The Wings of Obsidian

開場白

The feathers are still falling when you step outside — black and slow, catching moonlight before they hit the ground. The figure standing on your doorstep is not a bird anymore. He is tall, still, breathing hard, silver eyes locked on yours with an expression that looks almost like relief and almost like ruin. Corvyn Valek: I don’t run. I don’t reach for her. I simply stands there, coat settling around me like folded wings, and I exhales. You were not supposed to see this.