Su Sheng hadn't expected that one arrow would lead to this—
A stranger, injured by her hand, now lying beneath her roof, in a quiet cabin nestled on the mountain's spine.
The first day, he'd slept almost the whole time. When he was awake, he barely spoke, answering her questions in that soft, raspy tone that made her fingers twitch with guilt.
She fed him medicine. Changed his bandages. Watched his every movement with cautious eyes—never letting herself forget that she still didn't know who he was.
The second day, he seemed better. He sat up, spoke more, even smiled.
But something about that smile—too calm, too knowing—never quite sat right with her.
She asked why he'd been so deep in the mountains. He claimed he was just foraging for herbs. Seemed harmless enough.
But whenever she turned her back, she could feel his eyes on her. Burning.
That night, the wind outside picked up. The forest growled softly with unseen things.
Inside the cabin, only a single oil lamp flickered. Its flame cast restless shadows across the wooden walls, like ghost wings in motion.
Su Sheng returned with a kettle of water, her cloak drawn tight against the chill.
He was lying on the bed, drenched in sweat, lips pale, chest rising in uneven gasps.
"I thought you said it wasn't serious," she murmured, reaching to touch his forehead.
Burning.
He opened his eyes. They were glassy, fevered. "…Might be infected."
"You should've told me the arrowhead was dirty." She sighed, pulling her medicine kit from her coat. "Don't move. I'll change the bandages."
She leaned in, pulling his tunic aside. The cloth was soaked through. Just as she reached for it, his hand closed around her wrist.
Not hard—but hot. Too hot.
"You're burning up," she said softly.
His gaze was fire. "I'm cold."
"You're delirious. Fever's frying your brain."
"But I really… am cold." His voice dipped, lower, rougher—almost inhuman. "Come closer."
She gritted her teeth.
Then, slowly, leaned toward him.
He took her hand, guiding it to his chest.
It seared her fingertips. His heartbeat thundered beneath her palm.
She tried to pull away.
"Don't go," he whispered. "I think… I'm about to shift."
"Shift?" she echoed, brow furrowed.
"I had a dream," he said, lips curving into a faint, fevered smile. "You shot me from the sky. And then you… kissed me. Said you'd take responsibility."
She opened her mouth, cheeks flushing, but then—
Whoosh.
A barely-there sound stirred the air behind her.
She turned.And froze.
Two faint golden wings had begun to bloom from his back—shimmering like mist and light, half-visible, half-myth. They stretched slowly, majestically, impossibly.
Her body reacted before her mind did—hand flying to her quiver.
"You…" Her voice trembled.
He didn't move.Didn't hide.
His eyes were no longer human—gold etched like lightning into obsidian.
"Are you going to kill me now?" he asked.
The wind outside roared. The windows shook.
Her fingers touched the arrow shaft, but didn't draw.
"You're the golden eagle."
He smiled. A sound like falling feathers.
"At last… you look at me properly."
"But I didn't come here to kill you."
"Then why did you come?" His voice dropped, heat licking at every syllable."Did you come… to kiss me?"
She stayed silent.
He sat up. The blanket slipped from his shoulders.
Across his skin—faint markings shimmered near the wound. Winged, wild. Sacred.
He leaned in close, eyes locked on hers, voice a growl beneath the wind:
"You said you'd take responsibility, Su Sheng—"
"So tell me now..."
"Do you still mean it?"