It all began the day the heavens split open and they fell.
Æryth and Orion.
The first ængels to rebel against the Mother of all Creation. Against Astoria, Goddess of the Heavens, who shaped the stars and breathed life into the world below.
Their punishment was swift and merciless.
Cast from the sky and hurled toward the earth, their wings are severed before they struck the ground. Feathers of light burned as they fell, scattering like dying stars across the firmament.
When they awakened, they were broken. Their first steps on earth were unsteady, the soil unfamiliar beneath their feet. A cry escaped their lips—not of anger, but of pain—echoing across mountains and rivers.
Without their wings, they were cut off from the divine. Their celestial powers gone, ripped from their souls.
What remained was grief so deep it crushed them from the inside out.
That grief curdled when they saw mankind.
