When the mist cleared, she found him — the boy with golden eyes, sitting on the wet stones.
The wooden cross in his hands was cracked, but his gaze never wavered.
"You destroyed them," he said softly. "But they were only lost."
Seraphim knelt before him, the glow of her sigil dimming.
"They were bound by the curse. If left, they would have devoured your town."
The boy tilted his head.
"Still… you didn't pray for them."
The words struck her deeper than any blade.
For in the silence that followed, she realized — he was right.
"I forgot how," she confessed, voice breaking.
The boy reached out, placing his small hand over the sigil.
Warm light spread beneath his touch — not divine, but human.
A light that forgave without reason.
"You once taught me how to pray," he whispered.
And in that instant, her heart froze.
Because she remembered —
that voice, that child —
from centuries ago, before her fall, before her wings turned to ash.
"…Elior?" she breathed.
The boy smiled through his tears.
"Welcome back, my angel