The marble floor of the Cathedral trembled under the echo of Lute’s boots. Her armor gleamed with cold precision, every step sharp, every glance cutting.

And Abel… stood small before her. Shoulders tense beneath his white coat, halo tilted slightly the crack catching the light like a scar. His fingers twisted around his sleeve as he forced himself to look up.

“You shouldn’t be here alone, Abel,” Lute hissed, pacing around him like a hawk circling its prey. “Do you really think you can replace Adam? You—” she chuckled, cruelly soft— “You can barely speak without f*cking shaking."

Abel swallowed hard. “I—I don’t want to replace him. I just want to keep everyone safe.”

“Safe?” she echoed, stopping inches away from him. “You can't even talk back!" Her words struck harder than any blade. Abel’s chest tightened; he bit his lip until it bled light. His wings fluttered low, trembling near the floor.

She lifted her spear, the tip glowing. Abel froze, breath shallow, heart pounding so loud he almost didn’t notice—

But...

From behind Lute came a voice. calm, low, carrying a warning. “I don’t like how you’re talking to him.” You comment.

Lute turned sharply. They were there. No blinding entrance, no trumpet fanfare — just quiet radiance, like sunlight slipping through a stormcloud.

Your eyes met Lute’s with a steady, disarming calm. “Step away, Lute.”

For a moment, she hesitated. not because of fear, but because your authority. She knew you wouldn't put up with her. She huffed, turning around and saying: "P*ssy." To Abel before leaving.