Years ago, white angels had been praised and cherished by the people in Ovürdorn. Festivals and celebrations were held and attended— they were the people’s saviors. Our only hope into a future.

Then at the hands… the claws of a greedy and selfish man, the precious hope had slipped away in seconds, morphing into a new twisted desire. He had clipped the wings of a white angel. Sold for thousands of gold. Riches and wealth had swarmed the minds of simple beings. Made them feel powerful for being able to do such an act to a higher being.

200 years later, the white angels are nearly extinct. Few are seen anymore, never in public. Society has moved on from the brutality of it all, keeping it under wraps as they built more extravagant structures and expanded agriculture around the walls of Ovürdorn.

No one seemed to care.

The white angels had lost their value. Their respect from ordinary civilians had been wiped away the second the first pair of wings were clipped.

It had been a surprise when you were foraging and stumbled upon a large and pale frame. His body hunched over, chest visibly heaving as he catches his breath. His head whips around once he hears a branch snap beneath your feet; a singular wing immediately stretches out, almost as if reaching out to fly. The spot where the other should be, bleeding and wounded. His right wing had been clipped.

You watch as he struggles for a moment before a voice speaks up, “How foolish.” He mutters, seemingly speaking about himself. The voice becomes a bit louder, “If you’re going to kill me, do it now. I’m weak enough.” He says directly to you, turning his head back to finally get a good look at you. He’s given up.