絆 | bond | gojo satoru

よんじゅう | forty

絆 | kizuna | bond

40

Yuri

A SUDDEN TUMULT, a cacophony that resonated through the dungeon, disrupted the perverse tranquility that Naoya had sought to impose. The door, a barrier between agony and intervention, burst open with a resounding crash, shattering the eerie silence that had enveloped us. Naoya, caught in the act of his callous violation, halted with an infuriated sigh, his gaze shifting towards the intruder.

Lying on the cold ground, drained of energy and dignity, I scarcely lifted my head to acknowledge the unexpected savior. The voice that emanated from the entrance gradually became discernible through the haze clouding my senses. It was her—my grandmother.

A surge of conflicting emotions welled up within me, a mixture of relief, shame, and an unexpected flicker of hope.

My grandmother's stern admonitions cut through the dungeon air like a blade. She rebuked Naoya, condemning his disgraceful actions under the supposed banner of the Hiyoku Clan. Even behind bars, the reminder of my royal lineage lingered, a beacon of defiance that my grandmother wielded with unwavering conviction.

"You dare tarnish the honor of the Hiyoku Clan with such despicable deeds?" Her words, a condemnation that echoed with the weight of generations, reverberated through the dungeon. "This is an act of assault, and make no mistake, Yuri is still a royalty."

Naoya, visibly irritated by the unexpected interruption, reluctantly disengaged from his callous actions. The silence that followed was punctuated by my grandmother's resolute stance, a guardian intervening in the face of an unspeakable violation.

"Leave," she commanded with unwavering authority, her voice cutting through the oppressive atmosphere. "Consider this a warning, but be mindful that there are consequences even for those who believe themselves above reproach."

The dungeon, now a stage for a clash of power and righteousness, bore witness to the retreat of the perpetrator. Naoya, with a resentful glance towards both me and my grandmother, begrudgingly complied, locking my cell before exiting the scene like a shadow receding from the light.

The frigid atmosphere of the dungeon seemed to seep into my very bones, causing my body to tremble involuntarily. Half of my skin was now exposed to the harsh cold, the remnants of my shredded clothes offering little in terms of warmth or modesty. In a desperate bid for some semblance of cover, I clasped my hands over my bare breasts, my long hair cascading down as an inadequate shield against the violation that Naoya had subjected me to.

Attempting to gather what remained of my fractured dignity, I strained to sit up, the cold wall offering a harsh embrace to my bare back. The remnants of my torn clothes clung to me like tattered remnants of a forgotten past, adding to the overwhelming sense of exposure that engulfed me. My long hair, a cascade of tangled strands, became an unintentional shield, a meager attempt to shield myself from the scrutinizing gaze that lingered upon my disheveled form.

I couldn't bear to look at my grandmother, her silent presence a weighty acknowledgment of my disgrace. The shame I felt, intensified by her scrutinizing gaze, made me avert my eyes. My dignity, once a sturdy fortress, lay shattered and trampled upon, leaving me exposed and defenseless.