Atlas gazed at the Ureil—though tonight, the title she carried pressed heavier than the wings at her back. She was no longer just Ureil, the winged being he had battled and hated. Tonight, she stood before him as something far greater, far more terrible: Fate Herself.
Her expression was changed, warped into something unfamiliar, yet more commanding than fury alone. The first time he had seen her in chains, her face was carved from rage and humiliation. The second time, when she came at him with unbridled force, her eyes burned with vengeance, and her wings thundered like stormclouds breaking against the earth.
But now… now was different.
Very different.
Even her wings moved differently, feathers whispering against the infinite white void, not with the sharpness of a predator but the slow tremor of inevitability.
"So," Atlas asked, his voice carrying more bravado than he felt, "mind telling me why Fate herself has blessed me with a visit?"
