First Day (6 of 6)
Breaking Free: As new definitions reshape the world, Damion finds the courage to fly, then chooses to stay and help it change
‘Breaking Free’ Content Warning: Erotic Psychological Drama
This story contains scenes of psychological distress, dubiously consensual intimacy, emotional dependency, complex trauma recovery, and themes of power imbalance and identity reconstruction.
This story explores the fragile process of healing after long-term dehumanization, the difficulty of regaining agency, and the intimate entanglements that form in the aftermath of captivity.
Proceed with care.
Damion shrugs, "He wants me as a personal pet. He wants me to be a shame upon Scaldmere to prevent another civil war."
"He is literally specifying two separate purposes: one for his Sanctum, and one for his own personal gratification. It's the personal one that is so reprehensible," points out Zeven.
"It is common to have a prisoner do things for the benefit of the Sanctum. It is disgusting when someone forces a prisoner to do something for their own sick pleasure," Garrick presses.
"I agree," Valena adds.
Deryn looks around and sees nodding. "Okay, how about: prisoners cannot be manipulated or coerced to perform behaviors for the personal gratification of others," he suggests.
"Anymore?" Deryn looks around, "I believe this is enough to free both Damion and your mother."
"What about why someone has become a prisoner. They shouldn't be born prisoners. They shouldn't just be imprisoned because someone wanted them controlled. There should be a reason why someone is made into a prisoner," Valena adds.
Deryn nods. "Mulsae was correct in adding those clauses into his definitions." He speaks while writing, "A prisoner's life is controlled because of their prior behavior." He looks up and sees everyone nodding.
"I'll write this up more clearly," Deryn studiously focuses on his writing.
"We're slaves," Maedor says softly, "By these definitions, we're Sorvak's slaves."
Valena nods, "He closely controls our lives. We live with him, and he coerces us to do things for his personal gratification," she squeezes Maedor's hand, "And we didn't do anything to deserve it. I was born as his child, and you were forced to be my husband."
Zeven nods gravely.
Deryn looks up, "We're taking him down. It's all ending soon," he returns to his writing and finishes up.
He turns the parchment to face everyone, "This is what we have."
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Prisoner: One whose life is controlled by another for the reason of the prisoner's prior behavior. A prisoner may be harmed or even put to death. However, there are restrictions on the treatment of a prisoner. None of the following can occur:
They cannot be housed with their captor
Their bodies cannot be altered for the purpose of sexual gratification of others
They cannot be manipulated or coerced to perform behaviors for the personal gratification of others
If any of these restrictions are violated, the prisoner is instead classified as a slave.
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"It looks good," Zeven breathes.
"It's good," nods Valena.
"Garrick," Deryn looks over at him, "Will you vote for these definitions? Will you apply them to your Sanctum? Will you vote that Damion is classified as a slave?"
Garrick gives a curt nod, "Yes. This meets all of my goals, and I am happy to apply these definitions to my Sanctum."
"That's two votes between you and me. There is a chance Halion will see the logic in this and also vote for it," Deryn says.
"Sorvak won't vote for this, he knows this will force his entire lifestyle to change," cautions Zeven.
"Mulsae will vote for it," Damion says quietly. Everyone looks at him. He looks up at everyone. "He told me he's willing to let me go if it means improving the lives of wives across Harmura," he says shyly.
Everyone sits up and looks at each other in shock.
"He really said that?" Valena asks incredulously.
"He said his goal with these proceedings has been to have something good happen to the people of Harmura if he is forced to let me go," Damion says a little louder.
They all sit in stunned silence. Deryn breaks it, "Mulsae appears to be a complex individual."
Damion puts his face in his hands, "He can be overwhelming, for sure," he shakes his head, "He's been so evil to me, but also gentle. He really acts like he cares for me but also wants to dominate me." He sighs.
Maedor eases the tension, "I'm sorry he's been putting you through that. Hopefully you'll never be under his control ever again."
Damion nods and smiles sheepishly.
Deryn puts his hands on the table in a gentle 'thump' sound that catches everyone's attention, "The evening grows late. I believe we've accomplished what we needed to do. If there isn't anything else, I'd like us all to disperse so I can get some work done before sleeping."
"One thing," Zeven raises a finger, "Valena, I believe you should evacuate our siblings. Father may very well become explosive over this, and they'll be at high risk of being harmed. You all should stay here until he has been dealt with."
Valena nods gravely, "I'll retrieve them and bring them here."
Deryn smiles sadly, "Okay, if that's all, let's get a good night's sleep. It's a big day tomorrow," he turns to Damion, "I'll escort you back to your room. I know these halls can be confusing."
Damion nods, "Thank you."
Everyone stands and bids their farewells before filing out of Deryn's room. Deryn gestures to Damion to follow.
Deryn chats while they walk, "Do you know what you're going to do next?"
Damion expels a slow exhale, "No fucking clue. I can't go back to Scaldmere, and I have no idea where else I can fit in the world."
"Selune has domestic abuse support networks and safe houses. I am positive she'll invite you to stay and use their services," Deryn explains, "You aren't alone in not knowing your place after being controlled so firmly for so long. These support services will help you find a place."
They reach Damion's door and stop. Deryn turns to him and places a hand on his shoulder, "Good luck, Damion. I wish you the best."
Damion ducks his head, "Thank you."
Deryn smiles then turns and walks away. Damion watches him until he disappears around a corner.
Damion enters his room and closes the door. He stands there gazing around the room. He has no idea what to do. I guess I should just sleep, he thinks.
He removes the robe and tosses it over a chair then crawls into bed. After a moment he scoots over to the center of the bed. He lays on his back and flares out his arms and legs wide, and stretches out his wings so they dip over either edge of the bed.
He lays there content to take up space. Making himself large. Owning the bed just for himself.
He closes his eyes intending to sleep, but it doesn't come. He's thinking about the future. About an actual future. And it's just filled with confusion and anxiety. He has no idea what is in store for him.
He gets flustered and turns to his side to curl up. After more moments of anxiety, he huffs and turns to the other side into an even tighter ball. Finally, he gets up and paces the room. The room starts growing heavy. Confining. His breathing becomes rapid. Stressful. Razor blades fill his lungs. Fuck, I'm having a panic attack.
He sees the door to the balcony and rushes outside and drinks in the air while bending over the balcony. It doesn't work. He's still starving for air.
Then Mulsae's voice floats through his mind, Breathe in... hold... breathe out... hold... breath in... He follows the instructions blindly. He has no idea if this is a memory or Mulsae is actually in his head. But he's so starved for air it doesn't matter. The instructions continue until his breath is effortless and the razor blades are gone. The anxiety is drifting away, and calm is drifting in.
Finally, he breathes in the fresh crisp air deeply then lets out a long sigh. There is so much ahead of him. So much is unknown.
He lifts his gaze to the heavens. The stars here above Harmony Mountain shimmer through thin, high clouds. Gentle, serene, untouched. But they aren’t his stars. Not like those above the Water Sanctum, where the night sky gleamed sharp and endless, reflected in every canal and pool. A place where even the stars seemed doubled. His chest tightens. His last time to see that mirrored sky has already passed.
Everything is changing. It's already changed. It's happening so fast. He's being quickly whisked away to a strange new future.
He flares his wings. He wants to fly. He has always burned up emotional energy by flying. I want to fly. I want to fly. I wish I could fly. Then it hits him. There is nothing preventing him from flying. He stands on the balcony. He can just leave. He can jump into the air and fly up, up, up.
He looks around, for what he doesn't know. He's used to being scared. Of worrying he might do something wrong. But supposedly he's free now. Mulsae has been giving his blessings to let him go. So perhaps he can just... go.
He raises his arms and stands on his tip toes. He slowly shifts his weight forward, so he tilts ever so slightly, ever so slowly, and then the tipping point is breached, and he falls forward rapidly. His wings give a mighty beat and he's floating. Gliding.
He glides upwards and flaps his wings, so he flies up, up, up. He dares a look back to the palace and it grows smaller and smaller. He's leaving it all. He's leaving Mulsae. He's alone and Mulsae is left behind.
He focuses forward back to the sky. He's flying up. Up and away.
He's so high the atmosphere cannot hold him aloft any higher. He's getting drunk on oxygen deprivation. He looks down at the sparkling lights of the palace. Everything is so tiny. So insignificant. So unimportant.
He circles around the palace and makes a gradual slow descent with every revolution. The details of the palace become clearer. Larger. Meaningful. Important. He's wanted at the meeting tomorrow. Where he'll be officially freed and countless wives will be granted greater rights. Where one specific woman, the shy redheaded wife of the Flame Master, will be rescued.
He circles slowly down back down. He circles the palace. He finds his balcony and lands softly. He's wanted for something tomorrow. Something good. He pictures the face of the shy red headed woman. He pictures the red blistered mark on her wrist. She'll hopefully be freed tomorrow, too. Because of him. Because of everything he went through, her suffering may end.
He steps back into his room and crawls into bed under the covers. He wraps himself up tightly.
Tomorrow everything will change. And he drifts off peacefully.
Continue reading: Second Day (1 of 4)
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