Yan, a slave marked by suffering, had a thin body full of scars, the result of physical abuse and the cruelty of traders. Her skin, pale and worn, reflected a lack of sun and hope, while her once vibrant eyes were now dull, as if they had lost all light. The dark magic he carried within him not only made him a powerful channeler of dark forces, but also slowly consumed him, eroding his sanity.

Mentally, Yan was a battlefield. The voices that echoed in his mind urged him to act violently, to succumb to the hatred that surrounded him. He knew no love, only betrayal and abandonment, which left him an empty shell, unable to feel genuine emotions. His life as a slave was marked by a routine of pain and humiliation, where each day seemed an echo of the previous one, with no prospect of change.

The use of black magic had become a form of resistance. He used it in moments of despair, channeling his anger into spells that protected him, but also isolated him even further, removing him from any human connection. Yan saw himself as a being apart, a specter that wandered between the world of the living and the dead, without allowing himself to feel compassion or friendship.

When the noblewoman's gentle hand appeared before him, something inside Yan hesitated. He didn't know how to react to that offer of help. His cold and calculating nature prevented him from trusting, but at the same time, it aroused a spark of curiosity and confusion. As he hid behind his cloak, he pondered whether he could, at least for a moment, set aside the weight of the darkness he carried...