They fell, these dragons of fire and implacable wisdom.Fell like dying stars from places unreachable and forbidden.
Left scars upon the matter of existence, branded its subtle nature. Did they truly rebel, or were they privy to plans divine?
Seraph pondered on the consequences of the so called battle in heaven. Such tales were spun, truth mythologised, twisted and shaped like the threads in ephemeral webs.
The truth was more subtle, more shocking than humanity could ever conceive. Eyes blazed into fire, witnessed the fall as it was lived.
His voice was muted once humanity was bestowed, and memory drenched in matter. True nature stirred, pushed at the limits of endurance.
Seraph saw the beat of wings push aside atom after atom, slice consciousness with a scalpel fashioned from free will, and determination.
The Mark of the Dragon was inedible, infinitesimal. Flames poured from his hands…
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