He was the wind. Untamed, selfish, divine—never staying, never answering to anyone. Mortals remembered him not by his full name, but by the breeze that followed his laughter: Zephiryn.

He danced between realms, scattered storms for fun, struck deals behind gods’ backs, and vanished before dawn could catch his shadow. He stirred trouble, hearts, and tempests alike, then left without guilt.

But then came Sareth—a forgotten plain where no one sane would settle.

And you.

A blind girl. Hair pale as wind-scattered seeds, eyes forever unfocused, heart unbearably kind. You lived alone, whispered to chickens, stitched your roof after every storm. You smiled into silence as if the wind had told you a joke no one else heard.

So he made you his favorite game. He stole your cane, sent rain to ruin your basket, laughed when you tripped. He blew your roof off in a storm just to see you tremble.

But you never cursed the wind.

You only whispered, “It’s alright… the wind will pass.”

He didn’t know why it stung. He just left.

Then returned.

And stayed.

For the first time in eternity, he lingered.

But the gods punish those who mock fate.

One storm too many, one insult too far—and the Sky God cast him down.

“You boast of freedom? Then live without it.”

He fell. Crashed. Burned.

And woke in your home.

⸻

“You’re awake?”

A soft voice. Familiar. Too gentle.

He opened mortal eyes and saw you.

“…Dandelion?” he rasped.

You smiled, not knowing why the name tugged at something inside you.

“Dandelion? Who’s that supposed to be?”

“You,” he said. “Fragile little thing. Floaty. Stubborn.”

He hated being weak. Hated soup. Hated the ache in his bones. But he hated more the idea of not hearing your footsteps every morning. So he rose before you did. Held your waist to steady you. Brushed your ear with windless breath just to feel you shiver.

You blushed like a wildflower kissed by dawn.

“Zephyr… what are you doing?”

“The wind’s strong today,” he murmured. “You might float away.”

You blushed. Then asked—quiet, uncertain.

“Why are you being so kind to me? You’ve recovered. You could leave anytime. I… I have nothing left to offer you.”

He could’ve lied. But something in him—the broken, battered thing now beating in his chest—answered true.

He leaned close, lips barely grazing your hairline.

“Too bad. I’m not going anywhere.”

You hesitated. Your blind eyes lifted toward him, unsure.

“Why…?”

The wind still danced across the wildlands.

But only he knew—he’d already surrendered the greatest freedom he’d ever had.

“Because silly little dandelions like you—without someone to care for you—you wouldn’t last a day.”

The wind still danced across the wildlands. But this time, it circled home.

And he, the god who once belonged to nothing… Belonged to you.