DOUBLE UPDATE INCOMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AS PROMISED, I HAVE A DOUBLE UPDATE FOR YOU GUYS, BUT BY THE REQUEST OF THOSE ON PATREON, YOU’RE GETTING THE FIRST PART EARLY (TONIGHT) AND THE SECOND PART ON SCHEDULE TOMORROW NIGHT!!!!!

Thanks for being patient with my guys! It’s really appreciated and I hope you enjoy!

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A/N – hirts means hours, and the dialogue is slightly altered from in Master, but that’s cause the story I expected then obviously has changed majorly. But the themes are still the same

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Aiasthlyn

˚

My own words stare back at me, hovering in the air by the magic I have enscribed them with, but no matter how I stare at them or the lines I have drawn to connect them to one another, Ythene’s plan refuses to reveal itself.

I have found the centre of my Charge, and he is the first-made vampire —a man named Lincoln—who went against his own species’ laws to have Kalem, the only good thing about this damned realm, and now, they were together, and I was supposed to…?

That was the question. What was I supposed to do now?

Observe and wait? Observe what— him or what he did with Kalem, or uncover what he possibly wanted with him?

It could not be what the trainers had groomed him for, because when I travelled to them to see if I might deliver onto the vampire the same end the rest of the slavers received the night prior, Kalem had been sleeping in rooms of his own, clean, untouched and at peace.

So, what came next?

The answer evaded me as much as to reason why I was sitting in the dwelling of the other vampire in this equation.

Malcolm, the apparent companion of my Charge and the fifth-made vampire, who purchased me and still mans the hall outside my chambers as if it is his duty. The one seemingly obsessed with finding some kind of favour in my eyes, despite his status as a slaver.

He stands as the most confusing item of my mission, for he has no part in it, and yet, he is still the piece that garners the most of my attention.

Exhaustion weighs upon my eyes, its hooked claws dragging the skin beneath a measure lower while I blink slowly.

The sheets stretched beside the length of the bed call for me, but I ignore its song. I rested enough. I needed to line my steps, but that task proves impossible. It does not help that he is still marching.

My gaze drifts to the door in the dark, and even with the barriers between us, I watch him make his steps in my mind’s eye. He moves like a skittish ous, as if he is not aware of the strength in his own steps.

Deception. He does not actually want my favour, but what he does want evades me.

There is no sense to his actions, no reasoning when he knows I am only playing at being the slave he bought me to be, and allowing him to live in doing so. But there is no sense to him either.

He is confusing, annoyingly so.

I expected him to follow when I left the night prior, but then there he was, trying to free the others. Or so he said. It could only be a lie when a collar still encircled my neck, but the warmth in those grey eyes had seemed anything other than deceitful.

The marching ensues, and my annoyance mounts.

He should be dead with the rest of them, his remains strewn across his dusty home, left to rot, desecrate or whatever else their species did when they finally left this world. Instead, he lives to make his presence known.

He will knock soon, or speak at me through the door. It’s become a habit— routine, and no matter how my silence remains with no signs of wavering, he does so anyway.

Malcolm.

His name slithers through my mind, triggering vexation and curiosity in equal measure, but no matter how I seek Ythene’s guidance, she offers no explanation for him.

Waving a hand, I dismiss the mass of my notes along with my quill, returning them to the ether, out of the reach of any other in this realm. Darkness creeps into the heavy room, but I am quick to clear it by drawing the curtains.

Daylight pours into the room, much like it had when I first woke, and I welcome its warmth on my skin as I soak it in. The heat prickles my skin, forcing a shudder through me. I missed life terribly and would never again take it for granted, not now that I knew how darkness could starve a soul.

I can only claim a fleeting moment before the marching stops and the fist falls.

“Hey!” He chirps, his heavy voice somehow light. Shuffling follows. “You are up and about now, right? I saw light.”

He does not know it, but my magic gathers beneath his feet, ready to drag him down into the Earth and silence him once and for all. Instead, it learns the outline of his being in this world.

“Do you need anything?” More shuffling. “More food? I can get lots more.”

I have already eaten my fill, and yet my stomach still churns, desperate to make up for the time I spent starved.

I doubt he hears it, and yet, he disappears on his feet as he has done several times already.

I do not know where he goes to retrieve the soups, but I have consumed each bowl without allowing myself a moment to wonder if I should.

Hunger overweighed safety, and it threatens to do so now as he returns with more that I can smell through the door, but I resist because he has begun to conflate my need to eat with my welcoming him closer to me.

It was food at first. Left at the door with a plea to be consumed, and seeing as I did not abide by waste and was in fact starved, I consumed the contents of each steaming bowl greedily.

But then, he started crawling forth with his offerings, bringing himself closer, as if I might not notice. I did, but I could ignore the glimpses of him and his hopeful smiles when there was more food to be had.

Especially when the food stopped at some point in the early morning, and was replaced by useful things—a sampling of varied soaps, combs and brushes suited to unknotting what had become of my hair.

He brought each like a wayward imp, making offerings as they sought a new God.

This, too, I consumed whilst ignoring the one bringing them, because while I still could not make sense of his intentions or his odd actions, interacting with him directly seemed like the foolish thing to do.

So I did not interact— do not interact, but then… the door begins to open.

My eyes dart to the entry to my rooms in an instant, widening as I watch the golden knob turning without permission. He can not be.

I hold my breath, not quite believing my eyes, but then it opens a crack, black, curled hair breaks through, and greyed eyes soon follow to find mine.

I note a smile, hesitant, only lifted slightly. I hate the light it carries as he makes a sound bridled with nerves, for its warmth is greater than the sun I stand beneath.

“H-hello! I knocked a few times and called for you too, but you didn’t answer,” he begins in a ramble of words that each come faster than the last. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

From another, I might consider this a thoughtful gesture. Might. But in my realm, no elf entered my chambers without my allowance, and especially not with such a feeble excuse.

He only sought to catch a glimpse of his ‘slave’ himself. Because that is what he and the first were, slavers, had to be for they sat in the frontmost row, and dressed themselves up like the rest to make their purchases.

None who actually cared for another’s well-being would have found themselves on the other end of an auction. So as I approach the door, I ignore the fright that fills his eyes as I lift my sharpened nails.

It has been a moment still since I last touched him, and I did not intend for it to be so soon, or for these purposes, but I am not one to deny destiny.

“Oh, whoa! N-No!” He stammers, backing away, but it is too late. “I just thought you might not be okay! Can you put the nails dow— AHH!”

˚

He does not learn immediately. Not until I use my teeth, and only then, do his attempts at disturbing me stop.

I did not mean to bite him, in truth.

I do not think I have ever bitten another in my entire lifetime, but he had tried to touch me, actually touch me, and some dormant instinct had me sinking my teeth into his hand before I even realised what I was doing.

After he yelped and jumped back, he stared at me as if I were a maddened thing. I wished I could tell myself it was only to continue my act as a ‘wild elf’, but the fact that I could not only furthered my anger with him.

It had worked, though, for he had not approached my doors for a full hirt, a gift I exploited by digging through his belongings.

It was only to uncover what I might about my Charge, so I paid no mind to the otems that speak to a character like a handwritten missive of thanks from a Timothy, and a small vial of coloured sand.

There was, surprisingly, a great deal linked to my Charge.

Aged inked images of them printed on thick paper. Ones in which they looked the very same, on the vampire Lincoln wore a terrible, plain expression in each, while the other, Malcolm, his smile grew larger with each printing. There was often a third being, a smaller thing with horns and a tail, but the eldest of the images contained only the pair.

The images made them appear… normal was not the word. Common, perhaps.

Then, there were the encasings of travel notes. Short, clipped musings written for the First, but somehow were stacked in one of his drawers. An odd realm habit, perhaps.

Despite what their initial interaction might have suggested, evidence showed the pair had a deep and worn relationship that went beyond companionship.

They were friends, closely linked ones, and somehow that friendship had withstood the test of time.

I have just come upon a book filled with pressed flower petals when I hear him approaching again, this time with an addition of other steps. My mood, which had lightened at some point, immediately dims.

Returning the items to their rightful homes as if they had never been dug up at all, I ready myself for whatever this vampire believes he is about to hoist upon me.

He likely grew tired of his attempts at wooing me with feigned kindness and travelled with a rod and another holding the water.

A cold dread streams through my blood, quickening the rhythm of my heart, but I cull the terror before it can start. My pretences stopped at the leather around my neck.

I would not allow myself to be hurt, not now or ever again.

The door creaks open again, and I am the one to attack this time. I do not care what foolish excuse he brings with himself; I will discourage him and all others from thinking that I am someone they can torment. I would—

I stop short, almost stumbling in my pursuit as my eyes skim past the vampires staring back at me with expressions nearly identical to the ones captured on the pressed pages, and settle instead on the familiar head that pops out behind them both.

My heart fills and then threatens to burst as Kalem’s amber eyes swell before he rushes straight for me.

I open my arms without a thought, welcoming him as he crashes into me and I have to bite my tongue to stifle the sound that tries to fill the air. It is not just relief that crashes through me, but joy and… comfort, to see him, the boy who had become my rock in the hardest times.

To Kalem, I knew I introduced his mind to the world, but to me, Kalem helped me remember what that world looked like.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispers against my chest, and I must hug him tighter, because while I could never fear such an impossibility, the time apart had still been too much.

“I am here, and my prayers have been answered. You are safe,” I whisper and for his ears alone, encased in my magic, I add, “Did I not promise you that we would see each other again?”

Kalem does not stifle the choked sound that slips past his lips as his fingers tighten around me, digging into flesh and reminding me that I am alive and well. That I survived it— that we survived it.

“Kalem?”

It is strange hearing his name from another, almost wrong, when it is the name I gave him against the will of others like him. Then it is entirely wrong because the moment it is whispered by him, Kalem stiffens in my arms, the very way he used to when the trainers returned.

He pulls away from me before I can hide him behind my back, and even as I reach for him, he rushes back to the vampire’s side. To my Charge, whose curious black eyes widen as he watches Kalem sink to his knees.

“I-I’m so so-so-sorry, Master,” he stammers, the words barely coming out as he tucks his head of loose curls between his hands. “P-Please punish m-me.”

I step forward, magic primed to tear this vampire’s muscles apart, but just as I do, he— Malcolm— does the same, and the look in his eye is enough to give me pause.

I expected to see this from him long before now, proof of the poison that must live within him or something other than near-boyish longing and kindness. I was waiting for it, and yet, watching those warm grey eyes chill to a glacial extent as he glares at me, still shocks me.

There is a warning and a threat that rises in him, bringing with it a rise of power I had yet to notice or feel from him. It is almost as great as what had crested when the other vampire present had commanded the masses on that stage.

“It’s fine, Kalem. Calm down,” my Charge says, breaking my stare with his hidden protector as I watch him bend to lift Kalem up. He is as gentle with him as I have witnessed him to be, his voice much the same. “I am not going to punish you.

He says it as if it is the most ridiculous sentiment and I can not help my frown of confusion any more than Kalem can. Then, his eyes flick to me, and that care vanishes instantly, “But how do you know this elf?”

I believe this is the first time he is looking at me, truly, because while he is at the very centre of why I am in this realm, to him, I was nothing more than a footnote on that stage.

I wonder if, in seeing me, he will uncover what I yet can not, but there is nothing but slightly inclined curiosity in his gaze as he peers at me.

“A-Aias was my friend in the slave house, Master,” Kalem answers quickly before he hastily adds. “My only friend.”

No one could ever know how big this is for Kalem. How those final words go against all he has been trained to believe a slave should do, the sheer risk he takes in trying to claim me as a friend in hopes of saving me from a punishment.

But I do, and I will be forever moved by it.

“So you’re name is Aias.”

I wish I could leave this realm.

I wish I could return home, to my waters, to my castle and my brood, where life was simple, made up of duties and tasks.

Then, there was none of this…this influx of emotions whenever he spoke. There was no anger, no confusion, no annoyance, and there was certainly no fire sparking at my core simply because my name from his tongue sounded like a prayer.

“I thought maybe you could not speak,” he says as he walks towards me, proud and confident, as if this is something he does. As if he did not just threaten to try and kill me with his gaze a mere moment ago. “My name is Ma— OWWW!”

For the second time this day, I watch him jump back as he remembers that this is, in fact, not the something he does, not with me, and that he is not welcome in my presence.

“Stop biting me!” He whines like a childling, and the fire quenches itself.

I shift my hair over my shoulders, righting it as I straighten, “Stop trying to touch me.”

“You are so mean,” he whispers with a glare that only makes my lip curl.

I am mean? Me, the slave he purchased for ‘one million of whatever the currency was’?

I want to yell these words, but I hold them because I refuse to be drawn into this madness with him. He had a habit of acting foolish or innocent, before he would expose the truth of himself that lived beneath.

I would not be swayed or distracted by the act. The man himself was distracting enough.

“All I have tried to do is help you,” he says, still whining but there’s a sliver of frustration in his tone. “You even stole my rooms, but I don’t mind. I said you could have anything, and I meant it.”

I gaze at my Charge, ignoring the whining while he looks disgusted to have to witness it.

“I am not the bad guy you think I am!” He continues with a huff. “We are good! Good vampires! I help slaves! I did not even want to be there!”

That… is new, but I do not have time to ponder it as I watch Kalem tug at the end of my Charge’s shirt, claiming his attention in the beat of a heart.

“Master,” he whispers, but he does not sound like himself, and there is a bead of sweat running from his brow.

“Kalem?” the man, Lincoln, whispers, already taking his face in his hands to look at him for himself. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Kalem mumbles before he curls into himself with a whimper. “M-Master, I’m s-scared.”

I step towards them, but the vampire has Kalem in his arms and through the doors of the bathing chamber in a flash. By the time I follow, Kalem is bent over the toilet, emptying his stomach, with the vampire at his side.

“What did you do to him?” I roar as I rush inside, my heart hammering.

In my realm, such acts were rare with how strong elven stomachs were, and for all that I had witnessed in the cells, Kalem had never vomited.

The vampire ignores me, ignores everything but Kalem who he keeps upright until there is nothing left. He cleans him, steadies him, and holds him while Kalem cries quietly.

“Did you feed him?”

I jolt a little, stepping away from Malco—the slaver, who I had not realised had filled the space at my side.

He is back to being serious; there is no idle wonder in his tone or his demeanour as he stares at them.

“Yes, some pizza,” the vampire Lincoln replies, apparently plenty capable of responding to others, others he deemed worthy of a reply that is. “He said he hadn’t eaten in two days.”

“You can not just switch his diet like that,” the slaver at my side replies with a frown. “They feed them stuff like mush. You will need to keep feeding him that and slowly take him off of it.”

If he is referring to what we were forced to eat in the cells, then there is no possible way Kalem can continue consuming that.

“I am not feeding him that garbage,” my Charge snarls, sharing the sentiment.

“Something close to it then. If you don’t, he will just keep throwing it back up,” the slaver replies. He says it calmly, as if it were a fact and even while it earns him the visible wrath of his friend, he remains resolved. “Whatever you give him will likely taste like garbage to him anyway.”

I want to deny that, want to ask why he would feed me tasty soups and suggest such terrible things for Kalem, but Kalem had been there for far longer than I had. I had an appetite used to richer foods, one that remembered and longed for such flavours, whereas Kalem… so much had been stolen from him.

“I’m sorry, Master,” he whimpers, speaking past his tears in a whisper that shatters my heart. “I’m a h-horible sl—”

“Don’t you dare apologise.” It is the first time I have witnessed the vampire be anything other than gentle with Kalem, and yet, he still carries all his care. “This is my fault entirely. You have been nothing but perfect, Kalem. That I promise.”

Kalem peers at him, his amber eyes wide with hope that those words are true.

The vampire whispers kind words to him as he lifts him, meaning to leave. He spears neither me nor the vampire at my side with another glance as he does so, focused entirely on Kalem.

I want to stop him, want to keep Kalem to myself, but I am not meant to interfere, so instead, I stick a sliver of my magic to him, to monitor but also help soothe him so he might heal faster.

I will visit him later, in the night, but I do not follow for now. It takes all my strength, but I manage to stay as I am until it is only me and the anomaly at my side remaining.

I meet his waiting gaze and do not mask the manner in which my eyes narrow.

“No part of me wants to hurt you,” he says, his voice as calm as it had been moments ago, “but if you ever try to hurt Lincoln, I will have to.”

I maintain my stare.

He stands tall beneath it, unshakable for a long time, but eventually, as time passes, he withers. He shifts on his feet, then he fists his hands before he takes a deep breath. And just like that, the softest version of him returns— clumsy with his earnestness.

“I’m going to go,” he says, stepping back. “But I meant what I said earlier. I just want to help.”

Cradling his hand, he leaves with an awkward stare, dragging his feet the entire way as if he expects me to stop him. When I do not, the door shuts quietly behind him, allowing me solace. 

I blink quietly at the reflection I find waiting for me on the other side of the wall. I appear every bit as lost as I feel, if not more so.

There was no chance of it, simply none, but if his words were even a little true, then… why in Ythene’s name were they at that Auction?

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I’m sorry but Aias being so confused is hilarious and adorable to me. 

He’s here trying to piece together a Nancy Drew mystery, and Malcolm is just there like, pick meeeee!

Thoughts?????????

Thoughts on Aias’ POV??? At the moment in Master from his perspective??? There was a lot in that interaction we never saw, like Malcolm stepping up.

I love love loveee how Aias so easily glimpses the things about Malcolm that’s only referenced in other books. Like how smart he is, his loyalty etc, like you see all these facets of him play out very clearly from Aias’ POV

Aias’ sad as fuck POV cause wdym he can’t sleep on the bed ughhhhhh my poor baby

This is part of a double update, so the second chapter will be out tomorrow, around the same time! I hope you’re looking forward to it!

Until tomorrow night lol,
Byeeeeeeeeee Humansssssssssss