Warren couldn’t believe his eyes.

The younger Alengiana dressed in black, standing not even fifty feet from him. A ghost that made Warren feel like he couldn’t breathe. The ghost had aged - it had been several kiasmas, his mind reminded him - but the signature blue of the siiltuzh draped around the visitor’s neck was unmistakable.

Warren’s hands crackled, his skin amalgamating to the metal of the door he had left closed behind him.

The younger Alengiana moved his head, limp hair falling away from his good eye so he could see Warren better. The other side of his face was covered in a dark crust, faintly glowing - his jaw clenched and he glowered at Warren, and Warren could almost say it looked like he was in pain.

It was Warren who spoke first: >

Mikaal’s gloved fingers curled into his palms. > he said. His voice was hoarse and low, Warren had a hard time hearing him. >

Warren’s stance shifted defensively as Mikaal reached into the fold of his inner robe and withdrew a small scrap of green. A shimmering shred of a siiltuzh. Mikaal’s expression softened and Warren saw a tired glint in the Arkanghelis’s one eye.

> Mikaal gingerly held the piece out to Warren. In a way, the careful motion reminded him of when his children were young and a favorite plushie had needed stitches.

At the sight of the scrap, Warren absently reached up and touched the edge of his own, goldenrod siiltuzh around his neck. It had been soon long since Warren had last seen the brilliant emerald color. It had been Eric’s. So very long ago, that had been Eric’s siiltuzh; Eric had destroyed it the day they had left their kind. Now Mikaal was attuned to the final remnant of it, using it to follow where the scrap felt its original holder nested.

>

> Warren let go of the golden fabric around his neck.

Mikaal’s eye drifted back to the siiltuzh scrap in his hand. His head did not move; which meant the injury was painful enough to avoid movement, Warren noted. Mikaal swallowed. >

>

His feathers flattened out along his wings, the large limbs sweeping forward as he bowed his head un shame. >

At this, a single, pale brow climbed high on Warren's dark forehead. > he repeated, unimpressed.

<> Mikaal huffed, his black wings splaying his feathers wide. <>

“You abandoned your ark,” Warren said, purposefully switching to English. “You are riheknezh. A Defect.”

“No!” Mikaal barked back, his voice cracking. He flashed his sharp teeth at Warren in a pained grimace. Warren only looked back at him calmly.

“So you understand what I’m saying, right now,” Warren sighed. It figured; Mikaal crashing to Earth had to have been the reason Eric had left so quickly. “How long have you been on-planet, to have picked up a tongue?”

Mikaal slowly withdrew the green scrap, holding it in his gloved fingers as he turned his attention to it. > he admitted with some shame. He ran his thumb over the green fabric once before tucking it back into the inner pocket of his robes. <>

Mikaal motioned to the house behind Warren and the older Alengiana didn’t need to turn around. He heard the panicked skittering of his kids ducking out of sight below the windowsill, heard his son swear after he ducked too hard and fell on one of his new wings. His son, who took more after Eric; Eric, who Mikaal seemed fixated on finding.

Warren briefly weighed the consequences of letting Mikaal inside versus leaving him outside. On one hand, he could warn the Arkanghelis to mind his behavior until Warren could call Eric home and have a very, very long conversation with him. Maybe yell a little at his brilliant, idiot husband. Or yell a lot. Yelling a lot seemed to be the thing that took over the darker Alengiana’s mindset right then.

Warren folded his arms across his chest. “You may stay until it’s decided what to do with you,” he said evenly. “But if you put anyone in danger, even those Nephilim, you’ll be dealing with more than just myself.”

This gave Mikaal pause. His brows furrowed as he tried to gauge whether or not the sudden shift in Warren’s demeanor was some new tactic. Realizing it wasn’t, the pale Alengiana took a cautious step towards Warren to test those words. Warren didn’t flinch or move to strike, so Mikaal came closer. “I give my thanks, Tamaal.”

Warren shook his head, rubbing his temple. “There’s some iridisim inside. Once your face is taken care of, we’ll have to work on making you less… obvious.” He motioned to Mikaal’s more traditional attire, emphasizing how different it was from Warren’s more Earthly clothing.

Except for siiltuzh and stolen remnants of technology, the Dihalo siblings had scarcely seen traditional Alengian anything in person. The Alengian culture was largely kept away from them growing up. They’d picked up few Lengiki words from what they overhead; had seen a few faded drawings; and understood little of their parents’ people. Other Alengiana on Earth were very much the same way.

But now a wounded stranger in black, recently arrived planetside, sat at the table across from them.

If he were Human, Mikaal didn’t look more than a few years older than Gadrien. Like most Alengiana he was taller than either sibling and on the thin side, though he was shorter than Warren. His wings were raven black and politely folded at the table, a stark contrast to his paler-than-paper skin and platinum blonde hair that wrapped around his neck in a long braid, tucked under his assigned neon blue scarf.

Mikaal was an Arkanghelis - a prince, as both siblings understood the word.

And he was at their table. Eating fried chicken and potato wedges as if he’d just quit a diet.

“Mikaal will be staying with us for a while,” Warren said. He leaned his weight against the counter, tucking his golden wings up against his back to keep them off the granite. “Until your father gets back from his trip.”

Knowing that tone, the siblings exchanged wide, tight-lipped looks. Someone was going to be sleeping on the couch and it wasn’t going to be just Mikaal.

“What happened to his face,” Gadrien asked Warren and Warren only.

“Gade,” Hellena flatly called her brother on his lack of manners.

“Didn’t say. But he can understand you,” Warren reminded his son in a mild warning. Mikaal let out a guttural huff in amusement. “After he eats, I’m going to see what I can do for it. It’s not a fresh injury. I don’t know why he went so long without treating it.”

Mikaal swallowed before he spoke: >

Hellena narrowed her eyes and turned to her father, but Warren pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring what Mikaal had said. “Gade, he may need to borrow some of your clothes for a while.”

“Okay?” with a mouthful of food, Gadrien’s voice inflected upwards, unsure of how comfortable he was with the idea of their one-eyed houseguest wearing his clothing.

Dihalo-Kasdeja House, Noeden | October 3rd, 23:22

True to his word, after they had cleaned up from dinner, Warren immediately set to making Mikaal look less like an escaped alien.

Gadrien had more weight on him than Mikaal, and so his clothes sat awkwardly on Mikaal’s frame. The dark gray t-shirt slanted almost off of Mikaal’s shoulder and the jeans weren’t a much better fit - Mikaal had to use one of Hellena’s belts, a pale purple one dusted with dark glitter. He preferred the sandal-toed boots he’d come with, the loose legs of the jeans covering them so that he only appear to be wearing odd sandals. His blue siiltuzh remained, wrapped around his neck and resting on his shoulders.

Warren had done his best to cut Mikaal’s hair, though it had taken some persuading for him to agree to chop off his braid. His pale hair was ear-length all around, except for over the right side of his face - where it drifted past his chin. Mikaal was adamant that part remained long. Since it had started to heal on its own, the iridisim wasn’t able to treat his facial wound fully; what remained was a mostly-blind eye and a set of scars that raked his face as if he’d been clawed by something.

Ultimately, the Mikaal standing in the living room now resembled a later-teen with questionable fashion sense.

“Do you think he passes enough?” Warren asked his kids.

“He looks normal,” Hellena commented from where she lounged on the couch.

“He looks emo,” Gadrien added, earning an immediate kick in the side from his sister.

“A little emo,” Hellena agreed, “But normal.”

“But I am not… sad?” Mikaal blinked, looking between them quizzically.