# WARNING: Contains Violence and Assault
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Fera's Pov...
I was blessed—or so I thought—to be born into the esteemed Starlight family, as the youngest and only daughter.
My family was comprised of my father, Rex Starlight, who served as the head of the family with stern dignity; my mother, Jas Starlight, whose hybrid bloodline of spirits and humans made her something ethereal and otherworldly; and my elder brother, Arthur Starlight, who was seven years my senior and carried himself with the confidence of someone destined for greatness.
My grandfather visited only during important occasions, his presence both commanding and distant, like a king surveying his domain from afar.
Being born into such a prestigious family came with weight—the heavy expectations that I would awaken an affinity or talent related to spirits, that I would honor the Starlight name, that I would be extraordinary simply because my blood demanded it.
I was six years old when those expectations still felt like distant concerns, abstract concepts that adults worried about while I lived in the simple world of childhood wonder.
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## The Prince of Asuras
At the age of six, during a meeting between our mothers, I encountered a young boy named Riyan Descartes.
The Descartes family was legendary—whispered about in the same reverent tones people used when discussing ancient heroes. Riyan was the only male offspring of this highly regarded family and held the esteemed title of Prince of the Asura Clan, though I didn't fully understand what that meant at the time.
What I did understand was that he was beautiful.
His youthful countenance was endearing in a way that made even adults smile. His features were strikingly handsome for a child—delicate but with an underlying strength that promised he would grow into something formidable. His soft black hair fell delicately over his forehead, and his eyes shone with a captivating crimson hue that seemed to capture and refract sunlight itself, making them appear to glow from within.
I was immediately captivated by his charm and regal aura, by the way he carried himself with unconscious grace even at six years old.
The Descartes Estate was an awe-inspiring property, nestled in the heart of a serene and tranquil environment that made our own family estate seem almost modest by comparison. The family consisted of Riyan, his twin elder sister Livia—sharp-witted and protective—his adopted sister Syra—quiet and observant—and their parents, Cris and Riya Descartes, who radiated warmth despite their obvious power.
The estate was a true masterpiece, surrounded by verdant landscapes rich with vibrant colors and fresh aromas. The gardens were breathtaking, with vast arrays of flowers and plants meticulously arranged and cared for. As I approached the estate for the first time, I was struck by the grandeur of the architecture and the stunning design that seemed to blend seamlessly with the natural surroundings.
Upon meeting the Descartes family, I was immediately struck by their warmth and hospitality—so different from the formal stiffness that often characterized interactions in my own home. Riyan and Livia took me on a tour of the estate, sharing stories about the history and significance of the property with the enthusiasm only children can muster.
It was a truly unforgettable experience, and from that day forward, whenever I got the chance, I would make my way to Descartes Estate to spend time with two of my earliest friends. Those visits became my sanctuary, a place where I could simply be Fera rather than the Starlight daughter, where laughter came easily and expectations felt distant.
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## The First Shadow
When I was just nine years old, something peculiar caught my attention.
It was the way my brother looked at me during a family dinner—his expression filled with something complex and unsettling that I couldn't quite name. His gaze lingered too long, carried weight that made my skin prickle with instinctive discomfort.
I was too young to understand what I was seeing. Too innocent to recognize desire twisted into something dark and possessive.
I told myself I was imagining things. Arthur was my brother. He was supposed to protect me, guide me, be the person I could always trust. Whatever I thought I saw in his eyes must have been a trick of the candlelight or a misunderstanding born from childhood paranoia.
But deep down, in a place I refused to acknowledge, I knew.
Something had changed in the way he looked at me.
And that change terrified me in ways I couldn't articulate.
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## The Night Everything Shattered
I was approximately eleven years old when the worst incident of my life occurred.
It was an ordinary evening in early autumn. I had just finished taking a refreshing shower after a long day of spirit affinity training that had left me exhausted and sore. The hot water had helped ease the ache in my muscles, and I felt almost peaceful as I stepped out of the bathroom.
I dried myself off methodically, running the towel through my long hair, and then put on my favorite nightgown—soft blue fabric with delicate embroidery along the hem. It made me feel pretty and safe, like armor woven from comfort.
I was standing in front of my mirror, running a brush through my damp hair and admiring the way it caught the lamplight, when I heard it:
The sound of my bedroom door opening.
The sound was wrong—too forceful, too sudden. My door was supposed to be locked. I always locked it before showering, a habit my mother had insisted upon.
My heart began to hammer as I turned toward the source of the sound, brush still clutched in my hand like a useless weapon.
My brother stood in the doorway.
Arthur filled the frame with his presence, his hand still on the doorknob. For a moment, we simply stared at each other—me frozen in confusion and mounting fear, him with an expression that made my blood run cold.
Then he stepped inside.
And slammed the door shut behind him with a finality that echoed through my bones.
"Brother?" My voice came out small, uncertain. "What are you—"
But the words died in my throat as I saw his face properly.
His expression was twisted into something I had never seen before—something filled with raw hunger and violence that transformed his familiar features into a stranger's mask. His eyes, which should have held brotherly affection, burned with a lust so naked and terrible that my entire body recoiled instinctively.
This wasn't Arthur. This was something wearing his face.
"Brother...!" I tried again, my voice rising with panic. "Stop!"
He began to approach, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the hunt.
"BROTHER!" I screamed, backing away until my spine hit the wall. "STOP!"
My hands scrabbled against the wallpaper, searching for escape that didn't exist.
"DON'T COME NEAR ME!"
He kept coming.
"HELP!" My voice cracked, desperation clawing at my throat. "MOTHER! FATHER! HELP!"
But there was no response—not even an echo. My screams seemed to die the moment they left my lips, swallowed by something thick and oppressive.
Looking around frantically, I could see it now—the faint shimmer of mana forming an invisible barrier around my room. He had sealed us in, cut me off from the rest of the world with magic I didn't yet understand but could feel pressing against my skin like suffocating weight.
No one could hear me. No one was coming.
I was alone with him.
Tears began streaming down my cheeks as the full horror of my situation crashed over me. My body shook with sobs, desperation and terror mixing into something that threatened to break me entirely.
"Please," I whispered, pressing myself harder against the wall as if I could somehow pass through it. "Please don't—"
He grabbed me.
His hands were rough, forceful, fingers digging into my arms hard enough to bruise. His face was inches from mine, distorted with lust so intense it looked almost like madness.
When he spoke, his voice was unlike anything I had ever heard from him before—low and menacing, barely recognizable, like the whisper of something demonic speaking through human vocal cords:
"Dear sister," he breathed, and the sound sent ice through my veins. "Did you know? I am a Vessel for the Devil himself."
The words didn't make sense. Vessels? Devils? What was he talking about?
But the meaning didn't matter. The intent did.
And his intent was written clearly in every line of his twisted expression.
His hands moved to my nightgown, and I felt the fabric tear as he grabbed it with violent force. The sound of cloth ripping echoed through the quiet room, obscenely loud against my choked sobs.
"NOOOOO!" I screamed with everything in me, thrashing against his grip. "HELP! STOP!"
The nightgown tore further, exposing skin to the cool air. Shame burned through me alongside terror.
"I BEG YOU!" I sobbed, my voice breaking completely. "Please, please stop—"
But he wasn't listening. His eyes were glazed, focused on something beyond reason or mercy.
I screamed again and again, pouring all my strength and energy into each desperate cry. My throat felt raw, my voice cracking, but I couldn't stop. If I stopped screaming, if I gave up, then—
**CRASH.**
The sound was thunderous—the barrier shattering like glass, mana fragments dissolving into sparks of light.
And there, standing in the doorway with an expression of pure fury that could have melted steel, was my grandfather.
Relief hit me so hard I nearly collapsed. He had heard me. Somehow, against all odds—perhaps because he hadn't seen us for so long, perhaps because my screams had reached beyond the barrier's limits, perhaps by divine grace itself—he had heard me.
And he had come.
My grandfather, who was usually calm and composed, who moved through the world with dignified restraint, was transformed into something terrible and wrathful. His face was flushed red with fury, his eyes blazing with rage so intense it seemed to radiate visible heat.
"YOU DAMN BASTARD!" he roared, his voice carrying power that made the walls themselves tremble.
He vanished.
One moment he stood in the doorway, the next he had crossed the entire room in a movement too fast for my eyes to track. He reappeared directly before Arthur, his hand already raised.
The slap connected with a sound like a thunderclap.
Arthur was sent flying backwards through the air, his body ragdolling from the sheer force of the blow. He crashed into the wall opposite, cracking the plaster, then tumbled to the floor in a heap.
For a moment, there was absolute silence.
Then Arthur began to move.
He stood slowly, deliberately, his head tilted at an unnatural angle. His face, which should have shown pain or shock or shame, instead split into a wide, manic grin.
And then he laughed.
The sound was deep and guttural, filled with malice so pure it seemed to poison the very air. It echoed through my room, through my skull, burrowing into my brain like parasitic worms.
"HAAAAHAAAAHAAAAHAAA!"
The laughter went on and on, rising in pitch and intensity until it no longer sounded human at all.
"Old Man!" Arthur's voice was gleeful, triumphant despite his defeat. "I am not done yet! I will come again soon for Fera—" his eyes found mine, and I felt my soul recoil, "—my beloved sister."
He smiled at me then.
The expression was crooked, inhuman, something that belonged on a demon's face rather than my brother's. It promised terrible things, whispered of horrors yet to come.
Then he vanished into the darkness, leaving behind only the memory of that chilling smile and the echo of his monstrous laughter.
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## Aftermath
The sound of footsteps thundered through the hallway—dozens of them, rushing toward my room. The servants had finally noticed something was wrong. My parents were coming.
They burst through the doorway to find me standing frozen in the center of my room, grandfather positioned protectively in front of me, and my nightgown torn and hanging in tatters that barely preserved my modesty.
The scene was enough to paint a clear picture without words.
My mother's face went white, then flushed with horror and rage. My father's expression cycled through shock, incomprehension, and finally settled on a fury so cold it seemed to freeze the air around him.
But it was my mother who moved first.
She rushed toward me with her arms wide open, her face crumpling as tears began streaming down her cheeks. When she reached me, she wrapped me in a tight embrace that was gentle despite its intensity.
I felt her warmth, her love, her desperate need to protect me even though she had failed when it mattered most.
And something inside me—something that had been holding together through sheer terror and adrenaline—finally broke.
I collapsed into her arms, and the sobs that tore from my throat were the sounds of childhood dying, of innocence murdered, of safety revealed as the comforting lie it had always been.
My mother held me as I shattered, whispering words I couldn't hear over the roaring in my ears, stroking my hair with trembling hands.
My father was shouting orders—search the estate, find Arthur, summon the guards, activate every ward and barrier they possessed.
But I knew the truth even then:
Arthur was gone.
And he had promised to return.
The Starlight family's blessed daughter had learned a terrible lesson that night:
Monsters don't always hide under beds or lurk in shadows.
Sometimes they sit across from you at dinner.
Sometimes they share your blood.
Sometimes they call you sister while planning your destruction.
And no amount of prestigious bloodlines or powerful magic or family honor could protect you from the monster that lived inside your own home.
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*To be continued...*
*Get ready for an exciting journey as we dive into the pasts of Fera, Raven, and Ava. In the upcoming chapters, their perspectives will be revealed, their histories laid bare. You won't want to miss this thrilling exploration of trauma, survival, and the scars that shape us.*