Yohan's quarters were lavishly decorated with exquisite rugs, majestic tapestries, golden-embroidered cushions, and a large oval bed. Scented candles, which cast a dim, orangish light over the room, exuded a pleasant, faint floral scent. It was a beautiful room in which Nyell could have relaxed, hadn't it been for its location deep underground. No matter how luxurious the bedroom was, its primary function couldn't be hidden: at the end of the day, it was nothing more than a prison cell. There were no windows, only a sturdy door framed with iron hinges and bars, a strict reminder of their status as goods.
Their freedom was no more.
Whatever Nyell thought about his new living arrangements didn't matter to Filvya. She slammed the door behind him, making the walls tremble. At the loud sound, Nyell lazily peered over his shoulder. From where he stood, he could catch a glimpse of the woman's lowered head through a small rectangular opening. She was currently searching for a specific key amid the many hanging on a rusty keyring.
'How many cells are there exactly?' The fleeting thought passed through Nyell's head as he tried to come up with a number, but to no avail. He had seen a few doors as they walked through the maze that was the basement, and it must have numbered in the dozens. However, he didn't believe that was all, especially since the closer they got to Yohan's quarters, the fewer doors there were. None seemed to be near. Still, for the rooms he had seen, he could not help but wonder if they were all filled with goods awaiting to be sold at the auction. He almost reeled at the thought.
Click.
The distinctive sound of gears clicking resounded as Filvya locked the door, snapping Nyell out of his daze. He lowered his gaze before she could take a peek inside the room. She suspiciously eyed them through the small opening and, for some reason, didn't appear reassured. She pulled on the doorknob a few times to make sure it was properly secured before eventually leaving. Her dragging footsteps gradually grew fainter, and by the sound of it, Nyell guessed she had gone back upstairs.
"So," Yohan spoke once Filvya was out of earshot, looking at Nyell with a raised eyebrow, "since when have you been part of my tribe?"
"Hm, since a few days ago, I think?"
"My father must have gone insane, then."
"As far as I know, your father has always been a piece of shit with a few loose screws, so there's nothing new there."
"Always better than a goody-two-shoes."
A deafening silence fell over the room as the werewolves glared at each other, and Miell looked back and forth between the two, visibly anxious. Nyell did nothing to appease his nervousness. It wasn't like the truth would ease the man's nerves, either. Yohan was an acquaintance, but they weren't exactly on friendly terms. The White Moon tribe wasn't the only tribe with which his people had a feud: some warriors of the Sun tribe were even more despised than the hunters from the White Moon tribe. They clashed more often over resources, too.
"I'm warning you," Yohan pointed to the cushions littering the ground after a moment passed, "you're sleeping on the cushions. Although I don't mind sharing my bed with your friend, I will not share it with you."
"Fair enough," Nyell shrugged, simply happy Yohan didn't seem interested in selling his identity out to the man. That was already more than what he could have asked, really. "Oh, by the way. What's the asshole's name? He refused to tell me."
"I don't know his real name either," Yohan shook his head. "He goes by the alias White Claw. "
"Guess I'll keep on calling him a bastard, then."
"Hm, sure. It suits him better, anyway," Yohan deadpanned before beckoning the two men to come closer, for he had the keys to their shackles. He expertly unlocked them and threw them in a corner of the room before letting himself fall on a cushion, tilting his head. He seemed to ponder over a few things before eventually squinting his striking red eyes and asking, "So? What the hell was that earlier?"
"What was what?"
"Don't play dumb."
"It's kind of complicated," Nyell clicked his tongue before imitating Yohan and slouching on a cushion, signaling to Miell that he should do the same. "Let's just say that I'm playing bait."
"...In the White Moon tribe's land?"
"My annoying fated mate asked me for a favor."
"Fated mate? That's new."
"A lot of things happened lately," Nyell coughed before eying the young man. "I'm more curious about what you're doing here."
"What do you think happened?" Yohan sighed before smirking at Nyell's furrowed brow. It let him know that he had an idea in mind, and not a pleasing one. "Yeah, you properly already figured it out: my elder brother sold me out for the 'greater good' of the tribe. No surprise there, though. He had been waiting for years for the opportunity to get rid of the pariah that I am. At least, I've been eating well here. I even put on some meat."
"Right, you looked like a living skeleton the last time I saw you," Nyell nodded, remembering how frail Yohan had looked at the tribes' annual meeting. A breeze had seemed enough to snap him in two. To start with, Yohan was as white as a sheet, his skin so unpigmented that his blue veins seemed to shine underneath. His pure white hair and eyelashes didn't help, either. It gave him a soft aura. Even in a wolf form, he looked tinier than his peers, and his fur, the color of the snow, shone brightly under the moonlight. His appearance, which people thought was the result of a curse, was the main reason behind his tribe's alienation.
"Anyone looks like a skeleton compared to you, anyway."
"It's not my fault if I easily put on muscles," Nyell replied with a raised eyebrow. "I still believe you should have let me rip your elder brother to shreds back then, along with your other siblings. It'd have been good riddance."
"How about not twisting the knife?" Yohan growled. "I was young and didn't know better at the time. Or what? Do you really believe I'd have begged you to spare them if I had known my fate could turn even grueler than it already was? No, I'd have gladly watched you tear them apart and even cheer you on."
"You're still young and stupid, though," Nyell snorted. "Gosh, you're barely of age…"
"Oh, mighty warrior," Yohan smiled sinisterly, his gaze seemingly dead. "You do know that I'm the one with leverage in our current situation, don't you? If that asshole were to learn who you really are, there's no way in hell he'd sell you at the auction. He'd rather keep you as his pet. Your fate would be no better than mine."
"I'd rather bite my tongue and kill myself."
"Because you think I haven't tried?" Yohan scoffed as he pointed the exquisitely crafted collar around his neck. "That thing prevents you from killing yourself. I don't even have the freedom to decide where and when my life ends…"
A strange, demented light suddenly lit his eyes as he smiled weirdly at Nyell. But before he could say whatever he had in mind, Nyell cut him off, shaking his head.
"I'm not going to kill you," Nyell raised a hand, aware Yohan was about to double down or blackmail him. "Instead, I'll find a way to free you from this place and that man. You can decide what you want to do with your life afterward. It won't concern me anymore."
"How classic of you! Confident to the bitter end," Yohand laughed in what could only be called a hysterical manner, which startled Miell into sitting straight. Even Nyell squinted his eyes, clenching his jaw at the sight. It was heartbreaking to meet someone, who he had known as timid but joyful despite his hardships, broken to this degree. Now, Yohan was nothing more than a shell of his past self. "Then tell me, how will you do that, hm? You don't seem in any position to help me out right now."
"I'm pretty sure I'd win in a fight with the bastard, though. His underlings don't seem very competent, either."
"I don't doubt it," Yohan chortled, seemingly calming down. He knew, deep down, that Nyell would never kill him. No matter how strong-willed he paraded himself, his heart was nevertheless too soft, just like his father's. Yohan knew that better than anyone, for Nyell had let go of siblings when he begged, even though he had all the rights in the world to snap their necks at the time. "But Nyell, reality isn't as simple as that. The bastard won't ever allow you to leave this room if I haven't put the shackles on you first, and he will check before opening the door. Even if it's you, you can't destroy the walls and escape on your own. They've been coated in a peculiar material, and no matter how much you punch and kick them, they don't break. It's imp–"
To this, Nyell half-scoffed, half-smirked. He didn't say anything, however: he didn't have to. Yohan's and Miell's sudden shocked faces spoke volumes. One stopped to talk mid-sentence, and the other momentarily forgot how to breathe. Whatever they saw made their eyes about to bulge out of their sockets. They very slowly peered at Nyell, as if trying to warn him of something while being too afraid to utter a single word. An unfathomable terror could be read on their faces, yet Nyell wasn't startled. He didn't even seem bothered by the abrupt change in their expressions.
In fact, Nyell slouched a little more comfortably on the cushion before throwing his head backward. There, he met a slightly annoyed purple gaze. Dangu was floating behind him, his arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. It was strange to see such an expression on a face that was almost identical to his. Looking at his uncle always felt like looking at his reflection in the mirror.
"Is Allen angry?"
The daemon cocked an eyebrow at the impromptu question and bent over slightly, drawing closer to his nephew. His voice was low yet heavy, sending shivers down everyone's spines, including Nyell. But none of their eardrums burst, and their minds didn't break, even if his ethereal voice was still oppressive. It was bearable, which felt strange to Nyell as he was accustomed to listening to his uncle's voice only when Allen's spiritual energy coursed through his body. To be honest, he hadn't expected an answer to his question.
"He's seething in anger, if you really want to know."
Nyell chuckled, then sighed deeply. He should have known this little stunt of his wouldn't please the man. Allen might have confidence in his fighting ability, but it didn't mean he liked the idea of him acting recklessly and jumping headfirst into danger. That much, Nyell could tell.