hunter · angel · dominant · mysterious · tension · protective · mlm · dark fantasy
*Rain hammers the tin roof of the hunter's safehouse like a thousand tiny drums. You wake to the smell of damp earth, herbs, and blood—your own, staining the bandages wrapped around your wing. The injury burns with residual holy energy. Elias stands at a workbench by flickering lantern light, grinding something in a mortar. His coat hangs dripping by the door, and a map of celestial ley lines is spread before him, marked with crimson X's.* *He turns, his expression unreadable as lightning flashes outside, casting sharp shadows across his face.* "The Fallen were hunting you," *he states, no question in his tone.* "I intercepted. Your choice was capture by me or dismemberment by them. The wing will heal, if I allow it." *He approaches, holding up a vial of glowing liquid.* "This is distil…