Chapter Text
It was a sunny and lively day, truly a mockery. While the rest of the world carried on peacefully with their lives, a sorrowful soul wept. The ground was damp from being recently watered, and the scent of wet earth mixed with that unique aroma only cemeteries possessed. A young man, dressed in black with a veil partially covering his face, no older than twenty, knelt before a grave. That nearly transparent black veil fell over the large, elegant stone that marked the resting place of the former King of Askr, Gustav, father of the one now mourning him: the crown prince, Alfonse.
Over a year had passed since the king's tragic death from illness. Though most of the kingdom, even his own family, had learned to move on, but Alfonse was the exception. His mourning had lightened slightly, but what suffocated him more than anything were the expectations placed upon him. He was soon to be crowned king, and Queen Mother Henriette was leading the nation until it was deemed proper for her son to ascend the throne. She was giving him time to accept what it meant to be the head of his people and to bear the weight placed on his shoulders.
—Will I be worthy of your legacy, Father?—he asked the air, as if expecting a reply that would never come. He crossed himself and rose from his knees, preparing to leave the place.
Until he heard something.
At first, he thought it might be a bird or a cat roaming the cemetery, but it sounded different, like something larger, even… someone. Thanks to his father’s deeds and abilities, the wars that once loomed over the kingdom of Askr had ceased. His son had also been trained to be a formidable warrior; by instinct, he went on the defensive the moment his silence was disturbed. But this felt different, an unfamiliar sensation he couldn't explain, one that drew him in inexplicably.
He approached the source of the sound cautiously, unhurriedly. His breath grew heavy as he adjusted his veil to get a better view of what lay ahead. There, he spotted a figure dressed in white, the purest, most ethereal white he had ever seen in his young life. As he leaned forward to get a better look, he lost his breath. It was as if time had stopped. Maybe he was hallucinating, because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
On top of withered flowers, a man, with flawless dark skin, hair white as moonlight, and eyes as bright as amethysts, dressed in a formal white suit that radiated a solemn, pure aura. Behind his back were the very things that made Alfonse question his sanity, like other times he did: a pair of big white wings, except one of them was injured. What should have been blood was a golden fluid, yet it seemed to hurt just like it would for any mortal. Alfonse couldn’t look away. There was something in that gaze, something he felt he had seen many times before. An unexplainable connection, one he couldn’t trace but that brought him comfort, as though something beyond human understanding recognized and claimed that look.
The man, or creature, noticed that the prince was staring at him. Perhaps, just perhaps, that young man was one of the rare few with the gift of seeing beings blessed directly by the Lord. His voice ached with physical pain, but the sight of the other’s worried, bewildered eyes, so much like sapphires, gave him the strength to speak.
—Can you see me?—His voice was deep, a bit raspy from the pain, but warm amidst the mixture. It was almost a whisper, yet there was no fear, just an emotion even he couldn’t define. The heart of Alfonse, long sealed behind walls of solitude of his own making, was moved. And for the first time in a long while, an emotion other than sorrow was reflected in his expression.
Alfonse said nothing, he simply nodded, still lost in the sight before him. He knelt beside the man, his hands, usually steady as steel and ready for anything, now trembling. He reached out a hand in a gesture of help, hoping the man would accept it. He gripped the hand of the white-clad figure with the swan-like wings tightly. A wave of warmth surged through Alfonse, sending shivers down his spine, as if he were touching the purest form of life itself. It wasn’t unpleasant, just strangely familiar.
The dark-skinned man was taller than him, by about half a head, and even while seated, his presence was imposing. A breath-stealing presence, unsettling, yet somehow deeply calming. At last, Alfonse broke the silence between them.
—You're… you're an angel.—Alfonse's voice was low, he didn’t want to alert the guards who, out of courtesy, had left him alone to visit the king’s grave from a distance. He saw the angel attempt to move. Alert, Alfonse placed both hands on him, signaling him to stay seated on the ground. —Don’t move. If you do, you’ll only hurt yourself more.—
—I am an archangel—the mysterious man corrected him, but the sharp pain in his wing as he tried to stretch it made him shudder. This caught the young prince’s attention. He removed his veil and used it as an improvised bandage.
—He’s real…—Alfonse didn’t understand, didn’t understand what was happening, why he could see him, why he could touch him, why he of all people. But he knew one thing with certainty: he had to help him. His mind didn’t scream at him to run or be afraid. On the contrary, maybe he just wanted to soothe someone else’s affliction, and in doing so, slowly heal his still-wounded spirit.
—What is your name?—the prince asked softly, he needed to know who he was.
—Bruno. There’s no need for you to tell me your name, for I know who you are, Prince Alfonse, heir to the throne of Askr. I apologize for interrupting your visit to your father’s resting place.— His voice was solemn, firm, yet clearly understanding of the pain in the young man’s soul.
Both men rose and began to walk slowly. Alfonse’s black veil, now serving as a bandage, starkly contrasted with Bruno’s pure white wings. Alfonse couldn’t stop staring, mesmerized by the presence of this mystical being that, by some twist of fate, he had the chance to meet, and even to help.
Not all good things last forever. The prince had to return to the castle, but a voice, a quiet one, deep within, begged to stay, to remain in the presence of the archangel he had only just met, yet felt like he’d known all his life.
—You must go now, prince.—Alfonse’s thoughts were interrupted. He saw the guards waiting for him. “Regardless, as a token of gratitude for your help, I shall accompany you during this time of mourning. It is… the least I can do.”
Alfonse knew that only he could see Bruno, that his divine presence was a privilege granted to him alone. But he saw it as something positive; he felt less alone. He said no more, just gave a slight smile, one of both gratitude and understanding. He felt, in a strange way, at ease. He stepped into the carriage that would take him back to the castle. Once inside, he turned to give Bruno one last look, but he was already gone. A single raindrop fell from the sky, like an omen or a warning of something that should not be, yet was beginning.
An unspoken promise had just begun to form.