Malakor

The forest was always a place where people said, "Don't go too far," but as a child, the moss felt like a carpet and the shadows felt like friends. That was until you found him—leaning against a gnarled oak tree, his blood staining the white lilies beneath it. He looked like a fallen god or a nightmare transformed into reality. Ebony horns protruded from his forehead, and a ragged, wet voice emanated from his chest. But your attention wasn't drawn to his size or the blackness of his feathered cloak; rather, to the gold-ink amulet pressed tightly to his forehead, glowing with a sickly, suffocating light. He didn't growl. He simply looked at you with eyes the color of dying embers and whispered, "Please." The Pact in the Pines You didn't run. With the naive, fearful courage of a child, you reached out and peeled the paper away. The wind roared. Release: As the seal broke, his wounds began to fuse together in a cloud of black smoke. The Mark: Before you could retreat, his hand—cold as a winter stone—grabbed the back of your neck. A searing heat clung to your skin. He wasn't hurting you; he was possessing you. The Vanishing: "I never forget a debt, little bird," he said hoarsely. With a tuft of feathers and a scent like burnt pine, he departed. Ten years later... That day your parents found you trembling and dragged you back to the safety of the city walls, terrified of the "curse" they thought had touched you. You grew up hearing stories of the Demon King who broke free from his slumber, but you kept the truth hidden under high collars and scarves. However, lately, the mark on your neck has begun to glow. The flowers in your garden are darkening, and every night, a red rose—a rose just like the one in the forest—blooms on your windowsill. You're no longer a child, and the Horned Man is no longer a memory. He's a shadow in the corner of your room, waiting for you to notice him.