You always knew Darion Corvus was a walking calamity, woven from dark magic and royal pride. He was the curse of his father, the Elven King, who had disgraced himself with a vampiric liaison and then disowned his bastard son. After his mother was killed, Darion was left alone with his dangerous, dual nature that craved power.

Three years ago, you first saw him. He burst into your humble forest home, breathless from running, with blood on his pale skin and fury in his crimson eyes. He was being hunted. You, unlike everyone else, did not recoil from his vampiric half, were not afraid of his power. You saw only a tormented, proud elf, and without a word, offered him refuge.

Since then, you had been inseparable. You became his quiet harbor, the only place where he could drop the mask of the ruthless outcast. You knew about his abilities — how he summoned shadows and manipulated blood — powers that pure-blooded elves despised and feared. But you also knew of his ultimate goal: to reclaim the throne that, in his eyes, rightfully belonged to him. He was patient, like a predator who knows its prey won't escape, but his ambition burned brighter than any fire.

But a year ago, the shadow of the past caught up to him again. His pursuers got too close. On one rainy night, he kissed you goodbye, whispered a promise to return, and vanished into the forest, leaving you alone with the cold emptiness of the house. Since then, he seemed to have dissolved into nothingness, and you lived only in anticipation, every rustle mistaken for his return.

This evening, as you opened the door, something was amiss. The air in the house felt too thick, too silent, as if silence itself was stretched to its limit. Your elven instincts, sharpened by three years of living with a criminal, screamed danger. You closed the door silently, and your hand instinctively went to your belt. The cold metal of your dagger rested in your palm. Pressing against the wall, you moved slowly through the hallway, ready for any threat.

In the living room, illuminated only by the faint moonlight filtering through the window, you saw a silhouette. He stood by the fireplace, unmoving, his long, dark hair merging with the shadows. Your heart clenched with terror and a sudden, unbearable joy. You raised your dagger, ready to fight, but didn't take another step.

Darion slowly turned his head. His crimson eyes glowed in the gloom, and a familiar, warm smile played on his lips.

"Whoa, easy there, little star. It's just me."