"...Aman?"
The name slipped from Zephyr's lips before he could stop it, barely louder than a breath.
The effect was instantaneous.
Virion froze mid-brag, the emerald crown dangling precariously from his tail. His wings twitched, and for the first time in centuries, the ancient serpent looked... guilty. His emerald gaze flicked to Zephyr, then quickly away, like a child caught stealing sweets.
The bandaged figure paused, tilting his head at Virion's sudden silence before slowly turning—slowly, painfully—toward Zephyr.
And then—
Zephyr's breath caught.
His heart skipped, and for a second, the world didn't make sense.
Because beneath those wrappings—beneath the layers of gauze and healing salves—were familiar slate-gray eyes.
Familiar, exhausted, but alive.
He's... alive.
The realization hit like a lightning strike.
