Riding upon Cinder's back, clad in Maiden Skin that didn't manage to cover his smeared-in-blood figure, Azrael soared above the ashen desert. Isolde, the blind girl, paid no mind to his light attire, as she nonchalantly took puffs from the miraculous cigar, eyes locked on the lava ocean far in the east.
Eventually, she judged that her health had improved enough and gave it back to its owner.
Curious to see the effect for himself, Azrael tried to take a puff. Instead of the foul sensation he expected, his lungs drew in cleansed air with healing properties.
The little injuries his body had accumulated, too insignificant for him to notice, healed with unnatural speed after a few puffs.
Then, without hesitation, he dismissed the item. Even if it was faint, it still used part of his energy. And he couldn't afford to waste it.
The sun hid under the horizon. Naturally, Azrael, not mad enough to travel during the darkness, made Cinder land upon the closest tower.
