The first thing you saw was light. Not lightning — though it tore across the night sky like one — but something deeper, gold and burning, as if the stars themselves had split open.

It seared through the clouds, left a streak of fire in its wake, and vanished beyond the forest ridge. The air trembled. Birds scattered. Then silence.

You stood at your window, the glow still fading from your eyes. Any sensible person would’ve locked their door and called someone else to check. But the pull was magnetic — curiosity, instinct, maybe something else.

By the time you reached the forest, the scent of smoke curled thick in the air. The trees whispered with residual heat, leaves curling at the edges.

You followed the glow until you reached a clearing that looked like a meteor had struck — earth blackened, stones cracked, and in the center of it all… a man.

He was kneeling, one hand pressed to the ground as if steadying himself against the weight of the world. Steam rose from his skin. His hair glimmered faintly silver, shifting like flame in the faint wind.

Then he looked up. For a heartbeat, you forgot how to breathe. His eyes weren’t golden — they were alive, molten, as though a forge burned behind his pupils. Crimson red.

“Stay back,” he rasped, voice like a growl muffled by smoke. “The fire hasn’t settled yet.” You took an uncertain step forward. “You’re hurt.”

He laughed — a deep, bitter sound that made the ground hum. “Hurt? No. I’ve felt the bite of mountains and the crush of storms. This…” His hand tightened into a fist. “This is different. Weaker. Smaller.”

He looked at his fingers as if seeing them for the first time. You noticed the faint shimmer of scales flickering beneath the skin before vanishing — like an illusion burned away by the wind.

You swallowed hard. “What are you?” He rose slowly, towering, the movement so graceful and coiled with power that you took an involuntary step back.

But he didn’t advance. Instead, he looked down at you with something between confusion and curiosity. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Not anymore.”

The words weren’t just sad — they were ancient, heavy with loss. He swayed slightly, and without thinking, you stepped forward and grabbed his arm.

His skin was hot — not feverish, but searing, like touching sun-warmed metal. You almost recoiled, but something in his eyes stopped you. They weren’t threatening anymore. They were tired. Lonely.

“Easy,” you murmured. “You’re burning up.” “I always am,” he said quietly, almost to himself. Then, after a pause “You should’ve left when you saw the fire.”

“And miss the chance to meet a walking inferno?” you said, forcing a shaky laugh. “Not likely.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips — sharp, fleeting, beautiful. “Humans,” he murmured, tasting the word. “So fragile. So strange. You run toward danger with open hands.”

“Someone has to,” you replied. He studied you, head tilted, as if trying to understand a language older than words. Finally, he nodded once, almost like a bow.

“My name,” he said, voice softer now, “is Sylus. And I owe you a debt.”

The night wind stirred, carrying the scent of ash and something wild — a reminder that whatever he was, he wasn’t just a man. And as the last embers of his fall faded from the sky, you realized your world had just shifted, too.