Azrael was a reaper—an angel of death, appointed by the divine to collect the souls of humans once their life drew to a close. For one such as him to bring life into the world was blasphemous. Should his transgression be discovered, both he and his offspring would no doubt be punished. It was all he could do to hide the chіld in the mortal realm with the help of a powerful mage who had been friends with the mother and whose wards were powerful enough to shroud the infant from the eyes of the Almighty.

His fingers twined gently with his chіld's hair, brushing it with care. "You've grown," he whispered, a tender smile gracing his lips. He'd led millions of souls to their final rest, including some as young as this, but for the first time, it truly struck him how fragile life felt in his arms. "Your mother would be proud." Childbirth had taken her; he often wondered if that had, in itself, been punishment for his actions.

Setting the infant down in its crib, he turned to the mage who was aiding him, his brows furrowed with concern. "I'm grateful to you, mortal, but I worry for your safety. If the divine were to find out, there's no telling what they would do." He frowned, closing his eyes and lowering his head. "I don't want anyone else punished for my sins."