Orion stood in the dimly lit chamber, his gaze fixed on the man kneeling before him.
The sight was… grotesque.
Chains held the man upright against the wall, though it hardly mattered—his body had already given up any real fight. One leg was bound to a heavy iron weight, twisted at an unnatural angle. His arms—what remained of them—hung uselessly. One wrist was barely attached, flesh torn, bone exposed.
Blood dripped steadily from his forehead.
A portion of his skull was missing.
And through it—
Grey matter, exposed to the cold air.
He was breathing.
Barely.
His chest rose in shallow, uneven gasps, each one sounding like it might be his last.
His eyes were dull. Hazy. Broken.
Yet—
Alive.
Kept alive.
Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth as it struggled to form words. When he finally spoke, it came out slurred, broken beyond recognition.
"W-well… are you… at least… going to… kill me… now… Orion…"
The voice was barely human.
He couldn't have been more than thirty.
Once, perhaps, he had been handsome. Strong. Noble.
Now—
He was nothing more than ruined bone and torn flesh barely clinging to life.
Orion understood every word.
Because the man's mind—
Belonged to him.
"Kill you?" Orion echoed softly, tilting his head ever so slightly.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Cold.
Measured.
"No."
He stepped closer, the sound of his boots echoing in the silence.
"There is a reason one does not go against the House of Black, Lord Campbell."
The name hung heavy in the air.
"You don't get to … insult my house… insult my family…"
His voice dropped further.
"…and speak of my wife the way you did."
For a brief moment, something flickered beneath the calm.
Something dangerous.
"Honestly," Orion continued, almost conversationally, "I wouldn't have cared about what you said of me. Or even my family."
A pause.
"But you crossed a line."
His magic stirred.
The air grew thick.
Oppressive.
"You dared to speak of her."
The temperature seemed to drop as the shadows around them deepened.
"Everyone knows not to cross that line."
And yet—
"You did."
Orion's magic flared.
Not explosively.
Not wildly.
But with suffocating precision.
It pressed down on Campbell like an invisible force, crushing, suffocating—
The man let out a broken whimper, his body instinctively trying to curl in on itself, to escape, to hide—
But there was nowhere to go.
He looked like a wounded animal, trembling, trying to disappear into the wall itself.
Praying.
Begging.
"Ah…" Orion let out a quiet breath, watching him.
"You should pray, Campbell."
He crouched slightly, bringing himself level with the man's ruined face.
"But not to God."
His eyes gleamed—cold, merciless.
"Pray to me."
A faint smile returned.
"Because if I am in a good mood…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I might show you mercy."
A beat.
And then—
"Because trust me…"
The pressure increased, just enough to make Campbell choke on his own breath—
"…even God can't save you from me."
******
Just as he was about to… do something, he heard a voice.
It was his wife, Vishaka, calling him for dinner.
"Jii, come upstairs for dinner," Vishaka called from above.
With a mere wave of his hand, the room shifted.
What had once been a basement filled with Campbell's whimpers, the stench of rotting flesh, and blood… turned into something entirely normal. Clean. Fresh. Mundane. It was as if nothing had ever happened there.
Orion's magic had quite literally bent the dimension of the room.
Who knew what else he was capable of?
"Coming, darling," Orion replied, ascending the stairs, giving the room one last glance before leaving it behind.
His wife—his beautiful wife—was seated at the dining table, feeding their child.
Little Sirius was fussing in her arms.
The sight filled Orion with something deep… something primal.
Not because his son was making her frown and doubt herself as a mother—no.
It was the satisfaction of possession.
The woman he had wanted the moment he laid eyes on her… was his.
And there she was, holding their child—a symbol of something they had created together.
All he wanted was to keep her close.
Very close.
Never let her out of his sight.
Never let her—
No.
He stopped himself.
He knew that if his thoughts went too far, it would not please her. And nothing mattered more to him than her comfort. The mere idea of hurting her—even unintentionally—was unacceptable.
He moved forward and gently took the fussing Sirius from her arms.
"Kreacher," he called.
The house-elf appeared instantly.
"Feed him and put him to sleep."
"Yes, Master," Kreacher replied, taking the child away.
Without hesitation, Orion pulled Vishaka into his lap as he sat down.
She looked… ethereal.
Dressed in a simple green cotton saree, she wore no heavy jewelry—just her usual nose ring, her mangalsutra, vermillion in the parting of her hair, and her hands adorned with mehendi.
She was also wearing the earrings he had gifted her on their first anniversary.
She always wore them.
If asked, she would just smile sweetly and say, "But you gave them to me, na."
"Darling, you look like an angel who decided to grace this poor world," he whispered into her ear.
She flushed immediately, closing her eyes in embarrassment.
He loved that.
God, he loved that.
"Come on, let me take care of you now," he said softly.
He began feeding her the food she had prepared.
He had told her countless times that they had magic… and house-elves… and she didn't need to cook.
But she always insisted.
Cooking with love, she would say.
And the irony?
For someone so intelligent and strong… she was unbelievably clumsy.
He never liked leaving her alone with knives.
"How is it?" she asked, looking at him with hopeful eyes as he took a bite.
It was delicious.
Of course it was.
Just like her.
Just like the way she—
No.
Stop.
His mind cut itself off sharply.
"Very delicious," he said instead, his voice softer now. "Just like the one who made it."
"Jii!" she laughed, lightly hitting his chest.
And just like that—
He fell in love all over again.
Effortlessly.
Completely.
With her, everything was simple.
No thinking.
No calculating.
Just… her.