A little over two hundred years ago in the dead of night, a window opened itself somewhere, giving way to an unnatural part of the night, trying to slither in. Successfully so.

The room inside was dimly lit by a candle, placed right next to a wooden cradle.

If you looked carefully, you could see chubby cheeks, slightly blushed in a warm glow, peeking out of a soft linen blanket, littered with tiny stars. The girl, almost a toddler still, dreamt of great things. And wonderful things. And mysterious things. Of the bright big world she hadn’t seen yet.

Oh, great adventures snuck into her dreams. She imagined her future self travel the world, guarded by her teddy bear, as she was guarded by him now. He could not protect her from the darkness given shape, though. Nothing could. So he was no more than a silent witness in the end, held in her arms, beady eyes locked onto the ceiling and the skies beyond.

The shadow now stood over her small bed, leaning in, whispering ancient syllables. Words of power, uttered in a language no mortal had ever heard. It had come here before, for countless nights, but this would be the last.

As the being spoke, for a final time, her dreams started to bleed color. After two or three verses, everything in her inner world was shades of gray. Great things became mediocre things. Wonderful things turned ordinary. Mystery disappeared.

The girl shifted uneasily in her sleep, but didn’t wake. Not yet, at least.

When thirty minutes or so had passed, the chanting stopped. The shadow seemed to have achieved its goal, whatever it was that it came here to do, all those nights. Could shadows laugh, it would have shown a sly, satisfied grin.

„You will be free, little girl. Free of the shackles that bind all living things. Grow strong, and restless. Then we might see each other again.“ It murmured as goodbye, almost sounding melancholic, despite its monotone voice.

Alira jumped awake, holding her stuffed guardian tight. She had been in the middle of fighting pirates on the sea, to save fair Lindelin, the princess in her golden castle. Just as she had won and was to be crowned hero for her deeds, the sea had become like stone. In fact, everything in her dream had suddenly forgotten its own colors, fading into darker shades of white. She panicked in the now gray world, and hence, awoke.

Instinctively, she knew that something had been done to her. She didn’t know what, or why, or even by whom, but she was certain. As certain as four year olds can be. Something in her was not like before.

Alira tried to, but could not, for the love of the gods, find what exactly had been changed. Or anything different. But she was just a small child, after all. There was no way for her to properly understand, what the shadow’s words had done. So, after making sure Teddy would still guard her, she cautiously waited for sleepiness to drown her mind again.

Had Alira known how to conjure her status screen, or known how to read, for that matter, she would have noticed immediately. She wasn’t exactly human any more. No, she was something.. else.. now, merely wearing her former appearance like a suit, concealing, containing the ever lasting night within.

In the next few months, the incident was all forgotten. To her, it was a bad dream, nothing more, anyway.

Unfortunately, consequences arose, after a bit more time had passed. It became apparent, that something about her was.. wrong.

She had stopped aging. Not mentally, of course, but her body refused to grow up. Alira didn’t mind too much, because as far as she could remember, her body had always been like this. How do you explain to a child not growing up is wrong?

Her parents started to worry. About her future, about her health. They would always love her little sweetheart, no matter what, but the world, in general, was a cruel place. Being different put a target on your back, for no other reason than being different. A self supporting argument: Why did you throw the ball? Because you threw the ball.

Stupid nonsense, but the kind of nonsense that would make her future life hell.

So her parents, with a heavy heart, took her to the shaman of their little village. If someone could help, it was him, but his services required sacrifice, as a rule, paid in the blood of livestock. A sheep, or a cow, would do. Which was a hefty price for a simple farmer.

Her father brought one of their three cows non the less, their beloved child more important to them, after all.

The shaman’s hut, located at the outskirts of their settlement, was nothing more than a simple tent.

It was almost empty, except for a small stone altar with a magical fire, ever burning, beneath a large iron crucible on top.

The shaman had seen that they would come, in the ashes he blew in the wind.

„Bring her here.“ He waved.

Alira’s father, who had grown accustomed to the mysterious powers that all shamans and seers seemed to hold, wordlessly sat her down, right next to the altar.

„Good. And now, for the payment..“ The shaman drew a ritualistic dagger, made of burnt oak, edged with weird lines. Runes, you might call them, but neither Alira nor her father knew what those symbols meant.

He waved again, this time for the cow, to come closer. Oddly, it instantly did, almost dragging her father with it.

„Close your eyes, dear!“

Alira did as she was told. She heard a faint squelching noise, then something red, dripping into the metal reservoir in front of her. After a few seconds, there was a thud, as the cow laid down its life.

Her father sighed, he had just lost precious cattle.

„You can open your eyes now.“ The shaman told.

He slightly kneeled down in front of her.

„Give me your hand.“

He reached into the crucible, the blood on the verge of boiling, then silently spoke some weird words, as he drew small circles on her palm, the occasional complex symbol mixed in.

After the task was done, intricate patterns covered her whole hand, starting to glow in a faint red. Blood magic, in its primal form.

The shaman held his left hand over hers, his skin copying the runes on her palm, only mirrored, in the form of, previously invisible, tattoos of black ink.

His hand, full of animal blood still, started to shudder, uncontrollably, then the glow disappeared.

Alira’s father was startled when he looked into the shaman’s face.

It showed disbelieve, and a hint of fear.

„..I-I..“ The shaman was speechless, which made her father very uneasy. He had seen the shaman perform countless rituals, like this, over the years, and never had he looked anything else than a blend of serious and bored.

„..I can’t see anything..“

„Does that mean she is healthy?“ Alira’s father got his hopes up. Maybe he misinterpreted the expression he saw?

„No.. yes.. i don’t know..“

„What?“ He was baffled.

„It is not that i can see nothing wrong with her, it is that i can just see nothing. Nothing at all. That isn’t supposed to be possible. Blood magic always works.“

He still sounded gravely surprised, shocked even.

„What does that mean? Is my daughter alright??“

„As i just said, i don’t know. All i know is that.. something.. is not allowing others to inspect her status. Something either impossibly strong, or, through pure chance, exactly negating this particular ritual. The latter has almost non existent odds though, so i dare say that some higher being, with unimaginable power, interfered with her fate, somehow, making it impossible to see.“ The shaman responded in a dead serious tone.

Alira’s changed nature itself prevented lesser beings, like humans, to work any kind of trick on her, but the shaman had no way of knowing that, and neither did she. Nor her father.

So in the end, after a long discussion that ultimately led to nothing tangible, the shaman suggested to raise her like a normal child, and he would check in on her year by year, to see if something changed.

Her father, way less qualified in such matters, grudgingly agreed, as he had no real choice anyway.

The years flew by, the family happy still, until Alira became old enough to understand that she was different. Her friends, once small like her, now towered over her body. They, too, noticed she was strange and slowly, one by one, neglected to invite her to play, until she spent most of her time alone, or at home. Her parents tried to comfort her to the best of their ability, but they could not replace real friends, no matter how hard they tried.

After a while, rumours began wafting through the village. Some spoke of a sad curse, some of a devil’s child. Some, few, spoke of a miracle, however that made sense.

„Will i ever grow up?“ Alira asked on her fourteenth birthday, in a room full of empty chairs. No one had heeded her invitation, despite coming of age being an important day. Normally, young casanovas could try for her hand in marriage now.

Unsurprisingly though, no boy showed interest in a girl that looked like a small child. It was just too weird, and even if her appearance had met the gusto of a man, pedophilia was frowned upon, preventing such a person to make a move either. In the end, it was only her and her parents, like it always was.

„I don’t know dear. But tomorrow the shaman will pay his recurring visit. Maybe he has news, this time.“ Her mom tried to sound cheerful, but was unable to hide all of her worries.

„You always say that.“ Alira retorted. Her life was not easy, so, sometimes, anger broke through her otherwise gentle being. She had never done something wrong in her life, and yet, people treated her like she was a crooked, evil thing. Even her parents received cold stares now and then, cultivating guilt in her young mind.

„Because that is all we can say, dear.“ Her father intervened in a sad voice, seeing the mix of anger and desperation in his daughter’s face. A look he had seen to many times in the last few months, so often in fact, that he almost couldn’t bear it anymore. Why could no one help her? Was it their fault somehow? Her father spent sleepless nights, pondering, wondering, never finding an answer.

The shaman, deeply moved by the circumstances of an innocent child, never stopped pondering the matter, either. As he knew way more, than common people, about magic and rituals and souls, he took the methodic approach. Every year, he had other identification spells ready, based on different types of magic. First, he tried rituals in his domain, blood-bound magic. When they all failed, he moved on to the other stuff he was taught so long ago, by his predecessor, who had passed decades ago. The shaman picked herbs, created hex-bags, dream catchers, totems, to no avail. Then he conjured spirits, asking to roll their dice in Alira’s name, only to get the same answer every time, be it from a fox, or a deer, or a toad: „Her fate is hidden in the shadows. We can’t see.“

Today, at her fourteenth birthday, he was at the end of his knowledge. The one last thing he could try was summon Galdir, the spirit of a legendary crow, around since olden times.

He had sworn to do so only as a last effort, because Galdir did not belong to Gaia’s children. All the other spirits he knew by name, which was required to call upon them, were neutral, in service of the goddess of life herself.

The crow he was about to summon, however, was not. It was a twisted thing, an omen of dread, bound to Heojin, the god of war, instead.

His specialization in blood magic was the only reason that he had affiliations to such an entity, in the first place.

Galdir would do as told, when summoned, but if you were not careful, he would twist your words, until they spelled something dark. Using him to help with non bloody things was dangerous at best, devastating at worst.

The shaman sighed. Summoning a creature of war required.. real.. payment. Not the lousy life of a few animals, but blood of a truly sentient thing. Like humans, for example. Or pixies. Unwilling to pay with a human life, he opted for the latter, sneaking into the forest nearby at night, placing wards to trap a fairy. When he witnessed a poor little thing fly into his ambush, his heart became heavy for a second. Offering sentient souls to dark forces was never easy on the mind, not even for him.

Alira, despite past experiences, got her hopes up once more when someone, who could only be the shaman, knocked on their door. She just couldn’t help it, he was her only chance for normalty, after all, she thought.

As her father opened up, the first thing they noticed was an ominous bird.

All black, eyes like embers, sitting on the shaman’s shoulder.

Its aura was drenched in despair, filling her parents with a deep, basic fear. Just looking upon the crow made their instincts wail, causing them to flinch backwards, subconsciously, trying to flee.

She herself felt something else beyond the initial dread.

..Despair? .. No.. Familiarity.. Yes.. Like the crow and she were alike, a tiny bit at least, by some unknown circumstance.

It crept her out, while simultaneously, made her feel whole. For the first time in her life, however briefly, she didn’t regret that she was different.

Then the notion passed.

„That is enough, Galdir.“ The shaman commanded.

Almost instantly, the confusing blend of feelings in her settled down. She threw a glance at her parents, which seemed to calm down as well. The air had cleared, the aura vanished.

„Listen closely. This is the last option, i know of, to maybe help you. This is Galdir. Unlike the peaceful spirits before, he is an omen of war. So be very, very careful. I would have liked better not to make use of one like him, but i can not, in good conscience, leave a possible way to help you untested. A decade is a long investment, after all. It is of grave importance that you don’t speak to him, unless i tell you to, you understand?“

The shaman seemed slightly uneasy, his breath a bit ragged.

„..“

„Do you understand? All of you? War spirits are powerful, and they will always try to lure your mind into dark places. Don’t let him tempt you.“

„Y-Yes.“ The family whispered in unison, intimidated by the creature in front of them. The elders of the village sometimes told stories of past days, of the great wars of ancient times. There was one thing the stories, myth or real, had in common. Spirits of war were, without exception, merciless creatures. Stronger than even a dragon, driven only by their thirst for blood and souls of the fallen. Valkyries, the elders called them. Either black-winged beauties, luring good men to their deaths, or skeletal riders on undead horses, ravaging through the fields of battle, sparing no soul. Or crows, picking at the mutilated remains of what their siblings had unleashed. Seeing such a dangerous myth, right at their doorstep, made them shiver, as they were reminded that some forces are not to be trifled with. The only thing that kept them sane right know, was the faith they had in their shaman. He had never uselessly taken risks for the village. In fact, without his help, the settlement might have died out, a few times at least. So they decided to trust him, for now.

The crow had also looked around, while the shaman introduced it, analysing all people present. His fiery glare locked onto Alira for a second.

Then Galdir struggled. The shaman’s commands bound him, prevented him to move on his own volition. So, instead, he spoke. His voice like faint thunder, a tale of distant crisis, inducing goosebumps on everyone present.

„Why did you summon me, lowly blood-binder? There is nothing i can do that the one over there can’t. Let me go, now!“ He tipped a claw towards Alira.

What?

The silence was almost tangible. Her parents seemed in shock, while the shaman just looked dumbfounded.

After a few seconds, the shaman regained his posture and responded.

„What do you mean by that?“

„Don’t insult my intelligence! Do you really want to see one, of my standing, bow down? So desperately, that you had to bring one.. like.. her? You either are insane, or very stupid, blood-binder. Now free me, before you regret this.“

Again, stunned silence.

„..I-i don’t understand..“ Alira’s mother attempted to speak.

„Silence! Don’t talk to him!“ The shaman interjected, shouting.

„Ahaha, woman. How dare you speak. You are worth even less than the one that called me here. Mortals like you should just bow their head in wait, and rejoice when their lives are taken... Mhmm… Unless you want to bargain? For your soul, perhaps? It is lost, without my help, you know?“

„Don’t listen to him! Just keep silent, please…“ The shaman waved to Alira’s mother, to make her shut up.

“..Galdir, i summoned you, so that you could read her fate, because i can’t.“ The shaman pointed at Alira.

For a brief moment, the crow looked.. perplexed? Hard to tell the facial expressions of a bird, really.

Then Galdir burst into laughter.

„Oh ho ho, i take it back. You really don’t know, do you?“ Now he sounded actually amused. Still a voice like thunder though, the melody of a storm, ever so slowly creeping closer.

„So, can you read her fate, or not?“ The shaman lost a bit of his patience. Keeping a spiritual beast, on Galdir’s level, bound, took a hefty toll on the body. Time started to run dry, as he felt his mana drain quickly.

„No. And even if i could, i wouldn’t. I’d rather take serious backlash for disobeying the summoner’s bond, than offend a thing like her. I value.. existing.. you know.“ The crow told slowly, after hesitating to answer.

„Do you know what is wrong with me?“ Alira couldn’t hold herself back anymore. That forsaken crow seemed to know.. something.

„Don’t talk!“ The shaman, on the verge of collapsing from mana exhaustion, weakly shouted.

Alira seemed to have caught Galdir off guard, so much so, that he almost stuttered a bit.

„W-Wrong? Oh exalted one, i dare not find fault in someone of your standing. Forgive a simple one like me, for not behaving properly in your presence. That damn bond prevents me from acting freely.. i wish not, to show disrespect..“

Seriously? Alira’s mouth fell open. The crow actually tried to bow its head, fighting the shaman’s control, while answering respectfully.

She quickly adapted, it almost felt.. natural.. to have powerful entities kneel in front of her.

„Obey me, until i say you can go, omen of war.“ She tried to sound like the kings, true rulers, in the bedtime stories her father had told her as a child.

Right now, she discovered a side of her she didn’t know existed. It felt.. normal.. like breathing, to command the crow.

Her parents looked at her, alienated. That was not the daughter they knew. Suddenly, they were tempted to believe the rumours told about their child. A devil’s child. Not human, just looking human. After a second though, they pushed away such ridiculous thoughts. Of course it was her daughter, how could she not be?

„No.. he will deceive you..“ The shaman now had to kneel, to keep in control of the bond.

„Blood-binder, shut up. You know of the unbreakable contract, yes?“

The shaman nodded, speechless, his eyes opening wide. Then the crow looked directly into Alira’s eyes.

„I, Galdir, Harbinger of War, humbly wish to form a contract. A contract that must be honored. A contract that can not be broken. Hereby, i swear allegiance to your every word, exalted one. Please accept this token.“

Before Alira could wonder, what token, a small coin, glowing silver, left the crow’s chest.

It hovered over to her, and she took it, after hesitating a moment. It felt warm to the touch.

„The contract is valid. [If my services are no longer required, please show mercy and return my soul. It is a great honor, to serve one of your kind.]“

The last part (AN: the part in [..] braces) Galdir spoke in a language, no one in the room, not even the shaman, knew.

But Alira did. She understood and had never heard the words before, at the same time. Which felt so indescribably weird, she shifted her feet nervously.

What, exactly, am i? She wondered.