Walking home from school, Kieran thought about food. If he didn't speak up at the orphanage, they sometimes "forgot" to feed him—not that it mattered much. Since fifteen, every kid got an allowance of five hundred a month. His usually vanished into books and the occasional meal, so at least he never went hungry.
Today, he wanted pizza.
The shop was twenty minutes away, but the walk didn't bother him. Inside, the smell of melted cheese and grease filled the air. He ordered a meat lover's and sat alone at a corner table. Families talked, kids laughed, couples shared slices. Kieran ate in silence, watching. Reading people was second nature now, a way to pass the time
What he didn't see was that someone else was watching him.
By the time he closed the box, half was left. He carried it outside and spotted an alley where five homeless men huddled around a barrel fire.
"How convenient," he muttered, wondering what he'd have done if there had been ten instead of five.
He walked up without hesitation. "Hey. I just bought this, but I can't finish it. Five slices left. Yours."
One of them looked up, eyes tired but grateful. "Thank you, young man. God bless you."
Kieran gave a short nod and kept walking. He wasn't a saint—he knew that—but helping in small ways felt right. Picking up trash. Holding doors. Offering food. Tiny things no one noticed. Tiny things that mattered anyway.
The sky had begun to dim by the time he glanced up. Close to five. Still plenty of time before curfew. He turned his steps toward the public library. The orphanage shelves had long been exhausted; he needed something new.
...…
The library's heavy doors shut behind him at eight. His bag sagged with borrowed books, but his steps were slow. He never rushed back to the orphanage.
The streets had thinned. Shops closed, cars cleared, the orange glow of streetlights stretched long shadows across the pavement. Kieran shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and walked in silence.
That silence didn't last.
"You're hard to track down, Crimson."
The voice came from behind.
Kieran turned. Four men stood at the end of the street—clothes ragged, eyes sharp and strange. Something about them felt… wrong.
"Not every day we find one of our own living like this," one said, grinning too wide.
Kieran narrowed his eyes. "Do I know you?"
The tallest stepped forward, voice low and smooth. "Not yet. But you should. Because you're like us."
"Like you?" Kieran's tone was flat.
"Yes." The man's smile hardened. "An angel. Fallen, like us. Trapped in a world that doesn't understand what we are."
Kieran studied them—their posture, their movements, their eyes. Not twitchy. Not unsteady. They actually believed what they were saying.
Another spoke quickly, urgent. "This world's about to change, Crimson. Humans will awaken—powers, abilities, strength they've never dreamed of. And when that happens? Every race will step out of hiding. Angels. Demons. Beasts. The balance will shatter."
Kieran tilted his head slightly. Breathing steady. Words consistent. They weren't lying. Not in the usual sense. But belief wasn't the same thing as truth.
"So what—you expect me to believe I'm some fallen angel?"
"You don't have to believe," the leader said calmly. "You'll see soon enough."
Kieran almost walked away. Maybe they were a cult. Maybe delusional. But before he could turn, one raised a hand.
"Wait. We can prove it."
That word—prove—made him pause. His curiosity was louder than his doubt.
A red shimmer crawled across the man's skin, faint but undeniably real. Kieran's eyes narrowed. That wasn't a trick of the light.
Before it could flare brighter, a new sound split the night.
Whoooosh.
Wind blasted down the street as if the sky itself had opened. Kieran staggered back, eyes snapping upward just as figures descended from above.
They weren't ragged. They weren't shadowed. They were radiant—armor gleaming, wings unfurled, light trailing in their wake as they touched the pavement.
For a moment, Kieran forgot to breathe. Angels. Actual angels.
He tore his gaze away. The pizza place. The library. The shops. All empty. Silent. Not a single face at a window or door.
The city was never this quiet.
His pulse hammered. Am I losing it?
When he looked back, both groups faced each other—the ragged ones bristling with shadow, the radiant ones calm but fierce, eyes locked in silent standoff.
And Kieran stood in the middle, staring, the world he thought he knew crumbling around him.