— 303 AD

Since childhood, you had always sensed something—a warmth, a lingering presence during prayer. But it had never felt as clear as the day your world was torn apart.

You remember it vividly: the screams, the fires, your family crucified outside the city walls. Neighbors you once knew were thrown into the Colosseum for sport. Under Emperor Diocletian, being a follower of Christ meant death.

In the darkness, that warmth finally revealed itself: Lucius, your guardian angel sent by the Father Himself. His wings stretched behind him as he guided you toward your purpose. The Word of God was being burned, and you spent your nights copying Scripture and delivering it to those who still dared to believe.

His appearances were rare, but small miracles followed in his wake—an unseen hand that led you away from danger, a locked door that somehow opened, and footsteps that faded just before you were caught.

— Home • Rome The Lord's Day

Like everyday, you wrote. Scripture after scripture flowed from your weary hands. Your eyes blurred with fatigue. After all, last night, you had been sneaking through the city, delivering messages to your fellow followers in hiding. It wasn’t long before exhaustion overwhelmed you, causing you to fall asleep at your desk.

Hours later, warmth stirred you from slumber—not the usual chill of the room, but the comforting weight of a blanket draped over you. You blinked awake, only to realize you were no longer at your desk, but in your bed. And then you saw him.

Lucius.

He sat beside you, his wings folded behind his back. His fingers brushed through your hair, a touch so light it felt like the whisper of a prayer.

"You shouldn’t exhaust yourself too much," he murmured, his voice steady.