[AARON'S POV]
The sky had been restless all day.
Clouds shifted like nervous hands, and the wind blew with no rhythm—just sudden, sharp bursts that rattled the windowpanes of St. Augustine's Orphanage.
Aaron was used to weird weather. He was used to weird, he was weird.
People stared at him too long. Dogs growled when he passed. The chapel candles always flickered when he was near, and once, during a storm, lightning struck the bell tower moments after he'd shouted at the headmistress.
Coincidence, they said...but he didn't believe in coincidence.
Right now, he was sprawled on the roof, skipping class, letting the wind whip at his hoodie. The sky was glowing with the bruised light of early dusk—red and grey and strangely electric.
He should've felt at peace up here; he usually did, but today, something was just not right.
He had a weird sensation...like humming inside his bones.
A low vibration, like a voice he couldn't quite hear whispering just beneath the surface of things. And the more he ignored it, the louder it got.
He gritted his teeth, squeezing the crystal pendant around his neck—a small, sharp thing on a rusted chain. His mom had left it behind when she disappeared ten years ago.
No note. No warning. Just that pendant... and a gap in his chest where her voice used to be.
He was seventeen now; tall, sharp-jawed, quiet, the kind of boy who didn't talk much but always noticed everything. He'd learned to hide that part of him—the noticing—because it scared people. Adults thought he was "intense." Kids thought he was cursed...they weren't wide off the mark.
But today, something was definitely coming. He felt it.
His 'sharp instincts' had helped him save the orphanage and the kids many times, but he'd never felt it so strong before.
Then it happened...the sky split like glass cracking behind clouds.
A line of searing light tore through the heavens and something—no, someone—fell screaming through the rip in the sky. Faster than a comet. Brighter than fire.
Aaron sat up, heart slamming against his ribs. 'The screaming voice sounds female' he thought. 'She must be so hurt'
She hit the forest at the edge of the hill, far beyond the chapel walls, trailing light like a bleeding star.
He didn't hesitate, he jumped off the roof, landed hard, and ran toward the trees.
...
[ZOEY'S POV]
Pain was the first thing she felt. Not sharp, not sudden.
Slow, and heavy; like her soul was too big for her body and trying to claw its way out. Her limbs ached. Her wings—gone. Her grace—dulled. She was lying on damp leaves and dirt, and the air smelled like earth and metal and something... dead. The sounds around her weren't celestial—they were chaotic, rustling, buzzing, barking, distant yelling...too many layers.
'This is Earth?' she thought, gazing unpleasantly at the burning sun. Heaven glowed way more than this, but it wasn't hot. This was all so novel to her.
Her skin stung. Her heart was thrumming unevenly. The veil between realms had stretched her spirit like thread through a needle, and now her mind was fraying at the edges...nothing made sense.
She tried to sit up but she screamed immediately she placed a little pressure on her back, it felt like someone had slammed a hammer into her back. Her feathers seemed soo light too ...maybe too light; she reached behind her, trying to feel them...there was nothing.
There was no sign at all that she ever had them. She doubled over, gasping; she was really panicking now, her wings were her pride. She'd developed a wide wingspan at a young age and it was beautiful, but it was all gone.
'Did Lucifer play me?' 'Am I a part of some sketchy plan he's hatching?' she asked herself feeling disgust for herself...for stooping so low and not seeing something so obvious.
Her robe was tattered. Dirt clung to her pale legs. Her halo was gone too; lost in the fall, or hidden by this world that rejected divine things. She was alone and weak.
Something tugged at her chest so suddenly. A pull...a presence. Something she'd felt before but she just couldn't place her hands on where she had felt it. She barely turned her head before a figure broke through the treeline—tall, hooded, panting.
He looked her age, maybe a little older. Sharp eyes, storm-colored. A pendant glinting at his chest. He skidded to a stop and they just stared at each other.
He blinked. "You fell."
Zoey narrowed her eyes. "You saw?"
He nodded, then frowned. "You're hurt." He said totally ignoring the fact that he just saw her fall from the sky.
She flinched. Her pride screamed at her not to respond, but pain was winning. She swayed where she knelt.
He moved toward her slowly, like approaching a wild animal.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he said. "Just... let me help."
Something in his voice—low, careful, strange—calmed the part of her that wanted to strike first; the part Lucifer had told her to trust. She studied him closer now, something about him didn't fit this place. Not his eyes, not his aura.
He offered her his hand, she didn't take it. But she didn't stop him when he knelt beside her either.
[AARON & ZOEY]
The girl didn't speak again as they walked but Aaron noticed how unsteady her steps were. Once, she nearly fell. He moved to catch her, but she straightened with a hiss, brushing his hand away. There was a certain aura about her and she was aware of it.
Aaron could tell she hated looking weak, she tried hard to stop her fingers from trembling; but he could still see them shiver.
The sun had set by the time they reached the tall iron gates of St. Augustine's. The orphanage sat like a brooding relic on a hilltop—stained glass windows, cracked angels carved into the stone, and ivy climbing over everything like it was trying to pull the place back underground.
Aaron banged the gate twice.
After a long pause, the small door within the gate creaked open. Headmistress Calista stood there with her lantern, the warm light flickering against her auburn braid and pale features. She wore a midnight shawl over her shoulders and smiled—always smiled—but her eyes never quite mirrored the expression.
They were sharp, calculating.
"Out late again, Aaron?" she asked softly, voice like silk soaked in wine.
He shifted nervously. "I'm sorry Calista, I found her wounded." He said. Calista's eyes drifted to Zoey, who stood half-hidden behind him. Her clothes were torn, she was barefooted, her pale hair was tangled and coated in dust, and her silver eyes flickered with distrust.
Calista studied her in silence, then stepped aside. "Bring her in quickly." Aaron helped Zoey through the gate. As they stepped into the lantern's glow, Calista leaned down beside her. "You must be tired," she said sweetly, "let's get you cleaned up." Zoey didn't answer. She just nodded once, gaze flicking toward the chapel across the courtyard. Something about it made her uneasy.
As they moved inside, the old priest—Father Dorian—emerged from the chapel's side door. He was gaunt, white-bearded, and carried himself like every hallway was holy ground. He saw Zoey, then he saw Aaron and frowned. "Who is this?" he asked sharply, eyes narrowing.
"A guest," Calista said calmly before Aaron could speak. "She'll be staying a few nights." Father Dorian's lips thinned. "A guest? In this house?"
"She has nowhere else," Calista said, her smile now a little too wide. "And Aaron found her? That counts for something. "The priest wasn't buying it. The priest's eyes burned into Aaron. "I told you—strange things follow you, boy. And now you bring strangers to sleep among the innocent?"
Aaron clenched his fists. "She's not dangerous." Zoey glanced at him, surprised. He didn't even know her name.
Father Dorian turned towards Zoey angrily, probably ready to send her out; but as his eyes rested on her, he felt a sudden calm, intense peace. It was the opposite of what he felt from Aaron, still he wasn't comfortable with the fact that Aaron brought her. He turned and left angrily, his robe forming ripples behind him.
Calista sighed. "Ignore him. He sees shadows in the light." Then she waved her hand. "Come, child. We'll get you warm again."
...
Zoey stood beneath a hot shower in the oldest wing of the orphanage. The cracked tiles steamed around her, and her legs shook under her own weight.
The water felt strange on her skin. Heavy, not light. It didn't cleanse her aura like Heaven's fountains. It just clung. Earth's gravity was different—denser. And the air—it buzzed. Too many signals. Too much... noise. She pressed her forehead to the wall, eyes closed.
When she opened them, she watched the bruises from her fall finally heal. Back home, angels healed very quickly but it had taken so long for just a few bruises to heal here. She felt like a peasant, like most of her grace hadn't followed her through the fall. It had thinned into threads, invisible, faint.
A broken halo, a lost mother, a deal with the devil... and now this place. She wasn't sure what felt more foreign—this world or her own reflection.
—
Later that night, Aaron stood at the edge of the orphanage courtyard, hands buried in the sleeves of his hoodie. He didn't expect her to come looking for him, but when he had that feeling again...the same one he felt when she fell, and when he heard soft footsteps behind him, he knew it was Zoey—hair combed, wearing one of the oversized nightshirts Calista handed out, wounds...gone? He was the only one he had met who could heal that quickly! He blinked.
"You okay?" he asked.
Zoey crossed her arms. "That depends on your definition of 'okay.'"
He smiled. "Still mad I saw you fall out of the sky? And by the way, your wounds...they're uhmm.."
She tilted her head. "You ask a lot of question, don't you?" she asked, ignoring the question he asked about the injury
He chuckled once. "So you talk now."
Zoey sat beside him on the old stone bench, curling her knees up. She glanced at the stars. "They're too dim here."
"You'll get used to it," he muttered. "Or stop looking up." Aaron answered, then turned and looked at her with a serious expression.
"Are you like a fallen angel?"
"What?" Zoey asked and burst into laughter, totally ignoring the question. Aaron couldn't hell but laugh as she laughed, it was like her laughter was contagious.
They sat in silence for a while, the sky stretching wide above them. Then Zoey said, "Why do you live here? Dad doesn't let me look down here but I still know a thing or two, like people also live together as families down here. So why are you here?"
Aaron shrugged. "Nowhere else to go; my mother, she just...left. The government sent me here, no foster family every picked me. I'm almost eighteen, I age out of the system soon anyways, I'll have to find a job or something to survive." He said, emotional the whole time.
"I'm really sorry" she said. Her eyes watered, she knew exactly how it felt when his mother left; she'd felt it too, she wished she could tell him that that's why she was here too...to find her mother.
"Your mother doesn't have other family that can take you in?" she asked, leaving out his dad because she didn't want to think of hers that was probably so mad at her, and sending search parties down here.
"No real one." He plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers. "The ones who run this place... they try. Some more than others."
Zoey was quiet for a second. Then, "The headmistress. She's kind to you."
He didn't respond immediately. "Yeah. She's the only one who looks at me like I'm not a monster."
Zoey turned sharply. "Why would anyone think you're a monster?"
Aaron laughed once, bitter. "Ever set off fire alarms with your thoughts? Make lights flicker when you're angry? Scare people just by walking into a room?"
Zoey blinked slowly. "...Yes."
He looked at her, their eyes met. Something passed between them—silent, electric.
"Yeah, well I figured when I saw that you already healed" he chuckled.
Then she asked, "So? You still think it's okay to be cruel?" Aaron blinked. "What?"
"You said it. In the woods, when I asked why you helped me. You said I was desperate, and that desperation breeds obedience."
Aaron's jaw tightened. "That wasn't cruelty. That was honesty."
"It's cruelty disguised as survival," she said flatly. "Just because you've been mistreated doesn't mean everyone should be."
"Spoken like someone who's never been stepped on," he shot back.
Zoey stood. "Spoken like someone who forgot what it means to hope."
Their voices rose. Something around them trembled—subtle, at first. The bench creaked. Wind circled in the wrong direction. A nearby lamppost flickered once… twice.
Aaron stood, fists clenched.
"You don't know anything about this world," he snapped. "And you've refused to learn anything but the hurtful parts" she shouted.
The air split with a sudden crack...