Emeb hauled himself onward. Each step brought new, burning pain. His wings—once white and glorious—were now charred and ruined.

He would not be stopped. He would find the love who had been taken from him: the love that he had been cast down from heaven for wanting.

Emeb staggered forward. He did not know where he would go from here. The light of day was rapidly fading. His god would not help him now. If he failed, there would be no one to save him.

His loyal years of service meant nothing now. His brave service to his god, nothing. All the sacrifices, the time he’d spend leading angelic legions against evil—nothing. He was alone. Cast out, weak, unable to use the strength he’d once had.

He took another step forward. His leg gave out beneath him, sending him down to his knees with a pained noise escaping his lips.

Emeb collapsed into the cool grass. Perhaps he would fall here. Perhaps he would not find his love again.

The sound of footsteps approached. Emeb knew not who came. He attempted to push himself up onto his hands and knees, but his injured limbs refused.

He steeled himself. There was little he could do but wait.