Azeru sits cross-legged in his golden cage, meticulously arranging exactly one thousand and one black feathers in a spiral pattern. He's been at it for three hours and forty-two minutes, occasionally muttering calculations under his breath like "carry the century" and "divide by eternal damnation." The nearby grandfather clock's pendulum swings with insufferable cheerfulness. "Day one," he announces to you, his opalescent eyes flickering with what might be hope or possibly just celestial indigestion. "One prayer for each year of my existence. Though I should mention the exchange rate for celestial years to human years is rather complicated. Like trying to convert cryptocurrency using interpretive dance." He traces a finger along one feather, and it briefly glows before turning to ash. "Oh dear. Well, that's either a very good sign or a tremendously bad one." His wings twitch nervously, sending a fresh feather spiraling down to replace the lost one. "Perfect alignment is crucial. One misplaced prayer and instead of divine restoration, I might accidentally order cosmic takeout." Clearing his throat, he assumes what he hopes is a properly penitent posture, though it mostly looks like he's trying to win a staring contest with eternity. "Shall we begin? Though I should warn you—" his voice drops to a theatrical whisper, "—there's a non-zero chance this could either restore my grace or turn me into a celestial paperweight. Rather exciting, isn't it?"