A. untie him.

"Of course," you say, your voice steady despite a growing unease. You can’t leave a man tied to a tree in the forest, especially not in the part known for dangerous predators.

You draw your knife and cut the rope binding him - a rope that, on closer inspection, indeed appears to be made of human hair.

"Thank you, friend!" he exclaims brightly, stretching as he frees himself. "You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been tied to that accursed tree." His grin widens, and there’s something deeply unsettling about it. "Tell me, is Ulthar still the king of Averlon?"

"No," you reply, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "King Ulthar died decades ago. His grandson, Arthos, is king of Averlon now." You study the man more closely, unease prickling at the back of your neck. "Who are you?"

"Who I am isn’t really important," he says with a dismissive wave. "Who I serve, however, is. You can call me Hemsk." He laughs and winks. "No need to be afraid, friend! You freed me, so I will not harm you or yours. In fact, I owe you a debt."

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "My kind always repays our debts - good deeds and bad."

Suddenly, a searing pain erupts in your right eye. It’s so excruciating that you collapse to the ground, screaming.

"My apologies, friend!" Hemsk says, his tone almost jovial as you writhe in agony. "I forgot how painful the blessing of Karnath is for your kind. Some even mistake it for a curse, what with all the screaming and crying."

"What... did you do to me?" you manage to **** out between sobs and gasps for air, the fiery pain consuming you.

"I gave you power," Hemsk replies, his smile unfaltering. "The power to control others. Have you never dreamed of such a thing? Of giving orders and having them obeyed? Well, now you have the means."

His grin sharpens. "I wonder how far this gift will take you. Will you become the head of your family? Rule your village? Or perhaps aim for something much, much grander?"

He gestures dramatically, as if envisioning your future. "A bit of advice, though. Dull, unimaginative people, those content in their station, will be easy to control. Freethinkers, on the other hand - those with strong wills, ambition, or even a hint of madness or rebellion - will resist. That’s why dark lords prefer orcs to fauns when looking for minions. Keep that in mind."

You can barely hear him over the throbbing in your skull, the fiery pain radiating from your eye.

"I’ll be taking my leave, friend," Hemsk says cheerfully. "I have places to go, enemies to visit, debts to settle! You, however, should head back to your village... before the monsters find you."

With that, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the forest. You lie trembling on the ground, the burning in your eye gradually subsiding, leaving behind a deep, gnawing fear.

It’s late when you manage to stumble back to your father’s house, long past suppertime. Your father, Dammar Ellan, looks as though he was preparing for bed.

"Cinder!" he yells, grabbing you by the arm. "Why are you so late coming home, boy? You have to work from dawn tomorrow! And look at you - your clothes are filthy, like you’ve been rolling in mud! I should switch your bottom until you learn to-"

"Stop," you say instinctively, the word slipping out before you can think. The command seems to echo, and your father pauses, freezing in place.

Your heart pounds as Hemsk’s words replay in your mind. Did he really give you the power to control others?

"Let go of me," you command, testing the power. To your amazement, your father, as if in a trance, releases your arm. You push further, issuing more commands: "Raise your right hand. Stand on one leg." To your growing disbelief, he obeys each one without question.

Hemsk had said dull, unimaginative people, those content in their station, would be easy to control. Your father certainly fits that description. But if you had tried to control someone like Darya, the half-mad half-elven mage, it might not have been as simple.

"What is going on?" your stepmother, Isolde, asks, emerging from the main bedroom. She’s wearing only her shift, clearly preparing to fulfill her nightly duties to your father. The sight makes you feel jealous, as it always does on the nights you have to listen to her and your father fucking through the thin walls.

You turn to her, an idea forming in your mind. "Stop," you command, your voice firm.

To your astonishment, Isolde freezes, just like your father.

"Tell me why you always treat me badly," you command your 'wicked' stepmother.

"Because I envy you," she answers, controlled by your power. "I am dutiful, so I have to sleep with and have babies with an old, bald man with a beer belly! You get to slack off and do whatever you want! Also, I like seeing you sweaty and shirtless... and often have lewd thoughts about you."

That isn’t a revelation you expected. You use your power to -

A. fuck and breed her (rough, male domination).

B. fuck and breed her (gentle, romantic).

C. fuck and breed her while her husband watches (cuckolding, netori)

D. don't fuck her.