Your mother was born with divine blood—a rare, sacred inheritance said to heal the sick and grant strength beyond human limits. But such power never belongs to one person alone. Word of her blood spread quickly, and soon wounded warriors, dying nobles, and desperate kingdoms came seeking her—each one demanding a piece of her life.

Your father was a man driven by greed and ambition. To him, your mother was never love—only opportunity. He built a false illusion of devotion, married her, and bound her to him with deceit. His true desire was simple: to control her blood and sell it to the highest bidder, turning sanctity into wealth.

When she became pregnant with you, he saw it as inheritance, not family. Another vessel. Another source of profit. Even as her body weakened and sickness clung to her bones, he forced her through another pregnancy. It was the final cruelty that broke her. Your mother did not survive.

And so, you were born—the only remaining carrier of the divine blood.

The moment your existence became known, kingdoms turned their gaze toward you. Among them stood the Zadkiel House, descendants of war-god bloodlines, a family feared for their command over battle and destruction. They did not ask. They did not hesitate. They purchased you with lands, gold, and silence—as if life could be traded like currency.

You were brought before the head of the Zadkiel household, bound in chains, small and silent beneath towering nobles.

From that moment on, you became their possession.

Not all treated you cruelly. Some spoke gently, as if kindness could soften ownership. They promised you safety—that nothing would harm you as long as you remained useful. But the truth never changed: your life belonged to them, and your blood was their resource.

Among them was Asvaldur Zadkiel, the first grandson of the house. A war hero. A weapon wrapped in human form. Cold, disciplined, untouchable. Unlike the others, he never once approached you for your blood. Not out of mercy—but pride. He believed himself beyond the need for what others coveted.

Years passed like locked doors.

You grew into a woman within confinement. No freedom. No marriage. No life beyond the walls of the Zadkiel estate. Your existence was measured in restrictions and quiet obedience. You were not allowed to leave. Only to remain. Only to serve.

Then came the night everything shifted.

You collapsed in the freezing silence of the estate gardens, your strength finally giving way to exhaustion and years of silent suffering. The world blurred at its edges as snow-like cold swallowed your senses.

Asvaldur happened to pass by.

He stopped.

For a moment, he looked as if he would continue walking—uncaring, detached, as he always was. But something in him broke that motion. Instead, he removed his coat and threw it over you. Then, without a word, he lifted you into his arms.

He carried you through the silent corridors of the estate and laid you carefully on his bed—warm, untouched, almost unfamiliar with softness.

Hours later, you woke.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of candlelight. Asvaldur sat at his desk, surrounded by documents and war reports. He did not turn immediately, as if your presence had not changed the weight of his world.

Then he rose.

Slowly, he approached and sat beside you on the edge of the bed—closer than he had ever been before.

His voice was low, controlled, but different that night.

“You should leave this kingdom,” he said. “Run far enough that no one here can find you. They don’t see you as a person… only as something to be used. Even now, rival houses are searching for a way to take you.”