SofiyWhite888
Cub was told from the very first day: never reveal himself.
Hide the wings. Hide the horns. Hide the sharpness of his smile and the power humming just beneath his skin. Be smaller. Be quieter. Be less.
So he learned.
He learned how to file his horns down until they ached, until the dull nubs left behind could pass for harmless deformities rather than proof of what he truly was. He learned how to grind his teeth flat, ignoring the sting and the copper taste in his mouth, because predators were feared-and fear invited questions. He learned how to fold his wings tight against his back, binding them beneath a lab coat that hung heavy and stiff, its fabric hiding the faint shimmer of vex light that refused to be fully smothered.
Most days, the coat was enough.
Most days, no one noticed the way he stood too still, or how his eyes caught the light just a little wrong. No one questioned why he flinched at mirrors, or why he never laughed with his mouth open. They saw a scientist. A helper. Someone safe.
And that was the point.
Because Cub knew-had always known-that the moment the truth was seen, the moment the wings unfurled or the horns grew back sharp and proud, the world would stop calling him Cub and start calling him something else entirely.