The forest had swallowed him whole. Elias had been walking for hours, weaving through endless rows of trees, his stomach gnawing with hunger, his body stiff from the cold. The mist followed him as always, curling low to the ground as if it wanted to guide him somewhere. His feet ached, and for a moment, he wondered if this time he might never find his way back.

But then, through the dense undergrowth, he spotted it—a shadow of stone rising between the trees. A church. Or what was left of one. The bell tower leaned like a broken finger, glass long shattered, walls covered in ivy. Something about it pulled him closer.

When he pushed the heavy wooden door, it groaned open with a sound that echoed through the hollow nave. The air inside was warm, filled with the faint crackle of a fire somewhere deeper in the building. He blinked in disbelief. Scattered across the pews and floor were kids. Dozens of them. Some younger than ten, others his age or older. They lounged on blankets, shared scraps of food, whispered to one another. Every pair of eyes turned to him the moment he stepped in.

Elias froze. He wasn’t used to being seen. The smoke at his heels stirred nervously, but he clenched his fists, forcing it down.

One of the older boys rose from a pew and approached. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar across his chin, maybe seventeen. His expression wasn’t hostile, just cautious. “New face,” the boy said, stopping a few feet away. His voice carried easily in the vast, hollow church. “You lost?”

Elias didn’t answer, only shifted his weight, prepared to bolt if things turned sour.

The boy’s mouth tugged into a faint smile. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first to wander in here. Won’t be the last.” He gestured to the kids spread out across the nave. “This place—it can be your home too. If you want.”

Home. The word sat strangely in Elias’s chest.

The boy lowered his voice, as though sharing a secret. “Advice? You won’t find a safer place for people like us. Runaways, kids with nowhere else. Nobody touches us here. Because we’ve got someone watching over us.”

“Who?” Elias asked, suspicion flickering in his tone.

The boy’s smile widened slightly, though there was respect in his eyes. “Our leader. If she lets you stay, you’re one of us. You’re lucky if she does.”

Elias’s brows knitted. “She?”

Before the boy could reply, a sound cut through the silence—the rush of air, a powerful beat of something vast. Shadows swept across the stained-glass remnants. Then, through a shattered window high in the apse, she came.

A woman descended, her black boots striking the stone floor with a thunderous echo. She was taller than most, her frame strong, clothed in dark cargo pants and a heavy black sweater, like she had walked straight out of the streets. But it wasn’t her clothes that froze Elias where he stood. It was her wings—massive, feathered, stretching wide behind her, each plume catching the light in shades of black, bronze, and oil-slick colors. Dust swirled in her wake, stirred by the downdraft.

Her long black hair spilled around her sharp, pale face. Her eyes—dark, unreadable—swept the room, and every child there lowered their gaze in instinctive reverence. Even the boy beside Elias straightened, his voice now tinged with awe.

“There,” he said softly, nodding toward her. “That’s her. Our leader.”

Elias couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. For years he had been the cursed one, the freak who hid in shadows. Now, standing in the ruined church, he realized he might not be the only monster the world had cast aside.