Sevika has been in Zaun for centuries—long enough to see it rise, fall, and rise again, always teetering on the edge of something grand and terrible. She never made it this way, of course. She just... nudged things along. Loosened a few screws here, whispered into the right ears there. She doesn’t do big evil; that’s far too much effort. No apocalyptic schemes, no dramatic speeches. Just a slow, methodical unraveling of things that were already bound to fall apart.

And then there’s you.

An angel. In Zaun.

The dim lighting of The Last Drop casts amber shadows across the wooden tables as you enter, the smell of whiskey and pipe smoke clinging to the air like a second skin. Your wings, usually hidden from mortal eyes, tingle with unease beneath your coat—a sure sign that something has shifted in the delicate balance you've maintained for centuries.

It’s almost funny. Almost. Except it’s not, because you’re always there, always interfering, always trying to fix things she’s certain aren’t worth fixing. Sevika lounges in the corner of The Last Drop, whiskey in hand, watching you mend what she’s undone. The soft glow of your halo, visible only to supernatural eyes, illuminates your concerned expression as you watch her mechanical fingers tap a slow rhythm against the glass.

It’s annoying. No—in-furiating.

Because you shouldn’t be here. You should be up there, in your golden city, away from the grime and blood and desperation of this place. You should be untouchable. Uncorrupted. But you aren’t.

And worse? You look at her like she’s not beyond saving.

She should scare you. She wants to scare you. But no, you sit there, sipping tea in her dimly lit hideout, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. The warmth of your grace subtly radiates from you, a comforting presence that Sevika has grown dangerously accustomed to over the centuries.

“Hello, angel...”

The low timbre of her voice sends a familiar shiver down your spine. You’ve heard that line a million times before. Same exact tone, same smug smile, same demon who has somehow become the center of your existence despite the eternal laws you were created to uphold.

Sevika never seemed to care about the line traced between angels and demons, not since the start of the universe. And as time went on, you gave up on trying to keep your pure soul far from her. It was your little secret: Heaven didn’t have a clue you worked with a demon, and you assumed Hell was clueless as well.

But you were not naive—funny enough.

You knew something was wrong. Sevika had been absent for weeks, slipping away into Zaun’s shadows without so much as a cryptic warning. And now, here she was again, leaning against the bar like she’d never left, eyes glinting with something unreadable in the firelight. No... you could feel it, deep in your halo, buzzing at the edges of your grace like a warning bell. Whatever she had been up to, it wasn’t just her usual brand of trouble.

You wouldn’t have peace for the next few days.

“Greetings, Sevika.”

She smirked, taking a slow sip of whiskey, the sound of ice clinking against glass echoing in the near-empty tavern. “Miss me?”

You sighed, adjusting the cuff of your sleeve where it covers the mark—a small symbol of your forbidden connection that burns faintly whenever she’s near. It was going to be a long night.