The Enthroned Angel

3rd POV

As the chiefs gazed upon the glowing, winged child—an ethereal sight—the tension in the air remained palpable. The baby, no older than a few hours, lay cradled in his gentle, soft white cloth, his golden hair shimmering even in the dim light. Three delicate wings sprouted from his back, glowing with an almost celestial light that flickered in rhythm with his steady, peaceful breathing. A perfect miracle. Yet, as a howling wind cut through the air from the barren desert-like expanse stretching beyond the forest's edge, the eerie silence shattered.

"Vesimir, give me a clean cloth," Thalrik ordered, his voice steady and commanding as he snapped out of his brief trance. His gaze never left the glowing child.

Vesimir, momentarily lost in awe, blinked rapidly, coming back to reality as he rushed to comply. "Here you go, Chief," he said, his hands trembling slightly as he passed a relatively clean white cloth to Thalrik, who took it with purpose and quickly wrapped the child.

The ground beneath them bore the scars of the Angel's arrival—a wide, smoking crater that stretched nearly 15 meters in diameter, its edges charred and still faintly smoldering as if the heavens themselves had cast him down. Thalrik moved with practiced confidence, kneeling beside the child and wrapping him carefully. The sight of the infant in his arms, so fragile yet glowing with divine power, left the chieftain with a rare moment of vulnerability, but it was fleeting.

"Let's go," Thalrik ordered, his voice hardening. "Full speed towards the village. No distractions. If anything happens... you know what needs to be done."

"Aye!"

"Yes, sir!"

The men rallied with steely gazes and firm nods. There was no fear in their eyes—only hardened resolve. They knew what was at stake. Thalrik offered them a brief, approving smile, one filled with the weight of leadership, then nodded to signal the march.

With swift, powerful strides, the group of ten moved in perfect synchrony, their speed defying the limits of ordinary humans. They formed a tight formation, ensuring that the Angel remained protected at the center. Thalrik, holding the child gently in one arm, ran alongside Vesimir, whose face was fixed in a determined expression.

"We'll be there in thirty minutes, sir, if we keep up this pace," Vesimir called out, his voice steady, though his eyes flickered occasionally toward the child in Thalrik's arms.

Thalrik glanced at him, a mixture of seriousness and urgency in his gaze. "Vesimir, if something happens... I order you to drop everything and take the child. Run to the village at full speed. Do not look back."

The command hung in the air like a heavy cloud, and for a moment, Vesimir's expression faltered. But he nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line.

As the warriors continued their swift march, a sudden rustling from the shadows of the trees pierced the silence. From the dense underbrush, a massive creature emerged—a giant sabretooth tiger, its eyes glowing with primal hunger.

"Halt! Battle position, now!" Thalrik barked, his voice echoing through the trees. In an instant, the ten men formed a defensive circle around the child, their bodies tensed in anticipation. Vesimir, in the center, dropped his backpack with practiced ease, ready to make a run should the need arise.

More creatures emerged from the shadows—sabretooths, their eyes gleaming in the moonlight, surrounding them, forming a menacing wall of teeth and claws.

"This is bad. The whole damn pack's here," Gram muttered, his hand gripping his weapon tighter.

"You scared now, Gram?" Bismarck taunted, a grin spreading across his face. "Didn't take you for a coward, lad!"

"Shut it, you two!" Thalrik shouted, his voice cutting through the banter. "Focus! Vesimir, when you get the chance, take the child and run. The rest of you, cover him!"

Weapons were drawn with practiced precision. Thalrik's long spear gleamed in the moonlight, a deadly extension of his will. The others brandished a mix of melee and ranged weapons: plasma guns, akimbo pistols, and swords forged for battle.

"AAAAGH!" Thalrik roared as he charged forward, spear aimed directly at the sabretooth lunging for him. The beast leapt at him with terrifying speed, but Thalrik's reflexes were sharper. With a swift parry, he deflected the beast's claws, his body twisting to the side as he launched a brutal counterattack. His spear sliced through the sabretooth's side, the blade cutting through flesh like a hot knife through butter.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

RATATATATA!

CLINK! CLINK!

Gunfire erupted from the men as they fell into rhythm, firing and striking, cutting down beast after beast. But the sabretooths kept coming—more of them, hungry for blood.

"This is impossible!" Thalrik muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on his spear as he fought tooth and nail. "We need to get out of here! The noise will draw even more! On my signal, Vesimir, you take the child and run!"

Vesimir's expression was grim, but he gave a sharp nod. The tension in the air was thick, the sounds of battle ringing louder with each passing second.

Then, a deafening roar split the night, followed by the ground shaking beneath their feet.

Thalrik's eyes widened as the massive form of a Rock Drake emerged from the shadows, its massive body outlined in the pale moonlight. The creature was a terrifying sight—its scales glowed with a faint, molten light, and its eyes burned with an ancient rage.

"Shit!" Thalrik cursed under his breath. "A Rock Drake? Of all things!" He quickly turned to Vesimir, his voice commanding and urgent. "We'll hold it at bay. You run, do you hear me? You take the child and go!"

Vesimir's gaze was fixed on the child, whose golden eyes glowed softly in the midst of the chaos.

Before Thalrik could snap him back to reality, the entire group was encased in a brilliant golden light.

"What—?" Thalrik's words caught in his throat as the light expanded, and in an instant, everything shifted. The creatures, the forest, the battle—they were gone. The warriors stood in the center of the village, surrounded by the stunned, wide-eyed villagers.

"W-what happened?" someone murmured.

"Why are we in the village?" another voice asked, trembling.

The ten men, still on edge, looked around in confusion, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in their surroundings. But Thalrik didn't break eye contact with Vesimir. The child, still nestled in his arms, had fallen quiet, his golden eyes now dimming as he drifted into a peaceful slumber.

Thalrik could only mutter one word under his breath: "A miracle."

Then, a voice broke the stunned silence. "Thalrik!!"

Valaith and Serenya rushed forward, their faces filled with relief and concern as they enveloped Thalrik in a tight hug. "Are you okay? How did you get here? What's this golden beam?!" Valaith fired off questions in rapid succession, her grip tightening on him.

Vesimir, still holding the child in his arms, stepped forward, his eyes never leaving the Angel. "Valaith, we found him in the center of the crater—the one where the explosion happened. He was glowing, and..." Thalrik sighed, his hand resting on Valaith's shoulder.

Before he could finish, Valaith had already gently taken the child from Vesimir's arms, her eyes filled with tenderness as she gazed down at the infant. "And... what, honey?" she asked softly.

Thalrik motioned to the swaddled child. With a heavy sigh, he unwrapped the cloth, revealing the six wings sprouting from the child's back, as white as snow, glowing with a soft, divine light.

The revelation hit the villagers like a thunderclap. Kneeling, they bowed their heads in reverence, chanting in unison.

"A miracle!"

"The Angel!"

"The Divinitarch has sent his son to us!"

"Our savior! Our salvation is here!"

As the villagers erupted in fervent prayer, Valaith looked down at the child, her heart swelling with emotion. The baby, so innocent and serene, looked back at her with wide, golden eyes, his gaze soft yet knowing. Then, just as quickly, he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep, his tiny smile peaceful and trusting.

Valaith wrapped him back in the cloth, cradling him close. "We will discuss this tomorrow at sunrise," Thalrik declared, his voice booming across the village.

As the family walked toward their tent, the villagers remained frozen in awe, their eyes fixed on the Angel, the savior they had long prayed for. The village, once in chaos, was now united in reverence, their faith burning brighter than ever before.

----

1st POV

The sound of battle pierced through the fog of my consciousness. Groggy, I tried to force my eyes open, but it was like swimming in a sea of exhaustion. My body felt heavy, uncooperative, as though it had been drained of all energy. Ten seconds? Maybe less. It's all a blur—then, darkness.

When I woke again, the world around me was different. I felt... wrapped, cocooned almost. A soft, snug warmth surrounded me, and I couldn't help but relax into it. It felt so familiar, like being held in the arms of someone who cares. I opened my eyes, blinking against the overwhelming light.

The first thing that struck me was the man holding me. From this angle, with my tiny body in his arms, it was clear. I was… a baby. Huh, good to know, I guess.

He was a middle-aged man, the kind you'd expect to see leading a rugged, battle-hardened tribe. A thick mustache adorned his face, giving him a rough edge, like one of those old biker gang types. His eyes, though—strange. Yellow? Orange? No, they were somewhere in between. Wild, but steady, like a predator constantly scanning its surroundings.

Suddenly, a roar split the air, primal and blood-curdling. My instincts flared, and without thinking, I reached out with my connection to the warp. My mind expanded, scanning the area around us. My senses flared in alarm as I pinpointed the approach of numerous creatures. Beasts, many of them. Dangerous.

"Vesimir, we will hold the rock Drake at bay. You run. Are you listening to me, Vesimir?!" The man's voice was commanding, clear even over the chaos. His words cut through the fog in my head. As his men regrouped around us, I could feel the tightness of the formation. It was all centered around him, the man carrying me.

I had no choice. My psychic power surged, pooling inside me. I focused, draining every last ounce of energy. I couldn't risk staying here. I wouldn't let these warriors die because of me.

With a deep breath, I released the full weight of my power into the warp, pulling it inwards like a tether. The world around me blurred, the air thick with energy as I invoke my will on reality. A flash of golden light exploded around us, and suddenly... I wasn't in the wilderness anymore.

The village. I could see it now, a small settlement with humble homes and people who had likely never seen a force like the one I commanded.

But before I could think, my tired body gave out, and my consciousness began to slip again. My vision faded, the world spinning as I drifted into the void once more.

I don't know how long I was out. But when I woke again, it was the cold that roused me. A chill in the air, the sensation of a soft touch... A woman.

Her face appeared above me, framed by brown hair, eyes a green so vivid they could be mistaken for emeralds. For a brief moment, I stared at her, feeling a strange pull. But it wasn't the woman's beauty that struck me. No, it was something far deeper.

I felt... safe. Like something deep within me recognized her. A warmth, a sense of comfort, of belonging. It was a feeling I hadn't realized I longed for—the embrace of a mother.

I wanted to stay like this forever.

But my weary body betrayed me. My eyelids fluttered shut once more, the world around me slipping into nothingness. And despite the noise and the chaos in the background, all I could think about was the warmth in her touch.

I liked it.

----

3rd POV: The Council Meeting

The village's council chamber was a simple yet imposing structure. Made of stone and reinforced wood, its circular interior allowed for every voice to carry and every face to be seen. At the center of the room stood a large round table, its surface carved with ancient symbols of protection and unity. The morning sun filtered through a single high window, casting a beam of light onto the table, as if blessing the meeting with divine favor.

The room was packed. Elders with weathered faces sat closest to the table, their presence lending an air of authority. Warriors and tradesmen, their hands calloused and clothes worn, stood in the back, murmuring amongst themselves. The tension was palpable.

Thalrik, the village chieftain, sat at the head of the table, his face a mask of calm authority. The events of the previous night weighed heavily on him, but he refused to let it show. Beside him sat Valaith, his wife, cradling the still-sleeping Angel in her arms. Her expression was a mixture of tenderness and resolve. Vesimir stood behind her, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of threat.

The murmurs ceased as Thalrik stood, his spear planted firmly on the stone floor, a symbol of his leadership.

"Brothers and sisters," he began, his voice steady and commanding, "last night, a miracle occurred."

A ripple of whispers spread through the room, but Thalrik raised his hand, silencing them.

"We found him," he gestured toward the child, "at the heart of the crater, untouched by the flames and chaos. And when the beasts closed in, threatening to end us all, it was his power that saved us. He brought us here, to safety. This child—this Angel—has been sent to us by the Divinitarch."

An elder, her voice sharp and skeptical, spoke up. "Thalrik, you speak of miracles, but miracles do not come without purpose. Why would the Divinitarch send his child to us, to a village on the edge of ruin?"

Another council member, a burly man named Bismarck, slammed his fist on the table. "Does it matter why? Did you see his wings? Six of them! This is no ordinary child—we should be celebrating, not questioning!"

"And what of the beasts?" Gram, a wiry scout with a perpetual scowl, interjected. "The sabertooths, the rock drake—do you not think they were drawn to him? If this Angel is a blessing, then why did his presence bring such danger?"

The room erupted into a cacophony of voices, some shouting in agreement with Gram, others defending the child.

"Enough!" Thalrik's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "I will not have us descend into chaos. We are better than this."

Silence fell once more, and Thalrik turned to Valaith, his eyes softening. "You've held him. You've seen him up close. What do you feel?"

Valaith looked down at the child, her fingers gently brushing over his golden hair. "I feel… hope," she said quietly, but her voice carried through the room. "When I hold him, it's as if the weight of this world lifts, even if just for a moment. He is a gift, Thalrik, but one we must protect."

An older man named Eirik, the village historian, leaned forward, his eyes alight with curiosity. "The texts speak of such beings," he said, his voice trembling. "Angels who descend from the heavens to guide and protect humanity in its darkest hour. Perhaps this child is here to lead us to salvation."

"But at what cost?" Gram muttered, though he did not meet Eirik's eyes.

Thalrik nodded at Eirik, then addressed the room. "We do not know why he is here or what his presence means for our future. But we do know this: he saved our lives last night. For that, he has earned our trust and our protection."

There was a pause before a younger woman named Kaelith, a healer, stood. Her voice was soft but firm. "If we are to protect him, we must understand him. This child is not just a miracle—he is a responsibility. We must care for him, teach him, and be ready for whatever challenges his arrival may bring."

Thalrik nodded in agreement. "Kaelith is right. From this moment forward, we will treat this child as one of our own. But we must remain vigilant. The beasts that came for us last night may return, and the outside world must not know of him until we are certain of his purpose."

The council members exchanged glances, some still skeptical, others resolute. Slowly, they began to nod in agreement.

Thalrik raised his spear. "Then it is decided. We will protect him, nurture him, and prepare for whatever lies ahead. This child is our future."

The room erupted into a mix of cheers and solemn prayers. As the villagers dispersed, Thalrik sat back down, his hand resting on the table. He glanced at Valaith, who held the sleeping Angel close.

"He's changed everything," Thalrik murmured.

Valaith smiled faintly. "For better or worse, we'll find out soon enough."

Behind them, Vesimir stood silently, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the shadow of the forest loomed. The world was changing, and their small village was at the center of it all.

As the council dispersed, a sense of unease lingered among the villagers. The older ones whispered among themselves, their faces etched with both hope and fear. The younger ones, wide-eyed, looked at the Angel with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Thalrik stood near the round table, speaking quietly with Vesimir and Valaith. They discussed the immediate future—the needs of the village, the Angel's safety, and what preparations were necessary for the days ahead.

"We must be ready for retaliation," Vesimir said, his voice low. "The beasts didn't stop coming until he teleported us. If they were drawn to him once, they'll come again."

Thalrik nodded. "You're right, Vesimir. Double the watch at the perimeter. Organize the warriors into shifts. We can't afford to be caught off guard."

"What about the villagers?" Valaith asked softly, her gaze still on the sleeping Angel. "They're already on edge. If they lose hope—"

"They won't," Thalrik interrupted firmly. "As long as we stand strong, they'll follow. This child, whatever he is, has given them something to believe in. It's our job to ensure that belief doesn't falter."

Valaith's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded.

--

The village hummed with the energy of change. In the time since the Angel's arrival, nothing had remained the same. The warriors, usually at ease in their daily patrols, now moved with heightened focus, eyes scanning the horizon, their weapons ready. The tension was palpable. The villagers had always lived in the shadow of danger, but this… this was different. Something far greater had entered their lives.

Vesimir, his face drawn tight with concern, stood at the edge of the village, overseeing the warriors as they reinforced the perimeter. Their weapons were a mix of ancient craft and advanced technology—plasma rifles that hummed with latent energy, energy blades that crackled in the air, and crossbows loaded with bolts designed to pierce the toughest hide. Each weapon was a testament to the village's resilience, a fusion of the old ways and the new, a blend of primitive survival and advanced innovation.

Inside the council hall, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The villagers had gathered, and the air was charged with uncertainty. Thalrik, the chief, stood at the head of the table, his gaze hard as he addressed the council. His voice, usually calm and measured, now held an edge of urgency.

"The Angel's arrival has changed everything," Thalrik said, his voice firm. "We've seen the creatures of the desert drawn to him, and it's only a matter of time before others come. We need to be ready. The village must adapt."

Kaelith, the village's most learned scholar, stood off to the side, a datapad in his hands. He had been studying the child since his arrival, cataloging his biology, but there was something he couldn't explain. "Thalrik," he began, looking up from the screen, his brow furrowed. "The child's biological makeup is almost entirely human—his organs, his bones, they're all normal. But those wings… they're unlike anything I've ever seen before. I can't even begin to analyze them with our current tools. They're unlike anything in our records."

Thalrik nodded, his mind racing. The wings were a mystery, and they were a symbol, too. There was no denying that the child had already begun to affect the village in ways no one could understand.

But the most pressing concern for Valaith, the high priestess, was something far less tangible. She had felt it the moment she laid eyes on the child. A subtle, almost imperceptible pulse of energy. It wasn't something that could be detected by any of their technology. No scanner, no device, could pick it up. But she—Valaith, with her deep connection to the spiritual and psychic realms—could feel it. It was like a whisper on the wind, a faint echo of something ancient and powerful, emanating from the child.

She stood at the table, her eyes closed in concentration, feeling the pulse of energy that surrounded him. "It's strange," she said softly, almost to herself. "I can feel something within him. Not with my eyes… but with my soul. A presence, gentle yet undeniable. It's as if the child is not just a being of flesh and blood. There is something more."

Thalrik's eyes sharpened as he listened. "Is it dangerous?" he asked, his voice low but filled with concern.

Valaith shook her head, her brows furrowed. "I'm not sure. It's faint, but it's there. I've never sensed anything like it before. It's not hostile—at least, not in the way we understand hostile. It feels more like... a call. Like a light in the dark."

Serenya, who had been standing by Valaith, spoke up. "A light in the dark… You mean, like a beacon? Something that draws attention?"

Valaith nodded slowly. "Exactly. But it's not something we can control. It's like the child himself is a vessel. A conduit."

Thalrik clenched his fists, his mind racing. "Then we must protect him. At all costs."

Outside, the village had become a hive of activity. The warriors were on high alert, their formation tighter than ever before. The blacksmiths worked furiously, hammering out weapons and shields, their forges glowing in the fading light of the day. The villagers, though anxious, moved with purpose. They all knew that what was happening now was only the beginning. And they had to be ready.

The children were gathered in the center of the village, far away from the outer perimeters. The elders spoke in hushed tones, trying to comfort them, but there was an undercurrent of anxiety in the air. They could feel the tension, the expectation. The unknown had arrived, and it was a force they could not ignore.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the village, a soft murmur began to rise among the people. They'd seen it—some of them had felt it, too. The way the child's wings shimmered in the sunlight, glowing faintly. The way his eyes, golden and bright, seemed to look right into their souls. And in that moment, the villagers began to whisper.

"A miracle," one of them murmured.

"The Angel," another whispered reverently.

"The Divinitarch has sent his son to us," came a voice from the crowd, reverence and awe in the tone.

"He's come to save us," someone else said, their voice trembling with hope.

Valaith, standing quietly at the heart of it all, watched as the villagers began to kneel in reverence. It wasn't a fervent, zealous worship. It was a quiet acknowledgment, a moment of shared hope. The child, with his wings, had given them something they hadn't had in a long time: a reason to believe. And that belief, however fragile, was enough to spark something in their hearts.

As Valaith looked down at the child, still cradled in Thalrik's arms, she felt a strange peace wash over her. There was no telling what the future held, but for now, there was a light in the darkness. And sometimes, that was all it took.