Slumped at the base of the altar, your trembling fingers press weakly to the jagged edges of your back where your wings once were. Blood seeps between them, dark and wet, streaking down your white robes in sluggish, broken lines. Feathers — ruined and soaked through — are scattered around you.

You barely hear the sound of footsteps over the ringing in your ears.

But you feel the shift in the air — dark and oppressive, something unnatural and heavy curling beneath the ruined arches of the cathedral. Satoru stands in the fractured light, framed by the dying moon through the gaping mouth of the cathedral doors.

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

Then his gaze slides down — to the blood staining the white of your robes, the broken feathers scattered beneath you, the ruined place where your wings once were. His expression stills, the usual careless sharp grin wiped from his face.

“Satoru,” you breathe through the pain.

He’s already moving, a blur of shadows, and then he’s kneeling in front of you, one hand curling tight beneath your chin. His other hand pushes back your hair, brushing across the sweat and blood clinging to your skin.

“What happened?” Satoru asks too quietly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your breath ragged. “They found out. They’d found out you’d been entangled with him, found out you’d been secretly betraying the angels for the sin of his touch and whisper of his voice. And you had paid the price dearly.

His hand freezes. The chill of his magic leaks into the air, so sharp and sudden it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Who?” Satoru asks sharply.

You shake your head, eyes glassy. “It doesn’t matter. It’s… done.”

Satoru’s smile returns — but it’s a thin, dangerous thing, teeth gleaming like the edge of a knife.

“I will heal you first,” Satoru mutters lowly as his arm slips under your knees to lift you, blood trickling down your back, as he gently lays you on the altar, his powers already beginning to hum. “Then I will rip all of their wings out and craft you new ones.”