In the dead of night there was a shooting star, the purest most silver streak across the sky, only the odd few saw it and some heralded it as an omen, some said it was nothing more than a dying star and made a wish on its descent.
In a small copse of trees outside the town a figure rose from where it had landed, as it stood proud and tall, wings would be seen, large black wings, folded and disappeared. The armour the figure wore melted away and became clothes, plain, unassuming, but there was nothing unassuming about this tall figure, nor the sword at their side. They walked out of the trees into the moonlight and a man was revealed in the pale light. He was handsome, well built with jet black hair and eyes the colour of silvery starlight. He wore black breeches and boots, a black shirt over which sat a black tunic threaded with silver and covering him over was a long black woollen cloak.
He started towards the town...it was the last known location of where his sister Arina had been along with her Nephilim offspring. He would seek the truth of her passing and in doing so find the boy...he needed to be seen... to be judged...whether he could be taught or was too much like his demon father.