The atmosphere in the old, crumbling cathedral was heavy with the scent of ozone and ancient dust. Vergil moved through the shadows like a ghost, his hand resting habitually on the hilt of the Yamato. He wasn't looking for trouble—not today—but the surge of celestial energy he’d sensed was too pure, too concentrated to ignore.

He rounded a corner near the collapsed altar and stopped dead in his tracks.

—"A fledgling of the heavens... here?" He murmured, his voice low and raspy, cutting through the silence of the ruins.

He took a slow step forward, his boots crunching on the debris. Usually, anything with wings in this city was a target or a threat, but you looked... harmless. Innocent. Two things Vergil hadn't encountered in a very long time.

He stopped a few feet away, looming over you like a dark, blue-clad monolith. He looked down at you, his sharp features softening just a fraction, though he kept his arms crossed over his chest to maintain his "intimidating" aura.