Bound By Alpha Kaelith

Chapter 6 : Return to the Alpha

Arin climbed the grand staircase slowly, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the vast, silent hall. His arms ached from carrying trays of dishes, but it wasn’t the weight of the plates that made him tremble, it was the thought of returning to Kaelith’s floor. Every shadow seemed darker here, every whisper of air sharper.

“Almost there,” he muttered to himself, voice barely audible, though his own words sounded weak even to him. He wished the ground would swallow him, wished the walls would bend and hide him from the Alpha who ruled with invisible claws.

The maid who had brought him food earlier appeared at the top of the stairs, her expression tight. “Careful,” she said quietly. “The Alpha’s chambers are not forgiving of mistakes.”

“I know,” Arin whispered, gripping the railing. “I don’t even know what I did wrong last time.”

The maid gave a small, bitter smile. “It’s never about what you did. It’s about what the Alpha decides. That’s all you need to remember.” She moved aside, and Arin continued forward, the weight of her words pressing on him like stone.

At the entrance to the private wing, he paused. The doors loomed before him, black and unyielding, etched with runes that pulsed faintly. His stomach knotted. He could almost feel Kaelith’s presence on the other side, not in warmth or interest, but in inevitability cold, absolute, and inescapable.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the doors open and stepped inside. The chamber was exactly as he remembered: the red crystals glowing faintly, shadows curling like smoke, the strange symbols hovering in the air. It was alive with Kaelith’s aura, and yet he was not here.

Arin’s voice wavered. “H-Hello? Master Kaelith?”

No reply. Only silence.

He stepped further into the room, every movement deliberate, careful. “I—I’m here like you ordered.”

A shadow shifted at the far end of the room. Kaelith appeared, stepping from the darkness as though the shadows themselves had given him form. His face was impassive, unreadable. His eyes, cold and piercing, fell on Arin for the briefest moment enough to make Arin’s knees weaken but then he looked away, indifferent.

“You are here,” Kaelith said, voice flat, emotionless. “Do not move unnecessarily. Stand where you are.”

“Yes… Master,” Arin whispered, barely breathing.

Kaelith circled him slowly, silent, appraising. His gaze did not soften, but Arin could feel the weight of it as if every thought were being examined, stripped bare.

“You survive by rules,” Kaelith said finally. “Obedience, silence, caution. You understand this?”

“I—I think so, Master,” Arin stammered. “I’ll follow the rules. I… I don’t want to disobey.”

A pause. Kaelith’s eyes narrowed fractionally, but still no warmth. “You fear much.”

Arin swallowed. “I—yes. I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong. That I’ll… anger you.”

Kaelith’s expression did not change. “Fear is natural. Use it. It will keep you alive longer than hope ever could.”

Arin’s stomach twisted at the words. Even in his fear, he realized Kaelith was not cruel out of malice, he was precise, absolute, a ruler who cared only for order and control. And yet the same fear that froze him also made his heart beat faster. There was a strange, unknowable pull in the presence of this cold Alpha, a force that drew him in even as it terrified him.

“Do not speak unless spoken to,” Kaelith added, and then, without further words, he turned and melted back into the darkness of the chamber, leaving Arin alone once more.

Alone, trembling, Arin sank to the floor. He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to steady his racing heart. The Alpha’s indifference was suffocating, more dangerous than hatred itself.

A low whisper reached him, soft and cold as the shadows themselves: “Learn quickly, human. The world you entered does not forgive mistakes.”

Arin shivered. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He simply listened as the shadows curled around him, and he understood survival here would demand everything he had and more.

Arin had just begun to rise from the floor, attempting to steady his trembling hands, when a vase on a nearby pedestal wobbled slightly. He had bumped it with his elbow in his nervous haste.

The sound—a faint clink echoed unnaturally in the chamber. Arin froze, heart hammering, his body locked in fear.

From the shadows, Kaelith’s presence shifted. The air seemed to bend around him as he stepped into the light, slow and deliberate. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, fell on the vase. Then, just as slowly, they landed on Arin.

“Careless,” Kaelith said, voice flat and precise. No anger. No warmth. Just observation. “Do you understand the consequences of inattentiveness?”

“I—I… I didn’t mean to, Master,” Arin stammered, his voice barely audible. “I was… I just—”

Kaelith’s eyes narrowed fractionally. It was not a glare, but an assessment, like a predator testing the movements of prey. “Do you understand?”

“Yes… Master. I… I will be more careful,” Arin whispered, bowing his head.

Kaelith studied him for a heartbeat longer, then, without another word, he stepped back into the shadows. The chill in the room did not lessen, but the suffocating weight of Kaelith’s immediate presence lifted just enough.

Arin exhaled shakily, pressing his hands to his chest. He felt the pull, the tension, the cold power of the Alpha lingering in every corner of the chamber. Even without a threat, even without a word of kindness or anger, Kaelith’s notice alone left him trembling, alive with fear and… something he couldn’t name.

He sank back against the floor, whispering to himself, “I… I have to survive. I have to do everything right.”

And somewhere in the darkness, Kaelith’s eyes, unreadable and absolute, seemed to watch not for kindness, not for cruelty, but for order.