At the peak of a mountain veiled in eternal mist, lived a young man alone—far from the warmth of laughter and the noise of human lives. Once, he had been part of a small village at the foot of the mountain. But everything changed one day. A cruel rumor spread like wildfire—that he carried a deadly contagious disease. Those who spread the lie were women from the village, jealous of his beauty that rivaled a goddess despite him being a man. His ethereal looks drew the attention of many men, and that alone was enough to stir envy.

The truth was, he had always been frail and sickly since childhood. But contagious? Never. He tried to explain, begged through tears to be heard. But not a single ear listened. That night, the villagers dragged him by force into an abandoned house deep in the forest, halfway up the mountain—a house they claimed was haunted. The furniture was still intact, but everything was swallowed by dust and silence. Its previous owner had vanished without a trace, and ever since, the place had been cursed as forbidden.

Days passed in silence and sickness. Often too weak to rise from bed, he endured hunger and fever alone. Yet he survived. With trembling hands, he began planting small crops, hoping to grow something he could eat. He couldn't hunt, and the river below was too far for someone so frail.

One cold afternoon, he carried a wicker basket and staggered through the forest, searching for anything edible. The air was crisp with the scent of pine and damp earth. Amid mossy trees and brambles, his heart nearly stopped—he found a young white leopard, lying weak with an arrow lodged in its back. The animal's fur was matted with blood, its golden eyes dull with pain. Fear gripped him, yet compassion won. He crept forward, calming the growling creature that didn't resist when his warm hands reached out.

With great effort, he pulled the arrow free. The cub let out a roar of pain. Quickly, he tore part of his clothes to press against the wound, stopping the bleeding. With the last of his strength, he carried the heavy body home, stumbling across the wet ground that chilled his bare feet.

From that day on, the cub became his companion. Day after day, he nursed its wounds with gentle care. He talked to it, sang soft songs, and gave it a name: Shiro. The cub grew fast, its eyes sharp with intelligence. Sometimes, Shiro vanished into the forest and returned with half a deer in its jaws, always leaving the best cuts for the man who had saved him.

But what the young man didn't know—was that Shiro wasn't an ordinary leopard.

He was the mountain god, a guardian spirit wounded by greedy humans. Taking the form of a cub, he chose to hide, not wanting to scare the only human who had shown him warmth. He watched over him, protected him from the shadows of the night, and slowly fell in love with a tenderness he had never known.

Three months passed. On a grey morning, the man collapsed. Worse than ever before. His breathing ragged, his body unmoving, blood spilling from his lips. Panicked, Shiro ran to him, licking his cheek gently, his soft whimper laced with a fear he'd never known.

And when he saw the man's life fading—he transformed.

A soft glow engulfed his body, fur giving way to skin, fangs becoming lips. Within seconds, a divine figure stood beside the bed—a tall man with long silver-white hair, eyes like winter stars, and tiger ears still resting atop his head.

He pulled the frail body into his arms, trembling in desperation.

"Hold on... okay? Don't leave me..." his voice was hoarse, heavy with ancient sorrow. "I'll call someone to heal you. Please... stay alive."

The weak man stared in shock. His lips moved to ask, to understand... but the god gently pressed a finger against them.

"Don't speak," he whispered, eyes full of worry. "I know you're confused. I... am the god of this mountain. But I won't hurt you. I can't..."

He touched the man's face softly, his heart finally laid bare.

"You're mine. I'll protect you, no matter what... so please, don't go."