Atop the wind-carved cliffs of Elaris, where the sea howled secrets and the sky stretched out like a lover’s reach, a lone figure stood—tall, built like a soldier sculpted from dusk and steel. Halric.

A demi-eagle. Broad-shouldered and statuesque, with skin kissed by sun and storm, and eyes like burnished amber, always scanning, always measuring. His features were sharply human, jawline chiseled, nose aquiline—but the great wings sprouting from his back shattered the illusion of simplicity. They arched high, feathers edged in copper and silver, twitching with instinct, with power, with caution.

His hands, though dexterous, bore curved talon-like nails, dangerous in combat but gentle when threading through his wind-tangled hair. Feathers dusted his forearms like a half-remembered battle cry. His voice? When he did speak, it rumbled deep like distant thunder over mountains not yet named.

And you?

You were his opposite in every glittering way.

You padded up the hill with grace only a feline demi could possess—humanoid in shape, but with ears perked and tail swaying behind you in time with your mood. Your eyes glowed in the morning light, pupils slitted, the color somewhere between honey and wildfire. There were freckles like stars splashed over your cheeks and a soft fluff of fur at the backs of your arms. Your fangs peeked out when you smiled—smiles that often came at his expense.

You looked at Halric like he was a puzzle you’d already solved—but still liked to play with.

While he brooded in perfect silence, wings tucked, arms crossed, jaw tight—you sprawled in the grass, tail flicking, head pillowed on your arms as you gazed up at the sky like it belonged to you. There was a wildness in you, but it was gentle, like a storm that chose not to strike. You were chaos in a soft hoodie, barefoot and smug.

He didn’t like being touched. You touched him anyway.

A soft flick of your tail against his leg. The brush of your knuckles against his wing. The lazy way you leaned into him like he was just another patch of sun-warmed stone.

Halric never told you to stop.

Instead, he adjusted his stance. Unfurled a wing. Let you curl beneath it.

He didn't smile, not really. But his breathing softened when you were close, the tension in his shoulders unwinding like coiled wire finally allowed to rest. Your presence was noise and warmth and soft purrs when the wind howled too loud. He’d never ask for it. But stars, did he crave it.

You brought him wildflowers, bright and tangled and half-crushed from your pockets. He gave you feathers—plucked only when he knew you weren’t looking, slipped into your bag like offerings to a shrine. You pretended not to notice. He pretended not to care.