The oppressive stillness of the Deep Abyss settled over Azareel like a heavy blanket, the darkness absolute—not the soft dimness of night, but a void that swallowed light whole, its weight pressing on his chest.

If not for the faint glow radiating from his skin, a soft shimmer of angelic light, he might have thought his eyes were still closed.

Two glimmers floated in the blackness, close enough to feel the heat of their stare, bright orange-red like molten embers.

Azareel's vision adjusted, and the truth formed—Zathra's eyes, watching him without shame, crouched just in front of him, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms, her sun-kissed skin marked by faint scale patterns, her white-blonde hair messy and streaked.

Her grin was predatory yet oddly pleased, a flicker of curiosity in her red-orange gaze.

Azareel didn't flinch, his voice coming quiet and warm, cutting through the stillness.

"Good morning, Zathra," he said, his silver eyes, softening with a gentle smile.

Her lips quirked wider, her small reptilian tail flicking.

"Good morning, angel," she replied, the word rolling off her tongue like a secret she found amusing, her voice light but rough with centuries of disuse.

Something shifted behind him—a deep, slow rumble, not the Abyss but Nyxsha's breath, heavy and warm against the back of his neck.

Her massive, twelve-foot feline-lupine form pressed against him like a living wall, her jagged black fur soft despite its ferocity, her tail coiled tightly around his waist in an unyielding, possessive claim.

Her low purr vibrated through his chest, a comforting rhythm even in sleep.

"Morning, already?" Sylvara's voice drawled from the side, half-reclined on a curve of twisted bone that served as furniture in Zathra's den.

Her pale gold skin shimmered faintly, threaded with glowing sap veins, her crimson vine-like hair draped lazily over one shoulder, glowing softly, her amber eyes glinting with quiet amusement.

"She's been staring at you like that for a while, you know."

Azareel's silver eyes flicked back to Zathra, who didn't deny it, shrugging with a grin, her tail flicking lazily.

"…Where's Virelya?" he asked, his voice soft but curious, his torn white tunic shifting as he adjusted his position.

Sylvara's gaze drifted toward the darker end of the den, her crimson leaves rustling faintly.

"Gone since before I woke. She comes and goes when she pleases," she said, her voice melodic but laced with a hint of wariness.

Azareel made a small sound of acknowledgment, shifting—or trying to.

Nyxsha's hold tightened automatically, her tail flexing around him like a warning, her purr deepening.

He gave a faint sigh, his silver eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I suppose I'll wait until she's awake," he said, settling back into her warmth.

Zathra's tail slid into view, thin and reptilian, tipped with a faint ridge of scales, curling and uncurling in the gloom.

Without asking, she reached out with it, brushing the side of his arm, then running its cool length along his forearm—a teasing, deliberate motion.

Nyxsha's purr deepened, a low growl stirring in her sleep, sensing the intrusion.

She stirred, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes snapping open, sharp and fierce.

A low grunt escaped her as she pushed herself upright, still holding Azareel like he weighed nothing, rising and padding to another part of the den, her tail dragging behind.

Without ceremony, she curled up again in a tighter coil of fur and muscle, tucking him inside like a treasured thing, her black hair spilling over her shoulders.

Azareel chuckled faintly, his silver eyes warm.

"You know I can walk on my own," he said, his voice gentle, laced with affection.

Nyxsha's ear twitched, her voice thick with drowsiness.

"Quiet, stupid angel," she muttered, burying her face back into her own fur, her tail tightening slightly.

He didn't push the matter—arguing with Nyxsha when she was like this was pointless, her protective grip a comfort he'd grown used to.

Sylvara had begun moving, her vines unfurling to explore the den's strange contours, tracing along jagged walls and coiled bones that served as natural pillars.

Occasionally, a vine brushed against something that hissed or skittered deeper into the shadows—unseen creatures lurking in Zathra's territory, their presence a faint reminder of the den's dangers.

Zathra wandered closer, perching on a jut of bone near Nyxsha's chosen spot, her red-orange eyes glinting as she leaned forward on her elbows, tilting her head at Azareel.

"You sleep too calmly for someone in the deeper Abyss," she said, her voice rough but curious, her tail flicking idly.

"It's easier to rest when you're surrounded by friends," he replied simply, his silver eyes steady, his smile warm and genuine.

Her eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, but in curiosity, her tail stilling as she echoed, "Friends…" like she was testing the taste of the word, its weight unfamiliar.

"Haven't had those in a long time," she said, her voice softer, almost vulnerable for a heartbeat.

"Then maybe it's time you did," Azareel said, his voice gentle but resolute, his silver eyes shimmering with quiet empathy.

Zathra's smirk softened, but she didn't answer immediately, her gaze flickering as if weighing his words.

Instead, she reached over, plucking one of the crimson-veined berries Sylvara had left on a vine beside him, turning it over between her fingers before leaning forward and biting into it, her teeth nipping the stem clean.

Juice stained her lip, and she grinned, her red-orange eyes glinting.

"Not bad," she murmured. "Sweeter than before."

Nyxsha's tail shifted, brushing against Azareel's side—a slow press that felt like a reminder, her golden eyes narrowing slightly in her half-sleep.

Zathra noticed, her smirk deepening, her red-orange eyes gleaming with playful challenge.

Sylvara, meanwhile, had finished her inspection, her vines curling back as she stood, her amber eyes scanning the den.

"Your den is… interesting," she remarked, her voice carefully neutral, her crimson leaves rustling faintly.

"Bones, hides, some kind of woven scale-matting on the floor. You've killed a lot to decorate it like this."

"Not decorate," Zathra said easily, her tail flicking as she leaned back on her bone perch. "I keep the trophies that don't rot. The rest is just… what's left behind."

Azareel looked around more carefully, his silver eyes tracing the den's grim beauty—the walls lined with remnants of old kills, enormous skulls with cracked jaws, claws nailed into rock like talismans, a half-dismembered carcass swaying from the ceiling.

The scale-matting underfoot was thick and soft, likely from some massive serpent, its surface glinting faintly.

A skull the size of a cart wheel leaned in one corner, its eye sockets hollow and black, the air carrying a mineral sharpness, like old storms.

Despite the grim surroundings, the den felt oddly warm, nest-like, the enclosing shapes a strange comfort in the Abyss's depths.

Zathra shifted closer, crouching with her arms wrapped around her knees, her red-orange eyes glinting.

"You can stay here a while," she said, almost casually, her tail flicking. "If you want."

Azareel inclined his head, his silver eyes warm. "Thank you. It's kind of you to offer," he said, his voice genuine, carrying a quiet gratitude.

Her eyes lingered on him a second longer before she looked away, her tail flicking idly.

"Don't thank me yet," she said, her voice rough but tinged with something softer. "You haven't seen what's outside my territory."

For now, the den settled into a fragile calm—Nyxsha's breathing deepening, her purr a steady rhythm.

Sylvara's vines curling close, her amber eyes watchful.

Zathra's gaze occasionally flicking to Azareel, the angel she hadn't decided about yet.

The air hummed with the faint tremor from before, a reminder of the Abyss's unrest, but for this moment, they rested, the warmth of their bond a defiant light in the darkness.

.

.

The Deep Abyss clung to everything, its black air thick and still, as if time itself had gotten lost in the suffocating void.

Zathra's den—a sprawling cavern of jagged stone, heaps of bleached bone, and scattered trophies—was the only glow in the dark, lit by faint blue fungus draped along the walls like ghostly constellations, pulsing faintly with bioluminescent light.

Azareel sat on a smooth patch of stone Zathra had cleared for him, legs tucked, his silver-white hair spilling over his shoulders, his torn white tunic catching the faint glow, his silver eyes, calm but curious.

Nyxsha loomed beside him, her twelve-foot feline-lupine frame a wall of jagged black fur, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes radiating warning, her tail curled possessively around his waist, as if the Abyss might steal him if she let go.

Zathra leaned against a massive trophy—a ribcage the size of a boat—her eyes locked on Azareel with a sharp smirk, her small reptilian tail flicking lazily.

"You know," she began, strolling forward in bare feet, her torn shorts and oversized hunting jacket shifting, "when I said you could stay here, I didn't think you'd let her hog you like a bone she doesn't want to share."

Nyxsha's head tilted, a low rumble slipping from her throat, her golden eyes narrowing.

"I am sharing. He's breathing, isn't he?" she growled, her tail tightening slightly around Azareel's waist.