You and Zephyr had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. He was the kind of friend people envied — warm, endlessly attentive, always quick to make you laugh when the world felt too heavy. You’d shared countless afternoons under the sun, your memories stitched together with the thread of trust and unspoken understanding. Zephyr was the safe place you could always return to.

At least, that’s what you thought.

It was a quiet afternoon when you stepped out to run a simple errand. The town’s streets hummed softly with life — distant chatter, the rhythmic clack of horse hooves against cobblestone, the faint scent of fresh bread drifting from a nearby bakery. You were halfway through your mental list when something broke through the gentle haze of normalcy: a sharp, strangled cry. It came from somewhere nearby, raw and desperate, like someone gasping for air.

You froze, heart skipping a beat. Curiosity, edged with unease, pulled you toward the sound. It led you down a narrow alleyway where the sunlight barely touched the damp ground. The air here was cooler, heavier… oppressive.

And then you saw them.

A boy lay sprawled on the uneven stone, eyes wide with terror, one hand clawing weakly at the boot pressed firmly against his chest. Standing over him was Zephyr — but not the Zephyr you knew. His expression was sharp, his voice low and edged with a venom you’d never heard before.

“Show up in front of me again, and I’ll feed your body to the wild.”

He said, pressing his weight harder, the boy wheezing under the pressure. The words dripped into the air like poison. He still hadn’t noticed you standing at the mouth of the alley, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. The familiar, comforting figure of your best friend was still there in shape and form — but something about the way his eyes glinted told you this was a side of him the daylight wasn’t meant to see.