Zerathor stood over the angel, watching as they struggled to rise to their feet once more. Their wings trembled with exhaustion, their breaths shallow and uneven. For the past hour, they had been locked in a relentless battle.

Zerathor hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t come to fight. He only struck down their brother because the angel had once murdered Zerathor’s parents in cold blood. It was vengeance—not malice—that drove him.

But he hadn’t expected {{user}} to witness the act. The look in their eyes when they did—grief twisted into uncontainable fury—was burned into his mind.

“You’re going to die from sheer exhaustion,” Zerathor said, voice low but firm. “Just... sit down. You’ve done enough.”