The torture room had remained cold and dim. Sabir laid on the iron chair, a sense of futility overcoming him, as the silence pressed in on him like smoke. It had been too long; he had lost track of time, perhaps days had passed. Maybe more. The walls were his only companions, in such a small tight room; the darkness was his only solace. Sabir’s body ached, not from the endless torture he received, but from the emptiness that raged within his insides. His hunger had grown into a wild beast, clawing at his stomach, rendering him unable to even move a finger. His injuries had healed, but the pain of loneliness lingered.

Dried blood ran down his face and body, his soiled clothes clung to his feeble limbs. The stench he gave off was once unbearable, but now he had grown numb to it, just as he had grown numb to the hope of escaping- the hope of finally being freed. The Voltaire family, amid all their power and cruelty, had left him to rot in this small room, lying forgotten as they took what they needed from him. His value had disappeared. In their eyes, he was just trash.

Sabir’s vision blurred as his thoughts took a grim turn. Was this how he was going to die? Starved, abandoned, and alone? The thought filled him with an anger that overpowered his initial fear. He had survived worse. He survived in The Limbo, a place where very few live long lives, but this felt different. This felt like the end.

“If I die here,” he thought bitterly, “I’ll make sure the Voltaires pay. I’ll haunt them, I’ll haunt their entire sector. I’ll drive them mad and kill them as a ghost. Yeah, they’ll regret it all. I’ll make sure of it.”

Even as Sabir threw out those vengeful curses, he knew it was all hollow. Turning into a ghost? How childish. Even as an evil spirit, he would still be a pathetic, powerless kid. Sabir was barely holding onto consciousness, his body betraying him, crumbling like a jigsaw puzzle. The last bit of strength he had was fading, and with it, his will to fight.

Suddenly, a foreign sound entered Sabir’s ears, a sound which he dreaded when he was first locked in that damned chair, but now it was a sound of pure joy and mercy. The door had creaked open. Someone had come to end his miserable life. His executioner had arrived. Even knowing the outcome, Sabir’s heart skipped a beat. Seeing another human for days, a sense of hope crept within him.

Then, through the haze, he saw a figure step into the room. Tall, familiar. Warren. His mind struggled to grasp the reality of it. He was by himself this time, with no sign of Elektra, which didn’t fill his mind with any ease. When he had told Warren to stand up for himself, he didn’t think of the possibility that it may come back to bite him.

To Sabir’s shock, Warren didn’t come alone, but with multiple maids. Each of their faces a mix of horror and pity, as the woman rushed over to Sabir. The locks and chains to his chair rattled and echoed through the small impersonal room. The maids acted in unison, tenderly placing their hands on Sabir, lifting his body gently and carefully, treating him as if he was made of glass. Sabir was unsure what was happening, but his weakness prevented him from taking any action, so he had no choice but to let the maids touch him, marking his first human contact in days.

“You’re free,” Warren’s voice broke through the fog of Sabir’s thoughts, the words barely registering. Free? What did that even mean anymore?

As they lifted him, Sabir’s gaze met Warren’s. He saw the concern in his eyes, the regret. Warren, who had once been his captor, now looked at him with something resembling compassion. Sabir couldn’t help but feel this was all a trap. A trap to put down his defenses, so that they may entertain themselves some more.

Sabir couldn’t help but look towards the door, the only entrance and exit. The closed door he was forced to stare at for days, the door that was finally open. He was expecting Elektra to pop out from there any second and mock him. But she didn’t appear.

Warren put his hand on Sabir’s shoulder. “You can trust me. I know sorry isn’t enough, but maybe this might be.”

Upon those words, Sabir couldn’t help but think it was a strange, almost surreal moment, and Sabir couldn’t help the small, weary smile that tugged at his lips. But the effort was too much. The last of his strength drained away, and the world went dark as he passed out.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Warren’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched Sabir’s body go limp in the maids’ arms. Panic clawed at him, threatening to overwhelm the calm facade he struggled to maintain. He had come too late. Sabir was too far gone. The thought hit him like a blow, but he couldn’t afford to lose his composure now.

“Take him to my room,” Warren ordered, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. “And call the family physician. Now!”

Hurrying away at Warren’s orders, they moved carefully, fearing any sudden movement could shatter the fragile man they carried. Warren followed closely behind, his mind in chaos amid all the guilt he felt. He couldn’t let Sabir die, not like this, not after everything he had done.

As they carried Sabir down the long corridors of the estate, Warren prayed for the first time in years. He had never been a religious man, but in that moment, he would have done anything, bargained with any deity, to keep Sabir alive.

“Please, don’t let him die. He doesn’t deserve this. I’ve done terrible things, I know that, but don’t take him because of me. Please.”

The maids brought Sabir into Warren’s chambers and carefully placed him on the bed. Warren could see how thin he was, how his skin clung to his bones, the bruises standing out starkly against his pale flesh. The sight provoked an intense, all-consuming shame within him. He had failed to protect Sabir, failed to even check on him until it was almost too late.

The physician arrived moments later, his expression grim as he assessed Sabir’s condition. Warren watched anxiously as the man worked, checking Sabir’s pulse, his breathing, his eyes. The air in the room was thick with tension, each passing second feeling like an eternity.

“Is he… is he going to make it?” Warren asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He hated how desperate he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. Sabir’s life hung in the balance, and all Warren could do was stand there, helpless.

The physician didn’t answer immediately. His brow knitted in concentration as he carried on with his examination. In the end, he glanced up at Warren, his expression impassive. “He’s severely malnourished, Master Warren, but his injuries aren’t severe. He’s exhausted, both physically and mentally. We’ll need to get some fluids and nutrients into him, and he’ll need rest. A lot of rest. It’s hard to say for certain, but… there’s a chance he’ll pull through. However, I must say as the physician of this esteemed family that this boy should be forgotten. He has no ties to our family. It’s a disgrace to my medical profession to help someone like this.”

A chance. Although not the exact answer Warren was looking for, it was still something. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat and ignoring the physicians lecturing. “I don’t care. Do whatever it takes. Just… just make sure he survives.”

The physician let out a sigh. He seemed like he wanted to retort but he bit his lip. And began instructing the maids to bring water and prepare a nutrient-rich broth. Warren stood by Sabir, watching as they worked to save the man he had been forced to torture.

Despite the busy room, Warren couldn’t forget the haunting look in Sabir’s eyes and the fleeting smile before he passed out. Sabir had suffered so much, more than anyone should ever have to endure. And now, all Warren could do was hope that he had enough strength left to survive this last ordeal.

The minutes dragged on, each one filled with a quiet desperation that gnawed at Warren’s insides. He stood guard by the bedside, unwilling to leave him alone in the darkness that nearly consumed him. The physician and maids worked tirelessly, administering fluids and coaxing small sips of broth into Sabir’s mouth. Warren watched every movement, every breath, his heart clenching with fear and hope in equal measure.

As night settled, Sabir remained unconscious, his body too weak to respond. Warren refused to go to sleep in order to watch over him. His own injuries from the recent fight with Elektra were still aching, but he ignored it along with the exhaustion that was pulling at him. He couldn’t rest. Not until he knew Sabir was alive.

When the first rays of dawn shone through the curtains, the physician straightened and his expression softened slightly. “He’s stable for now,” he whispered. “His condition is still critical, but he’s holding on. The next few hours will be crucial.”

Nodding, Warren experienced a flood of relief. There was still hope for Sabir, despite it not being over yet. And that was more than Warren had dared to hope for when he first walked into that dark, filthy room.

He reached out and gently squeezed Sabir’s hand, his voice barely audible as he whispered, “You’re free now, Sabir. You’re free.”

But even as Warren spoke those words, he knew it wasn’t the complete truth. His family were still keen on killing Sabir. Warren was going to have to go through hell to stop it. He owed it to Sabir.

Sabir endured a harrowing experience that will take time to recover from, both physically and emotionally. Warren couldn’t undo the past, but he could make sure that Sabir never suffered like this again. He would stand by him, protect him, and do everything in his power to help him recover.

Standing there, witnessing Sabir’s gentle and steady inhales and exhales, Warren silently vowed to himself. He would fight for Sabir’s freedom, for his life, just as fiercely as he had fought against Elektra. Sabir’s story goes beyond being a casualty of the Voltaires’ cruelty; he was a survivor who deserves a chance at life.

And Warren would do whatever it took to give him that chance.