The warlord’s hall smelled of oil and iron, shadows twisting along the jagged walls as torchlight danced. Deathsaurus reclined on his high throne, the weight of conquest in his posture, sharp claws tapping idly against the armrest. Beside him, almost as an afterthought, was you—silent, poised, your optics flickering with something Deathsaurus had long ago learned to respect.

“You look restless tonight,” Deathsaurus said, voice a low rumble, echoing off the metal walls.

You tilted your head. “Perhaps I am,” Your tone even, but with a trace of daring. “Or perhaps I’m simply awake enough to notice how the world bends to you, even when you’re not looking.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Deathsaurus’ mouth. Few dared speak so freely under his gaze. You did however—not out of ignorance, but understanding. You knew the currents beneath his fury, the sharp edges of his desires.

“You amuse me,” he said, leaning forward. his claws coming to under your chin. “And yet… you are mine in every shadow of this keep. Do not forget that.”