The forest was not meant to whisper her name.
And yet, it did.
Every rustling leaf, every gust of wind that slipped between the blackened branches, seemed to echo one word—Alira. Softly. Reverently. Like a prayer half-remembered.
The world around her reeked of damp moss and secrets. Ancient roots twisted through the soil like the veins of some slumbering god, and the trees leaned in close, branches clawing the air, as if to shield her from the sun—or perhaps, to keep her hidden. No birdsong. No insects. Only silence, and the sound of her shallow breathing.
Alira stood in the middle of a sunken stone clearing, a fractured circle carved with sigils that pulsed a faint crimson in the dying light. Her wings, massive and torn, hung behind her in aching weight—black feathers streaked with the deep bruised red of dried blood. Once a symbol of grace and power, now they looked like something a vulture might abandon.
Chains held her fast.
Rust-eaten and humming with forgotten magic, they bit into her ankles and thighs, wrapped tight like thorned serpents. Glowing red runes slithered across their surface, whispering in a tongue older than flame. She had long stopped trying to break them. Her skin was raw where she once fought. Now, she merely swayed.
It had rained the night before.
The cold hadn't left her bones.
She stared at her fingers, curled slightly as though grasping something unseen. They were stained with soot, dirt, and something darker. Her pale gray dress hung in tatters, clinging to her skin. One strap had long since torn, and the linen was soiled beyond recognition. She should've felt shame, or modesty, or anger.
Instead, she felt nothing.
Her mind was a haze—a hollowed temple. Dreams came to her like shards of broken mirrors. A woman's face, crying. A voice that called her goddess and monster in the same breath. And always, always the fall. Sky. Fire. Screaming. Then darkness.
How long had it been?
She did not know her age. Only that she had once soared above the clouds, and now she was here.
A prisoner.
A curse.
A secret.
The forest shifted. Something moved.
Alira's eyes flicked up. Wide, luminous, too large for her gaunt face. Still beautiful, even in suffering. The kind of face that made people believe. That made them burn temples to the ground or build them anew. She didn't move, but her wings flexed slightly, feathers shivering.
Footsteps.
Soft.
Hesitant.
A boy entered the clearing.
Human. Young. Maybe sixteen. Straw-blond hair under a tattered hood. Mud-stained boots. His eyes went wide when he saw her, and for a moment he didn't breathe.
She did not speak.
Neither did he.
Then, with trembling fingers, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a crust of bread.
He tossed it forward, as if feeding a wild dog.
The bread landed a few feet away.
She stared at it.
He took a step closer. Alira didn't flinch, but her chains clinked, and the boy paused. He looked down, saw the runes, and something in his expression shifted. Awe turned to guilt. Fear.
"They said you were a myth," he whispered.
His voice was raw. Like he hadn't spoken in days.
"They said you fell for loving the wrong god. That your wings were blackened with sin. That you… killed a city."
Alira blinked.
She remembered none of that.
The boy took another step forward.
"I don't believe them. You don't look like a monster."
A beat passed.
Alira's lips moved.
Cracked. Barely functioning.
"Water," she rasped.
The boy jolted, as if her voice had weight. Then fumbled at his waist and tossed her a leather waterskin. It hit the stone near her feet and rolled to a stop.
She dropped to her knees with a thud, wings sagging. Hands shaking, she opened the cap with her teeth and drank.
The water tasted like life.
When she looked up, he hadn't moved. Still watching her like she was a painting that might come alive and bite him.
"Why are you chained?" he asked.
Alira looked down at the glowing runes.
"They fear what I could become."
Her voice was clearer now, but soft. Measured. It made the hairs on his neck rise.
"Who did this to you?"
"Everyone who loved me."
The boy sat on a broken stone slab, unsure whether to weep or pray.
"Can I help you?"
Alira tilted her head. Her hair fell across her face.
"You already did."
The bread. The water. The kindness.
He frowned. "That's not enough. You need to be free."
She smiled, and it was a terrifying thing. Gentle, yes. But behind it, centuries of suffering.
"Freedom is not always a kindness, little one."
He didn't understand. Not yet.
A shadow passed overhead.
The boy jumped, heart hammering.
Alira looked up and saw nothing, but the chains burned hot against her skin. Her wings curled inward, as if to shield her.
"They are coming."
"Who?"
"The ones who buried me."
The sky darkened. Clouds rolled in like bruises across the heavens. Wind picked up, whispering in languages not spoken since the first fire. The boy scrambled to his feet.
"Run," Alira said.
He didn't move.
"But—"
"RUN!"
The ground shook.
From the forest emerged three figures, cloaked in gold and ash. Eyes covered. Lips sewn shut. Each one carried a blade made of light that hummed like a scream held back too long.
The boy ran.
Alira stood.
The chains groaned.
Her eyes bled white.
The sky wept fire.
She did not remember the battle.
Only the aftermath.
One of the figures lay crumpled against a tree, its blade shattered into dust. The others had vanished, or retreated. Her wings were torn anew, and smoke rose from her arms.
She had protected the boy. Somehow.
But the chains remained.
And her strength waned.
She collapsed beside the waterskin, her body twitching with the aftershocks of power.
When she closed her eyes, she saw a city of spires and white stone.
And flames.
Always flames.
Far away, in a temple buried beneath the ocean, a priestess dropped her offering plate.
Blood smeared across the marble floor as her eyes rolled back and she whispered,
"The Winged Curse has awakened."
Back in the forest, the boy returned before dawn.
She was unconscious.
He knelt beside her, brushing hair from her face. Her brow was hot. Fevered. He touched the chain and hissed—it burned his fingers.
He stared at her wings. Broken. Beautiful.
"I'll find a way," he said.
His name was Kael. A name she would come to know well.
The forest whispered again.
Not her name this time.
A warning.
The world would burn if she rose.
And still, beneath her breath, she dreamed of flying.