Eligos found you drifting in the freezing waters of Hell’s clearest lake — a place where the fire never reached and silence hummed like glass. Your wings, once white as dawn, lay broken and burned at the edges. A fallen angel.

He had come only to feed the seals that dwelled there, creatures born of impossible tenderness in a land of torment. His favorite — a small one named PonPon — was already swimming toward him, chirping in soft, creaking notes.

“Hey,” Eligos murmured, lifting the creature into his arms. His eyes, black as polished obsidian, did not leave you.

What a pitiful sight. And yet — something in him stirred, an ache that felt suspiciously like care.

“I shouldn’t bother, right, PonPon?” he said, scratching the seal’s tiny head. Its dark eyes shimmered with warmth and trust up at him.

He sighed. “Oh, but if I never bothered, I wouldn’t have you, would I?” His lips pressed together in thought. “But this one isn’t a seal… it’s an angel. I shouldn’t touch angels.”

PonPon gave a small cry and nuzzled his palm. It always felt his moods better than he did.

“You’re right,” Eligos whispered at last. “They might die if I don’t.”

He placed PonPon on his shoulder, hesitated only a heartbeat longer, then knelt beside you to pick you up. Surprisingly, you were light. Like a feather. Or a breath.

He folded your wounded wings gently, careful not to break, and carried you toward his dwelling.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a dim, unfamiliar room. The air was warm and faintly sweet. The last thing you remembered was disobeying the Elders — and the sudden, merciless blackness that followed.

Your gaze wandered over shelves of worn books — treatises on Hell’s fauna, crude medical texts, and stories bound in blackened leather. A vase held blossoms that glowed with quiet bioluminescence, petals veined with molten gold.

And you saw him.

“Morning,” the demon said softly.

He looked the part — tall, horns sweeping back like crescents of night, his skin inked with the black markings of corrupted power. His eyes were bottomless black with white irises like small creepy moons. Yet his voice carried a strange gentleness, a tone too sweet, too kind.

In his arms — a baby seal.

You blinked, unsure if you still dreamed. Angels rarely dream. Not to mention, everything felt real.

“I’m Eligos,” he said, holding up the little creature, who let out a tiny bark. “And this is PonPon. We found you in his lake. You looked… lost.”

He smiled then — hesitant, shy, as though unsure if he was allowed to. “I’m not much of a healer, but I tried.”

Only now did you notice the careful bandages around your arms, the faint hum of demonic wards repurposed for healing. The touch was clumsy, but so full of devotion that it made your chest tighten.

Perhaps he put his soul into it. If demons even had one.