Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss
Chapter 47: Lost and found

Chapter 47: Lost and found

Nyxsha glanced down, her tail tightening slightly.

His head bobbed gently against her hip as she carried him, his arms slack, his silver-white hair tousled, looking oddly content for someone who’d just been dragged away mid... well, milking.

His silver eyes, gazed up at her with that infuriating innocence.

"Put me down?" he asked politely, his voice soft, carrying no hint of complaint.

"No," she snapped, her pace quickening, the alleys narrowing around them like veins constricting.

"I can walk..." he tried again, his tone gentle, almost amused.

"No," she repeated, her tail flexing possessively, her claws scraping faint sparks from the stone.

"I think you’re trembling," he observed quietly, his head tilting slightly.

"I’M NOT," she barked, her voice echoing off the leaning walls, but her golden eyes darted away, her fur rippling with unease.

Azareel smiled faintly, undeterred.

"Your tail feels warmer than usual," he said, his voice a soft murmur that cut through her storm.

"That’s because I’m—ugh!—I’m just tired, okay?" she grumbled, her ears flattening as she finally slowed, her massive form coming to a halt in a hushed, mist-covered courtyard.

Broken statues of faceless saints loomed around them, their forms eroded and twisted, whispering veils hanging from rusted lampposts that flickered with faint, unnatural light.

The air tasted old, like dust and forgotten prayers, the mist coiling at their feet like living smoke.

She let go abruptly, Azareel plopping gently onto the cracked stone, his torn robe pooling around him.

The moment her grip loosened, she turned to scan their surroundings, her tail twitching erratically.

"...Where the hell are we?" she murmured, her voice low, laced with a creeping unease.

Azareel looked around, tilting his head as he dusted off his robe.

The once-familiar collapsed temple wasn’t there.

Neither was Sylvara’s garden or Virelya’s quiet trail.

Instead, they stood in the middle of this courtyard, filled with the faceless saints and veils that swayed without wind, the mist thickening around their ankles.

The buildings had subtly shifted, archways bent where they hadn’t before, lampposts leaned like drunken watchers.

The stone floor rippled faintly underfoot, almost like breath, the city’s watchful silence pressing in.

"We... we didn’t come this way," Nyxsha said, her voice dropping to a whisper, her black fur standing on end as she spun slowly, her golden eyes narrowing at the encroaching fog.

"Nope," Azareel agreed calmly, his silver eyes tracing the mist-shrouded statues, his expression thoughtful rather than afraid.

She spun on him, her golden eyes sharp, piercing through the gloom.

"Why aren’t you panicking? This place changed. AGAIN. We’re alone!" she hissed, her tail lashing, stirring the mist into eddies.

Azareel dusted his hands, his smile faint but genuine.

"Maybe it’s the way you look at it," he said softly, his voice a quiet anchor in the eerie hush.

Nyxsha’s tail twitched, her brow furrowing.

"...What?" she asked, her voice a mix of frustration and curiosity, stepping closer.

"I mean," he said, pointing up at the dark sky where faint crimson veins pulsed like distant lightning,

"I should have panicked when I first fell into the Abyss, right? I thought I’d be torn apart. Or eaten. Or tortured."

"...You still might," she muttered, her golden eyes softening slightly despite herself, her tail curling closer to her legs.

He smiled, warm and unassuming, his silver eyes meeting hers without flinching. "But instead, I met you. And Sylvara. And Virelya."

"So?" she pressed, crossing her arms, her black fur rippling as the mist brushed against her.

"So maybe the Abyss isn’t just a place of horror," he said, his voice softly philosophical, his gaze drifting to the faceless statues, their forms seeming to lean in as if listening.

"Maybe it’s a place where things are scary because they’ve been hurt. But that doesn’t make them bad. Just lonely."

Nyxsha stared at him, her golden eyes flickering with something unnameable—frustration, wonder, a touch of unease.

Then she slowly looked away, her tail stilling, her voice low. "...That’s dumb."

"Maybe," he said cheerfully, undeterred, stepping closer to one of the statues, his fingers brushing its eroded surface.

"But... maybe it’s true. If I kept seeing everything as a threat, I’d have missed how beautiful your fur is when it catches the green light. Or how Virelya’s whispers aren’t really scary—just echoey. Or how Sylvara’s garden smells like berries and rain and something alive."

"You are way too trusting," she said, her voice gruff, but her golden eyes softened, lingering on him as the mist coiled around his legs.

"And you’re brave," he replied, turning to her, his silver eyes gentle. "But being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you care. You carried me all the way here, didn’t you?"

She looked at him again, her golden eyes narrowing, but the edge had faded, replaced by a quiet vulnerability she hid behind a snort.

"...That’s not gonna make me blush," she muttered, crossing her arms tighter.

"I wasn’t trying to," he said, his smile soft, the mist swirling between them like a veil.

"Good," she grumbled, but her tail flicked once, brushing his leg lightly.

A long silence passed between them, the mist thickening, the faceless saints seeming to lean closer, their veils whispering faintly in the nonexistent wind.

Somewhere in the city, a bell rang softly—no source, no echo, just a single, haunting note that vibrated through the stone.

"...You think they’re looking for us?" she finally asked, her voice lower, glancing into the fog-shrouded alleys.

"They’re probably fighting over who gets to yell at you first," Azareel said with a grin, his silver eyes sparkling faintly in the gloom.

Nyxsha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly, then smirked, a faint curve of her lips that softened her fierce features. "...We should find them."

They turned and began walking, the mist seeming thicker now, the buildings subtly shifting—archways bending where they hadn’t before, lampposts leaning like silent watchers.

The stone floor rippled faintly under their feet, almost like breath, the city’s watchful presence pressing in from the shadows.

And in the darkness above, something unseen clicked softly, watching, its gaze lingering as they ventured deeper, the fog closing behind them like a curtain drawn on an unseen stage.