much longer," he said without turning.

A chair scraped across stone behind him. "She's lasted this long."

Orion rounded on him. "That's not an answer."

The other leaned against the table, cloaked in shadow. His hood was down, but his presence carried weight, tension coiling under his skin.

"She'll break," Orion said. "And when she does, it'll be on you."

"What would you have me do?" The voice was cool, but the edges were cracking.

Orion's mouth twisted. "Anything but watching her rot while you pretend this isn't killing you too."

"Don't," came the reply—too fast, too quiet.

"Don't what?" Orion's tone flared. "Don't speak the truth?"

"Don't talk like you know me."

"I do know you!" Orion stepped closer. "You sent me in there. You knew she was barely holding on, and you still—"

"Because I had to!" The words tore out of him.

Silence hit the room like a slap.

Dae looked away, jaw tight, something ragged behind his eyes. "You think I don't remember what it's like in those cells?" he asked, voice low. "You think I forgot the cold? The scalpel? The way they smile when you scream?"

Orion's anger cracked. His next words came quieter. "Then why let it keep happening to her?"

"Because I can't stop them," Dae said, every syllable strained, as if it cost him something to admit it. "Not yet."

Orion stepped back. "She's not going to make it."

"She has to."

"They plan to move her," Dae added before Orion could speak again.

Orion blinked. "What do you mean 'move'?"

"Upward," Dae said. "Soon."

Orion's voice turned cold. "They'll kill her before she makes it out."

"She's not going free," Dae said flatly. "That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?"

"They're done watching her rot. She's been flagged for transition. Testing. Integration."

Orion stared. "So they're just dressing up the cage."

A flicker crossed Dae's face. "It's a cage without scalpels."

Orion's voice lowered, sharp as flint. "You really believe that's mercy?"

Dae's gaze locked on his, fierce and unflinching. "You think I don't hate it? You think it doesn't gut me every time I send you down there with scraps and lies?"

He looked away, voice thinner now. "I begged them not to send her here."

Orion swallowed hard.

"This is the only compromise I could make," Dae said, like the words tasted like blood. "My job is to keep her alive long enough to matter. And now…" He exhaled. "Now it's to make sure she doesn't break when they move her upstairs."

"And after that?"

Dae didn't answer.

So Orion did.

"They'll use her."

Dae's shoulders tensed.

"You know I'm right," Orion said. "They'll give her just enough light to think she's free—then leash her, bind her, and bleed her dry."

"I know," Dae whispered.

Orion blinked. It was the first time he'd heard him say it out loud.

"I know," Dae repeated, eyes haunted. "But until I have more than shadows and stolen minutes to offer her, I'll keep her from the knives. I'll take that win."

Orion looked away. His voice dropped.

"She's so young."

________________________________________

Her eyes opened to stone.

She didn't remember falling asleep. Didn't remember the moment her body gave in. But her cheek was pressed to the cold floor, sticky with sweat, and her arms still hung above her head chained. So not much had changed.

Except her back, it didn't burn.

That realization came slow, then all at once. The pain wasn't gone, but it had dulled. Blurred at the edges. Like someone had poured something soft into the open cracks of her spine and left it to settle.

Tea. Salve.Him.Orion.

She turned her head just enough to test her neck. Her hair clung to her face in damp, tangled strands. Her throat was dry, lips cracked. But she could breathe.

And she hadn't been cut again. That alone made her blink a few times, trying to make sure this wasn't some cruel trick her mind was playing.

Still the same cell. Same iron grip on her wrists. But her body didn't feel like it was dying. That was new.

Her stomach growled, she hadn't eaten since... before. Whenever before was.

How long had she been out?

Why did it feel like hours and seconds all at once?

She shifted again. A groan escaped her lips before she could stop it.

She exhaled, letting her eyes close again. Just a minute more.

The door clanged open with its usual weight.

Seravyn didn't look up. Not at first.

Her body flinched on instinct. Chains rattled softly as she shifted.

The metal tray clattered against the ground like always, water sloshing from the edge of the bowl. He never said anything, not usually. Just dropped the food, lingered too long, and left.

But today, he didn't leave. Today, he stepped forward.

She didn't look at him.

"Pretty little nothing," he murmured. "Still got teeth?"

Still, she said nothing.

A rough hand grabbed her chin, forcing her face upward. His glove was gone.

Her skin crawled.

He grinned. She could hear it in his breath.

"No clever words today?" His thumb ran across her lip. "No threats? No spitting?"

She tried to jerk away. He held tighter.

"Thought so," he whispered.

Then he crouched. Right in front of her. Elbows resting on his knees like this was a casual visit.

"I watch you, y'know. You breathe funny when you're in pain. Little gasps. Like a whimpering thing."

Her heart thudded faster.

His eyes flicked down her body, lingering on the exposed parts bruises, burns, filth. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He still looked. Still wanted.

One hand dropped to his belt.

"No one's gonna stop me," he muttered, more to himself than her. "No one gives a fuck what happens to you."

Her chains clinked as she shifted. She didn't move far. Couldn't. But her shoulders drew in like she could vanish into herself.

He reached out and touched her.

Slow. Calculated. A palm flat over her chest. Not hard. Just present, like he was testing ownership.

She gasped, a strangled sound. His other hand slid down into his pants.

"You'll watch," he breathed. "That's all. Just watch."

Seravyn tried to twist away. He grabbed her throat not hard enough to choke, but enough to hold. To keep her still.

"I want you to see what you do to me," he groaned, stroking himself, fingers slick and shameless. "This is your fault."

Tears slid down her cheeks. Not loud sobs, just the quiet kind. The kind that came when screaming was pointless.

His breathing quickened.

He tightened his grip on her neck, tipping her chin just slightly, so she couldn't look away.

"You feel that, don't you?" he gasped. "You feel what a good little thing you are."

His body shuddered. His fingers spasmed.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Open them!" he barked, voice wild. "You'll see what you made."

She obeyed, only because it would be worse if she didn't.

She watched him finish. Felt his hand shake against her throat. Heard every cursed sound from his mouth.

And when he finally let go, when he staggered back, she didn't move or blink or scream. She just wept.

She sat in the aftermath.

Shaking. Breathing like each inhale hurt her ribs.

He'd made her touch him. Had grabbed her hand and used it, slapping her every time she tried to flinch away. The sound of his groans still echoed louder than the screams she'd swallowed. Her face burned from the slap. Her throat burned worse. But she hadn't cried, not in front of him.

The tin bowl of water was there in the tray.

She reached for it with shaking hands, brought it to her mouth, and drank.

Then she broke. She screamed. Loud and hoarse and gut-deep. Over and over. Until something snapped in her throat. Until she couldn't make another sound. Until the cell door scraped open again and black boots crossed the floor toward her.

One brutal hit to the side of her head, and the world went dark.

She didn't know how long she was unconscious. Hours. Maybe more.

It was the softest thing that woke her. Fingers.

Brushing her hair from her face. Careful. Gentle. Like she might break.

She stirred, barely, eyes crusted, face swollen. But he didn't speak. Not at first. He just kept brushing the hair away.

Her lips parted, cracked and trembling, but no sound came. Just a rasp. A painful wheeze. Her throat had given up on her.

Her body did next.

Tears spilled silently at first, trailing down her cheeks. Then her shoulders shook. Her chest heaved. And all the pain she'd buried came crawling out of her in broken sobs.

He moved then. Gently. No sudden movements. Just arms slipping beneath hers, guiding her upright with a quiet, "It's okay."

He sat on the cold floor, cradling her into him like something sacred. She sobbed into his chest, he didn't flinch. Didn't shush her. Just held her and let her come undone.

After a while, he reached into the satchel he always brought and pulled out a cloth that was soft, damp, and scented faintly of lavender. A real one.

He used it to wipe the blood from her chin. The sweat from her brow. The filth from her cheeks.

Then his voice broke the silence, low and rough. "Who hurt you?"

She shook her head first. But then the words began to claw their way out of her, "He… he came to give food," she choked. "Looked at me. Touched... " Her voice broke, and she gagged a little. "Slapped me when I moved. Said it didn't matter… said no one cared."

Orion's arms tightened around her. His breath had gone sharp. "It's okay. Here," he whispered, reaching into his bag again. "I brought you food."

She blinked at the bundle he unwrapped in front of her; bread, cheese and meat. Real, seasoned meat.

Her lips parted. "Meat?"

"Thought you'd like that."

She did.

He tore off a soft bit of bread and held it to her lips. She ate, slow at first, like her body didn't believe it. Then he gave her cheese. Then meat. And her eyes actually lit up. She chewed, eyes fluttering shut like it was the best thing she'd tasted in her life.

"Gods," she mumbled through a mouthful, "that's… actually good."

Orion smiled faintly. "Didn't peg you for the meat-loving type."

"I was raised on roots and rainwater. Of course I love meat." "I'd sell my soul for a peppered flank."

He leaned back against the wall beside her, one knee drawn up, one arm slung around her shoulders. "Let's not give Sovaria any ideas. They'd probably take it."

She laughed aga. She sounded surprised at herself. Her fingers hovered near the bread, then pulled back. "It hurts to eat."

"I know."

She looked at him, eyes ringed red. "Do you?"

His jaw tightened. "No," he said, softly. "But I want to."

Her throat bobbed. They sat in silence unfurled for a long moment before she broke it with a whisper "He used my hand."

Orion turned to her, slowly. "What?"

She stared ahead, as if not quite present. "He… touched himself. Took my hand and touched himself." Her breath hitched. "He made me watch. Told me I should feel lucky."

Orion didn't speak. He simply reached for the wipe in his bag again and gently, reverently, cleaned her hands. Every movement was careful, deliberate. Like she might shatter again.

"Tell me what he looked like."

She blinked. "What?"

"The guard. What did he look like?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Tall, Pale. He had Fae eyes."

Orion nodded once, like he'd already memorized the image. "I'll find him."

"You can't," she whispered.

"I will."

She looked up, eyes glinting in the gloom. "Why?"

"Because I'd rather die than let him live another day.

She sniffled. "That's a stupid reason."

"It's the best one I've got."

She gave a weak laugh, and he reached into the bag again, pulling out another scrap of meat. He held it up.

"Open," he said.

She gave him a look.

"What, you want me to chew it for you too?"

She cracked a smile, an actual one. "Gods, no."

"I'm offended."

"You should be."

He grinned, feeding her. "There's the fire."

He set the food down and reached for the salve. "Turn around."

"Orion—"

"Let me. Please."

She did. He applied it in silence, his fingers shaking once or twice before steadying again.

After a while, she said, "You always carry salve and bread and meat for prisoners, or am I special?"

"You're special."

"Damn right."

He traced over one of the deeper gashes with care. "This is healing nicely. Whatever they're doing to you, your body still fights back."

"Thanks," she muttered. "I'll be sure to thank my immune system the next time it tries not to die."

He huffed, something close to a laugh, though it sounded strangled. "You really shouldn't be this funny while bleeding."

"I wasn't trying to be funny." She leaned into the wall with a wince. "I was trying to be bitter and charming."

"It's working."

She shivered again. Not violently, just enough that it made him notice.

He didn't hesitate, he pulled his hood over his head and slid it off entirely. Wordlessly, he wrapped it around her thin shoulders.

She didn't thank him. Just stared. Then leaned into the warmth.

He watched her for a long moment. Too long. Feeling things he shouldn't feel. Wanting things he had no right to want.

So he looked away and spoke before he could stop himself.

"They're moving you."

She blinked slowly. "What?"

"Soon. In a few days. You're getting out of here."

Her lips parted. She looked down at her lap. "Is that why they didn't cut me today?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe."

"What about you?"

He turned back to her. "Wherever you go…I go."

He moved to tuck the cloak tighter around her.

Her eyes didn't meet his. She was staring at the floor again, arms wrapped around her knees, voice so small it nearly broke him.

"Are you leaving already?"

He didn't answer right away. Just lowered himself beside her again, back against the same cold wall.

"I can stay. As long as you want."

Her breath hitched as she layed her head on his shoulder and asked, "Do you know where they're moving me?"

He paused. "No."

"You're lying."

That fast, his body stiffened and he pulled slightly away.

"Orion."

He didn't look at her.

"Look at me."

He did. Then looked away again.

"Don't lie to me."

That broke something. He turned back to her fully, cupped her face in both hands, and whispered, "I can tell you this, Seravyn. I can swear it to you.

There will be no more pain."

His thumbs brushed her cheekbones, featherlight.

"We won't allow it."

Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch, breathing deep like just the feel of his hands was a balm.

Then she stiffened. Her lashes lifted.

"We?" she asked, a jolt behind the question. "There's someone else?"

He didn't answer, he just smiled faintly behind the mask. The kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. Then he straightened.

He pulled out the tin of slop they always gave her. Without a word, he poured it into the satchel, so it would look like she'd eaten.

Then he brought out the tea.

Held it to her lips.

She drank. Slowly. Watching him the whole time.

Then, gently, he pulled the cloak from her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "If they catch you with it—"

"I know."

He crouched in front of her again, took a damp cloth from his coat, and brushed it through her hair trying to make her look less broken, less bloodied, less like what they'd done to her.

She stared at him. "What did you mean… we?"

He didn't answer right away. Just kept wiping the blood from behind her ear.

Then, low, like it hurt him to say, "There will be no more pain."