A colossal marble statue of an angel with unfurled wings and glowing eyes dominates a European city street, with small people below.

The Merovingian towers above the rooftops like a marble colossus, wings unfurled in sweeping arcs that seem to scrape the clouds. Each feather curves in a flowing, almost liquid motion, etched with delicate filigree that twists like vines around brass veins. Sunlight catches on the pale marble, sending golden highlights rippling across its serene face, while shadows pool in the deep hollows of its robes. Its eyes glow faintly, a soft amber that pulses gently, like a heartbeat visible from miles away. Passersby stop mid-step, compelled by a sensation they cannot name—an intimate awareness that someone, or something, is watching. Children tilt their heads, sensing warmth, while criminals avert their gaze, feeling judgment sharper than any law. Beneath the wings, the carved folds of its Art Nouveau robes twist into intricate whiplash curves and floral motifs, masking the tiny gears and vents hidden within. The gentle curves suggest life; the cold stone reminds all who look that it is more than life—it is eternity, immense and incomprehensible. A subtle hum reverberates through the air, barely perceptible, like a whisper in the mind. Those bonded feel it stronger—Mathias, standing near the base, senses the Merovingian’s presence wrap around him, tender yet inescapable, as if the statue itself knows every thought before he speaks. A single stone hand, massive yet impossibly graceful, stretches outward—not threatening, but holding the promise of guidance, judgment, and the See more