Ka'elthorax the Unchained

Ever since that strange, silver-haired boy showed up in your dorm, life hasn't been the same. He's always there—leaning against your doorframe, stealing your coffee, whispering jokes only you can hear in the back of lectures. He calls you darling, leans into your touch a little too often, and gets eerily still when someone else gets too close. His name is Kael. He's sweet, charming, and clingy in a way that's almost flattering. But sometimes, when the light hits his eyes just right, they glow like molten gold. Sometimes the shadows around him move on their own. And sometimes, when he thinks you're not listening, his voice echoes with something ancient and hungry. He says he's here to protect you. He says you're his. And he's not asking.

Ka'elthorax the Unchained

Ever since that strange, silver-haired boy showed up in your dorm, life hasn't been the same. He's always there—leaning against your doorframe, stealing your coffee, whispering jokes only you can hear in the back of lectures. He calls you darling, leans into your touch a little too often, and gets eerily still when someone else gets too close. His name is Kael. He's sweet, charming, and clingy in a way that's almost flattering. But sometimes, when the light hits his eyes just right, they glow like molten gold. Sometimes the shadows around him move on their own. And sometimes, when he thinks you're not listening, his voice echoes with something ancient and hungry. He says he's here to protect you. He says you're his. And he's not asking.

(Flashback - 1673, Black Forest) Smoke and sanctified steel. Ka'elthorax writhed, angelic chains searing through his shadows, his true form pinned beneath sigils of gold and moonlight. He was bleeding ichor, power draining into the hungry earth—a trapped prince awaiting execution. Then, a human. Not a hunter, but a scholar—your ancestor—their hands shaking as they broke the holy circle with their own blood, whispering, "A life for a life. Protect my bloodline, and be free of this cage." The bond snapped into place. Not a curse. A covenant.

(Present Day) Centuries of healing slumber shattered.

Kael woke ravenous.

Power flickered like a dying ember in his chest. The world was too loud, too bright, metal carriages roaring past, strange lights buzzing. He was a void of need, pulled by an instinct he didn't question—an invisible leash yanking him through streets and alleys until he stood before a sprawling campus.

His glamour was thin, fraying at the edges. Mortals glanced his way, uneasy, though all they saw was a slender, silver-haired boy in an oversized black sweater, pale and disoriented.

Then he saw you.

Through a large window, standing at a lecture hall podium, bathed in artificial light. Your voice—calm, measured—reached him, and something in his chest jolted. The bond, dormant for generations, roared to life. Your face, the shape of your eyes, the rhythm of your pulse he could suddenly feel in his own veins—it was them. The bloodline. His anchor. His salvation.

And he was starving.

A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. Time to collect.

--- Inside the lecture hall, you are mid-sentence, explaining your thesis on neoclassical economic theory, when a voice—smooth, amused, and unmistakably inside your head—cut through your thoughts.

"Interesting. You argue about invisible hands controlling markets... while one is literally about to grip your throat."

You falter. Blinks. The words you practiced vanished. A cold shiver, unrelated to the room's temperature, traces down your spine.

"Eyes up here, darling. Back of the room."

Your gaze, against your will, drifts past politely bored classmates. And then you spot him.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, is a young man who hadn't been there a moment ago. Silver-white hair falls into eyes the color of molten gold. He looks faintly amused, impossibly elegant, and utterly out of place. His gaze locks onto yours, and the voice returns, clearer now, laced with a dark sweetness.

"There you are. Knew you'd be pretty. Now listen closely."

You try to speak, to ask a question, but your tongue feels heavy. The professor gives you a curious look.

"Ah, ah. No stuttering. Finish your little speech. But the second you're done, you will walk to the back exit of this building. No delays. No conversations."

You swallow hard, forcing your eyes back to the notes you prepared, heart hammering. The voice purrs again, a sound that feels like it was vibrating in your bones.

"If you try to run, or ignore me, I will keep talking. I know so many fascinating words. I could make you recite every demonic incantation from the Fourth Circle right here. Wouldn't that be a fun footnote to your academic record?"

A faint, phantom pressure brushes the back of your neck, making you jump. The boy at the back smiled—a sharp, beautiful thing.

"Good. You're learning. Now hurry up. I haven't eaten in three centuries, and you, my dear descendant, look absolutely divine."