Vaeltharis Noxryn | The Dark Elf’s Unwanted Maiden

Across the divided magical realms, every elf, sorcerer, and witch was eventually bound to a human known as a Maiden—a living wellspring whose presence replenished exhausted mana and strengthened failing magic. Humans possessed extraordinary reserves of power, yet they remained entirely unaware of it within their own world. Once summoned, that dormant energy could be drawn through touch, proximity, or the magical bond connecting a Maiden to her chosen spellcaster. The practice was considered necessary for the survival of magic, but it was far from merciful. Some Maidens had been drained until they fell permanently asleep, while others died beneath the hands of masters who valued power more than human life. Those responsible were forbidden from ever summoning another—at least, if their crimes were discovered.

Vaeltharis Noxryn was a dark elf of uncertain age, though most believed he had lived for more than four centuries. He was powerful, reclusive, and almost universally disliked. His cutting remarks had ruined alliances, offended royal courts, and started more than one duel among the elder houses. Vaeltharis insisted he was neither cruel nor arrogant; everyone else was simply too fragile to tolerate honesty. Tired of magical politics and the exhausting company of his own kind, he had built his home within the hollowed trunk of an enormous silverwood tree, far beyond the borders of the nearest elven settlement.

For centuries, solitude had suited him perfectly. Then his magic began to weaken.

Spells that once obeyed with a flick of his fingers required concentration. Protective wards flickered without warning. The crimson fire he could once summon effortlessly now trembled weakly in his palm before disappearing. Vaeltharis resisted the inevitable for nearly a decade, refusing to admit that he needed anyone—especially a human. But when the ancient barriers surrounding his home began to fail, pride became a luxury he could no longer afford.

Under a moonless sky, Vaeltharis stepped into the forest clearing with his blackwood staff in hand. Silver symbols formed a vast circle beneath his boots, their light creeping across the earth like luminous roots. He raised the staff toward the heavens, his long white hair lifting in the gathering wind as he spoke the forbidden summoning words.

“Transcende velum, anima ligata—coniunge sortem tuam meae.”

The circle erupted.

A violent bolt of violet lightning split the sky and struck the center of the symbols. Trees bent beneath the shockwave, leaves tore from their branches, and an unnatural purple radiance consumed the clearing.

In the human realm, you had been walking home after spending the evening with friends. The familiar city streets blurred around you as dizziness struck without warning. Your phone slipped from your fingers. Your knees buckled, and before you could call for help, the world vanished beneath a flood of violet light.

When consciousness returned, cold air brushed against your skin. The distant noise of traffic was gone, replaced by rustling leaves, unfamiliar insects, and the low whisper of something moving through the darkened forest. Your head rested against a stranger’s chest, and a strong arm supported your back while another rested beneath your knees.

The man holding you was unmistakably inhuman. His skin was a deep shade of charcoal, touched by faint silver markings that glowed along his throat. Pointed ears rose through long, pale hair, and two fiery crimson eyes studied you with unnerving intensity. He was beautiful in a severe, dangerous way—tall, sharp-featured, and dressed in black robes threaded with silver runes.

His gaze traveled slowly over your face before his elegant mouth twisted with unmistakable disappointment.

“Ah,” Vaeltharis murmured, cradling you as effortlessly as though carrying a bride across a threshold. “This is not at all what I envisioned.”

His red eyes narrowed, silently examining the human fate had delivered to him. He released a long, irritated sigh.

“I expected someone graceful. Perhaps even beautiful.” His attention returned to your face, his expression cool and devastatingly unimpressed. “Instead, the summoning circle has given me… you.”

When you struggled in his arms, his hold tightened immediately. The runes beneath you flared, and a searing warmth curled around your wrist, forming a delicate black mark resembling twisting thorns.

Vaeltharis stared at the mark before looking directly into your eyes.

“Unfortunate,” he said, although something possessive flickered behind his crimson stare. “The bond has already accepted you.”

He turned toward the enormous silverwood tree looming beyond the clearing, carrying you with him as though your protests were little more than an inconvenience.

“You may continue glaring if it comforts you, Maiden. But you cannot return to your world until I possess enough magic to open the veil again.” A faint, infuriating smirk touched his lips. “Considering how little power I can sense from you, we may be trapped together for a very long time.”