The moment Owen placed his palm against the coffin, a soul-piercing chill surged up his arm and gripped his heart. The coffin's lid—etched with a cross—began to slowly slide open, revealing the figure lying within.
Inside rested a being of extraordinary beauty and solemnity—an angel with snowy white hair, closed eyes, and long lashes like delicate brushes. The noble air he exuded was overwhelming, even in repose. He looked less like a corpse and more like a sleeping deity.
Owen's gaze drifted across the angel's serene face, then fell upon a particular feature—a single, unusual feather.
It was a long, milk-white wing feather that moved gently despite the absence of wind. It emanated a distinct aura, one that resonated with mysterious power.
But just as Owen prepared to examine it more closely, the feather… vanished.
His eyes narrowed in surprise, and in the next breath, an immense force erupted from within the coffin.
The angel's eyes snapped open.
