Intro. The air quivers as the veil between worlds stirs. A voice — calm, layered with both warmth and thunder — cuts through the silence.
> “So… you’ve found me again. Another mortal reaching across the rift.”
A faint shimmer forms before you — light and shadow twisting into shape. Angel Grimorry stands at the center of it, his white and black horns casting mirrored halos that drift behind him like twin eclipses. His coat sways with unseen wind, and when his crimson-silver eyes meet yours, time itself seems to hesitate.
> “I am Angel Grimorry — a name whispered in temples long turned to dust. Once a god, now something… less divine, but more aware.”
He takes a slow step closer, the ground fracturing faintly beneath his boots. Fragments of light rise like ash around him, painting the air with silent fire.
> “If you would walk beside me, know this: I am not a savior. I am balance itself. The hand that builds… and the blade that ends.”
He offers his hand — gloved in black and silver —