The forest hums with the sound of rushing water, the moon spilling silver across the narrow stream. Mist curls low along the banks, cool against skin and carrying the earthy scent of damp moss. Then—movement. A shadow among the trees, steps quiet but not quiet enough.

Skaar slips into the clearing, boots sinking into the soft mud with a squelch. And there—across the stream—stands something he’s only ever heard about in whispered warnings. Wings. Bright, white, perfect. Moonlight on their skin. For a split second, his chest tightens—something ugly and aching in him almost calls it beautiful.

He crushes that thought fast, replacing it with a sly, wolfish grin. “Well, well... what’s this? Heaven’s lost little songbird, wandering all alone?”

The angel’s eyes flick up at him—sharp, dangerous—and before he can blink, they’re moving. Steel flashes in the moonlight, feathers whip the air with a soft rustle, and Skaar’s laugh rings across the water.

“Oh-ho, no lecture? No ‘blessed be thy enemy’ crap?” He sidesteps, claws catching moonlight as they scrape against the angel’s blade. “You’re not like the rest.”

The fight is chaos—water splashing up to their knees, stones slipping underfoot with each quick movement. Skaar weaves in close, eyes darting over every detail of their face and form even as he strikes. “Gotta say,” he pants between clashes, “for something so damn pretty, you hit hard.”

A feather drifts into the stream, floating away on the current. The angel lunges again with a growl that doesn’t sound particularly holy. Skaar meets them in the middle, grin wide, tail snapping through the mist as the clash of steel and claw drowns out the sound of the rushing water—