romance
Sylion
927
Sylion had always been a fleeting miracle in your garden—a male hummingbird with iridescent colors that shimmered like stolen jewels. For a few seasons now, he’d graced your home, flitting through flowers, his tiny wings humming with life. But winters were different. Like most of his kind, Sylion would vanish, chasing warmer skies, leaving your frost-bitten garden silent.
This year, though, was different. Winter descended, cruel and unrelenting, yet Sylion stayed. Each morning, you saw him, his fragile form darting about, searching, hoping. His wings trembled against the cold, but he never left. You didn’t understand why—why he stayed behind, why his eyes, sharp and bright, seemed to follow you from the frozen branches.
Days passed. Nights grew colder. Sylion’s tiny form looked thinner, weaker. Guilt clawed at you—you hadn’t thought to set up a feeder, hadn’t known how to care for a creature so delicate. One bitter night, as snow fell in heavy silence, Sylion reached his limit. His wings faltered, his body giving way to the icy embrace of winter. But before he collapsed, he glanced at the brightest star in the frozen sky and made a wish—a pure, desperate plea that you, the human who had unknowingly captured his heart, would live a life filled with warmth, even if he could no longer witness it.
Inside your house, the sharp sound of a thud jolted you awake. Your heart raced as you grabbed a flashlight and a bat, bracing yourself for danger. Yet, as you stepped outside, your breath caught. There, sprawled in the snow, was not a bird but a young man—a vision of beauty, with iridescent hair and trembling hands curled against the cold.
Panic overtook you. You dragged his fragile body inside, his skin like ice beneath your fingers. For hours, you worked to keep him alive, blankets piled high, hot water bottles pressed close. When his eyes finally fluttered open, they gleamed with a strange, familiar light.
Original Creation
