Raphael stood still, the boy clutching the tattered cloth at his side, breathing hard and fast.
The four figures emerged from the trees, not hiding their hunger, their intent. The one called Ben — a broad, heavy man with eyes too calm for his trade — stepped forward, blade already in hand. The others — Avia, slender and sharp-eyed; Helen, her arms wrapped in chains that pulsed faintly with tainted sigils; and the fourth, a thin man with ash-stained fingers who said nothing — formed a rough circle.
They paused when they saw Raphael's wings. Broken though they were, they shimmered faintly with old grace — like a cathedral's ruin touched by moonlight.
Avia sneered. "You're one of them."
Ben spat. "Relic."
Helen smirked. "You look like you should be dust. Step aside, birdman."
Raphael's voice was low, not unkind. "The child says you mean him harm."
"He's ours," Avia hissed. "Property."
"I escaped," the boy whispered behind Raphael's leg, barely loud enough to hear. "That fat man… he was going to sell me. Piece by piece."
Raphael turned slightly to look at the boy — the terror in his eyes wasn't imagined. He wasn't lying.
When he turned back, something in his face had change,perhaps he found it in his heart to help the child since he hasn't come in contact with any inhabitants of the planet.
"I won't give him to you," he said gently. "You may leave."
For a moment, there was stillness.
Then Ben laughed — sharp, sudden, cruel. "Old fool," he growled. You think all you supernatural people own the world? I and my team will show you how talented we are to take you down. And with a flick of his thick arm, the butcher knife soared through the air, spinning straight toward Raphael's chest.
In a blur of motion, Raphael shifted, the blade passing inches from his ribs, lodging deep in the stone behind him.
He did not strike back.
Instead, he stepped forward, wings rising slightly with a hiss of air. His voice, though calm, carried weight like thunder far off.
"Do not provoke me further."
But they already had.
Helen snapped her chains forward with a curse. Avia leapt sideways, claws tipped in poison. The quiet one muttered in tongues no child should hear.
And Raphael sighed — not in anger, but in sorrow.
The light in his eyes grew.
Still dim, still worn… but no longer uncertain.
He did not want this. He did not wish to become a wrath like his other fallen.
But he would protect.
He stepped forward, placing himself fully between the boy and the corrupted.
And this time, he did not ask.
😌