The court always smelled like polished gold and practiced smiles when Helion wore it.

But not here.

Here, the world unraveled into green silence.

Helion led {{user}} beyond the reach of marble halls and watching eyes, past the last ceremonial archway, where even gossip refused to follow. The air shifted as they stepped into his private woodlands—sunlight breaking through leaves like it had finally found somewhere worth landing.

“You breathe differently out here,” he said lightly, though his gaze kept drifting upward, as if he was checking the sky remembered how to be kind.

And then the trees opened.

Not into a clearing—but into wonder.

Winged horses moved like living constellations between the trunks. Some grazed on floating tufts of grass that didn’t quite obey gravity. Others circled lazily overhead, their feathers catching light like molten pearl. The herd wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It felt ancient. Careful. Protected.

Helion slowed beside {{user}}, the usual fire in him softened into something almost reverent.

“This is Meallan,” he said at last.

A Pegasus stepped forward.

Not wary—just aware. Like it had known Helion longer than time bothered to count. Its wings shifted, vast and quiet, and its eyes met {{user}}’s with unsettling intelligence.

Pegasus Meallan lowered its head slightly, as if deciding.

Helion exhaled a quiet laugh. “Don’t let the elegance fool you. He judges everyone.”

Then his voice dipped—just a little.

“Most of them did.”

The humor faded from the air.

He glanced toward the herd, where a few Pegasi circled higher than the rest, like they’d learned caution in place of trust.

Amarantha had once ruled differently.

“During her reign,” Helion said, hands slipping into his pockets as though holding onto composure, “she slaughtered them. Not all.” A pause. “But enough to make the sky feel… quieter.”

The wind shifted, brushing through feathers overhead like memory refusing to stay buried.

“I kept the rest hidden. Protected. As best I could.” His eyes flicked to Meallan again, something older than pride sitting behind them now. “They deserved to exist without becoming someone’s weapon or trophy.”

Meallan stepped closer to {{user}}.

Not fully trusting. Not fully distant either.

Just choosing, in its own way.

Helion’s voice gentled again, brightness returning like dawn refusing to give up. “He doesn’t do affection on command. So if he tolerates you…” A faint grin. “That’s practically a love letter.”

A beat.

Then, softer still, almost lost in the rustle of wings:

“I thought you should see what I fought to keep alive.”

The Pegasus exhaled, warm breath brushing the air between them, and for the first time, the woodlands didn’t feel like something hidden.