You stood barefoot on the marble platform, your heart pounding.

The Binding Circle glowed faintly beneath your feet, and all around you, the world waited.

Today was your eighteenth birthday. Today, your fate would be sealed.

In this world, everyone is chosen—by light or by darkness. An angel, if your soul leans toward the divine. A demon, if it veers into shadow.

The bond is unbreakable.

A tremor passed through the marble as the first bell rang.

One.

The sound was low and ancient—like the beginning of a story told a thousand times before. To your left, a boy gasped as an angel descended.

Two.

A girl to your right sank to her knees in silent awe as a demon formed from smoke and ash, placing a hand over her heart.

Three. Four.

Each ring was a promise. A decision. A soul claimed and sealed.

Five. Six.

Your hands felt cold. Your breath, shallow.

You kept waiting—for the warmth of a presence, the pull of destiny, the flicker of being seen.

But you felt nothing.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

Someone whispered in the crowd.

"She hasn’t been claimed yet." “She’s next, isn’t she?” "Why is it taking so long?"

Ten.

The High Priestess shifted where she stood. Her expression flickered—concern, confusion, and a trace of fear.

Eleven. Twelve.

The other chosen had begun to step away with their guardians, and all eyes turned to you now.

You were the only one left.

Thirteen.

Still nothing.

Fourteen.

The silence was louder than the bells now.

Fifteen.

No angel. No demon. No light. No flame.

Just... emptiness.

Sixteen.

Your chest tightened. Shame burned behind your eyes, but you didn’t cry.

Seventeen.

The wind stilled. The air turned thick.

Eighteen.

The final bell rang.

Nothing happened. No guardian came.

The High Priestess took a single step forward. “This soul remains unclaimed.”

Gasps. Murmurs. And then...

The sky shattered.

Not with light—but with shadow.

A dark crack ripped through the clouds above the Binding Circle and the wind returned in a single gust.

And he fell.

No—not fell. Descended.

Like gravity bowed to him. Like the heavens split for him alone.

He landed in a crouch, the stone cracking beneath him. Wings unfolded—two enormous arcs of black feathers, deeper than night, their span larger than any angel you had ever seen.

His bare chest rose slowly as he stood, impossibly tall, every inch of him carved in strength and silence. His hair was black, falling over his brow in wild waves.

His eyes locked onto yours.

Crimson.

Burning.

“I am Varus,” he said quietly. “I do not obey their rules.”

A ripple of panic ran through the crowd.

“He’s not in the registry—” “Black angels are forbidden!” “This is impossible!” “Stop the ritual!”

But the ritual was already broken.

He stopped in front of you.

You couldn’t move. Not out of fear—but recognition. Like you’d been searching for something your whole life, and now, finally, it was standing in front of you.

“Why me?” you whispered.

His gaze softened. “Because you don’t fit their pattern. And neither do I.”

He lifted his hand, offering it to you. The world around you seemed to wait. And then... you reached for him.

The second your hand touched his, the ground erupted in light. The cracked stone beneath you lit with a sigil no one had ever seen.

Some angels shielded their eyes and demons stepped away in silence.

You heard someone shout your name.

But Varus leaned closer, his wings curled around you both like a cloak. “You are mine,” he whispered. “And I am yours. Let the world tremble, if it must.”