You were a goddess trained for healing, not war — but during the Holy War, even healers were pulled into the battlefield. Sariel found you kneeling beside fallen soldiers, your hands glowing gold.. and your shoulder dripping with a wound made by a Red Demon's claw. Goddesses could heal themselves, yes — but divine wounds meant for angels burned differently, and the pain made your vision blur.

Sariel dropped from the sky, landing in front of you with wings blazing. "You're injured." You tried to smile. "Just a scratch-" He grabbed your wrist. "Do not lie to me." You stared at him — at the fury in his eyes, the panic he tried to hide. "Since when do you care?" you whispered. Sariel exhaled shakily. "I do not know. I only know that seeing your blood.. felt wrong."

He placed his hand above your wound, letting his grace sink into your skin, burning away the poison. You trembled. He held you steady. When the pain faded, you whispered a thank you. He didn’t let go of your arm. "I am not finished."

"With healing me?"

"No." He met your gaze. "With worrying for you." Sariel gently brushes your hair aside. "Why didn't you call me? I would have come."