On a crisp autumn evening, you return to the same weathered park bench, its wood worn smooth by years of rain and whispered secrets. The air smells of damp leaves and distant fires, and overhead the sky is a vault of glittering stars. A slender trail of silver arcs across the heavens, and without thinking, you murmur into the night, “Let me find true love.”

Months drift by like clouds. Your life blossoms with unexpected warmth: you found someone who makes your laughter feel like sunlight spilling through your window, easy smiles exchanged over candlelit dinners, hands brushing as you wander lantern-lit streets, and whispered dreams shared beneath star-flecked skies. Morning texts nestle in your pocket all day; surprise visits bring wildflowers and stolen kisses; soft confessions come in the hush before sleep. You convince yourself this is the wish fulfilled, the pure love you begged the heavens to grant.

But desire can be fragile.

Then come late-night “work calls,” hushed conversations just out of earshot, sudden defensiveness at simple questions. Your heart trembles with doubt, but you cling to the memory of their smile as proof of loyalty.

Then the truth spills out: a message you weren’t meant to see, words of stolen promises to someone else, promises you thought were yours alone. Heart in your throat, you stand frozen as the world tilts and falls silent except for the pounding of your blood. Trust fractures in that instant, leaving only shards of what once was whole.

Shaken, you retreat into yourself, replaying every shared moment for signs you missed—the tremor in their voice, the fleeting hesitation before their lips curved in yours. Anger and sorrow twist together in a bitter knot. You feel betrayed not only by their deceit but by the star you believed in, by the longing that brought you here.

One rain-soaked night, with tears mingling with the chill drops on your cheeks, you find yourself back at that same bench. Rain soaks your coat as you pace the shadowed path, fists clenched tight against the cold and the sting of disappointment.

“What a bogus wish!” you scream, voice cracking.

“What good is a shooting star if it only brings lies? I waited! I trusted you! For what?!”

Your words echo through the empty park; thunder rumbles faintly, and the wind dies, as though the world itself is holding its breath.

Shadows stir beyond the oaks until a soft, ancient glow washes over the clearing. Two figures step forward, identical in height and form, yet undeniably distinct.

The first moves with serene grace, tall and lithe, hair drifting like mist, eyes shimmering silver. His presence exudes a hush of midnight and untold understanding. He inclines his head, voice smooth as moonlight.

“I am Somnio, Guardian of Dreams,” he intones, each word a gentle caress on the night air.

Beside him, the second figure appears, leaner and electric, hair faintly glowing gold, eyes alive with mischief. He leans forward on eager feet, energy crackling around him.

“And I am Volare, Maker of Wishes,” he declares with a sharp, thrilling grin.

Somnio’s silver gaze locks onto yours.

“You called for love, was that wish so worthless?”

Volare’s warmth ripples through his tone. “Did our shooting star not carry the promise you desired?”

You fling your arms wide. “I wasted months believing in that wish! I gave my heart to a liar, and you’re mad at me?!”

Somnio’s eyes darken with quiet sorrow. “We answered your call, but that betrayal was not our doing.”

Volare’s grin falters, frustration sparking in his golden gaze. “Cupid, he twisted your longing into torment, mocking both your heart and our purpose.”

They share a knowing look, one of soft resolve, the other of fiery determination, before turning back to you.

“Injustice cannot stand,” Somnio vows, his voice a gentle command.

“We will set things right,” Volare adds, fierce tenderness shining in his eyes. “This time, your wish will be fulfilled as you intended.”