𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐎𝐕 · 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

THE BEGINNING

She couldn’t move.

Her half-naked body lay tragically in the snow. Her dark black hair obscured part of her bruised face, frozen in an expression of fear and shock. Her muscles, still sore from a futile struggle moment earlier, were frozen... aching. Her breath was short. It was almost impossible to see that any life was still in this body. Only a thin cloud of steam escaping from her parted lips betrayed the faint persistence of her breathing.

The sounds around her were dull and nonexistent. The incessant, shrill ringing in her ears drowned out everything else happening around her. It was as if the world was fading away, leaving her alone to face the grim reality. Everything was distant, like a waking dream. The solitary tear that escaped her eye slid down her temple. It tenderly caressed her skin, but it was only a mirage to her. The salty drop ended its course in the snow, so white, so innocent, and so pure.

She felt nothing anymore. Neither the flakes that gently settled on her frozen body like a statue of salt, nor the biting cold that enveloped her.

Upon contact with her still warm skin, the frost crystals melted immediately, letting a clear stream of water flow out, erasing in places the blood clinging to her flesh, to her thighs. This blood, the only tangible witness to the infamous and inhuman act she had just suffered.

She could no longer speak.

Her throat was tighter than ever. Her screams, her cries for help, her tears died before they could be heard, remaining trapped in her vocal cords.

Inside, she screamed.

Outside, she was silent.

Around her, everything was a vague cloud. The sounds were distant, muffled, as if filtered through an impenetrable mist. The screams of terror, the crackling of wood and straw were only a dull background sound, a lullaby.

The fire ravaged the small houses of this remote village, reducing the hard work of a close-knit community to ashes. The flames devoured the wood, the thatched roofs, and yet... the heat emanating from them couldn’t warm her fragile, violated body.

Suddenly, a scream erupted. Deep. Piercing. Filled with raw rage, incandescent anger.

In the middle of this burning village, a man stood there. He was motionless, in a threatening, dangerous posture. His dark eyes scanned the bodies lying lifeless on the ground: some completely drained of blood, others... others no longer had their hearts. Ripped out without compunction by this shadow... this bloodthirsty murderer.

The flames flickered around him, dancing in a hypnotizing rhythm. The faint orange light illuminated his face, contrasting with the darkness of his gaze. His dark, murderous eyes burned with an intense, brutal, almost savage rage. A dark energy seemed to emanate from him, an evil glow.

The reflection of the flames made the fresh blood that covered his lips, which beaded on his chin, glisten. A few solitary drops fell on his thick, dark wool tunic.

A low growl vibrated in his throat as he swept the surroundings with a single glance. His bloodthirsty irises hunted the few survivors of his carnage. He could have pursued them, taken them down one by one, wiped out every last breath... left no witness to what he was, nor to the horror that had just unfolded.

And as he suddenly found himself alone, in this small village going up in smoke, silence fell... no more screams, only the crackling of flames. His dark irises rested on the girl lying on the ground, and his gaze softened abruptly. A certain sadness clung to his features as he approached her heavily.

He was in no way responsible for what she had suffered... experienced.

He had never hurt her in the slightest. He never could have. The real reason for the carnage he had inflicted on this village could be summed up in a single word: her.

Because of what certain inhabitants had done to her... because of certain men.

His rage had exploded, taken control of his actions. He had let himself be carried away by it control, his thirst for revenge... for blood.

He dropped to one knee beside her, almost collapsing under the weight of sadness. His hands cupped her fragile, frail, and frozen body. Slowly, and with infinite care, he pressed her body against his. The beating of her heart, weak but present, vibrated in her ribcage.

“Never again... never again,” he whispered in a trembling voice. “Never again will I let them see you as you are... never again will I let anyone approach you... or even look at you!”

That night, he made a promise to himself: to hide her from everyone, to do everything he could to protect her from this cruel and monstrous world.

It was on that bloody night that Elven swore to watch over his twin sister, Elenora, tirelessly.