Notes: "Speech" – said in a foreign language.

Words – sentences where almost all of its words are in italics are people's thoughts.

Speech - conversations said with psychic threads, for example, a Black thread.

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Chapter One

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1 - ? (Closed forest territory in the mountains)

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Yaslana SaDiablo flew through the clouds with his Craft-made black Eyrien wings, practically invisible against the night sky in his entirely black outfit. He was heading towards his cabin, a getaway much like the one his mother had at his age; intending to get a peaceful night's sleep in solitude, when a spot of white moving on the ground through the forest beneath him caught his sapphire eyes.

Flying lower, he caught the whiff of a psychic scent. A female psychic scent.

He frowned. What was a woman doing in the middle of a forest, a part of a closed territory in the mountains nevertheless; so late at night, all alone?

He caught up with her easily, and, vanishing his wings; he called out to her. "Excuse me?"

He saw her petite frame freeze before she turned around slowly and stared at him with her dark brown eyes. He stared back at her, taking in her whole, odd, appearance: straight black hair that fell to the middle of her back, which framed her face that had on spectacles, a face which was looking suspiciously at him, eyebrows furrowed; an ankle length, brightly-colored, slim skirt covering her legs, revealing to him the fact that she was bare-footed; and the short sleeved white shirt she wore had on writing he'd never seen before.

...Not to mention the branch she was holding, that was her height and had a diameter so wide it took up her whole hand, which she held in a stance, looking ready to beat the Hell out of him if he did anything suspicious.

Keeping a watchful eye on the branch – she looked like she knew how to use it, plus it was rather menacingly sharp at the presently upward end – he asked, "Are you lost?"

Her eyebrows furrowed even further. "I don't understand what you're saying," she said in her language.

Yaslana blinked. What language did she just use? he wondered, for it sounded unfamiliar even to him, who was fluent in many languages.

He ran a hand through his black hair, an action he did unconsciously when he was frustrated. Fantastic. I can't understand what she says and she can't understand what I say. We sure will be making progress soon he thought sarcastically.

He pointed to the watch on his wrist and prayed silently that she would understand what he was going to say. "It's late," he said. "Let me –," he pointed to himself, "take you," he pointed to her, "out of here," he ended by jerking his thumb behind him, as if to show her that over there was the exit out of the forest.

She nodded slowly, hesitantly, and was even more hesitant when he outstretched a hand to her.

After placing the branch on the ground gently, muttering something under her breath, words he couldn't hear and wouldn't have understood if he heard them anyway; she placed her hand in his – after pausing once when they were already near enough to touch – her hand which was incredibly delicate and soft, compared to his large, calloused ones.

"Hang on," he said in what he hoped was a deceptively soothing voice so as not to frighten her, before he caught an Ebon-gray Wind to ride on and disappeared from the forest.

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2 - ? (Still in the closed territory in the mountains, but out of the forest)

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They landed at the foot of the hill that housed his cabin, which was no gently sloped heap of land.

He resisted from letting out a sigh of exasperation. From the way she had instinctively grabbed hold of his sleeve for a more secure grasp earlier when they rode the Wind, it seemed to be her first ride. Point was, suddenly sprouting bat-like wings might more than just creep her out, and him carrying her wasn't an option because she'd instantly let go of him when they'd landed, a sure sign of wariness.

He once again offered his hand to her. She looked at him confusedly. Wasn't that cabin up there their destination?

He pointed to her feet, which were dirty, and no doubt full of scrapes and perhaps cuts here and there; result of the walking she had done as she tried to find her way out of the forest earlier.

Wondering what he was going to do, what with making them teleport so suddenly earlier, without warning; she once again slipped her hand into his and jumped a bit when she suddenly floated on air. Not much above the ground, but still. On air. With only his hand as an anchor.

They walked – on air – towards what she assumed to be his home, which looked completely dark inside. She wondered if he lived alone and immediately decided to stop thinking further. No one needs to know that she was going to spend a night alone with a man who wasn't her relative or husband, so she wasn't going to think about it.

She let go of his hand once they landed on his doorstep and entered as he ushered her into the suddenly brightening little bungalow. He led her through what looked to be the sitting room and adjoining kitchen and to the first door in the corridor. Opening that door, it revealed itself to be a bedroom. His bedroom.

He went over to the wardrobe and began going through his clothes. At a loss of what to do with herself; she stood awkwardly beside him, readying herself just in case she saw an embarrassing piece of clothing by accident.

He took out the shortest, smallest shirt he had – which still reached the middle of her thighs, its sleeves her elbows, as they could see when he held it up against her – and held the shortest pants he had that weren't boxers against her too, to see if they would fit her, only to find them to be longer than her legs by at least a foot and that its waistband was almost twice the size of her slim waist.

He couldn't resist sighing this time, as he took out his bathrobe and hoped it would be sufficient for her.

She took both (the shirt and the bathrobe) and headed towards what she assumed was the adjoining bathroom he'd pointed at, after he handed her a towel. Only after that did he leave, closing the bedroom door gently behind him.

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3 – Yaslana's cabin

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She left the sanctuary of his bedroom to find him fixing something up in his kitchen. He turned to look over at her for a moment, surprised that she had been so quick. "That was fast," he commented even though he knew she wouldn't understand, before going back to his cooking.

Not feeling like sitting, she wandered to the sitting room, looking at the portraits on the walls. She saw a couple in one, the man an older version of him while the woman shared his eyes. She felt that they were his parents.

"They're my parents," his voice suddenly said from the kitchen, as he set the finished meal on the table before heading towards her. He gestured towards another portrait where there was a baby with a slight younger-looking version of his parents. He pointed at the baby. "That's me," he said, pointing towards himself, "Tomorrow -," he pointed to his watch, indicating time, "I'm taking you to my parents'," he pointed at them, "place," he pointed to another portrait of a great many people in front of an impressive building that was his parents' – as well as his – home.

Then he went back towards the table, seating himself on one side of it. "Come. It's late. We should eat," he said before he dug in.

She went to the sink to wash her hands before joining him, and there was a peaceful air between them as they dwelled in their thoughts in silence. He finished first, and went to wash his plate. By the time he was done, she had finished her meal and was standing beside him in front of the sink, waiting for her turn. He placed his hand on her plate to take it, but she took it away before he could, eyebrows furrowed at him. Then she began washing her plate before he could proceed to explain that he was offering to wash it for her.

His eyebrows rose a little – not too much for her to notice, though then again she was putting all of her concentration into vigorously washing her plate – and couldn't help but smirk a little. She was feisty, for a female who was alone with a male she didn't know, at night and at his place, to boot.

The thought reminded him of how he founded her earlier. Judging by her light brown skin and dark hair, it was possible that she had one of the three long-living races in her blood. But her dark brown eyes betrayed the fact that if she was from one of those races, then she was only a half breed. After all, people from those races all had golden eyes. She must be an aristo as well, or at least from a well-off family, judging by her smooth, not calloused hands.

But what baffled him was how she had reacted when he'd use Craft for them to ride the Wind and air-walk to his cabin. She had a psychic scent, that wasn't any of the hierocracy statuses of a Queen, a Black Widow, a Healer or even a Priestess; but it was definitely that of a witch's...so why did it seem as if she's never seen Craft before?

He shook his head, as if the action would rid him of the pestering thoughts. No use pondering on them. He'll get all the answers tomorrow – hopefully – when he brings her to his parents.

"Excuse me?" she asked, waving a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his reverie.

She cocked her head to one side, looking questioningly at him. He only smiled, and before he could stop himself, his hand automatically ruffled her mop of already tousled hair in a big-brotherly way, unable to resist how adorable she'd looked when she had cocked her head a little to side like that.

Luckily, she didn't' seem to mind, and he led them back to his bedroom, where he took a pillow from his bed and an extra blanket from the closet, and was about to go out to sleep on one of the couches in the sitting room, when she grabbed a hold of his sleeve for the second time that night.

She let go of his sleeve and placed a hand on her shirt-plus-bathrobe covered chest. "My name is Damara. Da-ma-ra. Tha-Thank you very much for everything you've done for me tonight."

Yaslana couldn't help but blink. Did she just tell him her name? It seemed like it. He felt warmed by the action. Telling a complete stranger, savior (considerably speaking, he did rescue her from the forest) or not; one's name was most certainly a sign of trust. "Yaslana. Yaslana SaDiablo," he introduced himself, then paused, before checking to make sure if Damara really was her name. "Damara."

"Yaslana," his name rolled off her tongue smoothly and a shiver – not one of fright that was for sure – went down his spine like that of a caressing hand belonging to a lover. Oh yes, he needed to go to sleep right now, before his cursed body makes him take a cold shower. A long, long, ice-cold one.

She gave him a half curtsy. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

It seemed like she was thanking him. So he said, "You're welcome, Damara," before letting himself out.

She still saw him to the door, though. "Good night."

Listening to the instinct developing in him, the instinct that automatically tries to decipher what she was saying; Yaslana felt she just wished him a good night. "Good night."

Then she closed the door and he made himself comfortable on his three-seated couch, where he slept peacefully until the sun rose, as he originally intended to do even before he met the girl who was sleeping soundly in his bed; losing himself in a dreamless slumber.

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To be continued

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This is my first ever 'Black Jewels Trilogy' fanfic. Hope you all liked it. Thanks for taking your time to read 'Delivering Miracles.' Here's a preview of chapter two:

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Chapter Two

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1 – Kaeleer

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Daemon Saetan SaDiablo was going through some papers in his study when his son called him on an Ebon-gray thread. Father?

Daemon wondered why Yaslana was using that tone. The last time he heard his only child use that particular tone was when he wanted to take in a stray dragon – which was many, many years ago. Son? I thought you went to your cabin. Did something happen?

It was a moment before he replied. Yes. Can we use your study?

Of course. He began to clear his table, wondering what had brought his child home from his intended stay at his cabin in the mountains. He hoped it wasn't another baby Warlord Prince dragon with amnesia, who mistook his child for its mother and brought the real thing – as in the real mother, Queen of the dragons of the Fyeborn Islands to boot – to SaDiablo Hall, looking like she could demolish the majestic building with a mere wisp of her breath.

Hell's fire, he might be the son of Lorn's soul, but saying such a fact to a worried, anxious dragon Queen – who was a direct descendant of Lorn and Draca, the founders of the Blood – wasn't the most ingenious of ideas.

Luckily his 'mate' – as the kindred would say it – was the Lady, and well, let's just say that the SaDiablo Hall was still standing, unharmed.

And then he snapped out of his thoughts as the door to his study opened.

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