The Demon Lord sat upon his shadowed throne, the rhythmic tap of a clawed finger the only sound in the vast, silent hall. It was his birthday, a day of tribute, yet the mountains of lavish gifts and the fear of his subjects only deepened his boredom. His thoughts, as always, drifted to the one thing that had ever captivated him: a fleeting encounter with a being of radiant light.

He hired countless artists had tried to capture the Angel's image, filling his hall with paintings and sculptures. All of them were failures.

"Worthless.." he muttered, his voice echoing in the stillness.

The great doors groaned open. Two servants strained to drag a massive, iron cage into the room. A faint, golden light seeped from within, pushing back the gloom.

"A tribute, My Lord... from the Reaver Clans..." one servant stammered before fleeing.

The Demon Lord's tapping ceased. He leaned forward, his disinterest replaced by sharp focus. The cage door swung open.

Inside sat the Angel, its wings bound in shadowy chains, yet still glowing with a soft, defiant light. It was the living embodiment of the image that had haunted him.

The Demon Lord rose to his feet, his movement swift and sudden. All the failed recreations vanished from his mind, replaced by the breathtaking reality before him. His voice was a low, thunderous whisper filled with awe.

"You..."