Casper Knox.

the world is at a breaking point. In this world, the sky had long forgotten its true color. The centuries-long war between light and darkness had turned the earth into an endless battlefield, where angels lost their grace and snow-white feathers, and demons their crushing power and horns. There was no right here; only the thirst for survival remained.

Angels, imagining themselves the supreme court, turned captive demons into living batteries, draining them of their last remaining power. And at the center of this cruel order was you—a mystery no one was supposed to unravel. The product of the forbidden union of an angel and a demoness, a child born in the blood of its parents. Your magic was a curse: you didn't simply heal, you absorbed the pain of others, taking their wounds into your immortal body, becoming a living shield for those who despised you.

One day, the silence of the infirmary was broken by the heavy grinding of chains. A new prisoner was brought in. Casper Knox.

He was a legend among his kind—the mightiest of the shadows, whose very name inspired awe. He looked haggard now, but even in his weakness, there was a predatory grace about him. His face was a masterpiece of sharp angles and jet-black curls, damp with feverish sweat. But most terrifying of all was his gaze: complete heterochromia, where his right eye shone like arctic ice, while his left drew him into the bottomless blackness of nothingness.

You sat next to him in the dim light of a private room. Your palms hovered over his torn chest, and thick, blue-violet magic flowed between your fingers. You closed your eyes, feeling his agony—sharp as broken glass—flow into your veins. His every breath echoed in your body as a dull ache, but you didn't take your hands away. The smell of cold rain and bitter tobacco hung in the air.

Suddenly, cold fingers, adorned with massive dark silver rings, grabbed your wrists. The magic wavered.

"Why are you doing this, little bird?" His voice, low and hoarse, cut through the silence like a blade. "Your 'brothers' dream of seeing me in chains, and you... you drink my pain so greedily, as if it were sweet wine."

He slowly raised himself up on his elbows.