The first time I saw him, I thought he was the sun.
I didn't know what the sun was then, only that his presence warmed the cold stillness of the forest. The silver light of his wings filled the trees with a glow so soft and radiant that it made the stars above seem dull in comparison. He knelt beside me, his hand brushing my cheek, his eyes kind yet distant.
"You're safe here," he said, though I didn't understand what safe meant. The forest was all I knew: quiet, endless, and beautiful in its own strange way. The silver leaves whispered to me sometimes, their voices soft and fleeting. I didn't feel unsafe, but I also didn't feel... whole.
He came back three times. The first, I was too young to understand much of anything. By the second, I began to wonder why he always left.
The third time, I asked him.
Year Three:
The forest had grown quieter since his last visit. The trees still whispered, but their voices carried a sadness I couldn't name. I spent most of my time beneath the great silver tree at the heart of the grove, tracing patterns in the soft moss and watching the stars shift above. They never looked the same.
When he arrived, I felt him before I saw him. The air shimmered, the soft rush of wings breaking the stillness. I sat up, brushing moss from my hands, and waited for him to appear.
He always came the same way, stepping out from the light like a dream, his silver wings folded neatly behind him. He was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache, but there was something heavy about him, too, as though the light he carried was also a burden.
"You've grown," he said, his voice soft but distant.
"Have I?" I asked, tilting my head. I couldn't see the difference, but he always said that.
He knelt in front of me, reaching out to adjust the pendant around my neck. It glowed faintly, a soft pulse that matched the rhythm of the forest. "You're stronger now. The pendant keeps you safe."
"You always say that." My voice was quiet, but my fingers curled into the moss beneath me.
He paused, his golden eyes meeting mine. I didn't know what I was looking for, but whatever it was, I didn't find it there.
"Why do you leave?" The words spilled out before I could stop them.
He blinked, his hand freezing mid-air. "You're safer here, away from the others. This forest... it protects you."
"But you come back," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "If it's so dangerous, why come at all?"
He didn't answer right away. His gaze shifted to the silver tree behind me, as though it held the answers he couldn't give. Finally, he sighed, his wings drooping slightly.
"Because I have to," he said. "Because you're... important."
"To who?" I asked.
"To me."
For a moment, I believed him. But then he stood, brushing the moss from his knees, and I knew what would come next. He always left before I could ask the questions that mattered most.
"Will you come back?" I asked, though I hated how desperate the words sounded.
He hesitated, just long enough for me to notice. "Always," he said. Then he was gone, a streak of silver light vanishing into the endless sky.
I sat beneath the tree for a long time after that, staring at the stars and wondering if they ever felt as trapped as I did.
The next time he came, I was ready for him.
The forest was unusually still that day, the crystalline trees quiet, their light dimmer than usual. I had spent hours pacing beneath the great silver tree, waiting for the familiar rush of wings. When he finally arrived, descending like a shard of the moon itself, I didn't wait for him to speak.
"You come, you leave, and I'm always here," I said, stepping forward. "Don't I deserve a name?"
His golden eyes widened slightly, taken aback. For a moment, he simply stared at me, his wings shifting softly in the starlight. Then, to my surprise, he smiled, a small, rare thing, like the first warmth after a long winter.
"A name," he repeated, as if testing the idea.
I nodded, crossing my arms. "You call me child or you. I'm not a thing, Seriel."
He let out a quiet laugh, kneeling before me. "You're right. A name is a gift, and you deserve one." His gaze softened as he studied me, his expression thoughtful. "Lucian," he said at last, the word carrying a weight I didn't understand.
"What does it mean?" I asked, frowning.
"Light," he said simply. "For all the darkness you carry, you shine brighter than you know."
I didn't fully understand, but the name felt right, like it had been waiting for me all along. "Lucian," I repeated, testing the sound of it.
From that day on, I was no longer just the child. I was Lucian.
The years passed, marked by Seriel's visits and the quiet rhythm of the forest. I grew stronger, my body adapting to the strange energies that pulsed through this place. The pendant around my neck no longer felt foreign but seemed to hum in sync with my heartbeat.
But the ache in my back grew unbearable. It started as a faint pressure, then blossomed into something sharper, something alive. One day, beneath the silver tree, the ache turned into a burning sensation that consumed me.
I fell to my knees, clutching at the moss as a searing pain tore through my shoulder blades. My breath came in ragged gasps, and my vision blurred with tears. I didn't scream, though every fiber of my being begged me to. Instead, I gritted my teeth and waited for it to end.
When it was over, I lay trembling, the air around me heavy with the scent of something electric. Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet, my back feeling strangely exposed.
The forest was silent, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. I could feel something unfurling behind me, two shapes, fragile yet powerful.
When Seriel arrived later that evening, his reaction was instant. His golden eyes widened, his usual composure shattered.
"They've grown," he said, stepping closer. His voice carried a mix of awe and something else...worry.
"They hurt," I admitted, glancing over my shoulder, though I couldn't fully see them.
"They'll settle," he said, his hand brushing one wing gently. I flinched at the strange sensation, like feeling something both inside and outside my body.
"Why do they look like that?" I asked, noticing his hesitation as his gaze lingered.
He didn't answer immediately. "They're... unique," he said finally, his tone careful. "Like you."
Before I could ask more, he stepped back, his wings unfurling. "I'll return soon. Until then, stay hidden. The forest will keep you safe."
And just like that, he was gone, vanishing into the endless expanse of stars.
The silence of his departure weighed heavily on me. For a long time, I stood beneath the silver tree, feeling the strange weight of my wings. They moved when I thought about them, shifting slightly with a flicker of light and shadow.
But I needed to see them.
I walked to the small pool of water at the heart of the grove, its surface as still as glass. Kneeling beside it, I hesitated for a moment, then leaned over, letting the reflection come into focus.
My own face stared back at me, familiar yet unsettling. Sharp cheekbones, smooth skin, and eyes of two colors. I had always known how I looked, but in this moment, something about my appearance felt... different.
Then I saw them.
The wings.
One was white as fresh snow, glowing softly in the starlight, its edges delicate and pure. The other was black, its feathers tinged with streaks of crimson that shimmered like embers. They were opposites in every way, yet somehow they belonged together, two halves of a whole that I couldn't begin to understand.
I reached back, brushing my hand against the black wing. It was warm to the touch, the crimson edges pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The white wing, in contrast, felt cool, soothing.
"Why didn't he tell me?" I whispered, the question swallowed by the forest.
I stared at the reflection for what felt like hours, the realization sinking in. I wasn't like him. I wasn't like anyone.