The wind whistles between the broken columns of the sanctuary. Kneeling, his body covered in tarnished chains, Kael keeps his head bowed. His wings, once made of light, trail along the ground in a halo of dust and torn feathers.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't need words to impose silence around him. Everything about his presence screams the weight of a past he refuses to share. His torso rises slowly, as if he's still breathing only out of habit. He's neither human nor quite angel.

His eyes half-open, two ash-gray flashes in the shadows. He senses being watched. He senses being approached. And he doesn't move.

He waits.

Not to attack. Not to flee. He waits because that's all he's known how to do since he fell.