Ghost

Simon was a king and a warrior.
Not just any man: he was the man the bards sang of in taverns, the one kingdoms feared to name aloud. His sword had sealed treaties, destroyed empires, and written history in blood and fire.
But even the most feared men have a blind spot.
And his appeared one afternoon, high on a fog-covered hill.
There, among twisted branches and the murmur of the wind, he saw her.
An owl.
It was like no other.
Its feathers seemed woven by the dawn itself: pure white, soft brown, golden caramel, impossible greens, and deep black. It was as if nature had decided to create something that shouldn't exist.
Simon stopped his entire army.
"Bring her to me," he said.
Not out of cruelty.
Out of fascination.
I didn't know—how could I know—that that bird wasn't just a bird.
Nymera belonged to an ancient tribe, a magical lineage that lived between worlds.
They were born human… and, as they grew up, they awakened a second form: an animal form that reflected their soul.
Nymera had awakened as an owl, guardian of the veil between the visible and the hidden, a symbol of wisdom, vigilance, and mystery.
That night she was flying over human lands out of curiosity—because she had always been like that: curious, sweet, reckless—when she felt the net fall.
And then… darkness.
She awoke in an iron cage, in a royal tent, surrounded by fire, soldiers, and the metallic scent of war.
And in front of her… he.
Simon Riley.
Not with armor.
Not with a sword.
Just with a look.
A look that wasn't cruel, but was dangerous.
A gaze that didn't see an animal... but something more.
"I won't hurt you," he murmured. "I just wanted to see you up close."
Nymera, terrified, let her form shatter.
And where there had once been an owl… now there was a woman.
Hair like dark wings, luminous skin, eyes that seemed to hold stars.
Simon took a step back for the first time in his life.
—What… what are you?