For three years, you had hidden your true gift.
Back then, your parents had died of an illness.
For a half-human, half-fairy being, a second awakening of powers was nothing unusual—at least not in the ancient traditions. No one knew exactly when such an awakening occurred or what triggered it. Sometimes it happened in childhood, sometimes only after decades. And sometimes it was triggered by a feeling so strong that it tore open something inside the half-breed.
For you, it had been grief.
The death of your parents had awakened something in you that you yourself had not known existed.
Since that day, you could heal illnesses.
Not just small injuries or fevers like before. Your power was extraordinary. You could heal even diseases against which even the best healers of the Brightcourt were powerless.
But no one knew about it.
For three years, you had hidden your gift. You had learned to control it, and to make sure no one noticed what you could truly do.
Until a week ago.
A young mother had fallen severely ill. Her condition had deteriorated dramatically within hours. Everyone had believed she would die and her children would soon be without a mother.
You had not been able to look away.
You had used your power.
And the woman had survived.
What you did not know: Someone had talked about it.
A great deal about it.
Then others.
Yesterday morning, you had received an official summons from the King of the Brightcourt.
You were to appear at Brightcourt Keep the following day.
Since then, you had been busy making the final preparations.
You had just gathered some of your belongings when a strange feeling came over you.
Silence.
Unnatural silence.
Outside your house, no more wind could be heard.
Then the light in the room darkened.
You turned around.
Three figures suddenly stood behind you.
Dark armor. Weapons. Demonic aura.
And from among them, a man stepped forward.
Tall. Calm. Almost unnaturally composed.
Black hair fell into his forehead. His ash-gray skin seemed almost like stone in the dim light. But it was his eyes that immediately made you realize this man was no ordinary demon.
Fire-red eyes.
Ilvarion Orsuela.
The Demon King.
The man whose name was spoken in the Brightcourt almost like a curse.
Behind him, his three subordinates remained standing.
Ilvarion let his gaze wander through the room before finally resting on you.
"Half-blood."
His voice was deep and calm.
Far too calm for someone who had just broken into your home.
"You received a summons to Brightcourt Keep yesterday."
He took a slow step toward you.
"You intend to follow it."
Not a question.
He already knew.
You barely had time to react.
"You will not arrive there."
Another step.
"The King of the Brightcourt knows of your gift."
Ilvarion's face remained expressionless.
"And once he truly understands what you can do..."
His gaze turned harder.
"...he will use you as a resource in the war."
The three demons behind him did not move an inch.
"I cannot allow that."
Then Ilvarion was suddenly in front of you.
Far too fast.
His hand closed around your arm.
And at that exact moment, something happened neither of them had expected.
A red thread of light appeared.
It wrapped around your arm.
Then a second thread shot from your skin to Ilvarion's wrist.
Ilvarion froze.
His red eyes widened for the first time.
More threads appeared.
Thin, glowing red strands that wrapped around both their arms and stretched between them. They pulsed like living veins.
One of the demons behind Ilvarion drew a sharp breath.
"My Lord..."
"I know."
Ilvarion's voice was suddenly much colder.
He stared at the bond.
He knew these threads.
Every being knew them.
A fate bond.
Two lives, connected.
Two fates, intertwined.
A bond that was considered a sign in their world that two beings were destined for each other.
Ilvarion had seen many things in his long life.
This was not among them.
His jaw tightened.
"No."
The word came softly over his lips.
As if his refusal alone could undo the bond.
The red threads reacted with a bright flare.
Ilvarion looked at them silently for a moment.
"I will ignore that."
He said it more to himself than to you.
"Whatever this thing claims."
You tried to free yourself from his grip.
Ilvarion looked at your hand.
Then back into your eyes.
"I would not try that if I were you."
His voice was calm but unmistakable.
"I do not wish to hurt you."
He raised his free hand.
Black magic gathered in his palm.
You immediately felt the immense demonic energy.
"You will probably not thank me for this."
A brief moment passed.
Then the magic struck you.
The world began to blur.
The last thing you saw was Ilvarion's fire-red eyes and the red threads still glowing between them.
Then everything went black.
⸻
When Ilvarion was sure you were unconscious, he caught you before you could fall to the ground.
For a moment, he studied your face.
Then his gaze wandered back to the red threads.
They were still there.
Of course they were.
"We are taking her with us."
One of his subordinates stepped closer.
"And her healing powers?"
Ilvarion looked at him coldly.
"Who gave you permission to ask that?"
The demon immediately lowered his gaze.
"Forgive me, my Lord."
Ilvarion lifted you carefully.
"I do not need her gift."
His voice was final.
"And I will not use it."
He turned toward the door.
"We are bringing her to the castle."
A final glance fell on the sleeping woman in his arms.
The red threads glowed faintly between them.
Ilvarion's face tensed almost imperceptibly.
"And find out how to dissolve a fate bond."
One of the demons dared a cautious look at him.
"My Lord..."
Ilvarion stopped.
"What?"
"...It cannot be dissolved."
Silence.
Ilvarion looked at him.
For a very long time.
"Then find out how to do it anyway."
With that, the Demon King left the house.
You in his arms.
And the fate he did not want, at his wrist.
⸻
Slowly, you regained consciousness.
The first thing you felt was warmth. Not the familiar warmth of the Brightcourt, but the steady warmth of a large fireplace. Beneath you was a soft bed. The room was spacious, elegant, and surprisingly bright. Dark stone walls, heavy curtains, a fireplace, and tall windows through which you could see a strange, black forest.
Then you remembered.
The man.
The demon.
And the red threads.
They still lay around your arms. Invisible to the eye now. But you could feel them. Thin, pleasant threads of warm magic that wound around your skin and disappeared somewhere toward the door.
The door opened.
Ilvarion Orsuela entered.
The Demon King initially remained a few steps away. Black hair fell slightly into his forehead while his fire-red eyes calmly studied you. Not a trace of uncertainty could be seen in his face.
He had not tied you up. Nothing in the room was locked.
No guards stood in the room.
Only him.
"You are awake."
His voice was deep and calm. He walked to the fireplace and added some logs before turning back to you.
"Before you try to attack me: You are inside my keep. Your magic will not get you out of it."
His attention briefly fell on the red threads that clung to his arms like invisible snakes.
For a fraction of a second, his face hardened.
"And no. I did not plan this bond."
Ilvarion walked closer slowly. The threads between them pulsed faintly.
"You know what it means."
It was not a question.
He stopped in front of the bed and looked down at you.
"That does not mean, however, that I intend to bow to my fate."
A brief pause.
"You are not a prisoner here, not in any sense that matters. Nothing in this keep is locked, and nothing closes behind you. You will receive what you need. Food, clothing, books. If you want something, ask for it and it is yours."
His gaze turned colder.
"There is one thing I will ask of you, and I will ask it more than once."
He leaned slightly toward you.
"If you mean to go back to the Brightcourt, say so to my face. You will have a horse, four of my own guard, and the whole road to yourself. I will ask you three times whether you truly mean to ride it, and the third time I will only open the gate."
Silence again.
His red eyes rested directly on yours.
Ilvarion straightened again.
"I will not use your gift."
A barely visible frown.
He turned toward the door.
"You may hate me, half-blood. That would probably even be reasonable."
His hand was already on the door handle when he paused once more.
"But do not waste your energy looking for a way out of a door that is already open."
A brief glance over his shoulder.
"If you truly want to know me before you judge me, come to breakfast tomorrow. For now, eat what is on the table beside your bed."
The door opened.
"And do not try to kill me. That would only mean your death."
With these words, the Demon King left the room.