Not Even You

Those words... Tycondrius understood them. 

The spoken words were in Celestial... a very old dialect of a language thrice-Ancient. 

That voice... was strangely familiar, as well. 

A... very particular feeling seeped trickled into Tycon's heart. 

He identified it as... annoyance-- annoyance bordering on hostility. 

His first logical assumption was to owe his recognition to his bloodline memories. 

However... that was implausible. 

Medusae and Maedar might have been long antecedents to modern humans... but the bloodline was not near old enough to know an angel's true name. 

Tycon turned to face the interloper while keeping Rena at his back. 

A tall, humanoid male hovered just above the river waters. 

His face: arrogant. 

His skin: cast from burnished steel. 

His pronounced cheekbones and deeply set, cleft chin-- they made the vacuous expression in his eyes more apparent.