Errant Wings (BL)

Azarel had been lost in his thoughts when the summons came.

Two angels—young, inexperienced, eager to serve—approached him with bowed heads, their golden armor glinting beneath the eternal light of Asphodel.

"Azarel."

He turned, his silver eyes steady, but his pulse quickened.

Few had ever sought him out directly. Fewer still with such quiet urgency.

One of the apprentices, a broad-shouldered young warrior, spoke first. "Leya wishes to see you."

Azarel's brows furrowed. "Leya?"

The name was not unfamiliar.

Leya of the Emerald Vision.

One of the ten strongest angels in Asphodel.

A warrior, a strategist, a prophet.

She was revered not only for her commanding presence on the battlefield, but for the unrivaled gift that set her apart from the rest—her sight beyond time.

She could see the future.

Not in its entirety. Not as a perfect tapestry woven into fate.

But in glimpses.

The closer the event, the clearer her vision.

If it was within a day's time, she could see everything, vividly.

If it was months away, the images were fractured, chaotic.

And if it was years into the future, she saw nothing but shadows and whispers.

Azarel did not hesitate.

"Take me to her."

Leya stood at the heart of a pristine garden, one of Asphodel's untouched sanctuaries.

Unlike the battlefields, unlike the great halls where war was planned and orders were given, this place was quiet. A haven of emerald vines, silver blossoms, and golden waters.

She was waiting for him.

Her figure was tall, graceful but unyielding.

Her golden hair fell past her shoulders in smooth waves, and her robes, simple yet elegant, shifted slightly in the gentle celestial wind.

But her wings were what caught Azarel's attention.

White, like his. But instead of gold at the base, deep green feathers shimmered at the roots, glowing with an unnatural luster.

Her gaze—calm, piercing, knowing—landed on him the moment he stepped into the garden.

She dismissed her apprentices with a small gesture.

Then, she smiled.

"Azarel."

He nodded respectfully. "Leya."

She studied him, her emerald-green eyes sharp.

"You seem troubled."

Azarel's muscles tensed instinctively. How much did she see?

He chose his words carefully. "You summoned me. Why?"

Leya took a slow step forward, her hands clasped before her.

"I have been watching you. You are… different."

Azarel stilled.

Leya continued.

"Your name carries power here, and yet you walk in the shadows of your own mind. I have seen the way your thoughts drift, the way your presence wavers, the way your eyes… look toward something unseen."

Azarel's heart pounded against his ribs.

He had spent months hiding it.

Had he failed?

"You misunderstand," he said smoothly. "My mind has been occupied, but no more than anyone else preparing for battle."

Leya smiled knowingly.

"Perhaps."

She circled him slightly, studying him as if searching for something beyond the physical.

Then, softly—"Let me see."

Azarel's breath stilled.

"See what?"

Her gaze did not waver.

"Your future."

Azarel's entire body tensed.

"No."

Leya tilted her head, intrigued.

"Why not?"

He swallowed hard. Too hard.

He had fought against commanders, faced Seraphine's endless discipline, endured the expectations of Asphodel's greatest warriors.

And yet, standing before Leya now, he felt as though she could tear open his soul with nothing but her gaze.

Her power was formidable. She could shift time with a touch.

She could make a dying tree flourish in an instant—or make a mountain wither to dust in seconds.

And her foresight…

If she touched him—if she focused on him, truly focused—what would she see?

Would she see the portal?

Would she see the demon?

Would she see what he had done?

Azarel clenched his fists.

"There is no need."

Leya studied him. Waiting. Measuring.

"You fear something."

Azarel exhaled sharply. "I fear nothing."

She smiled, but there was no amusement in it. Only quiet understanding.

"Then let me prove it."

She took a slow step forward, her hand lifting slightly, palm facing up.

"Let me touch you. Just for a moment. Let me see what lies ahead."

Azarel took one step back.

The movement was small. Barely noticeable.

But she noticed.

Her smile faded.

Her gaze hardened.

For the first time in years, Azarel felt exposed.

"You truly won't let me see?" she asked softly.

Azarel's voice was low. Firm.

"No."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, Leya nodded.

Not in defeat.

Not in acceptance.

But in quiet curiosity.

She did not ask again.

But as she turned, her gaze flickered over him one last time—lingering, studying.

And in that moment, Azarel knew.

She would not forget this.

She would watch him more carefully now.

And next time—she would not ask.

She would simply see.

As Azarel left the garden, his chest was tight, his thoughts spiraling.

She had noticed.

She had felt something.

And she would not stop until she understood what it was.

The portal.

The demon.

The scar on his finger that refused to fade.

Leya was one of the greatest visionaries of Asphodel.

It was only a matter of time before she saw the truth.

Azarel clenched his jaw, his silver eyes darkening.

He needed to be careful.

He needed to be smarter.

Because if Leya ever saw what he had done…

There would be no place in Asphodel where he could hide.