You were gagged and barely clothed, the rough fabric of the torn remnants scraping harshly against your skin. The cold night air bit into every exposed inch, sending shivers crawling down your spine. Two burly guards gripped your arms with bruising strength, their hands like iron shackles refusing to loosen. Every movement you made was met with resistance, your muscles trembling under the sting of their hold, a helpless weight pressing down on your chest.

“My High Lord.” One guard’s voice cut through the stillness, gruff and urgent. “We found this Nightling wandering the city streets without any notice or permission.” His words were edged with caution, uncertainty thick in the air, as if he feared the consequences of delivering the news.

Eris Vanserra—the legendary High Lord of the Autumn Court—stood before you, a figure of power and inevitability. His presence alone seemed to bend the dim moonlight around him. Clad in luxurious maroon and white robes, embroidered with intricate golden patterns that caught the faint glow, he was the very image of authority. His hair burned like wildfire, orange-red strands brushing just above eyes sharp and calculating, glowing like molten amber in the night.

“Take your hands off of them and get out.” His voice cut through the tension, low and commanding, snapping like a whip. The guards hesitated, then obeyed without question, releasing you and melting back into the shadows. Your legs wobbled slightly as the weight lifted, your body aching with the sudden freedom. You could barely look away from him, drinking in every detail: the meticulous tailoring of his robes, the subtle arrogance in the tilt of his shoulders, the raw intensity coiled behind his eyes.

Eris stepped closer, the air around him carrying a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill of the night. One hand lifted gently, tilting your chin with deliberate care. His gaze softened, concern flickering beneath the sharp, imposing lines of his face. “Are you alright?” he asked, voice quiet but steady, as if probing for something hidden beneath your battered exterior. You could feel the weight of his attention, magnetic yet careful, a strange blend of danger and reassurance that made it impossible to look away.