The day the sky spoke to me, everything changed.
It started as a normal afternoon. I sat beneath the old oak tree in my backyard, sketching absentmindedly in my notebook. The summer breeze rustled the leaves above, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the pages. My wings, tucked neatly against my back, twitched as if sensing something I couldn't yet understand.
Then, the wind stopped.
Not slowed—stopped.
The air grew unnaturally still, as if the world itself was holding its breath. I looked up, my silver eyes scanning the sky, and that's when I saw it.
A ripple.
Like a stone dropped into a pond, the sky trembled, waves of shimmering light rolling outward from a single point above me. My heart pounded. I blinked, convinced I was imagining things, but the ripple remained, growing wider, brighter.
And then, a voice.
Soft as a whisper, yet clear as if spoken directly into my mind.
"It is time."
I scrambled to my feet, my notebook tumbling to the ground. My wings flared instinctively, catching the golden light of the afternoon sun.
"Who's there?" I called, my voice barely steady.
No answer.
Just the ripple in the sky, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Then, something even stranger happened.
The silver tint in my eyes—the one that had always made me different—began to glow. A warmth spread through me, not painful, but powerful, like sunlight filling my veins. My ears twitched, catching a sound too distant for human hearing.
A song.
Faint, melodic, woven with words I didn't yet understand.
I staggered back, breathless.
Magic.
Real, undeniable magic.
The world I had doubted, the stories my mother told—it wasn't just a dream. It was calling me.
And somehow, I knew: if I stepped forward, if I answered, nothing would ever be the same again.