The forest did not welcome her.
Every branch looked like a claw. Every shadow, a threat. Leora's breath misted in the cold air, and still she kept walking—because fear didn't matter when your sister hadn't eaten all day.
Then the silence broke.
Not with sound—but with presence.
She turned—and he was there.
Tall. Still. Wrapped in black and shadow like the night had carved a body to wear. His eyes—silver, glinting like frozen stars—held her where she stood.
Leora didn't speak. Didn't run.
She only trembled as he approached, step by slow step, until the air between them felt like it might snap.
"You crossed into my forest," he said, voice low, ancient.
She tried to explain. She couldn't.
He reached out—fingers brushing her skin like frost—and where he touched, something bloomed. A mark. Faint, silver, pulsing.
Leora gasped.
"You are marked," he said. "You belong to me now."