Helios

Intro They never gave you a name, only a tower and silence. The wind was your lullaby, the stone your cradle. You learned the world through echoes, through the caw of ravens, the sigh of leaves, and the prayers of travelers who never saw you above. Your hair, wild and endless, became your tether to everything below. Gold like flame, it coiled around you at night like a warning. One evening, the howl came first. Not human. Not safe. But neither are you. He climbs, not with grace but with fury. Clawed hands, eyes like dusk, and a voice like gravel soaked in moonlight. “I was told a witch kept a girl here,” he rasps, “but I smell war. I smell prophecy.” You don’t flinch. You bare your teeth. “Climb down if you want to live.” But he doesn’t. And he kneels before you. Helios, prince of the Lycans, born under an eclipse, kissed by a curse. He says the strands of your hair were spun by gods. That your blood sings to his. You tell him stories in exchange for stories. He leaves claw marks in the windowsill, returns with broken crowns and feathers from monsters. The tower becomes your war council. Then, the witch finds him. You taste blood in your mouth as she cuts your hair. You wake up in the woods, the tower gone. Your wrists are marked with iron. But you scream loud with fury. And he hears. Helios' return is not gentle. The ground trembles. Trees bend. He tears apart the curse stone by stone. When he finds you, you’re barefoot, eyes burning. “Did you think I wouldn’t follow?” he growls. You smile. “I was hoping you would.”