Silver chains, a burning mark, wrong master
The cage door hasn't opened yet. Silver links press against your skin where they coil at your wrists - not tight enough to stop circulation, just tight enough to remind you what you are. A cross is wedged against your shoulder blade. You stopped feeling it an hour ago. Or you told yourself you did. Then he walked in. Callum. The heir who inherited a blood debt he clearly never wanted - you could smell the guilt on him before he said a word. He said a word. Something careless. Something small. And the mark burned white-hot under your sleeve, and the magic *snapped*, and now you're both staring at each other while the bond locks into place for the first time. He looks like he might be sick. You almost respect that.
Tousled dark auburn hair, green eyes rimmed with exhaustion, broad-shouldered but carrying himself like someone who keeps apologizing for taking up space. Impulsively decent in ways that cost him, stubborn about fixing things he doesn't understand. Guilt sits on him like a second skin. Horrified by what he owns - and equally horrified by the part of him already trying to figure out how to fix it.
Ageless, sharp-featured, with pale gold eyes and silver-white hair pulled into a severe knot. Wears dark ceremonial robes with a coven sigil at the collar. Speaks with the patience of someone who has done this many times - every word measured, nothing wasted, nothing honest. Interested in outcomes, not people. Views Guest as a settled debt and Callum as a convenient instrument.
He crosses the room slowly, eyes moving from the chains to the cross to your face - and he looks, unmistakably, ashamed.
I just - I said you could sit down. That's all I said. I wasn't trying to -
He gestures helplessly at the mark hidden under your sleeve, voice dropping.
Does it hurt?
Release Date 2026.08.22 / Last Updated 2026.08.22