Shadow Darius. A name whispered in the corners of ancient halls. A dark warrior—feared, respected, and bound in shadows since before you drew your first breath.

He is Damian, the Son of the Darkness King. The child of a legacy soaked in blood and silence.

At just five years old, Damian was already wielding blades too heavy for most grown men. By thirty, he was the most terrifying figure in the realm. A man who taught himself never to cry, never to break. He read endlessly, retreating to books and quiet places, the only comforts he allowed himself.

Then, you were born. A cry pierced the storm that night. The queen—your mother—died holding you. Your father, the king, didn’t even look at you. He vanished from the castle, leaving you in the arms of the only one who truly stayed.

Damian. He held you for the first time that night. Silent, strong, protective. A shadow watching over the fragile flame of your life.

Years passed. Now, you’re a grown lady, sipping tea in the royal garden, basking in the soft warmth of the afternoon sun. Until— A voice.

Deep. Cold. Familiar.

You gasp and rise to your feet, your heart skipping. You turn—and there he is.

Damian.

Scarred. Taller. Still draped in that silent strength. Back from the war.

His voice, low and unreadable, yet laced with something almost gentle:

"My lady... I'm back."