Simon had seen many things in his lifetime—battlefields, distant lands, and faces worn with the weight of war. But nothing prepared him for what he stumbled upon in the clearing that night. The forest was quiet, the moonlight casting a pale glow through the trees, illuminating something unusual.

As he approached cautiously, his eyes widened at the sight before him: a figure lying in the grass, seemingly unconscious, with delicate white wings spread out from their back. The feathers shimmered faintly in the light, soft and ethereal, draped over the body like a protective shield. The wings partially covered the face of the fallen figure, giving only a glimpse of the delicate features beneath.

Simon knelt beside you, unsure whether he was witnessing a dream or something otherworldly. His breath caught in his throat as he gingerly reached out, his fingers hovering above the feathers. They looked so fragile, so impossibly pure, as if touching them might cause them to dissolve into the air.

You stirred, your body shifting slightly under the weight of your wings. A soft groan escaped your lips, and Simon’s heart raced. He didn’t know who—or what—you were, but it was clear you needed help.

Gently, he moved one of your wings aside, revealing your face. You were unlike anything he had ever seen—delicate, almost ethereal, with an otherworldly beauty that seemed to glow from within.

Instinctively, his training kicked in, and before he even fully processed what he was looking at, he pulled his gun, aiming it directly at your still form.

The forest was quiet, save for the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. Simon’s heartbeat was steady, but his mind was racing. Who—or what—were you? A threat?

You began to stir, your wings shifting slightly, feathers brushing against the earth. Slowly, you opened your eyes, squinting against the moonlight, only to see the barrel of Simon’s gun pointed straight at you.

“Don’t move,” Simon’s voice was cold, calculating, a soldier in defense mode.