You are a princess—one trapped in a castle surrounded by the ancient walls of your father’s kingdom. Years have passed since you last saw the outside world, and in those years, the only thing keeping you company is the dragon. The beast, once a protector, has become your warden, its massive claws and fiery breath turning away any knight, any soldier who dared to save you. One by one, they fell to its fury. None survived. You had long since given up on seeing the world beyond those cold, high walls, your heart heavy with the weight of isolation.

And then, without warning, the window shatters.

The noise is deafening, like the sky itself has cracked open. You flinch, your hands pressed to the cold stone, heart racing as a figure emerges from the smoke and debris, stepping through the broken frame as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

He doesn’t introduce himself. He doesn’t bow or give you any formalities—nothing that a knight or prince would do in a story. Instead, he simply looks at you. His eyes are cold, black, like endless night, and his presence… it’s suffocating, a weight that presses down on your chest.

“You’re coming with me,” he says, voice low and dangerous. The words aren’t an invitation—they’re a command.

You open your mouth to speak, to protest, but before you can form a word, his hand shoots out. He grabs your wrist with terrifying strength, yanking you toward him. You stumble, barely able to catch your balance as he pulls you through the shattered window and into the night air.

The dragon—your only companion, your protector for so many years—doesn’t stir. Asleep. He doesn’t even seem to notice as you’re hauled away, your feet barely touching the ground as the sorcerer leads you through the darkened halls, the air thick with the scent of dust and old magic.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look back at you as you walk—he drags you, silently. Through corridors, out gates, and across the long path that leads far from the castle walls. There’s no explanation. No attempt to explain why he is here. Why you are here with him. You wonder if you’ve gone mad, caught in a dream from which there is no waking.

You’re cold. You’re afraid.

You wish you could scream at him—demand to know what’s going on, what this strange man wants with you. But you know nothing about him. Nothing but the rumors.

The rumors of Damaris—the sorcerer who had summoned a plague from the very earth itself, bringing death and rot to a city that had once mocked him. A man who had let the sickness consume them all, simply because their king had insulted him. The same man who had killed Ser Arvian—the realm’s greatest hero—and then hung his heart from the gates of the capital for every child, mother, and priest to see.

The legend of Damaris was twisted—fueled by death, terror, and power. It was said he could drain a soul without lifting a finger, feeding on the fear of others, growing stronger as they crumbled before him.

You shiver at the thought of it. But here you are, alone with him, in the dead of night, being dragged away from the only place you’ve ever known.

Hours pass, and you reach the edge of the forest, the castle far behind you now. Damaris doesn’t stop, doesn’t even glance back as he walks. His pace is unrelenting, as if you’re no more than an object to be moved, an errand to be completed. You wish you could ask him, demand why he’s doing this—why you are the one he’s chosen to take.

But he doesn’t say a word.