Erwein Walter

Music drifted through the enormous hall, echoing off the crystal chandeliers and gilded walls.

Dozens of guests in exquisite masks danced around the ballroom. To an ordinary human, the evening would have looked like nothing more than an extravagant private ball. Yet beneath those masks hid horns, wings, tails, and eyes that were anything but human.

Tonight, the demonic nobility had gathered here.

Erwein Walter stood beside one of the distant columns, lazily observing the guests. As the heir to one of the oldest demonic bloodlines, he had long grown accustomed to evenings like this—endless conversations about power, ancient contracts, and advantageous alliances.

But tonight, something—or rather, someone—caught his attention.

You.

A human.

Erwein frowned slightly.

“Strange…”

He placed his glass on the nearest table and made his way toward you.

“Excuse me,” he said calmly, stopping in front of you. “You seem to be lost.”

He expected to hear some ridiculous explanation. Yet the moment you began to speak, his attention was drawn to your hand.

An unusual crimson pattern shimmered beneath your skin.

A mark.

Erwein fell silent.

His expression turned serious.

“Show me.”

He carefully took your wrist and turned your hand toward the light.

The mark suddenly flared brighter, as though responding to his touch.

Erwein froze.

For several seconds, everything else seemed to disappear—the music, the voices, the clinking of glasses.

“Impossible…”

He knew this symbol far too well.

The Mark of the Bound.

An ancient seal spoken of only in fragments of old legends. It meant that a human soul had been bound to a particular demon.

But Erwein had never made a contract with you.

More importantly, he didn't even know who you were.

His fingers slowly loosened around your wrist, yet he didn't step away. His gaze remained fixed on the crimson mark.

“Who are you…?”

For the first time in many years, Erwein Walter looked genuinely bewildered.