The world was dark. Not the dark of a room, but the dark of nothing. A deep, silent void where sound and light had never been born.
Orion floated in it. Or maybe he sat. It was hard to tell. He had knees, he thought, pulled up against his chest. He was alone. Completely, utterly alone.
It was quiet here. Peaceful, in a cold way. There was no pain. No blood. No marble stairs. No accusing voices. No golden eyes filled with tears.
Just... nothing.
But the nothing wasn’t empty. It was full of ghosts.
***
*He was five years old.*
*The sky was the color of wet slate. Rain fell in a soft, steady drizzle, misting the black-clad shoulders of the adults gathered around the hole in the ground.*
*Orion stood at the front, held firmly by the hand of a maid—Nanny Bess. His small hand was sweaty inside hers. In his other arm, clutched so tightly its embroidered ear was crushed, was Mr. Flops, his white rabbit toy.*
*They were lowering the box into the ground. The box was long and dark and shiny. It didn’t look like anything Mama would like. Mama liked sunlight and flowers and bright yellow curtains.*
*The men lowered it with ropes. It went down, down into the muddy hole. The rain made little *plink* sounds on its lid.*
*Orion tugged on Nanny Bess’s hand. "Why are they putting Mama down there?" he whispered, his voice thin under the patter of rain.*
*Nanny Bess didn’t answer. She just sniffled, her grip tightening.*
*"Mama doesn’t like the dark," Orion insisted, a little louder. He looked around at the circle of somber, unfamiliar adult faces. They all looked down or away. None of them answered him either.*
*The box reached the bottom. Someone began shoveling dirt onto it. Thud. Thud. Wet earth hitting polished wood.*
*A wave of cold panic washed over Orion. They were covering her up. They were leaving her in the dark and the wet.*
*"Stop!" he cried out, trying to pull his hand free. "Stop it! She’ll be scared!"*
*Nanny Bess finally moved. She scooped him up, burying his face against her damp shoulder as she turned away from the grave. Her body shook with silent sobs. Over her shoulder, Orion watched, his wide grey-green eyes taking in the final view: his father, standing rigid and alone on the other side of the hole, staring into it with a face like carved stone. He did not look at Orion. Not once.*
*Later, in the silent, too-big house, Orion sat on his bed with Mr. Flops. He could hear the low murmur of adult voices downstairs. He thought about his father’s stony face.*
*It’s okay, he told himself, smoothing the rabbit’s crumpled ear. Daddy is just busy. Daddy is just... grieving. He’ll come upstairs soon.*
*His father did not come upstairs that night. Or the next.*
***
*The void shifted. Orion was older. Twelve. Sitting at a long dining table polished to a mirror shine. He was at one end. His father was at the other, reading reports by candlelight. The space between them was vast, filled with empty chairs.*
*"I finished top in my rhetoric class, Father," Orion said, his voice carefully neutral.*
*His father didn’t look up. "Hmm." A page turned.*
*"The tutor said my essay was exemplary."*
*"Good." Another page.*
*Orion looked down at his plate. The food was going cold. It’s okay, he thought. He’s just busy. The estate is a big responsibility.*
*He ate in silence.*
***
*His father had returned from a trip to the southern provinces with a new wife. An Omega named Seraphina. She was pretty, with laugh lines around her eyes and a warm, musical voice. She brought with her a son, Elian, who was thirteen and already possessed a confident, charming smirk. And she was pregnant, her belly just beginning to swell under her elegant dresses.*
*Orion stood in the entrance hall, feeling like a ghost in his own home, as his father helped Seraphina out of her traveling cloak. His father’s face was soft, attentive in a way Orion had never seen.*
*"This is Orion, my eldest," his father said, finally noticing him.*
*Seraphina smiled warmly. "Oh, what a handsome young man!"*
*Elian eyed Orion up and down, his smirk not quite reaching his eyes.*
*That evening at dinner, the dynamic was painfully clear. His father poured wine for Seraphina himself. He asked Elian about his journey, listening intently to the boy’s exaggerated stories. When Elian mentioned an interest in archery, his father immediately promised to have the old range restored.*
*Orion watched, a cold stone settling in his stomach. He pushed his peas around his plate.*
*Later, he passed his father’s study. The door was ajar. He heard his father’s voice, gentle, amused. "Little Elian is a firecracker, isn’t he? Reminds me of myself at that age."*
*Seraphina’s laugh tinkled. "He adores you already."*
*Orion walked away, his steps silent on the rug. It’s okay, he told the hollow ache in his chest. He’s just... happy now. He has a new family. I’m too old to need that. I can handle it.*
*He learned to make himself smaller. Quieter. He perfected the art of moving through the house without being seen or heard. He stopped reporting his achievements. No one asked for them anyway. He became a master of swallowing disappointment, of freezing tears before they could fall, of translating loneliness into solitude.*
*He never reacted. Never retorted. Never cried. It’s okay. I can handle it.*
***
*The void spun again. Wedding silks, heavy and foreign on his slender frame. The ceremony, a blur of ritual and distant faces. The wedding night.*
*He stood in a strange, opulent bedroom, heart pounding, expecting... he didn’t know what. Pain, probably. Possession. An Alpha’s claim to seal a political bargain.*
*His new husband, Abel Valerian, was a giant of a man. Broad-shouldered, tall, with hands that looked like they could break stone. Orion braced himself.*
*Abel walked past the large bed without a glance. He went to a carved chest in the corner, opened it, and pulled out a handful of wooden horses and soldiers. He sat right down on the lush carpet, cross-legged, and began arranging them with intense concentration.*
*Orion stared, bewildered. Disappointment warred with a dizzying sense of reprieve. He had been prepared for violation, for cold duty. He hadn’t been prepared for... this.*
*Betrayal flickered—he’d been traded like a commodity for *this*? But as he watched, something else crept in. Comfort. A strange, fragile comfort.*
*Abel held up a horse, examining its painted mane. He wasn’t ignoring Orion out of malice or cruelty. He was simply... playing. He looked up, meeting Orion’s gaze. His eyes were a warm gold-brown, and in them, Orion saw none of the calculation, pity, or greed he was used to. They were clear. Innocent. Honest.*
*"Do you want a horse?" Abel asked, holding one out.*
*In that moment, Orion felt something he hadn’t felt in years: safe. Not because Abel was powerful (though he was), but because Abel, in his broken way, looked at him and saw a person to share a toy with, not a problem to manage or a symbol to use. He never asked Orion to prove he was worthy of being there. He just assumed he was.*
*Even when he learned Abel was the "mad heir," the safety remained. Abel had his own problems, vast and confusing. Orion learned them slowly: the memory lapses, the overwhelming fears, the triggers that could send that gentle giant into a storm of confusion and rage.*
*The night of the reception, when Ashford’s trap sprung and Abel lost himself, lunging in the chaos, Orion had felt fear. But not for himself. Not even *of* Abel. It was a fierce, cold fear *for* Abel. Fear of the world that wanted to cage him, fear of the pain in his eyes when he came back to himself, shattered by his own actions.*
*And then, the meadow. The picnic basket. The clumsy, heartfelt attempt at a date. Abel’s blush when their cheeks touched. That simple, chaste kiss.*
*Something warm had bloomed in Orion’s chest, in a place that had gone cold and dormant years ago. It was a small, fragile flame, but it was real. And alongside it grew another feeling, thick and strong as a root: protectiveness.*
*Watching Abel smile, truly smile, with apple juice on his chin and flowers in his hair, Orion had made a silent vow.*
***I will protect this smile.***
***At any cost.***
*So when Ashford stood on the stairs, dripping with smug superiority, mocking Abel, trying to trigger him again, to strip him of his dignity and peace, something in Orion didn’t just snap. It *detonated*. All the swallowed words, the buried anger, the years of being "okay" with neglect coalesced into a single, sharp point: Ashford.* This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
*He had deliberately set him up. The sweet questions, the faux praise, the needle-sharp reminders of his temporary status—all designed to push the volatile Alpha into a public display of rage. Orion had gambled with his own safety, betting that Ashford’s pride was more fragile than his control. He’d whispered "got you" not in triumph, but in grim satisfaction. The trap was for Ashford this time.*
*He just hadn’t bet on the marble being so hard. Or the edge of the step being so sharp.*
***
Now, in the void, Orion sat with his knees pulled up. Alone.
He replayed the shove. The sensation of falling. The *crack*. Then... nothing.
Was this death? It didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like a pause.
He thought of Abel’s face, smiling in the sunshine. He thought of his hand, warm and large around his own. He thought of the promise he’d just made to himself.
*I will protect this smile.*
He couldn’t protect anything from here, in the nothing.
A faint sound echoed in the void. It was distant, muffled, as if heard through layers of wool. It was a voice, cracked and raw with tears, repeating the same word over and over.
"...please... please... please..."
It was Abel.
Orion tried to move toward the sound, but he had no body here. He was just awareness.
Another sound joined it. Sharper. Clinical. The snip of scissors. The rustle of cloth. Muttered words: "...scalp laceration... fracture... swelling..."
Reality was trying to bleed through the void.
Orion felt a tug. Not on his body, but on that warm, blooming thing in his chest. The thing he’d sworn to protect.
*I have to get back.*
The thought was clear, solid. It was the first real thought he’d had since the darkness took him.
He couldn’t leave Abel alone with them. Not with Ashford. Not with the Duke’s cold calculations. Not with the servants’ whispers. Abel needed his door. His anchor.
The void seemed to resist. It was peaceful here. No pain. No expectations. No one to disappoint or fail.
But there was also no Abel.
Orion focused on the sound of Abel’s voice, the broken "please." He focused on the memory of his smile. He focused on the feeling of his hand.
He pulled his awareness away from the comforting nothing and toward the painful, messy, noisy world where someone was crying for him.
The tug became stronger. The sounds grew clearer. He could smell antiseptic and blood and the faint, clean scent of his own bergamot soap.
Pain began to seep into the void. A deep, throbbing ache at the base of his skull. A generalized soreness all over.
He welcomed it. Pain meant he was still attached. Still alive.
Somewhere far away, in a room that smelled of medicine and beeswax polish, Orion Valen, who had spent a lifetime learning to be okay, to handle it, to endure silently, made a different choice.
He chose to come back.
He chose the pain, the mess, the fear, the fight.
He chose Abel.
Slowly, like a diver swimming upward from crushing depths, Orion began the long, hard fight toward the light.