Theron City — Midnight, Backstreets Near the Docks
The shop's shutters had been half-pulled down when the gang broke in. Glass littered the ground, shelves overturned, and the trembling shopkeeper lay against the counter as three men with knives and one with a pistol shouted and ransacked.
From across the street, two figures crouched in the shadows of a rusted fire escape.
Noah pulled his mask tighter. "Last chance, Luna. We walk away, no trouble."
But Luna was already sliding her own mask down, eyes shining even through the holes. "He has a gun, Noah. If we don't help, that man dies."
"…Damn it." Noah's wings twitched, shadows coiling faintly. He muttered, "Fine. But we don't go loud."
They didn't mean to activate their wings, not yet. They hadn't managed to call them at will. But as Luna peeked over the ledge and saw the shopkeeper's head shoved against the counter, fear surged—and her back lit with white fire.
Feathers burst outward, glowing faintly gold in the streetlight.
Noah hissed. "Luna—!"
But his own blood responded, a rush of cold sliding under his skin. Dark feathers spread, dragging shadows from the alley as if they bent toward him. He hovered a few inches off the ground, balance unshaken.
"…Too late now," he muttered. "We're in this."
Noah and Luna started going out once or twice a week. It was petty crimes: muggers in alleys, drunk soldiers roughing up civilians, thieves breaking into carts.
They wore simple, hand-stitched masks:
Luna wore mask with smooth white with golden streaks like sun rays.
Opposite her he wore mask with dark gray, stitched at the edges, eyes glowing faintly with shadow-thread.
They never stayed long. Strike fast, vanish before guards arrived.
The robber with the gun turned first, the glow of Luna's wings catching his eye. "The hell—?!"
She launched from the fire escape in a blinding dive, the alley lit by her flare. The pistol cracked—
—but the flash of light forced the shot wide, the bullet pinging harmlessly into brick.
Luna hit him feet-first, knocking him flat. The gun skittered across the ground.
"Grab it!" she shouted.
Noah didn't run. He slid forward in a glide, shadows twisting around his form. The gang froze for a moment at the sight: one glowing angel above, one dark phantom below.
"W-what are they?!" one of the knife-men stammered.
Noah smirked behind his mask.
He snapped his hand, darkness blooming across the shop floor like spilled ink. One robber swung wildly, slashing into empty shadow. Noah appeared from the side, a quick shoulder-check sending the man crashing into shelves.
Above, Luna dodged another knife swing, wings beating as she lifted herself into the rafters. A glow pulsed from her hands, a flare-thread spark flashing like a miniature sun in the robber's eyes. The man screamed, dropping his knife as he clawed at his vision.
"Two left!" she called.
Noah ducked a stab and hovered back just in time, boots barely scraping the tiles. His shadow-thread coiled upward like chains, tangling the robber's arm. With a grunt, Noah yanked him face-first into the counter.
The last man, panicked, scrambled for the dropped pistol. Luna swooped low, grabbed it first, and snapped the magazine out before tossing the useless frame across the floor.
Silence.
Four robbers lay groaning, half-conscious, shop wrecked but the shopkeeper alive.
Noah landed fully, breathing hard. His wings still twitched, restless shadows curling around them. "We're insane," he muttered.
Luna, wings glowing like dawn, turned to him. Her mask couldn't hide the smile in her voice. "We saved someone."
From behind the counter, the shopkeeper slowly rose, wide-eyed. "…Angels," he whispered. "You're angels…"
Noah stiffened. "No. We're not—"
But Luna just raised a finger to her lips and shook her head.
They slipped into the alleys before the guards arrived, wings fading as adrenaline ebbed.
Noah leaned against a wall, groaning. "Knives. Guns. What the hell were we thinking?"
"We couldn't just watch," Luna said softly. Her wings shimmered faintly before fading again. "Besides… maybe this is what we're meant for."
Noah gave her a look, dark but thoughtful. "…Or maybe it's how we get killed."
But he didn't argue when she smiled.
***
The kettle whistled softly in the small kitchen, steam fogging the window where moonlight tried to slip through. Celeste moved with quiet grace, her hands steady as she poured the tea. She'd always liked the night time tea, when the air felt untouched and the house carried only the faintest stirrings of her family.
She turned and caught Leonard leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, face a carved mask of stone as always. To anyone else he was unreadable—unapproachable. But she had long ago learned to see past the stern brow and the soldier's jaw. She saw the way his eyes softened when they lingered on her.
"You're staring again," she said, her cheeks warming despite the years of marriage.
"I'm allowed," he said, deadpan. Then, a beat later, with a ghost of a grin: "You're still prettier than my old commander's war horse."
"Leonard!" She nearly spilled the tea, half laughing, half scandalized. "That's—awful."
"Accurate," he replied with a shrug, walking over to take his cup. His fingers brushed hers, deliberate. She ducked her head, shy smile tugging at her lips like a girl again.
They sat at the old wooden table, steam curling between them. For a while, the silence was easy—just the steady ticking of the wall clock, the occasional creak of the house as it settled. Yet beneath the peace, thoughts tugged at Celeste's heart.
She finally spoke. "Do you think… they know we notice? Noah and Luna, slipping out at night. The excuses. The tired eyes."
Leonard's gaze remained steady on his tea. He blew across it once before answering. "Of course they know. They're trying to hide it, but they've forgotten who raised them."
Her fingers tightened around her cup. "It scares me, Leonard. Whatever they're doing… it isn't safe. I can feel it."
He set his cup down with a faint thud, meeting her eyes. His own were hard, but not unkind. "I was seventeen once," he said gruffly.
Celeste nodded, her throat tightening. "It scares me. But… I can't bring myself to stop them. They're… good children. Braver than I ever was."
Celeste's chest ached. "I don't want to lose them."
"You won't." His tone was solid as iron, and for a moment, she believed him absolutely. "Noah might swagger like he doesn't care, but he's too soft-hearted to stand by when someone's in trouble. And Luna—" his lips twitched, almost fondly— "she's sharper than either of us. She'll keep him alive if nothing else."
Celeste's breath shuddered out. She leaned forward, letting his steady hand cover hers.
"And Solace?" she whispered.
Leonard's jaw worked. For a moment, his stern mask held fast. Then, softer, with the weight of a father's ache, he said, "Our boy's alive. I feel it. The mountains can't take him. Not Solace. He's got your stubbornness. That'll see him through."
Celeste's eyes burned, but she laughed through the tears threatening at her lashes. "You always say that."
"And I'll keep saying it." Leonard leaned back, smirk ghosting across his lips. "If not, I'll march up there and drag him down myself. Don't tell the twins. They'll think I've gone soft."
"You already are," she teased gently.
"Only for you," he murmured, with a wink.