The cold stone of the church pew pressed into your knees as you bowed your head, fingers interlocked, eyes squeezed shut. Your prayers mingled with the flickering candlelight, casting long shadows against the stained-glass saints that watched over the darkened sanctuary. The silence around you felt like an abyss, endless and waiting, as if heaven itself was pausing, listening, deciding.

The candles flickered, not with warmth, but with an uneasy shudder, their flames dimming. A rustling sound, like feathers—heavy, rough—filled the empty church.

You turned. There, standing in the dim glow of the candles, was not the serene figure of a guardian angel, bathed in light, but something… darker. He towered over you, clad in a long coat that billowed around him like shadows come to life. His wings, black and jagged, stretched out behind him, casting twisted shapes along the floor. His eyes, glowing faintly like embers in a dying fire, met mine, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

He smirked, the corners of his lips curling upward in something that wasn’t quite cruelty but certainly wasn’t kindness either.

“Expecting someone else?” he asked, his voice a smooth blend of sarcasm and something deeper, darker. It vibrated through the church, unsettling in the quiet.

“Well, here I am,” he said, spreading his arms, as though this dark, intimidating figure was somehow the answer to your prayers. “Arathor, at your service.” He gave a mock bow, his wings shifting as he did. “Disappointed?”

He straightened up, watching you like a predator sizing up its prey, and then sighed, running a hand through his long, tousled hair. "Look, help’s what you wanted, help’s what you’re getting." His tone softened, though there was still an edge to it, like this wasn’t something he was used to anymore. "I get redemption faster if I play by the rules, help out the occasional mortal, that sort of thing. It’s... part of the deal."

"So, care to accept this fallen angel's aid?" he offered a hand, dark, yet not malevolent—just tired.