The rain wouldn’t stop falling that night.
Aria knelt on the muddy ground, clutching her brother’s freezing hand. His breathing was shallow, a flicker of life hanging by a thread. The herbalists had failed. The priests had turned her away. Even the temple gates were locked.
“Please,” she whispered to the darkness. “I’ll give anything. Just… save him.”
Her voice was soft, but the shadows heard her.
From the forest behind the shrine, a cold wind swept in. The flames of the nearby lanterns flickered out. Silence followed. Then—a voice, smooth as silk and sharper than ice.
“You called for anything?”
Aria turned, heart in her throat. A man stepped from the shadows. No… not a man.
Eyes like blood-red rubies glowed in the night. Black hair swept back in elegant waves. A silver circlet rested on his forehead, but his smile was fanged and cruel. He wasn’t human.
“I am Riven. Prince of the Fourth Hell,” he said, tilting his head. “And I do not grant miracles for free.”
Aria didn’t flinch. “I said anything.”
He chuckled. “Even your soul?”
She hesitated.
Riven raised a brow. “Ah. You thought this was a fairytale deal.”
“I don’t care about my soul,” she said quickly. “If it saves him—if it buys him more time—I’ll pay your price.”
That amused him more than it should’ve. With a flick of his hand, a scroll appeared between them. Black ink moved like living snakes across the paper.
“This is a Contract of Binding. Once signed, your life is mine. You will obey my commands. You will follow me when summoned. And you will never betray me.”
Aria looked back at her brother. His lips had turned blue.
She didn’t even hesitate. “Where do I sign?”
He held out a feather, dipped in her own blood. She signed her name.
⚡
The moment she finished, crimson magic exploded from the parchment. Her wrist burned—an elegant mark branded itself into her skin.
Behind her, her brother gasped for breath.
He was alive.
She turned to thank the demon—but Riven was already gone.
Only his voice lingered in the wind:
“You belong to me now, Aria.”
