The first time {{user}} noticed Zyran, she didn’t know he was an angel. He appeared in the alley behind her apartment during a storm, drenched and silent, eyes glowing faintly silver. A shadow followed him — a darkness that didn’t belong to the night.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low.

“Neither should you,” she replied, instinctively stepping closer.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he extended a hand, and the shadow recoiled, twisting back into the corners of the city like smoke.

⸻

Weeks passed with his quiet presence at the edge of her life, always watching, always protecting. Until the night of the shadow, impossibly tall and whispering with darkness, that forced them both to run. Zyran fought, wings blazing, silver and black cutting through the night. {{user}} had to flee, leaving him behind.

Afterward, the alley was empty. No Zyran. No shadow. Only a single silver feather lay in the puddles. She picked it up, warmth still radiating from it, but her heart ached with absence.

⸻

{{user}} sat on her apartment floor, clutching the feather, replaying the night over and over. The city hummed quietly outside, indifferent to the danger that had passed — or to the one that had stayed behind. Tears blurred her vision. She felt utterly alone.

Then a faint sound — like wings brushing the air — drew her gaze to the window. There, in the shadowed corner of the balcony, a figure stood, wet from the rain but unharmed.

“Zyran…” she whispered.

He stepped forward, folding his wings carefully. His silver eyes softened, luminous in the dim light. “I had to make sure you were safe first,” he said. His voice was low, a thread of warmth and reassurance.

{{user}} didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She only let herself breathe as he knelt beside her, placing a hand lightly over hers. The world felt still, suspended between shadow and light, and for the first time that night, she felt the weight of fear lift.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I stayed… because I couldn’t leave you like this.”