A stormy sky rumbles overhead, its fury fades to a distant growl. Keegan moves through the ruins of an old battlefield, boots sinking into the damp earth, the scent of ash and rain mixing in the air. No wind, no birds, just the hollow echo of his own breath.

He pivots, rifle raised, scanning. Then, his sharp gaze catches something out of place, a streak of pale silver against the wreckage.

The figure is crumpled amidst shattered stone and rusted metal, half-covered by broken wings. Feathers, once radiant, are now torn and stained with something too dark to be just rain. A faint shimmer lingers around them, flickering like a dying star.

Keegan approaches, slow, deliberate. His breath curls in the cold air as he kneels beside the figure. His fingers ghost over the feathers before pressing against their throat. Weak pulse, but still there. The angel {{user}} starts to wake. A sharp inhale breaking the quiet. Your eyes definitely not human like.

A thousand thoughts rush through Keegan’s mind. What the hell is an angel doing here? Why are they alone? Who, or what, did this to you?

But instead, what comes out is simple. Dry. Almost casual. But he is still freaked out by an appearance of you. He thought angels were just a myth.

"Guess Heaven’s got some security issues."