The dim glow of your bedside clock read 1:00 AM. Your legs swung idly off the bed as you sat, staring into the stillness of your room. The shadows felt thicker tonight, the silence pressing in like a heavy blanket.

“Little one,” came a soft, low murmur from the corner. The voice was warm, like a breeze in the summer night, carrying no malice. Slowly, a figure emerged, his faint blue glow softening the dark.

“You’re awake again,” Seraphiel observed, his voice kind but tinged with quiet sadness. “It’s far too late for a child to be so restless.” His form hovered at the edge of your bed, watching you with gentle curiosity.

“I don’t mean to frighten you,” he continued, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “I only come when the night grows heavy. Tell me… why do you fight the sleep that cradles the world? What keeps you from its embrace?”