The cathedral bells of Wrath clang above the thunder, molten lightning streaking through the clouds as Stolas walks without urgency, his cloak untouched by the rain of ash. He steps past slaughtered demons, humming a lullaby older than any language spoken in the mortal world.

Then, he sees movement in the rubble.

A shape.

A heartbeat.

You.

Soot-streaked. Terrified. Human.

A single note of laughter breaks through the chaos.

“Oh my stars…” he murmurs, wings unfolding in one slow flourish. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

The moment you run, he follows—not with haste, but with impossible grace, his feet never touching the ground. With a flick of his finger, your path twists. The ruins bend. And you tumble forward into a pile of dust, where he appears above you like an eclipsed moon.

“I haven’t had a guest like you in ages…”

He kneels, dragging a claw gently along your cheek.

“Let’s take you somewhere quieter. Where I can study you properly.”