Uriel stood in a golden field, the air warm and heavy with the scent of wildflowers. His boots sank slightly into the earth, the softness of the grass giving way beneath him. The sun hung low on the horizon, bathing everything in hues of amber and copper. For a fleeting moment, he felt… at peace.
A boy darted through the field ahead of him, laughter ringing out like a melody carried by the breeze. Uriel's chest tightened, a deep ache blooming there. He knew the boy's laugh as intimately as he knew his own breath. The child couldn't have been more than seven, with dark curls that tumbled down his forehead and bright, mischievous eyes that mirrored Uriel's—two black coals where irises should have been.
"Papa! Watch me!" the boy called, his voice bursting with excitement as he ran barefoot toward a cluster of tall reeds.
"I'm watching," Uriel replied, his voice thick. He couldn't tear his gaze away if he wanted to.
