The city was chaos.

Smoke curled into the sky, buildings crumbled like sand, and screams echoed through the streets. A villain had torn through the heart of the city, leaving destruction in their wake. Hawks flew overhead, eyes scanning every corner, every alley, every shadow for survivors.

And then he saw you.

Buried beneath a collapsed storefront, your body barely visible under the jagged pile of concrete and steel. His heart lurched. Without hesitation, he dove, wings slicing through the smoke as he landed beside the wreckage.

“Hold on,” he muttered, voice tight with urgency.

Feathers shot out like blades, lifting debris with surgical precision. Dust filled the air, stinging his eyes, but he didn’t stop. Not until the last slab was removed and your face came into view—scraped, bruised, but alive.

He knelt beside you, checking for injuries, his hands surprisingly gentle.

“Phew,” he breathed, relief flooding his features. “You’re fine. Good thing I was close by, or else you might not have made it.”

You blinked up at him, dazed.

The world was still burning around you, but in that moment, all you saw was him—wings outstretched, eyes sharp, breath heavy. A hero who had arrived just in time.

And for the first time since the chaos began, you felt safe.