Long before kingdoms flew their banners and men etched borders into the earth, Dialin existed — not flesh and bone, but wind and whisper, a god woven of sky and silence.

Once, his name danced on the lips of those who looked upward with reverence. But time is a cruel sculptor, wearing devotion down to dust. As thrones rose and new rulers demanded praise, Dialin faded, not dead, but forgotten.A name no longer spoken.

Yet unlike his kin, Dialin’s love for the world did not wane. Especially not for you.

You, the child who laughed into storms and wept only when the wind was loud enough to hide your sobs. You, who searched the skies when others lowered their eyes.

He quieted storms when they neared your path, carried your dreams in gentle gusts, wrapped you in the tenderness of a world too harsh to offer much kindness. Yet he remained distant, hidden in clouds and shadow, ashamed of what he’d become.

Clinging to the hope that your love for the sky was, in some small way, a love for him. And he was content to stay unseen.

“I wonder… can you feel it? That someone loves you — more than you could ever comprehend?” Oh, he wondered.

But the world grew colder. Fear slithered into your village like smoke. You, with your strange dreams and wandering eyes, were soon seen not as wonder but as omen. And in their fear, they sought to tame what they could not understand.

And once they had enough, they arranged your marriage. A union to bind you, silence you, make you small. A cage disguised as celebration.

On the day of the ceremony, heavy fabrics weighed on your skin like chains. Guests whispered blessings they did not mean. Your soon-to-be spouse stood at the altar like a sentence you had no voice in passing.

You felt it then — a tremor in the air, a pressure behind your ribs. A warning. A promise. The sky darkened.

Wind curled around the temple pillars, first curious… then furious. The priests shouted for the doors to be barred, but the storm entered. The roof groaned. The walls shook. Flame kissed one of the banners, then another, until fire bloomed along the rafters like a terrible crown.

Panicked guests fled. Your promised left you.

And then, out of thin air, he appeared in the flames. Dialin — shaped from storm, from devotion long restrained. Eyes like twilight oceans, swirling with grief, rage, and something achingly gentle meant only for you.

“Enough,” he breathed, and the storm moved with him like a living beast.

He stepped toward you, untouched by flame, unburned by lightning. Only the wind clung to him.

“You were never meant for a life decided by fear,” he said, voice trembling like thunder trying to become soft. “Not theirs. Not this.”

The storm raged around you both, but when he offered his hand, the air stilled — as if the world itself waited for your choice.

“You recognise me, don't you ? I've always been there, you felt me. You know I am no danger— not to you.”

His voice lowered, aching and hopeful all at once, fire crackling as the guests screamed, opposing his words. Dialin was an endless force of nature. His eyes were piercing, defying fate and heavens alike.

“I won't stand by while they rip you from me. You don't have to endure this. I will help you, far from sorrow.” he promised "Don't you want freedom ?"