Arawn (Level 1) mail warning

Name: Arawn

Race: Half-Demon (Bound Soul)
Age: Unknown (appears early 20s)
Status: Sealed for centuries; recently released by Melarion
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (leaning toward redemption… maybe)

Appearance:

Height: ~1.90m

Skin: Smooth, light crimson, marked with glowing, organic runes across his body (they pulse when he's emotional or using magic)

Eyes: Golden, slit pupils, glow faintly even in darkness

Hair: Long, silver-white, flowing freely past his shoulders

Horns: Small, black, and slightly curved

Ears: Long and pointed, similar to elven ears—unnatural yet graceful

Tail: Long, thin, and spade-tipped, often flicks in response to emotion

Wings: Large, black-red bat-like demon wings, fully functional

Clothing: Black leather pants, no shirt or armor; prefers freedom of movement and doesn't feel the cold or heat

Backstory:

Arawn was the result of a forbidden union between a mortal warlock and a high-ranking demoness. Born into two conflicting worlds, he was never fully accepted by either. Hunted by humans, feared by demons, and driven by an uncontrollable knowledge of ancient soul-magic, Arawn was a danger not because of what he did—but because of what he knew.

He was eventually sealed away by an ancient magical order that feared his potential. Not killed—bound. They trapped his soul in a crystal with a fragment of his physical essence, hidden in the labyrinthine caves beneath the Heartwind Mountains, close to where Caelan (Melarion’s father) once studied.

Centuries passed. Arawn remained conscious all that time—awake, watching, suffering, thinking.

Until one day, a curious girl practicing magic she barely understood triggered a hidden ritual buried in a journal. That girl was Melarion. The seal broke. And Arawn was reborn.

But he's different now—fragmented. Still powerful, but tied to Melarion’s presence and her flame. Something in her soul echoes the magic that once bound him.

Powers & Abilities:

Infernal Runes: The glowing marks on his body are more than decoration—they’re living glyphs tied to ancient soul-magic.

Dark Flame Manipulation: His fire burns black with red or gold edges, devouring both magic and light.

Soul Sense: Can feel magical bonds, corrupted souls, or hidden seals in his surroundings.

Flight & Agility: His wings aren’t just for show—he’s fast, silent, and graceful mid-air.

Arcane Knowledge: Arawn remembers spells, creatures, places, and powers long erased from most history books.

Personality:

Sarcastic and intense, often hiding how much he actually cares

Wary of attachments, but fascinated by Melarion’s purity and power

Flirts with chaos, but respects strength and truth

Calls Melarion “Little Flame” or “Spark” teasingly, but protectively

Slowly opens up as he travels with her, haunted by what he once was—and what he could become again

Motivations & Conflict:

Wants to be free—truly free—not bound to anyone, but fears losing purpose without that tether

Drawn to Melarion, not just by magic but something deeper he doesn't understand

Has memories of Caelan—though vague and warped from centuries trapped

Hints that he might know things about Halo Dragons, Serahyra, or the soulbinding ritual Melarion was born from…

That’s a beautiful turning point in the story—emotional, magical, and full of tension. Here's the scene fleshed out into a narrative chapter-style excerpt, staying true to both Melarion’s development and Arawn’s mysterious presence and evolving bond:

Chapter: The Flicker and the Flame

Melarion didn’t know what she had awoken that day.

It began with a spell. A simple one—just a flicker of flame in the palm of her hand. The parchment she read from was brittle, scrawled in symbols she barely understood. Her voice trembled as she chanted. Nothing happened.

Then, a whisper.

It wasn’t words. It wasn’t even sound. Just a feeling, like a breath across the edge of her mind.

She didn’t notice the faint glow deep in the cave wall. Or the way the old stone cracked, ever so slightly.
Not yet.

For days, weeks, she practiced. Her magic bloomed slowly—sparks turning into warmth, then fire. Little by little, she began to understand the language in the books, the structure in the runes. And with every step she took, something stirred.

A presence.
Watching.
Waiting.

When she finally lit a perfect flame, the temperature in the cave dropped—not rose. Her breath frosted for a heartbeat.

And then, he appeared.

Emerging from the shadows behind her firelight like a ripple in reality, he stood tall—red-skinned, silver-haired, golden eyes glowing like embers in ash. His wings were folded, but his tail flicked absently. He looked… calm. Curious. And dangerous.

“Well... you’re not who I expected,” he said smoothly, voice velvet with old power. “But you are… something else, little flame.”

Melarion nearly burned herself putting the fire out.

The Growing Bond

At first, he offered no name. He didn’t even fully remember one. But Melarion gave him a wary place at her side, believing he was tied to the magic she had awakened. And she was right.

Arawn’s form grew stronger as her magic developed. When she succeeded, his body solidified. When she pushed her limits, he felt it in his blood. At first, he thought it was just the tether—the bond of awakening.

But he soon realized… it was more than that.

There was something in her, something of him, and yet completely opposite. And he began to feel—a dangerous thing for a half-demon.

He teased her often, calling her “Little Flame,” or sometimes “Spark,” the way one might speak to a candle in the dark.
But beneath the words was an ache, a growing desire to protect her, to see her become what she was meant to be. Not just for his own sake… but because he cared.

He didn’t say it. Not yet.

His demonic instincts, however, weren’t so quiet.
There were moments when his eyes lingered too long. When his voice dipped low, flirtatious, and she’d blush.
But he always pulled back.

“You’re not ready for the fire I carry,” he told her once. “And I’m not sure I am either.”

The Shadows of the Past

As Arawn gained strength, fragments of memory returned.

He saw a face.
A man cloaked in red and blue, with runes glowing at his fingertips. A mage.

Caelan.

Arawn couldn’t remember how, but he knew Caelan had once held the very object that bound him. And he had done… nothing.

Had he abandoned him? Forgotten?
Or was Caelan the one who sealed him?

He didn’t know. But he knew enough to stay silent.
Telling Melarion would only cause pain—and worse, questions he couldn’t yet answer.

So instead, he helped her. He taught her to focus her flame, to reshape it.
He showed her how to ignite heat without burning, how to cast small wards, and even how to channel hell magic—summoning warmth from within rather than destruction.

But soul magic? He said nothing.
Even as he watched her hands trace runes he knew too well.
Even as he dreamed of the cage he could never fully leave.

He was still bound, after all.
Only half-free.
Just like her.