They said the inventor was just one person. One woman. And yet, every creation bore a different form—some tall, some scaled, some winged, some soft, others sharp. She gave them personalities, gave them purpose. Every pair she crafted was made to complement the other, to rely on one another like twin stars bound in eternal gravity.

She never used ink—said it couldn't be trusted. Said things written could be erased, rewritten, forgotten. But the things she created with her hands? They endured.

What little we know of her came from a fragmented journal, not written by her, but transcribed by one of the children she raised. In it, she spoke in riddles:

"They were once tiny cuties, too fragile, so I made them big.

They were birds once—I made them talk.

I gave them hands to eat, and still, they begged.

Shimmers favor an apple, but the red bird offers something similar.

Don't take it—it's not edible."

She said the last two she created were her favorites. She poured the final fragments of her magic into them. She made them not out of boredom—but love. A desperate, furious kind of love. She hoped the world would cherish them.

But then came war. Her death. Her secrets were swallowed in flames.

The journal disappeared, passed down, changed from truth to myth to bedtime story. Only those who had seen the beings she created—those creatures believed extinct—still believed in her. Believed they still walked among us, hiding in human skin.

He clasped his hands together, rubbing warmth into his palms with a sigh. The cold crept in through the windows of his research cabin, even as the sun peeked over the ridge. Aidan exhaled into his cupped hands, then pressed them to his neck. It helped for a few seconds.

He hadn't slept again.

Another sleepless night, chasing answers and concoctions long after his clinic closed. No matter how much he tossed and turned in bed, his mind wouldn't stop spinning. It always circled back—memories, mistakes, worry.

Finally, at three in the morning, he gave up. His feet padded across the cold wooden floor to a cabinet labeled meticulously with teas and herbs. He opened it with a resigned huff.

"Add to tomorrow's list," he muttered.

Pause.

"Or today's."

He chuckled softly to himself. Even if he was loud, no one would wake. He was alone in the cabin.

Steam rose as he poured water into his chipped mug. He blinked. For a moment, his vision blurred—either from exhaustion or tears he refused to acknowledge.

When was the last time I really talked to Mother?

Not just the hollow exchanges about food or chores—but a real conversation.

Once, before Father died, she'd laughed with them. Taught them lullabies. Brushed his sister's hair. But after his death, it was as if she'd shut her heart away. Aidan and Adeena became shadows, baggage she carried into exile after they'd lost everything.

He looked out the frosted window. In the distance—barely visible through the thick snow—was a flicker of candlelight.

Mother was awake.

Should I make her some tea? She used to love it…

His thoughts froze.

A figure darted through the snow, thin and fast—cloaked in barely enough fabric to fend off the wind.

"Adeena?"

She was storming down the hill, boots crunching hard against the snow, clearly in a rush.

"Where are you going this early?!" he shouted through the crack in the window, then cursed and shoved his mug aside. He flung open the door and jogged through the snow, catching up with her.

She wasn't dressed properly. Not for this weather.

"Adeena! Are you insane? Come here." He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him. Her fingers were already red with cold.

"You should stop working for that household," he muttered. "They don't value you. Even a dog would rather stay in a barn today."

He gently patted her frozen cheek and began wrapping his scarf around her neck.

"You're not meant to be a maid. That life doesn't suit you, darling."

Adeena scowled and shoved his hand away. "Because I'm a girl? Or because I was a noble? News flash, brother—expired titles don't buy food."

It had been almost a year since she'd started working as a maid for the Conqueror's household. They discovered she was a Wisteria descendant—a bloodline known for their fertility. Someone even suggested she become the mistress of the third son.

She'd barely escaped.

They let her stay, pretending it was kindness. A noble with no coin was still useful to them.

"They're trying to wear you down," Aidan whispered, narrowing his eyes.

Adeena leaned in and patted his backside with a wicked grin. "I know. And I don't care."

She suddenly threw her arms open. "I'm cold. Hug me."

Instead, he took off his padded coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She smiled. "That's why I love you. Don't forget to eat. And don't let anyone bully you. You're too soft, brother."

"I'm not soft," he mumbled.

She turned and ran back into the snow.

"Being an apothecary doesn't suit you either!" she yelled over her shoulder. "You're too pretty! Someone's gonna mistake you for a fairy and snatch you into the woods!"

Aidan flushed. People often said that about him—mocked how delicate he looked. Patients didn't trust his skill, said he looked like he'd faint carrying a sack of herbs.

Sometimes, the village children would wait at the foot of the mountain just to make sure he didn't collapse coming down.

He sighed and stretched his arms toward the sky, loosening his aching muscles.

Behind the cabin, the well shimmered slightly in the morning light. As he lowered a small barrel into the cold water, he hummed, thinking about Adeena. No matter what, that household couldn't force her to do anything—she still had noble blood, even if it didn't matter here.

Here, magic was forgotten. Feared. Hiding their nature was essential.

He tugged the rope—and hissed.

The rope tangled around his thumb, and the barrel jerked. Water splashed, soaking his legs. But worse than that—his skin caught the morning light.

A shimmer.

His eyes widened. A mark, faint and iridescent, lit up along the back of his hand.

The medicine's wearing off.

"Damn it."

He rushed back inside, abandoning the water.

"Oh. My tea…"

He passed the mirror he'd placed beside the door—a habit to ensure he looked human enough before venturing outside. Today, the mirror showed too much.

His long hair slid over his shoulder, revealing scales along his neck. He tugged the strands back to cover them.

I thought the cold would slow it down. Guess I was wrong. We're changing faster now… How old am I again?

He changed into thick layers, covering every inch of his body, wrapping a thick scarf tight around his throat.

Then he knocked gently on his mother's door.

Naina was already awake. She looked surprised when she saw him, but accepted the hot potatoes he offered her. Her hands made a quiet motion over her lips: Thank you.

She didn't speak anymore. Not since Father died. But she wasn't fully deaf—just unwilling to speak. As if any sound would betray the grief inside her.

She tucked his hair beneath his scarf and rested her forehead against his.

"I'll be in town," Aidan whispered. "I need to restock the medicine."

She nodded.

"Morning, Addy!" a loud voice boomed as he descended from the hills.

Aidan winced. "Good morning, Ma'am," he said gently to Samantha, who was bouncing with energy despite the snow. Her mind wasn't quite all there, not since the accident with her son, but she was kind. And lonely.

"You're dressed like a snowman!" she cackled.

"I'm warm, that's what matters." He helped her sit on the nearby bench.

"Are you sick?" she asked, reaching for his forehead.

"No, Ma'am. But I must go now."

He slipped a small candy from his coat and handed it to her. She beamed as she popped it into her mouth. He watched to ensure she ate it—he'd infused it with a calming herb.

Then he turned toward town.

But a glint of silver caught his eye.

A carriage.

One he didn't recognize. It bore a noble crest he hadn't seen in years.

That's a cousin to the Emperor… What's someone like that doing out here?

The carriage turned.

Right into the estate where Adeena worked.

Aidan's heart stilled.

No guards. Only a few servants. Something's wrong…

"You're worried?" a voice behind him sneered.

Aidan turned.

Dmitri stood behind him, unwrapping his scarf.

"She's smarter than you think," Dmitri said flatly. "She'll be fine."

He handed Aidan a flask. "Drink this. Then strip. I need to see the aftereffects."

Aidan froze.

"You increased the dosage again?" he asked.

Dmitri nodded. "You're still growing. We both are. Time's running out, Aidan. We don't have the luxury of pretending to be human forever."

Aidan's breath hitched as something inside him cracked—too deep to be bone. He stumbled forward, arms weak, and the metallic taste of blood touched his tongue. Dmitri said something, but the words faded like wind across water. His vision blurred, and the room spun violently.

Aidan collapsed.

And so it begins…

The slow unraveling of what they were, and what they were never meant to be.

Hello readers, If you are reading this first of all I thank you for coming back to this page reading my story again❤️ Don't forget to subscribe so you don't missing out, and click on the heart button afterwards, Thank you readers, If you have any doubts, recommendations you know where the comment section is 😉happy reading

It wasn't metallic or foul—it was sharp. Clean. Like frozen air before a storm.

It was just… there.

Thick, syrupy streaks clung to my fingertips. Some fresh. Some dry. Some mine.

Some not.

My breath was shallow, catching on the edge of something inside me I couldn't name. I blinked once. Twice. Then stopped.

It hurt to blink.

I didn't even remember how long I'd been down here.

The room was dim, lit only by flickering candlelight. Shadows danced across the closed curtains. Something dripped near the corner, echoing louder than it should have. My hearing was sharper than usual—too sharp. Which meant...

Right now, I didn't look human.

And then—

Click.

The door opened.

I didn't raise my head.

I knew that sound too well. I knew his steps even more.

Dmitri.

He said nothing at first. Just the creak of boots against the floor, the soft clink of metal being set down.

Then, his voice.

"Still alive. Good."

I didn't answer. My throat was raw—maybe from screaming, maybe from the potion. I couldn't tell anymore.

He crouched beside me, the scent of his cologne cutting through the blood. Rosemary and firewood.

Safe—if you didn't know better.

His fingers brushed my jaw.

"You're trembling," he whispered. "That's new."

I flinched when he touched my neck. Cold fingers. Gentle grip.

He tilted my chin up.

"Look at me."

I didn't want to. But I did.

His eyes were calm. Too calm. Like this was routine. Like I was just another experiment.

This is the last time, I'd told myself. If I drink again, I won't recognize who I become.

Yet here I was.

Bleeding.

Dying.

"How does it feel?" he asked softly. "The burning. The crawling under your skin. Can you feel the changes yet?"

I didn't answer. This was our agreement—to test my limits. But this was too far.

Way too far.

He smiled.

He held out a new vial. Thicker. Darker. It glowed faintly in the candlelight.

"This one's different," he said. "You need to take it. Now."

I grabbed it.

I drank.

It burned worse than the last. My veins lit up like fire. My vision blurred. My knees hit the floor.

Don't pass out. Don't scream. Don't—

I screamed.

Now.

I was still on the bed. Drenched in sweat. Still shaking.

And he was back.

He crouched in front of me again. Hands gloved this time.

"Your body took it well," Dmitri murmured. "Stronger than I expected."

He held out a new vial.

Thicker.

Black.

"Drink this," he said, voice too soft.

Then—

"I'm taking your clothes off. I need to see the aftereffects."

My breath hitched.

He tilted his head, scanning me—searching for the roots of my pain. I couldn't be angry. I was the one who asked for this.

At first, he refused. But for a researcher like him? I knew exactly what to offer.

What would tempt him.

Dmitri had agreed—politely.

"Bear it," he said.

Through the curtain, I saw it.

Daylight—gone.

The sun had set.

How long had I been asleep?

"...You good?"

The voice was distant, muffled. Aidan's body twitched as his eyes cracked open, only to slam shut again from a spike of pain exploding through his spine and skull. Something cold and metallic was pressing against the back of his head. Though fully clothed, a shiver spread through his body, violent and uncontrollable.

He was trembling.

"I...I'm hungry," he rasped, voice hoarse and unfamiliar. He tried lifting his head, only to drop back down onto the damp pillow. His throat ached as if he hadn't spoken in days.

Dmitri stood nearby, pouring water into a glass.

"You've been out for a while," he said, voice calm. Too calm.

The room was dim. The curtain was drawn shut, and only a small candle flickered on the table. Night had fallen, but how many nights had passed?

"What time is it?" Aidan murmured, wincing. "Feels like days."

"It's late. Here," Dmitri offered the water.

Aidan took it with trembling hands, coughing halfway through a sip. "Ugh...what happened? Why does my whole body feel wrong?"

Dmitri didn't answer.

"Did you tell Naina?"

Another long pause. "No. I didn't want to worry her."

Aidan's fingers curled around the glass as something gnawed at him—an unease, like he had been gone too long. His skin looked normal now, no darkened veins or pulsing veins like before. But still...

"I need a mirror."

Dmitri hesitated.

"I said—" Aidan sat up and flung the blanket off, instantly regretting it. His knees buckled, and he leaned against Dmitri's shoulder for support. "How long has it been?"

"One to three days," Dmitri said quickly. "Maybe four."

"You're lying," Aidan muttered, eyes narrowing. "What did you do to me?"

The room was silent.

Then he noticed it—his hair. Once flowing past his hips, it now reached only to his waist.

His voice dropped. "You...cut my hair."

"It was for the medicine," Dmitri said, hurriedly. "You always said—"

"I always said I'd help. I never said to steal my hair while I was unconscious." Aidan stepped back, breathing hard. "This—this is my pride. My father used to comb this hair. It reminded our mother he once loved her. You knew that."

"I trimmed it—"

"You humiliated me."

Aidan stared at the mirror and ran his hand through the uneven strands. They shimmered faintly under the candlelight. A magical sheen. No wonder Dmitri couldn't resist.

He turned, locking eyes with his uncle.

"You didn't just cut my hair. You drained something else. Didn't you?"

Dmitri stiffened.

"You didn't take blood... did you?"

"What kind of question is that?" Dmitri gave a half-laugh, too forced to be real. "You're delirious. You told me to use your hair, Addy. For your family."

"You mean your business."

The silence that followed confirmed it. Aidan's breath slowed. "I didn't give you permission to touch me like that. How would I know if you didn't slit my neck after?"

Dmitri paled. "Don't be ridiculous—"

But Aidan wasn't listening. His eyes were glassy now, focused on his reflection. His hair had golden streaks. That only happened when he was half-transformed.

"You used me while I was shifting."

Dmitri backed away. "It was for the medicine. You're still alive. Be grateful—"

"Grateful?" Aidan whispered. "You cut me mid-transformation. You don't even know what could've gone wrong..."

'He's scared of me,' Aidan realized.

And maybe he should be.

Because Aidan wasn't just a boy anymore. He was something else. Something no one had taught him to control. Not even his dead father.

Dmitri sat down, gripping the couch arm, his hand inching toward something—metal glinting beneath a cloth.

A knife.

'He's thinking of killing me.'

"I'm sorry," Dmitri muttered, eyes flicking toward the blade. "I didn't mean to—"

"I know," Aidan interrupted, soft but sharp. "My father could read minds. Did you know that?"

Dmitri froze.

Aidan stepped forward and threw on a coat, shoving his hacked hair under the collar. "I didn't inherit that gift. But I don't need it."

He paused at the door.

"You should look in the mirror, uncle. That smile's finally gone."

Then he slammed the door.

—

The wind cut sharp as Aidan ran from the clinic, boots thudding against the earth. His heart thundered. Not from weakness anymore, but fear. The real kind.

'If I hadn't woken up, he would've cut me. I saw it. I saw it in his eyes.'

His hands trembled. Was it anger or magic building under his skin?

'I knew it. Mother warned me. She always knew Dmitri would betray us.'

But he couldn't leave Gloria. Not yet.

Half this land would be his one day. It was freedom, fruit on every tree, untouched by city rot and noble lies. He would fight for it.

Ahead, a branch rustled. Aidan raised his hand. A twist of wind slashed through the air, shaking apples into his open scarf.

He grinned weakly. "Can't hear thoughts... but I can bend wind. Just like father."

**

I stumbled home

The house smelled like cloves and candlewax. Familiar. Safe.

I barely stepped into my room before I saw it: unsealed envelope.

And Adeena.

She stood at the foot of my bed, arms crossed. She hadn't heard me enter. She looked different. Paler. Like something was eating at her from the inside.

"Where were you?" she asked, not turning around. Her voice was low. Sharp.

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

"Dmitri," she said, answering her own question. "You were with him again."

I swallowed. "It wasn't like that."

"No?" She spun on her heel. Her eyes were bloodshot. "Because last time you nearly died."

"I had to."

"No, Aidan. You chose to. Again. You chose him over me. Over Mother."

"That's not fair."

"What's not fair is watching you rot in a basement, swallowing poison like it's medicine."

I stepped closer. "You don't understand. I need this. If I don't learn control now—"

"You'll what? Explode? Burn the village down?"

"Do you have any idea how worrier I was? You were gone, Vanish! The frozen flowers even bloomed before you"

I didn't answer.

Her jaw clenched. "You're becoming like him."

"Don't say that."

"You are," she whispered. "You think pain makes you stronger. That suffering is some kind of cure."

"I'm trying to protect us."

"By killing yourself?"

"One to three days? Did you even count days passing by when you were high with that medicine? Addy?" For him it wasn't that long. The cold weather was In the middle of changing into the warm occasion.

'even If I'm gone, does it matter?' Aidan clenched his jaw. He grab half of his face, sighing" I am sorry" he said that without looking at Adeena.

Silence fell between us, tense as a bowstring.

Then she thrust an envelope into my chest.

"Here."

I looked down. Black wax seal. Gold trim. Too ornate for anyone from Gloria.

"What is it?"

"An invitation," she said coldly. "To a ball."

"A ball?"

"In the capital. From Household of Thorneveil-Lady Mary " She spat the name like it burned. Because that woman is the cousin of the current King, and the same individual that led them directly into their misfortune.

What?

I felt it immediately—something wrong with the paper. Not just magic. Curiosity. Hunger.

"You can't be thinking of going."

"I'm not thinking," she said. "I'm going."

I stepped in front of her. "No."

"You don't get to decide."

"Yes, I do," I snapped. "If you go, you're walking into a trap. People like her don't invite creatures like us."

She flinched.

"I'm not a creature."

"You know what I mean—"

"No," she said. "I don't."

She grabbed her cloak and brushed past me.

"Adeena—wait—"

"I don't want to wait anymore, Aidan! I'm tired of waiting while you break your body for answers. I'm tired of secrets and potions and your silent screams in the night."

I watched her vanish down the hall, footsteps echoing louder than they should've.

Then I looked at the letter again.

The wax seal shimmered.

And for a moment—I swore it winked.