Chapter 20: The Unbreakable Chain

“I suppose I should leave now.”

The words, softly spoken by his master, carried an air of finality, yet also a hint of lingering warmth that surprised Ash.

His master, a figure of immense power and enigmatic grace, then pulled at his black cloak.

It wasn’t just any garment; Ash knew it was a vessel for his master’s ancient magic, imbued with subtle, shimmering energies that responded to his will.

The fabric, rich and dark, enveloped him from head to toe, a cascading shroud that momentarily obscured his form.

Then, as if collapsing in on itself, it shriveled down, shrinking and clinging tightly to an unseen core, a masterful display of transfiguration.

In a breathtaking instant, it transformed, not into a wisp of smoke or a fleeting shadow, but into a magnificent, iridescent bird, its plumage shimmering with a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to shift and dance in the ambient light.

The transformation was flawless, a testament to his master’s profound skill.

Before the bird could even beat its newly formed wings to depart, before it could launch itself into the boundless sky, Ash, propelled by a sudden, desperate surge of loneliness and an urgent need for reassurance, cried out, his voice raw and vulnerable, “When will you come next?”

“Can’t you come sooner?”

Ash’s plea was an unfiltered expression of his deepest desires, a vulnerability he made no attempt to conceal, for it was his master, after all, to whom he spoke.

Ash had always felt an inexplicable, profound connection to this powerful, enigmatic man.

Though he’d never confessed it aloud, not even in the quietest whispers of his own heart, Ash had, in his younger, more innocent days, secretly wished, with all the fervent hope of a lonely child, that his master was his real father.

His youthful misunderstanding, the fleeting, almost dreamlike thought that this commanding, yet surprisingly gentle, man might be his mother’s lover, was likely born from that deep, unspoken yearning for a paternal figure, a guiding hand in his often chaotic life.

His master wasn’t an overly affectionate person, not in the demonstrative, warm way one might expect from a parent or a traditional guardian.

Yet, he had always been incredibly lenient with Ash, remarkably patient, and uniquely indulgent.

No matter what mischief Ash stumbled into, no matter how rebellious his actions, his master would invariably dote on him unconditionally, a strange, comforting constant in Ash’s tumultuous world.

He was the kind of person who, Ash had learned, if you clung to him incessantly, pleading with every fiber of your being, with a persistent, childlike insistence, would eventually, inevitably, give in.

“When is ‘next’? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow?… A week from now? That’s too far,” Ash pouted, a natural, almost involuntary display of childish petulance surfacing around the one person he felt truly safe and unburdened with.

The bird, a living extension of his master’s powerful will and magical essence, tilted its head, observing him with intelligent, unblinking eyes that seemed to hold ancient wisdom.

It circled Ash once, a graceful, silent arc in the still air of the room, its iridescent feathers catching the light, and then, with an almost imperceptible flutter of its delicate wings, it landed delicately on his fingertip.

The sensation of its tiny, surprisingly firm claws gripping his finger was exquisitely ticklish, a light, almost ethereal pressure that sent a shiver of warmth through him.

What is he going to say?

Ash wondered, holding his breath, his gaze fixed on the creature.

As Ash slowly, cautiously brought his face closer, his gaze fixed intently on the bird’s small form, the bird gently touched its beak to his lips, a soft, almost tender, confirming gesture.

“Alright. I’ll come the day after tomorrow.”

A genuine, unbidden smile bloomed on Ash’s face, spreading wide and bright, chasing away the shadows of his earlier anxieties and filling him with a buoyant relief.

The bird, as if acknowledging his joy, tilted its head once more, watching his expression with what seemed like a detached, yet profound, contemplation, before finally spreading its magnificent wings and taking flight with a silent grace that belied its earlier transformation.

Ash watched the bird ascend into the deepening twilight, its silhouette growing smaller against the fading sky, a fleeting beacon of hope.

He followed its swift, purposeful departure out onto the grand terrace, feeling the cool evening breeze on his skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth that had just filled him.

His master, in his avian form, soared effortlessly over the formidable inner castle walls, unhindered and unobstructed by any vigilant guards or magical barriers, a powerful testament to his unparalleled power and absolute freedom.

The sun was already beginning its slow, majestic descent, painting the western sky in breathtaking hues of orange, purple, and fiery crimson.

The tiny bird’s shadow, elongated and distorted by the setting sun, passed swiftly over the ancient castle wall, growing longer as it moved further into the distance, a fleeting image against the vastness.

Soon, all Ash could see was the imposing, impenetrable expanse of the tall stone wall, rising stoically and indifferently against the darkening horizon, a symbol of his current confinement.

He waited, straining his ears, listening intently for any tell-tale sounds of pursuit, any commotion from the castle soldiers, any alarm raised that would indicate his master had been seen.

But there was only the soft, gentle whisper of the wind, rustling through the ancient trees within the castle grounds.

His master hadn’t been caught.

The sheer implication of that fact hit Ash with renewed force, a wave of profound understanding washing over him: his master truly could give Ash freedom, a realization that made Ash’s chest swell with an overwhelming sense of hope, a heady mix of exhilaration and profound relief that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

But more significant than the promise of physical freedom, more thrilling than the prospect of escape from this gilded cage, was the simple, profound, and undeniable fact that his master had simply come for Ash.

Within the oppressive confines of the castle, steeped in its rigid traditions and ancient superstitions, his mother’s existence was treated almost as a taboo, a forbidden subject.

The castle occupants, from the lowest scullery maid who scurried through the corridors to the highest-ranking knight who stood guard, would flinch, visibly tremble with a palpable fear, if Ash even dared to utter the forbidden word ‘mother.’

Their terror stemmed from a deeply ingrained belief, one passed down through generations: that those who chose death were irrevocably punished by the gods, their souls forever damned.

The temple, a powerful, unwavering authority that held sway over the minds of the populace, taught unequivocally that those who spoke the name of a suicide victim would also share in their eternal condemnation.

Everyone in the castle, without exception, from the oldest retainer to the youngest stable boy, believed his mother had committed suicide.

Ash, however, knew differently.

He knew the truth, a truth he guarded fiercely, a truth that burned within him like a hidden ember.

And his master, remarkably, cared nothing for either popular belief or divine pronouncements.

He was an anomaly, seemingly unbound by the mundane concerns of mortals.

He was the only person who called his mother’s name without hesitation, without a hint of fear or judgment in his voice, uttering it as casually as one might speak of the weather.

Even Ash himself, despite his private knowledge and fierce loyalty, found it difficult to do so, a lingering apprehension instilled by years of societal conditioning.

A fierce determination solidified within Ash: he was absolutely resolved to leave this suffocating castle with his master, to finally break free from its suffocating grip and live on his own terms, forging his own destiny.

***

They say hope can keep a person alive even in prison, don’t they?

That it can sustain a spirit through the most unbearable of trials, through isolation and despair, allowing it to cling to life against all odds.

Ash woke up late the next morning, feeling remarkably refreshed and vibrant, the lingering effects of the previous night’s emotional turmoil replaced by a quiet, burgeoning optimism that settled deep within his chest.

He ate a leisurely late lunch, savoring every bite of the surprisingly palatable food, a luxury he rarely truly enjoyed.

And then, with a newfound sense of purpose that had been absent for too long, he drew himself a bath.

The servant assigned to him, a silent, efficient man who diligently carried out all of Ash’s commands but consistently refused to answer any of his probing questions, cast suspicious, almost wary glances at Ash, who seemed unusually cheerful, a stark contrast to his usual brooding demeanor.

Ash, catching the servant’s curious, almost fearful scrutiny, straightened his face and let out a deliberate, dignified cough, a subtle assertion of his authority and a gentle dismissal.

“Can’t you hurry up and get ready and leave?”

Ash commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.

“You’re not going to attend my bath, are you? And just so you know, I don’t let anyone touch my body unless they’re my personal attendant.”

Naturally, the servant was not Ash’s personal attendant, a fact both knew well.

The servant quickly bowed his head, a mixture of silent exasperation and perhaps a hint of relief on his face, and swiftly left the room, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Ash to his privacy.

Ash suddenly found himself wondering, with a pang of concern that touched his heart, where his own loyal personal retainers, his trusted retinue of servants and confidantes, had gone.

Surely Owen didn’t drive them out, he mused, a flicker of worry crossing his mind.

It was highly improper, practically unheard of in noble households, to summarily dismiss people who had served the family for so long, through generations, no matter how much of a bastard Owen was.

But Owen, that particular bastard, was notoriously cold-blooded, a man devoid of genuine empathy, entirely capable of such heartless and ruthless acts, making Ash frown deeply.

Could Owen have truly tolerated Ash’s loyal people remaining in the castle, knowing full well their allegiance lay squarely with Ash and not with him?

Given the insidious and underhanded way Owen had seized control of the castle, quietly tightening his grip with every passing day, it wouldn’t have been strange at all if he had summarily dismissed the servants as soon as his father had passed away, eliminating any potential threats or dissenters to his newfound authority.

Ash, a surge of righteous indignation rising within him, angrily hit the bed with his fist, the soft mattress absorbing the impact of his frustration.

‘I didn’t even get to thank them,’ he thought, a particular pang of regret for the brave servant who had risked so much, putting his own life and livelihood in jeopardy, to secretly inform him of his father’s demise.

Ash, being a lavish spender by nature, was exceedingly generous to the servants who waited on him, always ensuring they were well compensated for their loyalty and service.

He would bestow rewards as he pleased, often simply reaching into his pockets; even the smallest coin in his possession was always silver, never copper or bronze, a testament to his innate generosity.

Thanks to his prodigal generosity, Ash’s loyal servants, those who had remained by his side through thick and thin, lived far more prosperous than most local gentry.

‘Even if they were kicked out, they wouldn’t starve to death,’ he comforted himself, a small, hopeful thought that brought a measure of peace.

Ash clicked his tongue, a small, frustrated sound that nevertheless held a hint of firm resolve, and then, with a sigh of contentment, entered the inviting warmth of the bath, the steam rising around him like a comforting shroud.

Owen was surely confident that he had completely incapacitated Ash, that he had severed all of Ash’s connections and sources of aid within the castle walls, leaving him powerless.

But Ash knew better.

He still had many people left to help him, scattered perhaps, but loyal to the core.

Kicked out of the castle?

Even better, in a way.

They could certainly help him when he finally left the castle with his master, providing crucial aid and resources from the outside, their hands no longer tied by Owen’s rule.

Still inside the castle?

That was good too.

Wasn’t he, by leaving them behind, implicitly leaving behind crucial spies and allies who could raid Owen’s office for him, retrieving vital information like the will without direct risk to himself?

‘That’s right.’

Ash narrowed his brows, a complex plan steadily forming in his mind, its intricate pieces slotting into place with satisfying precision.

Escaping with his master was a truly excellent plan, almost foolproof, offering a guarantee of freedom.

With his master by his side, there was absolutely no fear of being caught; he was simply too powerful, too elusive, a phantom even to the most vigilant of castle guards.

The lingering problem, however, the thorn in his side, was the contents of his father’s will, which
Owen stubbornly possessed and kept hidden, like a dragon guarding its hoard.

He desperately needed to verify that information, to understand its full implications for his future and his rightful inheritance, before making his final move…

‘Is there no other way?’

Ash mused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, a spark of cunning igniting within him, illuminating his thoughts.

He thought he should ask his master one more small favor, a seemingly trivial request that, in the grand scheme of things, held significant strategic importance for his escape.

If his cute disciple was waiting, freshly bathed and purified, gleaming with innocence and allure, wouldn’t his master be willing to offer a trivial bit of help, like subtly infiltrating the young duke’s heavily guarded office and retrieving a certain crystal ball?

Lightly drying his hair with a fluffy towel, its soft fibers caressing his scalp and absorbing the last vestiges of moisture, and clad only in a soft, pristine white shower gown that enveloped him in comforting warmth, Ash practically dove onto the bed, eager for his master’s imminent arrival.

The plush bedding enveloped him, a comforting embrace, the soft sheets a stark contrast to the hardness of his resolve.

Not long after, as if summoned by his very thoughts, a bird, its feathers shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence in the dimming light of the room, gracefully flew in through the open window, its arrival silent and swift, a familiar harbinger of the master’s powerful and enigmatic presence.

***

“Master!”

Ash threw his arms around his master, who had just transformed back into his human form, the transition from avian to human form as seamless and effortless as a breath.

The warmth of his master’s body was immediate and comforting.

Then, with a sudden, determined push, Ash settled him into an armchair, his own excitement palpable.

“Ah…?”

His master’s soft exclamation was laced with a hint of surprise, a gentle questioning of Ash’s sudden fervor.

Ash wasted no time, his movements swift and practiced.

He unbuckled his master’s belt with nimble fingers and, without hesitation, immediately took his cock into his mouth.

With a faint, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips, he let the hardened cock fill one cheek, making it bulge outwardly, a testament to its impressive size.

Ash’s face, focused entirely on the task at hand, his eyelashes lowered, casting delicate shadows on his cheeks, was so overtly sensual, so utterly consumed by the act, that it would make anyone lose their composure, their breath catching in their throat.

Droplets of water, glistening with residual moisture from his bath, fell from his still-damp hair, tracing cool paths down his master’s exposed skin and tickling the sensitive skin of the mage’s lower abdomen.

The sensation of the water tracing down his thighs was exquisitely irritating, a delightful contrast to the rising heat within.

As the heat rose in his body, making him flush with arousal, the rhythmic drip of water from his hair became increasingly unbearable, a torment that only heightened his desire.

The mage, caught off guard by Ash’s uncharacteristic initiative, seemed genuinely bewildered.

“Why are you acting so good?” he mused aloud, his voice tinged with amused curiosity.

“When have I ever not been good?”

Ash asked innocently, his voice muffled around the cock, feigning ignorance of his own manipulative intentions.

“But Master,” Ash continued, shifting slightly, his voice a seductive murmur, “I’ve been thinking, and… umm, going outside doesn’t actually solve all my problems, does it?”

“Indeed,” his master replied, a knowing glint in his eyes that suggested he was already aware of Ash’s hidden agenda.

“If you could just help me a little, umm, I think everything would work out perfectly.”

Ash licked his master’s cock like a cat, his tongue tracing tantalizing patterns on the sensitive flesh, then looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, radiating an almost angelic innocence.

His red tongue swirled around the fleshy shaft, a mesmerizing dance of desire, before it disappeared deeper into his mouth, taking more of him in.

Next, it was time for his lips to work their magic.

He moistened the cock, drawing it in and out, stimulating it gently with soft, circular motions.

Ash truly disliked using his throat; it just wasn’t his preference, too uncomfortable, too restrictive.

He decided instead to stick to what he was truly good at, to his strengths.

And what Ash was good at, what he was absolutely confident in, was, of course, his proven beauty, his undeniable allure, and his innate skill at oral seduction.

Is it working?

He glanced up, a quick, almost imperceptible flick of his eyes.

His master was smiling.

His smile was always like that, though, a serene, almost detached expression that gave little away… but his cock was now semi-hard, a promising sign.

His master, with a gentle, almost paternal gesture, stroked Ash’s chin, as if Ash were an actual cat, a pampered pet.

“Mmm, I see.”

What kind of answer is that?

Ash thought, a flicker of irritation sparking within him.

It was an annoying attitude, just as irritating as a cock that offered just enough hope to frustrate without truly getting hard.

Ash tried hard not to show his impatience, maintaining a calm façade.

He rubbed the cock against his cheek, pressing it softly, all while meticulously maintaining a cute, obedient expression, a mask of innocent devotion.

“I think Owen’s office might have a crystal ball with the will recorded on it…” Ash began, his voice a soft, alluring whisper.

He took one testicle into his mouth, suckling gently, stimulating the other with his free hand.

His other hand slipped lower, effortlessly sliding into his own pants, his fingers finding their destination.

The opening, already loosened and slick from his bath, easily swallowed a single finger, then two, then three, stretching to accommodate them.

Squish, squish…

The wet, rhythmic sounds of his fingers working inside him filled the quiet room, a prelude to the rising tension.

His pheromones naturally began to flow, a sweet, heady scent that filled the air, thick with burgeoning desire.

Yes, this is right, Ash affirmed to himself.

His master seemed to be a Beta, which became clear when Ash recalled the intense, uncontrolled climax two days prior.

Almost no Alphas suppressed their pheromones while ejaculating; it was an instinctive release.

Ash had only met one such Alpha, a peculiar individual whose suppression of pheromones was a deeply ingrained habit; he believed using pheromones to overtly seduce and subdue someone didn’t align with his personal aesthetics, his chosen philosophy of power.

‘What nonsense,’ Ash had thought immediately, dismissing the notion.

He’d even said it aloud back then, prompting an unusual, if amusing, turn of events.

As a result, things had escalated into a strange bet about trying to roll around without using pheromones… a bizarre, yet memorable, experience.

Anyway, Ash was an Omega.

It was natural for pheromones to be released when he was aroused, an innate part of his biology.

Moreover, their release was good for Ash’s body, making his inner walls softer and slicker, preparing him for penetration.

Since his master wasn’t that guy, why would Ash need to suppress his pheromones as he did when he was with him?

There was no need for such restraint here.

‘Come to think of it, they both do go down on you well,’ Ash mused, a fleeting, almost humorous thought crossing his mind, just as he increased the number of fingers inside himself to three, widening his opening, and let out a soft sigh, a small sound of contentment and anticipation.

“What are you doing?”

His master’s voice, though calm, held an undertone of sudden, sharp curiosity.

“Hahk…!” A sudden, overwhelming sensation coursed through Ash.

Every nerve in his body jolted awake, tingling with an exquisite sensitivity, and all his sensory organs seemed to bloom, opening themselves to a new, intense reality.

The unmistakable, overpowering scent of an Alpha’s pheromones, thick and rich, descended upon Ash, completely overwhelming his own, pressing down on him like a physical weight.

Ash felt himself go utterly limp, his limbs losing all strength, melting into a puddle of blissful submission.

His master, anticipating his collapse, caught him as he slumped like a doll, gripping him gently under both armpits and making him kneel again, his body positioned obediently between his master’s legs.

In that very position, his master, with a deliberate and powerful movement, pressed down hard on Ash’s cock, eliciting a sharp gasp.