Content Warning:
This arc contains depictions of toxic relationships, emotional abuse, manipulation, cycles of abuse, drugging (love potions/ spells), physical torment, and psychological trauma.Please proceed with caution if these themes may be triggering for you. Your well-being comes first.
Ogron and Anagan arrived at the villa in Lynphea, guards hidden to protect the king. They hadn't even gotten out just simply started unpacking, but Anagan seemed awestruck with a child like wonder in his eyes. He pointed out the window at a specific fruit.
"A dragon's fruit" Ogron smiled.
Anagan tilted his head, " don't you mean a dragon fruit?"
"Oh no, no, no it's quite different, a dragon fruit has seeds riddled throughout it that are full of capsaicin. I would not recommend eating it whole if you do not like spice. It can be quite sweet however, it just simply has to be prepared first."
Anagan was in wonder of his surroundings.
"The trees seem greener here, why does everything seem to thrive so well?" Anagan asked.
"Lynphea is living, everything here is meant to be here and thrive, even most if not all its inhabitants have nature based magic."
The nature fairies on earth couldn't hold a candle to this place .
The villa, surrounded by vibrant flora and serene gardens, was a far cry from the opulence of the king's usual surroundings. Ogron watched with a mixture of anticipation and hope as Anagan's eyes widened at the beauty of their new setting.
"This is breathtaking," Anagan murmured, taking in the lush greenery and the distant sound of a babbling brook.
Ogron's smile was soft, almost tender. "I wanted to show you something special. I know how much you've wanted to see Lynphea."
——-
As they wandered through the villa's grand halls and out into the garden, Ogron pointed out various features—exotic plants, hidden pathways, and tranquil water features. He was attentive, his eyes never leaving Anagan's face as he explained the intricacies of the garden's design.
"This place is incredible," Anagan said, clearly touched by the effort Ogron had put into their stay. "Thank you."
Ogron took Anagan's hand gently. "It's my pleasure. I wanted you to have something perfect."
The evening's dinner was a candlelit affair by the river, where the soft glow of lanterns reflected off the water. Ogron and Anagan dined on a carefully curated selection of dishes, each bite more delightful than the last.
Throughout dinner, Ogron engaged Anagan in light, comfortable conversation, making an effort to listen intently and respond with warmth. He leaned in closer, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
"I've missed moments like this," Ogron said softly, his eyes meeting Anagan's. "Just being with you, away from everything else."
After dinner, the two wandered back through the villa's garden, the night air cool and fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers. The moonlight cast a silver glow over the garden, making the petals shimmer like they were dusted with stardust.
As they walked, Ogron guided Anagan to a secluded alcove surrounded by tall, flowering plants. A small stone bench sat nestled beneath an ancient tree whose leaves whispered in the breeze.
Anagan took a deep breath, his eyes still wide with wonder. "It's almost like a dream," he said, his voice hushed as if he didn't want to disturb the magic of the moment.
Ogron sat beside him, their knees almost touching. "It's real, Anagan. All of it. I wanted you to see that there's more to this world than fighting and hiding. There's beauty too. And... there's us."
Anagan turned to Ogron, his eyes softening. "I know. It's just... sometimes it's hard to believe we can have this, even for a moment."
Ogron reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Anagan's ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the edge of Anagan's jaw. "You deserve this. We deserve this. Even if it's just for tonight."
There was a pause as they looked at each other, the silence filled with the sounds of the night—crickets chirping, leaves rustling, and the distant call of an owl. The world felt still, as if it was holding its breath, waiting for what would come next.
"Ogron," Anagan began, his voice hesitant, "why did you bring me here? Not just to Lynphea, but to this place, this moment?"
Ogron's hand moved to rest on Anagan's cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over his skin. "I wanted to remind you of what we're fighting for. It's easy to lose sight of it in the middle of everything else. But more than that... I needed you to see that even after everything, we still have a chance. A chance to be happy, to find peace."
Anagan's eyes glistened as he leaned into Ogron's touch. "Do you really believe that?"
Ogron's expression turned serious, his voice deepening with emotion. "I have to. If I don't, then what's left for us? This world, with all its beauty and wonder, is still ours to live in. And I want to live it with you."
For a moment, they just sat there, absorbing the weight of Ogron's words. The air between them seemed charged with a mix of hope, longing, and the bittersweet knowledge of their past.
Anagan's hand found Ogron's, their fingers intertwining. "I never thought I could feel this way again," Anagan admitted, his voice almost a whisper. "But being here with you... it makes me want to believe."
Ogron squeezed his hand gently. "Then believe it, Anagan. Because I'm not giving up on us."
They sat in the alcove, the world around them fading into the background as they focused only on each other. The night stretched on, but neither of them was in a hurry to leave the tranquility they'd found. It was a rare moment of peace, a fleeting reprieve from the chaos of their lives, and they were determined to savor every second.
As the night grew later, the lanterns in the garden began to dim, their light flickering as if they too were tired. Ogron stood, pulling Anagan up with him. "Come," he said softly, his voice like a warm embrace. "Let's walk a little more before we head inside."
They strolled through the garden, the path illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon. The villa loomed ahead, its warm lights welcoming them back. But before they could reach the door, Ogron stopped, turning to face Anagan one last time.
"I need you to know something," Ogron said, his voice earnest. "No matter what happens next, no matter where we go from here... you're the reason I keep going. You give me hope, Anagan."
Anagan's breath hitched, the sincerity in Ogron's words piercing through the walls he'd built around his heart. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them. "And you, Ogron, are the reason I still believe in love."
Without another word, Ogron leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Anagan's lips. It was a kiss filled with all the emotions they hadn't yet spoken aloud—a promise, a confession, and a vow all rolled into one. When they finally pulled apart, the world felt different, as if it had shifted on its axis just for them.
With a final look, they turned and headed back inside the villa, their hands still clasped together. Whatever tomorrow brought, they knew they would face it side by side, their hearts now a little lighter.
————
The villa was quiet, the soft chirping of crickets and the distant rush of the brook the only sounds breaking the stillness. Anagan slept soundly beside Ogron, his face serene in the dim moonlight that filtered through the curtains. But for Ogron, sleep did not come easily. When it finally did, it was anything but peaceful.
Ogron found himself standing in a lush, sun-dappled meadow, the air warm and fragrant with the scent of wildflowers. He looked down and realized he was no longer a man but a boy again, perhaps seven or eight years old. His clothes were simple, a far cry from the regal attire he was accustomed to.
In his small hands, he held a rabbit, its fur soft and white, its nose twitching curiously as it looked up at him with gentle eyes. The boy—Ogron—smiled, feeling a pure, innocent joy that he hadn't known in years. He knelt in the grass, letting the rabbit hop free, laughing as it bounded around him.
A voice, soft and familiar, echoed through the meadow, calling his name. He turned, recognizing the voice but unable to place it, the sound wrapping around him like a warm embrace. He looked for the source, his heart swelling with an unspoken connection, as if he were about to see someone he dearly loved.
Anagan? The name fluttered at the edge of his consciousness, but he was too young to understand it fully. All he knew was that this presence, this voice, brought him peace.
But the peace was short-lived.
The light around him began to dim, the warmth leaching from the air as the sky grew dark. The laughter died in his throat as the meadow, once vibrant and alive, became cold and oppressive. Shadows stretched across the ground, and the rabbit, sensing the change, froze in fear, its tiny body trembling.
Ogron stood, instinctively moving to protect the creature, but before he could reach it, a looming shadow fell over them both. He looked up, his breath catching in his throat as a towering figure emerged from the darkness. The figure was shrouded, its features hidden, but the power emanating from it was undeniable—overwhelming, even.
Though the figure's face remained obscured, Ogron felt a cold, familiar dread wash over him. he knew who this was in his bones, even though the figure's identity was never fully revealed. The figure's presence was suffocating, its power dwarfing Ogron's childlike form.
Before Ogron could react, the shadowy figure reached down, its hand outstretched. The rabbit cowered, its wide eyes full of terror. Ogron tried to move, to reach out and pull the rabbit away, but his feet were rooted to the ground. He could only watch in horror as the figure's hand closed around the rabbit, lifting it effortlessly from the ground.
"No!" Ogron screamed, his voice small and desperate. "Don't take it!"
But his cries went unanswered. The figure ignored him, its attention solely focused on the helpless creature in its grasp. The rabbit let out a pitiful squeak, its tiny legs kicking futilely in the air as the figure began to retreat into the shadows, taking the light, the warmth, and Ogron's hope with it.
Ogron struggled, tears streaming down his face as he tried to chase after the figure, but it was as if the ground itself was holding him back. He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the figure's cloak, but it was no use. The figure and the rabbit disappeared into the darkness, leaving Ogron alone in the cold, empty meadow.
The last thing he heard before everything went black was the sound of the rabbit's final, frightened cry—then silence.
Ogron awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. The room was dark, the only light coming from the sliver of moonlight that peeked through the curtains. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. But the fear, the helplessness, clung to him like a second skin.
Beside him, Anagan stirred, sensing Ogron's distress even in sleep. He reached out, his hand finding Ogron's and squeezing it gently. "Ogron...?" Anagan murmured, still half-asleep, his voice laced with concern.
Ogron forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. "It's nothing," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Just a dream."
But even as he said the words, he knew they weren't true. The nightmare had shaken something loose within him, something he wasn't sure he could put back.
He lay back down, pulling Anagan close, needing the warmth of his body to chase away the lingering cold. Anagan snuggled against him, his breathing evening out as he drifted back into sleep.
But Ogron remained awake, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his mind replaying the nightmare over and over again. The figure, the rabbit, the overwhelming sense of loss—it all gnawed at him, a reminder of the power that still haunted him, the power he couldn't escape.
As the first light of dawn began to creep into the room, Ogron knew that the struggle within him was far from over. The remnants of Valtor's influence were still there, lurking in the shadows of his mind, threatening to consume him whole.
But for now, he held onto Anagan, the only light in the darkness that threatened to swallow him. And as long as he had that light, he wasn't ready to give up just yet.
———
The sun rose slowly over Lynphea, casting golden rays across the villa and the surrounding gardens. Birds sang softly, and the morning dew clung to the vibrant leaves and flowers. The world outside was peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within Ogron.
He had barely slept, the remnants of his nightmare clinging to him like a shroud. As he went through the motions of the morning—dressing, eating, moving through the villa with Anagan—his mind was elsewhere, haunted by the shadowy figure and the helplessness he had felt in the dream.
But worse than the memory of the nightmare was the voice. It was faint, just a whisper, but insistent, slithering through his thoughts whenever he looked at Anagan. 'Conquer him,' it urged, 'make him yours completely.' The voice was cold, devoid of warmth or tenderness, a reminder of the power he wielded and the darkness that still lingered within him.
Anagan, ever perceptive, noticed Ogron's distraction. As they walked through the villa's gardens, admiring the vibrant flora, Anagan tried to engage him in conversation, pointing out the beauty around them. But Ogron's responses were distant, his mind too preoccupied with the whispering voice.
Finally, Anagan stopped, turning to face Ogron with concern in his eyes. "Ogron, what's wrong? You've been distant all morning."
Ogron hesitated, struggling to find the words. He didn't want to burden Anagan with the darkness he was fighting, but he couldn't deny the truth. "It's…nothing," he said, but the words sounded hollow even to him.
Anagan shook his head, stepping closer. "Don't lie to me, Ogron. I can see you're struggling. Please, talk to me."
Ogron looked away, his gaze drifting to the lush greenery around them. The beauty of Lynphea was almost suffocating in its perfection, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. "I don't know if I can," he admitted quietly. "There's…a voice. It's telling me things, urging me to—"
He broke off, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He couldn't bring himself to say it, to admit that a part of him still craved control, still wanted to conquer, even now.
Anagan's eyes softened with understanding. He reached out, gently placing his hand on Ogron's arm. "When was the last time you felt at peace?" he asked softly.
Ogron froze, the question cutting through him like a blade. He searched his memories, but they were a blur of battles, strategies, and the relentless pursuit of power. Peace had always been an afterthought, a luxury he couldn't afford.
"I…I don't know," Ogron confessed, his voice trembling with the weight of the admission. "I'm not sure I've ever felt peace."
Anagan's grip on his arm tightened slightly, offering silent support. "Do you want peace?" he asked, his voice gentle yet insistent.
Ogron looked into Anagan's eyes, seeing the warmth, the care, the unwavering acceptance that he had rarely known in his life. For a moment, the whispering voice in his mind faltered, drowned out by the sincerity in Anagan's gaze.
Do I want peace? The question echoed in his mind, forcing him to confront the truth he had long buried. All his life, he had been driven by ambition, by the need to prove himself, to conquer and control. But where had it led him? To loneliness, to nightmares, to a life devoid of true warmth and connection.
Anagan's voice broke through his thoughts, soft but firm. "Say yes to peace, Ogron. Say yes to me."
The words were simple, yet they carried a weight that Ogron had never felt before. Anagan was offering him something he had never dared to hope for—a chance at peace, at love, at something beyond the endless cycle of power and control.
Tears welled up in Ogron's eyes as the enormity of the decision pressed down on him. He had always been the strong one, the leader, the conqueror. But here, with Anagan, he was vulnerable, exposed, and it terrified him. Yet, beneath the fear, there was a yearning, a desperate desire to believe that he could be something more, that he could find peace in Anagan's embrace.
Slowly, Ogron nodded, his voice choked with emotion. "Yes…I want peace. I want you."
Anagan smiled, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. He stepped closer, pulling Ogron into a tender embrace. "Then let's find it together," he whispered, holding Ogron tightly. "You don't have to fight this alone."
Ogron's arms wrapped around Anagan, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. The whispering voice in his mind grew fainter, drowned out by the warmth of Anagan's touch, by the love that he was finally allowing himself to feel. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Ogron felt a flicker of hope, a fragile but undeniable spark of something better, something worth fighting for.
They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms as the world around them faded away. The villa, the garden, the worries of the outside world—all of it became distant, unimportant. All that mattered in that moment was the man holding him, the man who had become his source of peace, his light in the darkness.
And as they stood there, Ogron realized that maybe, just maybe, he could find redemption—not through power or conquest, but through love, through the peace that Anagan had offered him so selflessly.
The day passed in a blur of quiet moments, shared smiles, and the gentle comfort of each other's presence. As the sun set over Lynphea, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Ogron felt a sense of calm that he had never known before.
That night, as they lay in bed, Ogron pulled Anagan close, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Anagan looked up at him, his eyes shining with love. "For what?"
"For being my peace," Ogron replied, his heart swelling with a warmth that chased away the last remnants of the nightmare, of the darkness that had plagued him for so long.
And as they drifted off to sleep, entwined in each other's arms, Ogron knew that he had found something truly precious—something worth fighting for, something worth holding
