"The war is never over," he breathed. "Because maybe the war is what keeps me strong." Even as he tried to resist so that he could take back control of the encounter in the way that was expected of a Spartan, of a feared Krypteian, he felt his body respond to the gentleness and love that the a slave - no, the angel - was showing him.
He reached up, and with hesitant hands, touched the wings folded behind Samandriel's back. They were so soft; softer than anything he'd ever felt.
"Then be my muse," he said, his voice still full of wonderment. "Be my eremenos."