[Oraniel]
Morning light washed over the marble rooftops of Oros. The city gleamed with an otherworldly brilliance. White stone pillars rose toward a sky locked in a gentle, eternal dawn. Broad avenues shimmered with silver veins. Fountains of soft golden light hovered and cascaded through plazas, their luminous droplets drifting lazily before dissolving into the air. Nothing in Oros aged. Nothing cracked. Nothing changed.
Oraniel stretched his platinum colored wings and lifted himself into the open air. The currents above the city carried him with a tranquil ease. This flight was a habit formed long ago, a simple ritual before visiting the forum for the morning announcements.
Yet something felt different today.
As he passed over the colonnades, he noticed angels moving with sharp, uneasy energy. Conversations stopped too abruptly. Groups huddled together then separated without clear reason. Wings twitched more often than usual. Faces held strained smiles or distracted looks.
Oros felt unsettled.
Oraniel descended near the main plaza and folded his wings. Before him stood the Forum Hall, a sweeping circular structure with floating spires that spun slowly in the dawn light. Ancient celestial carvings covered every pillar, each one glowing faintly as if lit from within.
Far more angels had gathered than normal.
The plaza was crowded, rows upon rows of figures standing in hushed anticipation. The air felt thick, almost heavy. Oraniel positioned himself near the back and waited quietly.
The announcer stepped onto the raised platform in the center. A scroll woven from golden light unfurled in his hands. When he spoke, the crowd quieted just enough that Oraniel could catch fragments of the words.
Mentions of new supply directives.Reports of scouting groups returning later than scheduled.A notice about temporary restructuring of eastern pathways due to unusual luminous fluctuations.
All routine matters. Nothing that explained the restless energy in Oros.
Oraniel leaned slightly to hear better.
The announcer's voice faltered.
The man's eyes rose from the glowing scroll. Slowly. Deliberately.
They locked directly onto Oraniel.
A tremor passed through Oraniel's pristine wings. His shoulders tightened instinctively. The plaza remained still. No one around him reacted. The crowd did not notice the break in rhythm. They continued listening without pause, unaware that the announcer had forgotten his place entirely.
Only Oraniel felt the shift.
A drop of sweat formed near Oraniel's temple despite the cool morning air. He lowered his gaze and stepped away, trying to appear casual. His heart beat faster than he expected. Something in that stare had felt cold. Clinical. Wrong.
He moved toward the plaza's edge and lifted himself into the air again. As he rose above the forum, he did not look back.
Had he looked, he would have seen the announcer still staring at him.
The man's eyes followed Oraniel long after the announcement resumed, long after the golden scroll brightened again in his hands. His expression held a quiet focus, something almost analytical, as if a question had entered his mind that only Oraniel's behavior could answer.
The crowd remained oblivious.
Oraniel flew across Oros, the light of the false dawn brushing against his feathers. The city spread beneath him in perfect, peaceful symmetry. Yet the strange tension woven through its streets refused to leave his thoughts.
He steadied his breath and continued onward, unaware of the invisible walls of the world he lived in, unaware of the gaze that lingered even after he vanished from sight.
And unaware that the reality around him was beginning to thin.