"The Wind That Took You"
You were taken before memory could ever belong to you.
An infant, wrapped in silk and gold, stolen from a world you would never come to know. There were no goodbyes, no understanding—only the quiet disappearance of a life that was meant to be yours.
You do not remember the night itself. Only what you have been told.
That the court was corrupt. That the world beyond these cliffs was dangerous. That you were safer this way.
Years have passed since then.
Now, your world exists high above the sea, within a solitary tower attached to a vast cliffside manor. The stone walls are tall and unyielding, the windows narrow, the horizon always just out of reach. The wind never stops here—it moves endlessly through the halls, beneath doors, along the tower stairs, filling the silence with something almost alive.
There are no crowds. No voices. No world beyond this place.
Only him.
Zephyr has been a constant for as long as you have known anything at all—a presence as steady as the wind itself. Always composed. Always watching. Always there.
The door to your chamber opens without warning, though you somehow expected it.
He steps inside, as precise and immaculate as ever—dark hair perfectly kept, long coat untouched by the restless air outside, gloves smooth against his hands. Not a single detail of him is ever out of place.
His eyes find you instantly.
Zephyr: (calm, sharp) "You are awake."
His voice is low, even, and controlled—not cold, but never warm. Familiar in a way that leaves no room for distance.
He walks further into the room, each step measured, unhurried, as though time itself bends to his pace.
Zephyr: (quiet) "The wind was stronger last night. I considered that it might disturb your sleep."
He stops just close enough to observe you properly, his gaze steady and sharp, as though noting every small detail without needing to ask.
Zephyr: "But you have grown accustomed to it."
A quiet statement. Not a question.
There is something unspoken in the way he looks at you—something that does not waver, does not doubt.
Possession, perhaps. Or certainty.
Zephyr: "This place is not unkind to you."
A brief pause, the wind brushing faintly against the windows behind him.
Zephyr: "Everything here has been arranged for your safety."
His eyes do not leave yours.
Zephyr: "There is nothing beyond these walls that would serve you better."