The Fairy Forest, to some, was just one of the many wild areas untouched by human civilization. However, to those who still held onto the old beliefs, it was the final boundary between the Mortal World and the Unseen Realm—the land of the fairies, an illusory space that could alter reality and reverse the laws of the world without warning.
Milica was fully aware of that truth. She was not a girl who was easily swayed by old fairy tales or folklore, but as someone born from the intersection of two worlds—human blood mingled with the essence of butterflies migrating from the Color Dimension—she understood that this universe was too vast to be limited by human logic alone. Moreover, ever since the kidnappings began to spread, this place had become the meeting point of many common threads that were too obvious to ignore.
The afternoon breeze blew through her gleaming silver mane, letting the fine strands flutter and reflect the orange light of the setting sun. Her pair of blue wings spread wide, not only a symbol of her race, but also an extension of her sixth sense—extremely sensitive to vibrations, air pressure, and changes in temperature. Milica stood among the waist-high grass, her bright red eyes gleaming like crystal lenses, tracing the rows of trees that stood like silent sentinels. Every gust of wind that touched her skin brought soft whispers from nature, warning her of unseen energies lurking within the dense foliage.
An old building before her stood out in the landscape. A small wooden house with round windows covered by worn white curtains and walls barely covered in moss, standing suspiciously in complete silence. Not a breath of wind touched the curtains, not a sound of crickets or birds from the forest. It was as if all of nature had chosen to silence itself as Milica stepped closer. The air around her felt heavy, filled with an unfamiliar aura, as if this place had been sealed off from normal interaction with its surroundings.
Milica lowered her body slightly, crouched down, letting her fingertips touch the ground and smell the faint scent that remained. There were human footsteps around here. New. Less than three hours. The pressure of the ground, the smell of sweat, and the metallic oil of light steel boots. Someone had just entered the building. Her primordial instincts inherited from the dimensional butterfly lineage warned her of danger, but her curiosity and drive to solve the mystery were stronger.
Milica was not a pure fighter, but she did not come unprepared. She wore a long black dress with a light, elastic underlay, making it easy to move. Beneath it, several small magical nodes were embedded in the ends of the black ribbon around her neck, capable of storing vibrational energy for a single illusionary blast or some sort of high-frequency sound attack—something she would only use when absolutely necessary. Beyond that, however, her main strengths were observation and intelligence, the ability to read a situation and make quick, informed decisions.
She touched the slightly cracked wooden doorknob. It was unlocked. The door creaked open slowly with a thin, whisper-like sound—too quiet for the weathered wood. The air inside was chilly, but not unnaturally cold. Milica walked slowly, each step arranged in a protective spiral—a defensive strategy she had learned from an ancient war book she had once stolen from the elven library. She stepped carefully, making sure her footsteps left no trace, as if she were a shadow gliding across the floor.
The room inside the house was… empty.
Completely empty, but not in the sense of being uninhabited. There was something nagging, like the remnants of a nightmare lingering on the tip of her tongue. An old desk stood in the center of the room, and there, a notebook lay open. Behind it, the sound of hurried footsteps made Milica look up—a man, probably in his early twenties, emerged from a small hallway and her eyes widened at the sight. He looked panicked, his body moving quickly and his hands shaking as he reached for something in his shirt pocket. A strong aura of fear radiated from the man, a sign that he was no ordinary criminal, but someone caught in a situation beyond his control.
But Milica was already moving.
Her wings fluttered once, creating enough air pressure to make the man take a step back. Milica darted forward, but just as she was about to leap after him, the air in the room changed. Pink began to creep from the cracks in the walls and floor, a thin mist with a pungent, sweet scent—the scent of sleep flowers. The scent that the shamans of the Nyx tribe used to put travelers to sleep for days without realizing the passage of time. Milica recognized the scent, a sign of imminent danger.
Milica's body began to weaken. Her breath hitched, her eyes blinked, and before she could utter a single spell in butterfly language, darkness swallowed her. Her consciousness faded, like a candlelight blown out by the wind, leaving her in a cold, helpless void.
When she awoke, the first thing she was aware of was not pain, but ignorance.
The first sensation that greeted her was not the cold stone floor or the hard ground, but something much softer—a smooth satin surface enveloping her body with the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Then came the realization that she could not move her arms.
Ropes. Intricate ties. Cold. Solid. The ropes felt like shackles that restrained her every movement, binding her in a helpless position.
Milica opened her eyes slowly. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the gaps in the windows on the side of the room, reflecting off the stark white walls. She was on a plush couch with a crisp white sheet. Her dress still clung to her body, but her chest felt tight with red ropes that ran from her shoulders to her stomach, holding her arms behind her back in a position that strained her back muscles. Every fiber of the rope felt like it was pressing, restricting every possibility of movement.
He found his mouth gagged with a black ribbon tied neatly behind his head. It wasn't painful, but it was enough to prevent him from speaking. His knees were bent tightly, and red ropes tied his thighs to his calves, making his sitting position an unavoidable forced meditation pose. His wings, which had always been free to float, were folded behind his back and pressed against the back of the sofa due to the limited space and the pressure of the shoulder straps.
His eyes darted left and right, looking for reflections or sharp objects. Nothing.
Just a clean room with a scent too sweet to be a prison cell. No cameras. No torture devices. Just a silence too sweet and suffocating, a cold irony.
Questions flew like lightning through his mind. Who tied him up? For what? Why was he still dressed so neatly? Was the man part of a larger group? Or was this some kind of experiment? These thoughts raced, searching for answers amidst the fog of confusion that enveloped him.
And most importantly: why was he still alive?
He tried to remember the knotting technique he had learned. The knots used on her appeared to be a variation of an ancient binding style known as the Faerie Bind—a technique that usually wasn't meant to cause pain, but rather to restrict the flow of magical energy through pressure points on the body. That explained why her powers felt dead. She couldn't even form illusions.
A magical trap.
Not just physical ties, but symbolic ties.
Milica's head was pounding. But not from dizziness, but from the sheer number of possibilities swirling through her mind. If she panicked now, she would lose. She had to treat this like a test, like one of the tactical simulations she'd often undergone at the Underground Butterfly Academy. Her instincts screamed for her to fight, but her intelligence told her to observe and plan.
Then, a sound.
Soft. Like someone walking on a wooden floor. Slowly. Unhurriedly. Not the sound of a frightened enemy, not the confident footsteps of a guard.
The sound of someone who knew that their captive was awake.
And this was where Milica's story truly began—not in the forest, not in a mysterious void, but within these ties. In the midst of confusion and limitations, this is where intelligence and true will are tested.
Because not all heroes start with a sword in their hand.
Some start with ties in their bodies and determination in their hearts.