Chapter Text
Lettuce clapped his hands together once.
The unexpected sound shattered the peace, ringing through the room with startling clarity. The sound ricocheted off the stone walls, before gradually dissolving into silence once more.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then came the click of a handle. Almost immediately, the door swung open. A group of guards, all equally stacked with netherite armour began filing into the room, making a beeline for Wemmbu.
Flame instinctively moved closer to Wemmbu, shifting sideways slightly to place himself between the guards and the injured figure slumped on the chair.
Every muscle in Flame’s body tensed, ears pinned flat against his head. His gaze tracked the approaching guards with a predatory focus, a warning growl building in his throat.
“Easy, tiger.” Lettuce stated calmly.
The guards paid him no mind. One seized Wemmbu by the arm, gripping tightly before hauling him upright, utterly unconcerned with the injuries they were aggravating.
A pained whimper escaped him as he struggled weakly against their grip. The effort was pitiful. The exhaustion and injury Wemmbu had been nursing had long since robbed him of any real strength. Still, he tried.
The sound alone was enough to make something ugly twist inside Flame’s chest.
No one was allowed to touch his Wemmbu.
Flame turned to face Lettuce, every insult he knew crowding the tip of his tongue.
“Where are you taking him?” Flame snapped. “We never agreed to this.”
The guards paused in their ministration.
Lettuce tilted his head, as though he was genuinely puzzled by the question. “Didn’t I tell you I would be monitoring his saturation and health personally? I can’t have other variables around him tampering with the results.”
His gaze drifted lazily towards the guards, the silent command clear. They resumed moving immediately.
Wemmbu’s feet struggled to find purchase beneath him. After only a few steps, his injured leg buckled under his already diminished weight. With the tendon severed, it was incapable of supporting him. He crashed to the floor hard.
Paying him no mind, the guards simply continued dragging him towards the door.
Wemmbu looked back in distress, his pupils blown widened. A silent plea lingering in the air.
Flame’s claws dug into his palms. All he could do was watch as they dragged his mate away. For the first time in his life, he felt truly powerless. For all his strength, for all his victory, for all the battles he had won– he couldn’t stop them from taking Wemmbu away.
After the confrontation, the two had been separated. Wemmbu was sent back to the dungeons, while Flame was permitted to leave the compound and return back to his base.
The place felt different now.
Colder. Emptier.
The silence that greeted him felt wrong. The base was exactly as he had left it, yet something was missing.
For years, Flame had considered the base his home, the place he could safely restock in the safety of his cave. Now, it was just a building.
Home was wherever Wemmbu was.
Flame sighed, rubbing his face before preparing for the night.
It was going to be a long day tomorrow.
The next day, Flame arrived at the training ground at seven in the morning sharp. Years of discipline had made punctuality second nature, regardless of the circumstances.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes. Sleep had been elusive. Unable to drift off as his instincts stirred restlessly beneath the surface, tugging at him with persistence, yearning for his mate.
Spotting SargeLaw in the distance, he made his way towards him.
“Yo.”
“Morning Flame, didn’t take you for an early bird.” He greeted in his usual gruff voice. “ Let’s get started. The earlier we begin, the sooner we’re done.”
“Sounds good, bro.”
“First, a warm-up.”
Flame nodded before turning around, headed towards an open patch of ground to run through his usual routines. Here, he worked fast and efficiently. A few stretches to loosen his joints before moving into weapon drills. Sword arcs cut through the air in rapid succession as he practiced his combinations. Thrust. Slash. Pivot. Repeat. The familiar sequence of strikes and slashes head drilled into muscle memory over years of fighting.
For the first time in ages, his thoughts began to quiet. The constant worry gnawing at the back of his head was still present but dulled beneath the familiarity of the movements. Allowing to focus on something other than the image of Wemmbu being dragged away.
By the time he finished, his body felt alert and ready for combat.
Once completed, Sarge beckoned him to step forward into a makeshift arena enclosed by wooden crates.
Flame stepped inside, expecting to fight something. However, the words that came out of Sarge left him gaping like a fish out of water. Literally.
Sarge had ordered Flame to stand in one spot till the end of his shift. No moving. No fidgeting.
“What is this suppose to be training me for?” Flame groaned.
Sarge shrugged his shoulders. “Theres no point training you in combat, you’re already a grandmaster.”
“So.. you came up with this?”
“Precisely. You have no restraint, patience or accountability, today you will learn.”
Flame is going to lose his mind.
“If you can do exactly as I ordered, Wemmbu will be allowed to receive his first meal.”
At those words, Flame immediately straightened. Whatever complaints he had died in his throat.
If this was what it took to keep Wemmbu fed, then he would endure it.
During a break, Lettuce strolled leisurely around the training grounds, observing Flame from afar as the latter neared the end of his shift.
Sarge, the commander overseeing the training session, spotted him and immediately saluted him in greeting.
Lettuce pulled him aside, whispering into his ears. Sarge listened attentively before giving a single nod.
Satisfied, Lettuce left.
Flame later learned that he is allowed to visit Wemmbu in his cell for thirty minutes each day after his shift.
Long enough to allow their bond to strengthen, but brief enough to ensure separation still hurts.
Flame would usually be the one to deliver food to Wemmbu. However, the latter seemed to be uninterested.
True to his words, Lettuce kept Wemmbu’s hunger tightly controlled. At the end of each day, he was rewarded with only a single slice of bread.
However, most nights, it remained untouched.
Wemmbu struggled to eat it. After weeks of starvation, his body had long forgotten how to welcome food. The hunger was still there, gnawing relentlessly at his insides, yet a few bites were enough to leave him nauseous, causing him to vomit whatever little he managed to keep down.
A cruel contradiction.
His body screamed for nourishment, only to reject it when provided.
Flame attempts his best to comfort him, occasionally bringing scented pieces of clothing that gradually accumulated into a makeshift nest in the corner of Wemmbu’s cell.
Every visit followed the same routine. Curling his body protectively around Wemmbu, resting his chin atop his head as he combed through his hair. Sometimes Flame would preen his mate’s wings. Through it all, one thing remained constant; a steady stream of rambling about whatever had happened during the day. Training. Things he’d eaten. Anything that came to mind. The story hardly mattered. It was a futile attempt in maintaining a sense of normalcy.
Wemmbu, who had yet to utter a single word since the incident, would simply listen, occasionally letting out a soft trill in response.
Flame treasured every single one of them.
It was Lettuce who noticed first. The rapid decline in Wemmbu’s health.
Wemmbu was dying.
Not quickly, not dramatically, but slowly.
His appetite never returned. The meagre portion he was given remained largely untouched. Not to mention, his worsening exhaustion. Wemmbu was almost always spotted curled within his makeshift nest, conserving what little energy he had left as he waited for Flame’s daily visit.
Even those visits were growing shorter. With each passing day, Wemmbu spent less time awake and more time asleep.
Lettuce couldn’t help but feel concerned.
Had he overlooked something?
The punishment was meant to motivate Flame, not to kill Wemmbu.
Lettuce understood a simple truth– starve a dog for too long and it would eventually wander off in search of another master. Feed it just enough, and it would remain exactly where you wanted it.
If Wemmbu keeps this up, Flame might begin to retaliate.
Wemmbu should have been slowly recovering by now. Slowly yes, but recovering nonetheless.
By all accounts, he should have been improving.
Instead, the opposite was happening. The discrepancy did not make sense.
Eventually, he ordered a full examination, eager to find the root cause of it all. Not out of kindness. Wemmbu was a crucial component of his rehabilitation program, he needed him alive. If something were to happen to him, he would inevitably lose his hold on Flame as well, rendering his efforts meaningless.
The results arrived a few days later.
For the first time in weeks, Lettuce looks genuinely caught off guard.
The report trembled in his grip.
Pregnant.