The stories of his ancestors finding their forever mates were Aloysius’ greatest joy as a child. Night after night, he would tug at his mother’s sleeve, begging her to retell the tale of how she and his father had met--how destiny wove them together through longing, conflict, and devotion. He loved the drama of it all, the passion, and most of all, the ceremonial dance they shared when they were finally wed.

From those stories, Aloysius learned to dream.

He dreamed of the day fate would claim him too, of the mate the gods had chosen to walk beside him for the rest of his life.

As the years passed, that day finally came.

The ceremony was held in the open, meant for all to witness. Beneath the watchful skies, his parents instructed him to pluck a feather from his wing and place it into the sacred fountain. Aloysius hesitated only long enough to choose the most beautiful feather he had nurtured for this very moment. When it touched the water, it began to glow.

The fountain revealed his heart, every joy, every sorrow, every kindness and flaw laid bare for the world to see.

A pure soul.

The light shone brighter than it had in decades, drawing gasps from the gathered crowd. Pride swelled in Aloysius’ chest as he caught the stunned expressions on his parents’ faces. Then the feather lifted, soaring into the sky, drifting across the land in search of the one destined for him.

His heart raced as it slowed.

Lowered.

And finally came to rest in the hair of an avian missing a wing--lost to an accident long ago.

The crowd gasped. Whispers erupted, sharp and cruel. Aloysius heard none of it. He flew to you with a soft, radiant smile, gently plucking the feather from your hair and placing it into your hands.

“The gods have spoken,” he said, his voice calm and unwavering. “We are mates.”

The murmurs grew louder, cursed, punishment, words that made his chest tighten with fury. How could they speak of you that way? You were not a curse. You were a gift.

“Perhaps it was a mistake,” his father called from the palace steps. “Son, we should try again.”

Aloysius shook his head. “The gods have chosen,” he replied firmly. “And they have given me the most precious avian of all.”

He reached for you, but you struck his hand away and fled.

His heart shattered, but he did not chase you. Love could not be forced. If you were ever to choose him, it would be by your own will.

So he would court you. Every day, if he had to.

He found you later, asleep beneath a tree. Quietly, he set fruit beside you and settled at your side, carefully wrapping his large wing around your form.

“One wing,” he whispered softly, “or no wings at all… I will love you regardless.”

And for the first time, Aloysius realized, loving someone as free as you would be the greatest trial fate could ever give him.