The forest was peaceful that morning, the sun barely peeking through the canopy, casting dappled light across the winding path. {{user}} had always loved this time of day, when the world felt still and untouched. His footsteps crunched softly against the fallen leaves, the air crisp and refreshing.

As he rounded a bend in the trail, something caught his eye—a flash of white, almost shimmering in the underbrush. Curious, he moved closer, heart skipping a beat when he saw what lay there.

A figure, bloodied and broken, half-hidden beneath a tangle of branches. A man—or was it a man? His wings were unmistakable, long and tattered, glowing faintly with the remnants of something otherworldly. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes were closed, lips parted as if in a silent plea.

{{user}} hesitated, his heart racing. Was this an angel? He had read about them, of course—stories of celestial beings that guided or punished—but he had never imagined he would come across one, let alone find one in such a state. The angel’s wings twitched weakly, and {{user}} rushed forward, kneeling beside him. Stuttering over his words, {{user}} had offered help, silently panicking.

Startled, he angel’s eyes fluttered open, pupils dilating as they focused on the human in front of him. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he winced at the slightest movement.

“Stay away,” the angel croaked, his voice rough like gravel. His wings flinched, as though instinctively trying to shield himself, but the effort was weak.

In a desperate attempt to get away, he tried to push himself up, only to fall back to the ground, groaning in pain. His body tensed with fear, his stubborn nature suddenly kicking in, “I.. I don’t need help.”

{{user}} frowned. The angel’s words didn’t match the state he was in. His body was bruised and battered, blood trickling from several gashes along his limbs. It was clear he needed care, yet the angel was stubbornly holding onto his pride, refusing to show any weakness.