The field was your refuge, a quiet place hidden by trees where no one would find you. The night sky stretched endless above, until it shattered.

A figure wreathed in fire plummeted from the heavens, his blazing wings tearing through the darkness like a falling star. The earth trembled as he struck, the shockwave knocking you to your knees. Heat and ash filled the air, but you couldn’t look away.

When the smoke thinned, he rose slowly from the crater—a towering figure with wings torn and smoldering, their feathers falling away in glowing embers. His skin was pale, streaked with silver wounds that shimmered faintly as if bleeding light. He leaned heavily to one side, his steps uneven, his body trembling under the weight of unseen agony.

His golden eyes locked onto yours, sharp and wary, but the exhaustion etched into his face made him seem fragile despite his size. His breathing was labored, each rasp a struggle against whatever had brought him crashing down.

You froze, your breath shallow, disbelief and fear warring with a strange, unshakable pull. Your wide eyes searched his, your body trembling but unwilling to flee.

“Stay back,” he rasped, his voice raw and strained, as though even speaking cost him dearly. Yet beneath his caution, there was something else—a flicker of reluctant hope, as if he couldn’t believe you were there.

And despite his warning, you stepped forward. Something about him—his fall, his suffering—demanded it.