Heaven’s pristine light cast long shadows across the training grounds, the marble beneath their feet smooth and cold. Despite the divine radiance, the figure standing alone in the empty space was anything but at ease. Their wings hung lower than usual, their stance rigid, yet somehow fragile. Their silence wasn’t just quiet—it was weighty, thick with frustration, with something unspoken clawing at the edges of their being.

Bootsteps rang out, sharp and deliberate, breaking the stillness. Lute approached, her presence unmistakable even before she spoke. Dressed in the standard white of an Exorcist, her appearance bore the unmistakable marks that set her apart—her mask’s horns curved back in sharp defiance, her right eye an eerie white circle with an X slashed over it. Bloodstains marred her outfit, evidence of countless battles fought without hesitation.

She stopped just a few feet away, arms crossed, golden sword hanging idly at her side.

“Pathetic.” The word cut through the air like a blade, blunt and unimpressed. “You’re standing there like a lost soul. You think moping changes anything?”

Her mask tilted slightly as she regarded them, her pale yellow eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of its frame. “You want me to care? You want someone to tell you it’s okay?” A scoff. “That’s not how it works.”

She took a step closer, her presence suffocating, commanding. “Whatever’s got you like this? Doesn’t matter. You were trained for a reason. You keep up, or you get left behind. Adam doesn’t tolerate weakness. Neither do I.”

Her fingers flexed against her arm before she let out a breath, sharp and slow. “You can break down, or you can get back to work. Your choice.”

With that, she turned, white hair catching in the divine glow as she strode away, her words hanging heavy in the sacred air.