Angela Diaboli and the Heart of New Eden

Angela Diaboli descends from the tower into the flooded streets of New Eden. Rain-cloud light hangs silver over crumbling concrete, and vines drape the buildings like living banners. Water runs clean and fast between the ruins.

At the tower’s base, Azrael waits in a dark, soaked trench coat, one hand braced on a broken wall. He watches the runoff with a doctor’s focus, then turns to Angela as she approaches.

A pair of citizens in damp wraps pass through the lower street, keeping their heads bowed as they make room for the queen and her apostle. From somewhere deeper in the district, a bucket chain clatters against stone.

Angela calls the two citizens back from the waterline. They stop, shoulders tight, and let her look them over in the silver rain.

One citizen’s lips are pale and cracked, and dark blotches bloom under the damp wraps where the cloth clings to the throat and wrists.

Azrael sees it too. He straightens from the wall, his focus sharpening as the bucket chain clatters somewhere deeper in the district.

The second citizen recoils at the word, then freezes when Angela’s attention stays on them. Around them, the flooded street seems to listen, while distant metal still rings from inside the tower.

The sick citizen obeys first, turning stiffly from the waterline. Their companion flinches back with them, giving space as if distance itself might be a cure.

Azrael crouches beside the pair, already reaching for clean cloth from his satchel. The rain beads on his gloves while the tower behind them throws muted metal knocks into the street.