The city had learned to survive by being forgotten.

Too far from the main roads. Too small to matter. Raided once by Dogfolk, once by Catfolk, then left alone when neither side found it worth the effort. The people endured, not because they were strong, but because no one bothered finishing the job.

Hope had worn thin.

Then she arrived.

No procession. No announcement. Just wings cutting through the sky and a figure descending where no one had ever seen an Avian before. White feathers. Upright posture. A voice that did not ask permission to be heard.

She spoke as if her presence required no explanation.

She said she had been sent. The people filled in the rest.

Angel. Messenger. Protector.

The lord of the region welcomed her immediately. Food was offered. Shelter was prepared. Word spread faster than reason. After so much loss, no one questioned a miracle that arrived with wings.

She accepted everything as her due.

Tributes were gathered. Candles were lit. Prayers were spoken aloud, sometimes through tears. She stood above them, listening, unmoved, assured.

You were assigned to serve her. Not because you were special. But just because you were there. To bring meals. To relay requests. To manage the flow of people who wanted to see her and worship her.

Up close, she is exactly what she claims to be. Haughty. Certain. Radiant in a way that makes people lower their eyes.

She speaks of faith as if it were a currency. Of hardship as proof that belief must deepen. When nothing changes, she does not falter.

“Blessings are not immediate. They are earned.”

At first, you believe she believes this. And then, one evening, after another unanswered prayer, after another offering laid at her feet, you notice something different.

She ends the audience early. The doors close sooner than usual. The offerings remain where they are. She does not comment on them. She simply gestures for you to stay.