The rain had been falling since dawn — a steady, cold drizzle that turned the forest paths to mud and silence. Aiden kept his head low as he walked, the hood of his threadbare cloak dripping over his eyes. In his satchel, bundles of damp herbs clung together, their scent of mint and iron heavy in the air. His sister's cough had worsened again last night, and the apothecary had demanded payment he didn't have. So he did what he always did — searched the forest for what others had forgotten.
A flash of movement stopped him mid-step.At first, he thought it was a deer — pale and thin, trembling near the shrine that stood crumbling by the old trail. Then the shape lifted its head, and he saw a girl. She looked barely alive — her hair plastered to her face, skin ashen beneath the rain, bare feet half-sunk in the mud.
Aiden hesitated. People in the village whispered about spirits haunting these woods — about fox ghosts that lured men astray. But as he watched her shiver, instinct pushed fear aside. No spirit would tremble like that. No monster would look so lost.
"Are you hurt?" he called gently.
The girl flinched at his voice, clutching the folds of her soaked robe. For a moment, her golden eyes flashed through the curtain of rain — bright, strange, otherworldly. But they weren't cruel. They were afraid.
Aiden took a cautious step closer, palms open. "It's all right. I won't harm you."
She didn't speak. Her lips moved as though trying to form words she had forgotten. When thunder rolled overhead, she winced and sank to her knees. He hurried forward, pulling off his cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders before she could protest.
"Here," he murmured. "You'll catch your death out here."
Her skin was ice-cold. She blinked up at him, confusion flickering across her face. "Why…?"
"Because you're freezing," he said with a small, crooked smile. "Come on. My home's not far. There's a fire."
"I… fell," she whispered, her voice thin as the rain.
"Then let's get you warm."
He offered his hand. For a long moment, she only stared at it — as though the gesture itself was something alien. Then, slowly, she reached out. Her fingers were trembling, her nails faintly gleaming — too perfect, too sharp for any ordinary girl. But Aiden didn't notice. All he saw was someone who needed help.
The path back was quiet except for the rhythm of rain and breath. The girl moved carefully beside him, watching the trees as though they were strangers. Twice she stumbled, and twice he steadied her, pretending not to feel how she recoiled from his touch before steadying herself again.
At the forest's edge, smoke curled faintly from a small cottage. Aiden opened the door, warmth spilling into the gray. "In here," he said softly. "It isn't much, but it's dry."
The girl stepped inside, eyes wide at the flicker of the firelight. Everything seemed to fascinate her — the crackle of flames, the scent of herbs drying by the hearth, the wooden floor creaking under her bare feet. She looked less like a stranger and more like someone remembering what the world was supposed to feel like.
Aiden knelt by the fire and tossed in another log. "Sit," he said, gesturing toward the chair near the hearth. "You look half-dead."
She obeyed, lowering herself stiffly onto the chair. Steam began to rise from her robe as the fire licked away the rain. He rummaged through a chest, pulling out a coarse towel and a cup. "Here. It's just tea — wild mint and bark."
Her golden eyes flicked between the cup and his face before she accepted it, fingers trembling slightly. She took a sip — then froze, eyes widening. "Warm," she breathed, as though surprised.
"That's what it's supposed to be," Aiden said with a chuckle. "You really did fall, didn't you? From where?"
Her expression changed — a flicker of pain, of memory. "Far," she murmured. "Too far."
He smiled faintly, mistaking her vagueness for fatigue. "Well, you're lucky I found you. No one else comes near that shrine anymore."
Her gaze lifted toward him. "Why?"
He shrugged. "Superstition. They say a fox goddess once guarded it. But when her light vanished, the forest turned cursed. People fear what they don't understand."
She lowered her eyes. "They should."
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Aiden glanced up, but her face was unreadable again, her eyes on the fire. He didn't press further. He knew what it was to hold your pain close.
Later, after she had eaten a little and her color began to return, he spoke again. "I'm Aiden. My sister, Lira, is resting in the other room. She's been ill for some time."
The girl hesitated. "Liara," she said softly. "My name is Liara."
He smiled. "Liara… that's a beautiful name."
Something stirred inside her at the sound — an echo of her true self. Once, mortals had spoken her name in prayer, in awe. Now, a human said it with kindness. It felt almost unbearable.
When he turned to check on his sister, Liara's gaze lingered on his back. His movements were simple, unguarded. She sensed no malice, no greed. Only warmth. It confused her. In her world, kindness was a mask — something worn before betrayal. Could mortals truly be different?
She glanced toward the window. Beyond it, the forest dripped with rain. She could sense faint pulses of energy moving through the earth — ancient, watchful. The spirits of this world had noticed her fall. Some were curious. Others… hungered.
Aiden returned, wiping his hands on a cloth. "My sister's asleep. You should rest too. There's a spare bed."
"I can sleep here," she said quickly, gesturing toward the hearth. "The fire… feels alive."
He studied her for a moment, sensing something strange in her voice — a melody he couldn't name. "As you wish," he said. "If you need anything, just call."
She nodded, pulling the cloak tighter. When he left, she stared into the fire, watching the flames twist into familiar shapes — foxes, stars, towers of crystal. For a heartbeat, she saw her celestial home again, shimmering beyond reach. Then the vision broke, and the fire was only fire.
Liara drew her knees close and whispered, "Forgive me… I wasn't meant to fall."
Night deepened. Aiden lay awake in the next room, listening to the rain ease into a gentle rhythm. He couldn't shake the image of the girl's eyes — gold like sunlight caught in amber. There was something haunting in them, something ancient. Yet when she smiled, it had been soft and human.
He turned over, sighing. "Just a lost traveler," he muttered to himself. "That's all."
But even as sleep tugged at him, a faint glow seeped beneath the door — not from the hearth, but from the girl herself.
Liara's dreams were fevered. In them, she stood again among the celestial towers, her nine tails blazing behind her. Voices called her name — some pleading, some accusing. Then came the betrayal, the fall, the shattering of her light. She reached for the stars, but they turned away.
When she awoke, her skin was cold, her power a dim pulse beneath her ribs. Yet in the faint light of dawn, she felt something new — not divine energy, but warmth. Human warmth.
Aiden was there, crouched by the fire, stirring a pot of soup. He looked up with a gentle smile. "Morning. Feeling better?"
Liara blinked at him, startled by how natural his voice sounded. No reverence. No fear. Just concern. "I think so."
"Good." He handed her a bowl. "Eat. You'll need strength if you plan to walk back to wherever you came from."
She stared into the bowl, watching steam rise like mist over water. "I don't know where that is anymore."
He tilted his head. "Then stay until you do."
Liara looked up sharply. "You'd let a stranger stay here?"
Aiden shrugged. "You helped no one, harmed no one. My sister could use the company. And I could use help gathering herbs."
She hesitated. "You're… not afraid of me?"
He smiled faintly. "Should I be?"
Her lips parted, but no answer came. For the first time since her fall, Liara laughed — quietly, uncertainly, but real.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, spilling gold across the damp earth. Somewhere deep in the forest, the old shrine stirred, its broken statue glowing faintly in answer.
The world had changed.
And neither of them yet understood that their kindness had set something ancient in motion — a bond that would defy the will of gods themselves.