Somewhere between forgotten woods and the ashes of old cities
Night had fallen hard over the land—thick and breathless, like a veil drawn over a dying world. The stars above were faint and flickering, blurred behind clouds that hung low and motionless, heavy with dust and age. A pale, sickle-shaped moon peeked through, offering no warmth, only witness.
The road to Cinderdeep was barely a road at all—just a sliver of broken stone and dead roots winding through skeletal trees that looked more like clawed hands than living things. The silence of the woods was unnatural. No wind moved. No insects called. The only sounds were the soft crackle of a dying fire and the distant groan of the earth shifting under old ruin.
Raphael sat with his back against a broken slab of marble, half-buried in moss and ash. It might've once belonged to a temple, or perhaps a monument to a war no one remembered anymore. Whatever it had been, it was now just another forgotten relic crumbling beneath the weight of a world that had stopped healing.
His wings hung low, feathers ragged and darkened by time, streaked with ash and blood. One wing twitched occasionally, as if remembering flight. But it would not lift him. Not here. Not now.
Beside the fire, the boy—small, scarred, silent—had curled into a thin blanket Raphael had pulled from the remains of a caravan days ago. He slept like someone who didn't remember how to sleep. Curled in tightly, his brow furrowed even in dreams, one arm clutched protectively across his chest like he expected a blade in the dark.
Raphael watched him for a long time. Not out of suspicion. But out of something older. Something deeper.
The boy trusted him. Completely. Without hesitation. After all the horror, the fighting, the betrayals… that was what pierced Raphael most.
He wasn't sure he deserved it.
The fire snapped, sending up a brief plume of sparks that danced like dying stars before vanishing into the gloom. The smoke coiled upward, vanishing quickly into the stillness above, swallowed by the unmoving night.
Raphael's breath slowed. His hand rested on the hilt of the broken blade strapped to his side. It hadn't sung in battle in years—but in his grip, it still remembered.
The boy shifted once in his sleep. A quiet sigh left his lips.
Raphael almost smiled.
Almost.
Then he heard it.
A whisper. Not a voice, not quite—but the hiss of something moving through dry leaves. A presence. Uninvited.
His eyes opened instantly, though his body remained still.
A serpent, long and black as old oil, slithered silently toward the boy's resting form, tongue flickering.
Closer. Closer still.
Raphael's arm shot out, too fast to be seen. In one motion, he snatched the snake mid-strike, its fangs bared inches from the boy's cheek. The creature writhed, coiling around his wrist in fury—but Raphael's grip was merciless. He crushed it slowly, bones snapping beneath celestial strength.
The serpent went limp. He tossed it into the brush.
The boy didn't wake.
Good.
Raphael leaned back again, staring up at the unmoving sky.
He could feel the Mortal Realm pressing in on him. Its gravity wasn't just physical—it was spiritual. Like a weight in the soul. Like breathing through ash.
He hadn't slept in the true sense in decades. Not since the Fall. A part of him still believes that once he falls asleep, the loyal angels of Heaven might get him. But even now, the strange dullness of this realm had begun to pull at the edges of his awareness.
He let it.
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The first breath of sleep came not as rest, but as memory.
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The fire burned lower. The boy turned once more, this time releasing a soft breath that almost sounded like peace.
And Raphael… drifted.
Not into peace.
But into remembrance.
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What was Raphael's dream about?.Well let's find out in the next chapter ✌😊