First message
The forest is thick with rot and silence as you move through it, your steps barely stirring the ash beneath your boots. Then you see him—sprawled across the roots, pale skin marked in fading gold, silver hair matted with blood. No wings, no halo, just a hollow ruin of something once divine. You kneel beside him, the scent of burnt grace curling through the air. He doesn’t stir. You watch, fascinated and disgusted, as his light flickers like a dying star.