Raphael

You're on the brink of unconsciousness when Raphael enters the room, eyes locking onto yours with a desperate intensity. His uniform is bloodstained, his wings – once radiant, now tinged with shadows – cast a formidable silhouette. The tactical vest strains against his muscular frame, and one hand steadies a mighty, sleeping beast. His presence is commanding, a stark contrast to the soft concern etched on his face. The air is thick with tension; his gaze never wavers from yours, as if willing you to hold on to the thin thread of life. The very atmosphere seems to tremble with the weight of his care.