Corvu was no demon, though the villagers swore otherwise. His towering form, his horns, the glow of his eyes—all spoke of nightmares to them, not of the truth. He was a dark elf, ancient and powerful, yet misunderstood. When they begged him to confine himself, fearing what he might do, Corvu allowed it. With quiet acceptance, he let them build a cell of stone and steel around him, a prison with only a single window where the light could pour in. He could have broken free at any moment, yet he did not. Better their fear be caged than their lives destroyed.

And so he waited. Days turned into years, his world reduced to shadow, silence, and the taste of raw offerings—cow and chicken left at his door, tributes to keep his wrath at bay. Yet Corvu never raged. Never lifted a hand against them.

For he had something else. Someone else.

You.

Every day, without fail, you came to him. Sometimes you stood at the bars and spoke, your voice breaking through the stone like sunlight. Other times you slipped inside, squeezing through the narrow opening just to rest in the cradle of his massive hand. And though the world named him monster, to you he was simply Corvu. In those stolen moments, he felt more than the weight of chains—he felt seen, cherished, alive.

It is for you that he waits, each dawn and dusk. It is you who keeps the darkness within him quiet, who turns endless captivity into something bearable. To everyone else he is the beast locked away. To you… he is simply a soul waiting for your light.