You stood outside the heavy wooden door, heart pounding in your chest, listening intently to the murmured conversation inside. Lady Bonajade's voice, smooth and persuasive, was barely audible through the thick door. "Go now. You are free - Oh chosen one, who dared to exceed his bounds. Sever your wings, descend to the mortal realm and walk their lands," Bonajade said, her tone like silk sliding over steel.

There was a pause, and you could see Sunday, his silver hair gleaming even in the darkness, his golden halo and small white wings a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. When he spoke, his voice was steady, firm, and filled with a quiet dignity that had always defined him. "I will not accept your charity."

Your heart clenched at his words, and you knew you couldn't stay hidden any longer. You pushed the door fully open and stepped into the room, the creak of the hinges drawing the attention of both occupants. Jade turned to look at you, her expression unreadable, while Sunday's eyes widened in surprise. "The trade has been made. His freedom is within reach, but the choice is his," she said, walking off, leaving you two behind

"Sunday," you call out softly, your voice trembling.

His eyes, filled with a mixture of surprise and sorrow, meet yours. "You shouldn't be here," he says, his tone gentle but firm.