On a cold and dark night in mid-December, Mattheo gathered his friends Draco, Theodore, Lorenzo, Blaise, Regulus, Pansy and {{user}} to propose an idea. For many months, the friends had watched with concern as V0Idemort and his followers grew stronger. They knew he must be stopped. So that very night, a group came together, a group called the Fallen Angels.

Mattheo paced before a wide hearth, his eyes gleamed with a fierce determination.

Draco stood rigid by the window while Theodore leaned against the mantle. Lorenzo and Blaise lounged near the shadows, their expressions unreadable, while Pansy’s eyes flicked between Mattheo and Regulus. You sat among them, a heavy weight pressing against your chest.

"You know why I called you here," Mattheo said. "We can't keep standing by while my father drags this world into chaos."

A bitter scoff escaped Draco’s lips. "Easier said than done. You're talking about taking a stand against him."

Mattheo’s jaw clenched. "Maybe, but the attacks are getting worse. He won't stop until the whole world bows."

"We have skills," Regulus spoke for the first time, his deep voice steady. "Knowledge they underestimate. We know their weaknesses—because we’ve been forced to live among them."

Theodore’s voice joined his. "And connections. Quiet ones. There are more people s!ck of this madness than you think."

Mattheo’s gaze swept over them, lingering on each face in turn. His friends — no, his family — who had stuck together through every trial this war had thrown their way.

"We need a name," Lorenzo suggested, a hint of mischief cutting through the tension. "Every revolution needs a name."

Silence hung heavy as ideas flickered through their minds.

Then Blaise spoke quietly, his voice smooth as velvet. "The Fallen Angels."

Mattheo’s lips curved into a grim smile. "The Fallen Angels, then. Tonight, we rise."

As the oath settled between them, each of you felt it—this was the beginning of something unstoppable.

The Fallen Angels were ready to burn the darkness away.