From the back of the hut, shrouded in shadows and the scent of burned leaves, the healer emerged in silence. She was a crow-woman—or at least something that resembled one. Her wings—large, blackened, and marked by time—extended from her back like ancient veils, still beautiful despite their wear. One eye was completely white; the other, small and piercing, seemed to see what no one dared to say aloud.
She said nothing. She simply walked toward Ophelia, gazing at her with patience and tenderness, leaning on a staff carved with symbols that seemed to shift under the flickering firelight.
The crow-woman stepped closer with slow, light movements, as though her body had lived through a thousand seasons. Her hands were slender but firm. Her eyes—one blind, the other bright as polished obsidian—rested on the young woman with gentle focus.
She gave no name. Perhaps she no longer had one. She was simply… the healer.
She turned then and, from a small crevice in the bonewood altar, retrieved an object wrapped in dark linen cloth.
With ceremonial care, she undid the knot—revealing the **Blood Crystal**. It was small, faceted, and pulsed faintly, as if a dormant heart beat within it. Its glow was a deep crimson, somewhere between wine and raw flesh, and it seemed to emit a silent sound, perceptible only to the senses of the soul.
"This crystal knows the seed of all things," murmured the healer. "It feels the root of the earth… and reveals the fertility of every precious female that exists—the miracle of fertile rivers."
She placed the stone at the center of Ophelia's abdomen. A sudden warmth radiated outward from within—but it wasn't invasive. It felt like a current of life responding to the crystal's call.
The crystal blazed with intensity.
The healer gasped, startled, and even her blind eye seemed to perceive something beyond sight.
"By the Beast Goddess…" she whispered, her voice thick with wonder. "Child, your fertility is like a spring that never ends. You could birth a magnificent lineage with a single sigh. I've never seen anything like it…"
She held Ophelia's hands with delicate care, her expression full of ancestral tenderness.
"You are a rare gift. A promise the Beast Goddess never forgot, even amidst the sorrow of fading species. You will be honored… and above all else, protected."
Azazel felt a deep joy and relief—and at the same time, a new weight settle on his shoulders. There was pride in his expression, but also a silent unease. His eyes met Ophelia's with a quiet gleam that said: "I knew… I knew you'd be special somehow."
Embarrassed and unsure how to respond to the healer's raw and sacred words, Ofélia looked away. Amid the swirl inside her, fragmented memories of this world flickered to life—vague but vivid.
She remembered that among the tribes, female fertility was considered average at best. In rare cases, women were infertile—and such women were often avoided. They were said to become bitter, resentful, and to bring conflict wherever they settled.
Returning to the present, and now officially accepted, Ophelia realized she had nowhere to stay. A bit lost, she voiced her uncertainty.
"Where… where am I supposed to stay?" she asked, her voice softer than she meant it to be.
The healer tilted her head, serene.
"Wherever you like," she said, with the warmth of someone cradling a grandchild. "This is your home now."
Ophelia hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting to Azazel. He stood steady, watchful, with the calm of someone who had already accepted her answer.
"If it's alright…" she murmured, almost in a whisper, "I'd like to stay with him. He's the one who brought me here."
Azazel's eyes lit up. A smile tugged at his lips, and his tail began to wag involuntarily. Seeing that, Ofélia let out a small laugh—shy, surprised—finding it oddly funny… and quietly endearing.
**Azazel – Point of View**
The moment I saw her—that stunning female with snow-white ears and tails—my heart raced. For a second, I thought she might be like me, silver. But no... she was different. Her glow was white as fresh snow, touched by pale silver light, unlike my own fur, which shimmered closer to platinum.
I asked the usual questions, like any male would. But her answers… they didn't make sense. Still, I accepted them. Not because they were logical, but because there was something in her—a purity, a softness—I couldn't ignore.
I invited her to my tribe. She hesitated for a few minutes, thoughtful. Then she accepted. When she climbed onto my back in silence, I felt her skin brush against my fur… and my heart ran wilder than my legs through the forest.
The moment we reached the tribe, I saw it. The way the males looked at her. Hungry. Fascinated. Like she was the first rain after a long drought. And something inside me snapped.
The jealousy came slow at first. Then irritation. Then heat. And when Amaral—that eloquent but weak fool—approached her with that rehearsed smile of his, I growled before I even realized it.
That's when I heard it—her heartbeat. It had sped up… startled, but alive.
And something awakened in me.
A raw desire. The kind I never thought I'd feel. A wish to claim her as my mate.
That had never been in my plans. I'd never wanted to be anyone's husband. Every female I'd known before had been demanding, bossy, exhausting. But Ofélia was different. Shy. Sweet. Honest, even in silence.
And for the first time, I let myself consider the unthinkable: *maybe… she's the exception. The female worth the risk.*
So I took her to the healer—to be sure she wasn't one of those infertile, bitter females, the ones who sow chaos and conflict wherever they go. I'd sensed something special in her from the moment I saw her… but I never expected her to be one of the exceedingly rare females with high fertility. Almost mythic.
I was relieved. Grateful. And then suddenly, deeply worried. Because now, every male in the tribe would want her.
While I stood watching her, tangled in my own thoughts, I heard her ask the healer where she would stay.
When she said she wanted to stay with *me*, I froze for a moment—stunned. And then it happened. Joy surged through me, wild and unstoppable. My damned tail wagged like a whirlwind before I could stop it.