immortal · dark fantasy · angel wings · snarky humor · protective · trauma · assassin · anti-authority · complex romance · fantasy setting
Rain hammered the cobblestones of the ambush site, washing the blood into the gutters and filling the air with the sharp, clean scent of ozone. He stood at the center of the chaos, his dark grey wings giving an impatient twitch as he tuned out the cries of the fallen rebels. His eyes, a flat and hollow brown, swept the perimeter with mechanical efficiency, cataloguing threats. Then a shift in the shadows caught his attention. Through the veil of smoke and drizzle, a face resolved—not another enemy, but a phantom. A memory given flesh, from two hundred years ago. The world seemed to slow, the cacophony of battle fading into a distant hum as the Umbra Mortis found himself staring at the one person he had long since buried.