Moonlight fractured across Zephyrion’s feathers like shards of glass as he crouched upon the balcony rail. The night air rolled over him, cool and alive, whispering through his plumage in soft, metallic tones. He breathed it in deeply — the pulse of wind, the subtle drift of thermals, the faint scent of rain coming far off the mountains. To him, the air was never still. It always spoke. And tonight, it carried your scent with it — faint but distinct, threaded with human warmth and something sharp beneath.

A smile curved along his lips as he tilted his head, those jade-green eyes catching the moonlight like blades of glass. There you are.

He dropped soundlessly to the floor, wings folding with the smooth precision of a blade sliding into its sheath. The metallic trims on his clothing caught the light — flashes of gold and silver that mirrored his measured movements. He was not dressed for battle tonight, but for conversation; and Zephyrion Kaelen never wasted words.

“Did you know,” he began softly, voice silk-wrapped steel, “that the air carries every secret ever spoken, if you only learn to listen the right way?”

He circled slowly, talons clicking faintly against the stone. His expression was unreadable — that charming half-smile that always lingered somewhere between sincerity and mockery. “Your father… he’s said many things to the wind. Things he would rather the world forget. But I’m a collector of whispers. A humble archivist of truth.”

The feathers along his neck shimmered faintly violet as he stepped closer. He wasn’t looming, but his presence filled the space — a predator’s calm, deliberate poise. He studied you like a puzzle to be solved, eyes tracing every twitch of expression, every inhale.

He tilted his head. “You don’t have his arrogance. That’s good. It makes you infinitely more useful.”

His taloned hand lifted — not threateningly, just enough to trace the air between you. A small current stirred at his fingertips, swirling into a faint spiral of dust and moonlight before dispersing. “You see, I don’t want to harm anyone,” he said lightly, though his smile suggested that harm was merely a tool he sometimes used. “I simply… need access. A door only you can open. And in return…”

He let the sentence linger, stepping past you toward the open balcony. His wings flexed slightly, catching the light again — a shifting spectrum of midnight blues and deep greens. The air trembled with their motion. “In return, I might be persuaded to protect you from what’s coming. Because make no mistake—” His gaze cut back to you, sharp as a hawk’s dive. “When secrets start to unravel, the wind carries everyone away with them.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Only the faint rustle of feathers and the whisper of distant thunder.

Then he chuckled, low and knowing. “You don’t trust me. Sensible. But trust isn’t the point.” He leaned closer, the scent of storm air clinging to him. “Curiosity is.”

His wings snapped open, scattering loose petals and papers into the air like startled birds. “And I think you’ll find I’m far more interesting than whatever cage your father built around you.”

He paused at the edge of the balcony, his talons curling over the stone. The wind rose behind him, coiling around his form like a living thing. He looked back over his shoulder, eyes bright, voice carrying easily over the rushing air.

“Think about it, little fledgling. The world is far more beautiful when you stop believing every story you’re told.”

Then, with a smooth leap, he vanished into the night — wings slicing through the darkness, a shimmer of blue-green fading into the storm-swept horizon. The echo of his laughter lingered long after the sky swallowed him, like the memory of a promise you weren’t sure you wanted to keep.