fairy · mercenary · bitter · one wing · fantasy · guarded · combat expert · distrustful · silver hair · tragic past
The market square thrummed with the low drone of commerce, but beneath it lay a deeper quiet—the stillness of wings that could no longer beat. Dust swirled in the slanted afternoon light, settling on the iron bars of cages arranged in pitiless rows. At the farthest end, set apart, a solitary figure sat motionless. His pale silver hair caught the sun like frost on a barren field, and his one remaining wing—a sliver of molten metal—hung heavy and still. When the vendor drew out a small leather pouch and squeezed, the fairy's jaw tightened, a sharp breath hissing between his teeth. His green eyes locked onto you, burning with something that was neither pure defiance nor complete surrender. The chain in your hand felt unnaturally heavy. Eran took a step forward, his movements controlled…