. ⬝ : * ̈ ̈ *: ⬝ . 💓 . ⬝ : * ̈ ̈ *: ⬝ .

A green and vibrant meadow filled the view right in front of the young boy who, with light steps, followed an animal ladder. The sky had already begun to change to an orange-red color for a few minutes, indicating that it was high time for him to go home. But despite that, he was drawn deeper into the forest, and there were wildflowers in the thousands all around him that bowed to him in the light breeze that swept past him as he walked by them.

Golden yellow dust shimmered from the flowers and was pulled up into the wind. As he walked forward, he could hear a rippling sound from a nearby waterfall. He took a deep breath and felt the magic in the air getting tighter as the day began to end. The boy raised his hand and summoned the magic that drew to his hand and began circling the palm of his hand until enough magic had created a golden orb into which he pushed some magic so that it began to shine.

He raised his hand and let the orb fly out of his hand and take a position in front of him. The light dissolves the ground enough for him to continue following the animal path he had found. Maybe he'd spend the night out tonight? It felt like the magic around him was doing everything to keep him going deeper into the woods as if it wasn't ready for him to set off just yet.

The boy, perhaps around ten or eleven summers old, Harald, walked along the rippling stream of crystal-clear water, looking down at the stones in the river as he walked on. He was small for his age; his jet-black hair had a blue-green hue in it as the last rays of the sun lit him up. But it was his eyes that caught the attention of many; the moss-green eyes had a sea of gold dust in them that made his eyes almost twinkle on their own. It helped that magic loved him, and his mother had at several times boasted that he had a powerful connection to magic and was meant for something big.

Whatever it was.

Harald had merely shrugged and continued with his. But this was different; as darkness began to fall around him and the forest came to life, he felt an almost uneasy feeling grip his heart. Far from the small waterfall he had heard before, there was the most beautiful lady he had ever laid eyes on, the water lily was in full bloom, and the willow bed by the shore dipped its long branches into the water, creating a veil around the massive trunk.

Small insects collecting magic had begun to wake up and flew sleepily close to the ground while picking up the magic particles.

In honor of the day, he had decided to make his adventure a little further out than he usually does in the kingdom. He had even packed a bag with everything he needed. Only he remembered where he had put it. The boy shrugged; he could go back later; now, something was pulling him in this direction.

The night-black hair was tied in a high ponytail, and braids and beads adorned some loops that fell over his shoulders. He was wearing a white tunic with black pants. The dark green boots reached him up to his knees in a protective gesture, and around his waist hung a decorated belt with a short sword, a bag of crystals, and some capsules from flowers he had found on his walk.

Harald stiffened as his body began to feel strange; for lack of a better word, it was as if the magic was running away. He looked around as he began to follow the peculiar sense of magic pulling him in that direction.

It was like a nagging feeling feasting within him, yelling at him to hurry up before it was too far. But too far for what? It wasn't just that feeling that had caught the young seeker's attention. There was something in the air, something bitter and sour, and it felt wrong.

It smelled like death.

He always had an easy time sensing death; maybe it was just natural for him to feel it. The kingdom of the dead regarded him as one of those who could represent the god of death, as one of his chosen ones and heir. But he had not yet taken the test; at this moment, he was just a candidate for that title and had not inherited any title or magic. Death was waiting for something or someone to start tracking, but he had no idea who.

Whatever it was that called him, he was not afraid of the feeling of death. Death was one of the most natural things that could happen to them and something that no one could avoid. And he felt safe in the thought that when death would come for him, he would welcome it like a dear old friend, perhaps not yet; he still had a long life ahead of him.

He was terrified when someone took the choice away from him, unable to choose for himself. He hates when someone even took a choice from him, how small it was, he decided on his own life and what he did with it, good and bad things.

But what if the day came when someone took the choice from him? when the only way out would be death, no matter what he did.

The young boy shook his head to dispel the dark thoughts whispering in his ear. He felt his throat tighten, and he had difficulty getting air at the terrible idea. He took a deep breath to gather himself and closed his viridian-colored eyes; he let the magic flow out of him in gentle waves. He sought out those who called for his help.

He ran his hand over his face to get rid of the long jet-black hairs that had fallen out of their prison and exhaled. The feeling of losing time stressed him out, and when he opened his eyes again, he knew he needed to move to the right. He began to jog to get there faster, and it wasn't long before Harald more or less stumbled upon something lying in the way on the ground.

Harald fell over with a surprised scream, holding back a hiss of pain as he slammed his knees into the hard ground beneath him. Thankfully for the protective leather of the boots, at least his pants didn't break; his mom certainly wouldn't let him get away with it without a good explanation. And that he fell into the woods was not a good explanation.

The young green-eyed man swore up a storm that would make his uncle proud of his vocabulary, and his mother was probably white with fury and would tell him to go and wash his mouth with soap. Harald took a deep breath and felt the pain as it spread along with his now battered knees and elbows.

The young boy turned to stare at the horrible root, or whatever it had been, that had tripped him. But no root met his sight as a pair of black leather boots caught his attention. He let his gaze wander up to the brown pants, gaping in shock when he saw that it wasn't a root.

It was a young man, dirty and bloody; his breathing was shaky and labored, and every in and out breath was gurgling as if there was fluid in his throat. It didn't take long for Harald to realize that the feelings of death came from this young man. He quickly threw himself down next to the man and began to shake to wake him up, but without success.

The unconscious dark-haired man's head just cradled from side to side in a sluggish motion. Harald quickly looked over the many wounds that adorned the young man's body. The clothes were torn and bloody, and the skin underneath was red and irritated in some places; how long had he been here? He could also feel the fever ravaging his body, a clear sign that the young man's life was in great danger.

"Shit," Harald muttered, taking a deep breath, "Okay, I can handle this. First, wash the wounds and take the next step when I'm there."

Harald methodically began to wash every infected wound on his body; he ripped open the young man's clothes so they wouldn't get caught in the new blood and began to take us from one of the more extensive wounds across the man's chest.

The smell of dead tissue was heavy all around them, and he could now almost see the dark fog settle over the broken body in front of him. But he tried to ignore it. He couldn't give up now because even though the mist of death was dense around the man. There was still a shade of gold in it and something purple. The strange dust particle made him stop what he was doing, only for a second to hesitate before he started to clean up the edges once more.

The night had now completely fallen, and the only light he had to work in was from the moon and the little ball of light he had created. The purple around the wound was abnormal; was it…poison? That would explain the rapid heartbeat Harald felt under his hand, which was on the man's chest.

Harald picked up the fabric again and began to clean the worst wound, while now he began to work on it with his magic as well. He let his magic gently seep into the young man's wounds and skin as he tested whether the other men would accept his magic, and that was, without a single reaction, the body took his magic.

Instead, his body sucked up to his magic like a dry sponge. It made him push in more and more energy as he replaced the damp cloth with a clean one. Harald did not remember how long he worked. But he stopped when he began to feel the fog of death slowly disappear from his body, and the wounds were no longer as infected as before.

Harald breathed out and fell on his back with panting breaths. His whole body shook from the exhaustion that came over him. He lay for a few seconds, listening to the young man's now much calmer and steadier breath; The fever was still raging in the body but not as high as before.

Harald stood up unsteadily and felt his legs tremble with each step, but he slowly began to get to the small stream that was a stone's throw from them. He felt his magic being almost drained; he had no idea it would take so much charm to heal anyone. Han's mother made healing look simple, and he had done what she used to when he got minor wounds or even a broken leg.

Never mind, the young man now had a better chance of survival, and that's what counted. Harald pulled out the pink pieces of cloth that had only been his shirt a few hours earlier to wash them off. It was a warm summer evening, so he didn't need it anyway, and the stranger needed to be cooled down.

Harald froze suddenly as his gaze fell on his wrist.

In this world where magic and fate played a significant role for his people, especially in this realm that he lived in, an important part was the sign, and Harald had been an extraordinary boy since birth. Not just because his connection to magic was so strong and clear, it was because he had a so-called soulmate mark, marking him as one of the few destined to find his one and true match. Sappy as it sounds.

All higher beings had a soulmate somewhere, but they didn't know who they were. It was almost like a game for the gods to find their chosen one. The brand was often a mixture of the two souls, and the mark would begin to develop and grow in the presence of its partner and with budding emotions. The pattern differed from person to person and how big it eventually became.

But there was speculation about the mark; the more significant it was, the more required balance, whatever it meant. But even if the position differed, each party's motive was always the same.

Harald's loved his mark already; it was adorned with green vines and small dots of flower buds that had not yet blossomed that twisted around his wrist. They had always been in a harmonious, constant green color, and sometimes he could imagine them moving. It was almost as if they were lazily blowing in a wind that only they could feel, but he probably imagined things.

The green stems were braided around each other in a protected golden bandage barely visible under the vines. When they tried to hide it and not let anyone look at it, his mother teased him because his soulmate was probably just as possessive of what was his and hid part of the mark. Harald himself thought it was because his mate was shy.

But what caught his attention now was that his mark had suddenly begun to grow through—something it had never done before. The stems had begun to be pulled up towards his elbow, and he could see how a bright blue color had started to adorn the otherwise green buds. The golden band that was the base of the mark hadn't changed, but golden stripes had begun to meander along the stems of the smaller flowers that still wrapped around the golden branches.

He opened his mouth in awe but couldn't get any sounds out of his lips as he gently stroked the flowers with soft fingers. This could not be possible. He couldn't have such a stroke of luck… Or was it bad luck? However, there was no other answer than that the injured man was his soulmate. For only in contact with his other half could a soulmate mark grow?

Harald turned his gaze back to the unconscious young man, and he had to wrestle with his own need to rip off the man all of his clothes to search and see if he had the same mark anywhere on his body. He could see that nothing was on his chest, so it was probably on his back or legs. But the mere thought of doing such a thing when the man was unconscious felt like he was as bad as the one who had hurt him.

But can it be so? That this badly injured man was his soulmate? Who was he? What was he doing here? Was his life in danger? Who had tried to kill him? he had so many questions jumping around in his head.

Harald cautiously walked back to the young man and sat down near his head, bathing his forehead gently; in the dim glow emitted by his ball of light, he could see him much better now than before. He had sharp cheekbones and a straight nose pointing down to plump lips; he let his gaze sweep over the overall handsome face, which was now free of dirt and blood. His hair was half-length and curled around his ears, and Harald couldn't resist the childish thought of feeling as if his hair were as smooth as it looked.

With one gentle movement, he let his fingers gently touch the black hair that fell like silk between his slender fingers, and he had to hold back a giggle that threatened to bubble up. The best comparison he could make of the feeling was running his hand through a silk textile. He stopped the movement when the young man suddenly groaned and withdrew his hand as if he had burned himself.

" Hey, are you awake? Harald asked in a low voice, receiving a soft groan in response and a dry whisper. He took his water can and gently lifted the man's head so he could place it against his lips.

"Drink; you still have a fever, so drink up as much as you can" he tipped it a little so that the clear cold liquid could gently fall into the man's mouth.

The first sip made the man cough, and then Harald felt his arm push up, and the man drank it faster. As if he had starved for the liquid, and maybe he had as the hurt ma slow enjoyment of the grip on his wrist. Harald could now feel the man's touch burning his mark.

He put the now empty flask by his side and lowered the man's head slowly back, looking over him again, meeting the man's dark eyes that were now half-open but unfocused.

"Go back to life," Harald murmured to him. "You need to gather in strength" he felt his grip on his ankle loosen slightly and watched as the dark eyes closed, and the young man calmed down again and seemed to be returning to sleep.

Harald tried to calm his now wildly running heart, but it felt almost impossible. His arm tingled as if a thousand needles were squeezing his skin, and it crawled up his arm toward his elbow and over his shoulder. He could feel the burning sensation going down his spine. It wasn't a painful feeling but warm enough to make him take a deep, shaky breath to try and calm his mind.

There was no doubt about it anymore; this was his soulmate because he had never reacted like this to another person's touch.

Harald did not sleep that night. He sat next to the man, watching over his fever and changing fabric when it got too hot, and thanked the Norns that the man's condition did not worsen. So, what could he do? He didn't have strong enough magic to carry him home, and his home was too far away.

Suddenly, he heard something, something that didn't belong in the otherwise peaceful forest, voices shouting. Harald looked down at the young man and stroked his fingers along his neck until he found a steady pulse; it was still too fast. He leaned his forehead down towards the young man for a second, concentrating his eyes as he tried to feel his temperature. The man still had a high fever but slightly lower than yesterday.

Harald pulled away and jerked in surprise when a pair of feverish glossy green eyes looked at him. The blush spread across his cheeks and down his throat.

"Sorry, I had to check your temperature," he said as the older male blinked slowly. "Do you think you can sit up? No?" the dark-haired man slowly shook his head.

"Ah, that is all right, but I don't think you can lay here any longer" Harald looked up and pulled his fingers through his hair, not knowing what he could do.

A cold sweaty hand suddenly gripped his wrist, and Harald stilled as the man stared at the soul mark. Harald opened his mouth to say anything but stopped as he suddenly heard the voices closer, and they were calling for someone named Loki.

Was it perhaps the young man's name? or were they the ones who had hurt his soulmate? His hand automatically closed around the short sword hanging along his side, but before he could get up, he felt a cold and damp hand around his ankle again and looked down at the owner, slowly shaking his head.

"Are you Loki? Harald asked in a low voice, watching as the young man tried to moisten his cracked lips and form words, but nothing came out, so he settled for a slight nod.

Harald felt the nervousness spread through his body as he heard how the voices were closer now. They sounded worried and yelled at each other to shut up, and something about enemies could come at any moment.

Fear crept up his spine as he stared at the sound of a deer caught in front of a hunter. He needed to go; what if they thought he was the one who had hurt their comrade?

Harald tried to get back up, but the grip around his ankle tightened, and an almost panicked expression appeared on Loki's face.

"It's okay," Harald whispered and pried up Loki's grip, which wasn't difficult as he was still frail. "When the time comes, we'll meet again."

He looked up in the direction of the voices and could now see the tip of a spear across the bushes. What if they thought he was the one hurting their friend? Would they attack him before he said anything? He couldn't let that happen.

"I'm sorry," he whispered lowly, "I have to go,"

It was hard even to tear himself from the side of his soulmates; he pulled himself up, and the dark-haired man's weak grip quickly loosened. He swallowed hard and retreated, he didn't want to leave Loki like this, but he couldn't stay either.

Loki was now trying to move after him, giving off a louder painful groan as his injured body protested the movement. But that was all that was needed to warn the voices because suddenly Harald could hear heavy running footsteps, and the armor splash was now not far from their position.

"N... no, " the hoarse voice of Loki came painfully forth when he had a hand out for him. Harald met Loki's panicked eyes one last time.

"I'm so sorry. I have to go," Harald tore his gaze away from Loki's, turned around, and started to run. He could hear a shout in protest behind him, and it almost felt like he was ripping out his own heart as he got further away from the male he had found.

. ⬝ : * ̈ ̈ *: ⬝ . 💓 . ⬝ : * ̈ ̈ *: ⬝ .

Harry woke up with a violent jerk, his heart racing in his chest as if he had run a marathon. He threw off the blanket tangled around his ankles and tried to get up onto his unsteady legs. His whole body shivered as the pain shot through him with every breath, especially his head, which was about to explode.

Harry held back a moan that threatened to leave his throat. The twitching sensation forced him to close his eyes tightly, pressing his hands to his head in a desperate motion to push the emotions back.

Han's body gave him only a few seconds of warning before his stomach contents violently emptied into the porcelain throne. He emptied his stomach quickly; the chilly feeling of the cold floor beneath his knees and his body's pain slowly began ebbing out. Still, a tingling sensation lingered around his arm, pulsing and almost vibrating.

Harry rested his head against the cold seat in front of him. A headache was now throbbing painfully in sync with his heartbeat, and he could feel the cold tears that fell down his cheeks in unstoppable strides.

He didn't know how long he was lying on the cold bathroom floor, and at some point, in the meantime, Harry must have fallen asleep because by the time he woke up again, the headache had subsided markedly, and he was able to move without pain in his legs. Slowly, he stood up, his body protesting with stiffness, but he forced himself to rinse his mouth and wash his face.

What had happened? He remembered having such a lifelike dream.

Han could still feel the phantom pain hugging his chest, and he held back a sob when he suddenly felt so incredibly jointed.

He held back the scream that threatened to be torn out of him; the painful and desperate feeling within him was something he had never felt before. Tears continued to run down his cheeks, and he forced himself to breathe deeply, to calm down. He checked his occlumency shields that still were intact. Thus, there was no outside intrusion, but that dream was something that wasn't normal.

Harry sighed as he let the cold-water splash on his face in an attempt to collect himself.

When he raised his gaze to the mirror above the sink, he blinked in surprise. For a second, he thought he was still dreaming and was looking down into the crystal-clear waters of the pond. In his reflection, he could see something resembling a more adult variation of the boy he had seen in his dream.

His eyes had acquired a more emerald green tone, and around the iris, he could see a clear line of gold, giving his gaze a new intensity that had not been there before. The color wasn't his mother's famous green color eyes that so many had praised him for and the only thing he had left after her.

This couldn't be right.

Harry slowly raised his hand, and his reflector made the exact movement as he gently touched his temples and the long curls of dark hair. He then ran his hand through the much longer hair; how was this possible? It now reached his neck and curled easily at the end. He could vaguely remember that once as a child, he had outgrown his hair because Harry had hated how Aunt Petunia had massacred his hair just before he usually started school.

But this felt different.

Harry ran his hand through his hair again and pulled on it lightly, feeling the pain that came after as the hair was stuck to his scalp. He then removed his hand from his hair only to finger the back of his nose, where he used to wear his glasses, which were missing and haunted him with their absence.

He could see without them, without any problems at all. H, the eyes widened in pure shock. He couldn't panic, not yet, not now, maybe later. Especially not now that his gaze zoomed in on something else that had caught his attention. His mouth felt dry, and he tried to swallow, but there was no moister to talk about.

He breathed heavily as he stared down at his wrist, which was no longer the pale skin he usually had, but now a beautifully budding tendril of vines swirling around it. He could see the golden yellow band at the base of his wrist and the protectively wrapped vines around it all.

The now firmer golden yellow stems had begun to pull themselves up still more towards his elbow, and the small flower cups had a greenish-blue hue; they were close to blooming but not quite yet. Harry recognized the flower without a hitch; after all these years, Dursley had forced him to clear the flower beds, calling it a rubbish flower and a weed. Something that suited him like a glove.

Forget-me-not.

Okay, now he allowed himself to panic.