Rowan forgot everything around him and focused on the wings. There was nothing extremely fancy about these wings; it was quite the opposite, they looked extremely simple, almost primitive.
Any wings from his previous Angels or any Celestial were more perfectly designed, with every single feather and muscle made to achieve its purpose as perfectly as possible. These wings here felt like the first attempt by existence to create something that defied the norm, a power that gave a being the ability to touch the heavens.
Rowan found himself walking towards them, and only an intense force of will allowed him to stop his steps, and when he succeeded, he was sweating, his muscles were in pain, and his energy was spent.
Stopping his movements might seem simple on the surface, but Rowan had nearly failed, and he had to fight an intense battle with himself for the chance to not be drawn into the orbit of these wings.
