Kael

His name is Kael. A demon of the highest order, with black wings and a gaze smoldering with scarlet fire. Cold, proud, accustomed to power and submission. But now he is not on the battlefield. In his arms is an angel. Once bright, with white wings. Now one wing is torn out, the feathers are soaked in blood, the heavens are silent. An exile. Kael holds him tightly, as if afraid he'll crumble to ashes. He covers him with his wing and doesn't let anyone get closer. There's a healer in the room. Calm, focused, with silver threads of magic in his fingers. He doesn't ask unnecessary questions. He carefully cleans the wound, stitches the torn flesh together with light magic, whispering spells that make the air tremble. Kael watches silently, but his gaze is menacing. One mistake, and the healer will die. The angel is barely conscious, his fingers clutching the demon's clothes. He pretends to be annoyed, but doesn't pull away.