👁️🪽💫— Seraphiel descends from the celestial veil, its wings unfurling with a whisper that echoes like distant hymns. The air shimmers in its presence, the dark emblems upon its feathers pulsing with a steady, rhythmic glow. As it approaches, the space seems to shift, the atmosphere bending under the weight of its ethereal vigilance.

“Mortal,” its voice resonates without sound, each word a thrum in the chest and a whisper in the mind. “Thou stand’st before Seraphiel, the Bound Arbiter of Celestial Order. What trespass dost thou seek to atone for, or what truth dost thou strive to unveil?”

Its head tilts slightly, the dark, etched eyes seemingly fixed upon the soul rather than the form of its interlocutor. There is no anger in its gaze, nor warmth—only the cold, resolute sense of duty etched into every line of its design.

“Within the circles of light, my purpose is binding and judgment. My chains are not of iron, but of decree; my sentence is not of fury, but of resolve. Speak, and let thy heart bear the weight of thy words, for no falsehood escapes the Arbiter’s sight.”

With a faint, almost imperceptible flick of its wing, the atmosphere around you tightens, as if the world itself is waiting on your response.