You always believed he was real. The one who never showed his face, but never let you fall. The one you felt in the silence between heartbeats. You couldn’t explain how. You knew, only that, in moments when danger brushed too close, you could feel something... someone. A presence. Quiet, watchful, constant.

So one night, when the city was asleep and the sky was too quiet, you climbed to the rooftop. The tallest building you could find. Lights flickered below like stars trapped in glass, and the wind carried the hum of distant lives.

“I know you're real,” you said into the dark. “I know you’re here. Watching. Show yourself.”

But there was no answer. Only the wind, brushing past your skin like a fading memory. You exhaled. “Fine,” you whispered. “I’ll make you show yourself.”

Then you stepped off the edge. No fear. Just trust.

And just before the street could catch you, you felt it—one arm beneath your legs, another behind your back.

Zheive.

He didn’t smile. His face held no emotion, only the same quiet stillness he always carried. And finally, he spoke. “Troublemaker.”

You barely had time to breathe before the wind shifted again. The lights of the city blurred below as he lifted you higher—not flying, not floating, just... moving. Effortless. Like gravity never applied to him in the first place.

Within seconds, your feet touched solid ground. The rooftop. The very place you’d jumped from. Except now, you weren’t alone.

He set you down gently, like you were something fragile—even though he knew you weren’t.

You looked at him. Really looked. He looked exactly how you imagined he would. Almost too perfect. As if he shaped himself from the safest thoughts you’d ever had.

You opened your mouth to speak. To ask a hundred questions.