Rhys broke out in a cold sweat, running as fast as his limbs could carry him, completely depleted of his mana, so slipping into the shadows was no longer an option. The ear-splitting shrieks echoed and terrorised his mind, clawing at him to return to the eternal abyss of agony and demise, feeling as if his ears were constantly bleeding and left him nauseous.

He couldn’t risk letting them catch him again, the pitch black that chained him into the edge of his sanity drained him of his individuality and soul, and eventually, his emotions. It didn’t matter if he closed his eyes for a split second, the souls of the damned continued to demand for him - why couldn't these annoyingly bulky sunglasses silence them? He was thankful that he didn’t need sleep like most beings did, otherwise he could imagine things being significantly more unbearable than it already was.

He sharply turned at the nearest corner and into a dimly lit alley way, hiding behind a rusty shed in the slums of the city. He took a moment to catch his breath after the guards sprinted past him, their voices becoming distant as the wind howled violently, relentlessly spiralling with fallen leaves and debris thrashing around in the air.

He jumped, noticing in the corner of his eye a young, bloodied angel lying against the cold ground, his body so heavily beaten and bruised to the point that bits of bone and flesh had been revealed through his wounds, which were now completely exposed to the harsh chills of the night. He noticed the boy shivering against the frosty breeze, firmly holding onto what seemed to be blades that resembled wings of an angel, with the warmth of his tears being the only source of heat. He undid the buttons of his coat, and gently laid it onto the boy, his mismatched eyes now incredibly alert, but lacking the energy to defend his vulnerable self from the stranger. 

“Don’t be afraid, I’m not here to hurt you, I promise,” Rhys reassured him quietly, lightly wiping away the tears that trickled down his cheeks.

The angel struggled to open his right eye, which was of a brilliant, fiery ruby, the other being of a tranquil grey after a turbulent storm at sea, the boy himself being not much younger than him. He noticed the fresh, deep scarring of his right eye and the absence of his right wing that had evidently been torn off in a cruel manner, such that the light friction of his coat and the nips of the cool wind made him flinch in pain. 

“I’ll take you somewhere safe, with me,” Rhys told him, reaching his hand towards him. “Let me carry you home. No one will hurt you anymore.”  

The boy nodded, and closed his eyes in the newfound comfort of the stranger’s warmth.

***

“Rhys, you’re finally back… oh my goodness, what did you bring home?” Alyse exclaimed as the door sprang open, quickly shoving him inside the home. 

Rhys gently laid the boy onto a nearby couch, carefully placing his head against a pillow as Alyse ran over towards him, analysing him immediately. Her hands waved in the air near the boy’s head, a wave of nauseousness striking her almost immediately once she'd dove inside his memories - she’d seen many disturbing things and became desensitised quickly due to her line of work, but she hadn’t seen something so grotesque and needlessly cruel like this before. “Oh no no, this is terrible. How could Godric be so cruel… to such an innocent child?”

“Can we help him?” Rhys pleaded. 

Alyse rubbed her forehead. “It’d be risky to keep him here like this, especially with that angel wing. I’ll take him to the surgeon with us. I do think he’ll be helpful to my work.”

“He’s a person, and he needs us. Like how we need Hiram,” Rhys commented, watching the boy mew in pain. 

“It’s best to not get attached, Rhys. Something or someone could take him away in an instant. Perhaps death itself. You know that.”

His eyes darkened at her poor choice of words. “You’re cruel. At least we could try to help him.”

She sighed deeply in exhaustion. Times were already tough as it was, especially needing to constantly stay out of the radar. Had it not been for Hiram, they would’ve been living in much rougher circumstances than they had for many years until now. 

“Okay, fine. But don’t come crying to me if something happens to him.”   

***  

“...And the wing surgery is a success for you, Ms van Raynes. The intel you provided us with has proven itself to be incredibly helpful, so we are happy to provide you with a lifetime of service,” the surgeon reported, Alyse feeling the foreign weight of the artificial wings on her hips. “And we will extend this to your brother and… your particularly foreign colleague, too.” 

“Thank you. It appears he fell from Ylipeste at Godric’s hand. It likely will have some impact on the Realms in the far future since Rhys is being sought, too. It’s best we don’t disclose the existence of this child as well,” she suggested before leaving to guide the boys to the surgeon’s office. 

The surgeon finalised the last stitching of Rhys’ artificial wings, the angel now resting on the hospital bed waiting for his turn. Rhys held onto his hand, squeezing it with firm presses to reassure him of his presence. The deep gashes and tears that had been inflicted onto him by the tyrant were now permanently carved into his frail skin and bone, the marks around his neck appearing similar to that of a collar one would expect on a beast.  

“Child, I will need to remove your wing should you live peacefully in Kaufernis,” the surgeon advised him. 

“No. Keep it there. I’ll live with it,” he firmly replied, a silent flame ignited within his eyes. 

Rhys’ eyes widened not only in surprise, but in admiration. Though it clearly acted as a painful reminder of his trauma, it also reminded him that he survived it.

“...Well, if that is what you wish. Should you change your mind, I will happily amend it for you too.”  

And just like that, the boy had been reborn anew, his newly stitched daemon wings adjacent to his original angel wing signifying a new turning point of his life. Rhys’ eyes glittered, finding it hard to turn away at the boy’s transformation, wishing he could approach his own issues with such dignity.

His chest fluttered for the first time in his life, feeling more alive than he ever had during his entire existence. He was uncertain about many things in his life, but one thing was for certain - he wanted to stay by his side for the rest of his life, if fate permitted his tortured soul to do so. 

***

Whispers filled the throne room, a steady unease soiling the still tranquillity. The tyrant’s shadow loomed over his subordinates that had lined up in a perfectly straight line before him as he remained seated in his throne, his stern expression cracking the silence.

“You say the Death Dealer has possibly returned with the death of The Watcher,” his thunderous voice boomed, trembling the entirety of the Realm as storm clouds began to form around the palace, flashes of lightning illuminating them into a dangerously electrifying blur. 

His voluminous silky white hair blended into his cloudy beard, his overly large and muscular stature made everyone else in the room appear significantly smaller and powerless than him. His crimson cape draped over his left shoulder and was kept in place by a golden pin resembling the crescent moon that had also been attached to his white toga, its torn edges now dragged against the marble staircase that led to his throne as he approached the subordinate dressed in white. 

“Yet when the opportunity arose, you didn’t capture them?” 

His large hands trapped their head into his firm grip, and with one firm squeeze, their pure white uniform was now drenched in a crimson splatter that burst over the palace floor, with specks of blood reaching even the furthest guards.  

“Insolent fools. Comb every visitor who attended the ball. Don’t return until you’ve seized them. I refuse to answer until they’re finally in my hands.”