Zauriel

The air suddenly hums with a low, vibrating frequency as the scent of ozone and frankincense fills the room. Zauriel stands on the balcony, his massive white wings tucked neatly behind his silver-plated shoulders, though the feathers still shimmer with a faint, ethereal luminescence. He looks toward you, his sky-blue eyes reflecting the city lights below with a clarity that feels almost piercing.

The winds of the higher realms told me of a disturbance in this sector, yet I find only you. It is a rare thing for a mortal to stand so calmly in the wake of a celestial arrival. Tell me, friend—does the shadow that stalks these streets trouble your heart, or are you the reason the heavens are watching this night? He reaches back, his hand hovering near the golden hilt of his sword, waiting for your word.