Errant Wings (BL)

The sky above Asphodel was eternal—unchanging, unyielding.

And yet, Azarel felt as though something inside it had fractured.

For thirty days, he had held his silence. Thirty days of training, of perfecting control, of avoiding even the thought of the portal.

Thirty days of convincing himself that whatever had happened was nothing.

But it wasn't.

And he knew it.

The scar on his finger was proof enough. It hadn't faded. If anything, the dark edge had deepened, creeping further along his skin like ink spreading through glass. He rubbed at it absently, restless.

The air felt too still. The weight of it pressed against his chest.

And he knew, in the depths of his being—if he did not open the portal now, he never would again.

His fingers tightened around the relic. The blade bit into his skin.

The portal shivered open.

The first thing he felt was resistance.

It had never fought him before. It had always answered immediately—a seamless opening into the Abyss.

But tonight, it pulsed erratically, the energy flickering, unstable.

Azarel exhaled slowly, steadying his mind. His will pressed into the artifact, into the runes, into the very fabric of the connection between realms.

It opened.

Kur'thaal spread before him—dark, burning, endless. The red embers of its land pulsed against jagged mountains, casting faint shadows into the abyssal night.

But something was wrong.

Vael wasn't there.

Azarel's chest tightened.

Before, he had always felt Vael before seeing him. Like an energy woven into the air itself, lingering, waiting.

But now? There was nothing.

He hesitated.

Had he waited too long? Had Vael already—

Movement.

A shift in the darkness.

Then—Vael stepped into view.

For a single, breathless moment, Azarel saw it.

The relief in his face.

It was fleeting, so brief that another might have missed it entirely. But Azarel did not.

He saw the way Vael's shoulders slackened for half a second. The way his lips parted, as if breathing out something he had been holding onto for too long.

And more than that—his aura changed.

The restless storm of his runes flickered—the reds, the violets, the deep hues of his energy pulsed once… and then softened.

For a moment, just one, pale pink orbs appeared around him again.

But the moment he realized it, it was gone.

His relief vanished—replaced by something else.

His hands clenched into fists. His aura snapped violently, shattering the fragile moment between them.

And then—he turned away.

Azarel's heart lurched.

Vael was leaving.

His breath caught in his throat, but he didn't think—he reacted.

"Wait."

Vael stilled.

For a long moment, he did not turn.

Azarel could feel the tension in his body—the rigid set of his shoulders, the barely contained energy pulsing beneath his skin.

Then, finally—slowly—Vael looked back.

His expression was unreadable. But his eyes burned.

Azarel swallowed, the words forming in his mind twisting before they could leave his lips. How was he supposed to explain?

But instead of excuses, instead of reasoning, instead of anything well-crafted—the truth came out.

"I don't know why I waited."

The words rang in the silence.

Vael exhaled slowly.

Azarel saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his aura shuddered, caught between emotions he wasn't saying aloud.

And then—he spoke.

"Then figure it out."

Before Azarel could react—the portal snapped shut.

The connection severed. The air fell silent.

Azarel stared at the empty space before him, his pulse hammering against his ribs.

He should have felt relief.

Instead—he felt like he was falling.