The insistent beeping was the first thing Ethan registered. A rhythmic, monotonous pulse that hammered against the inside of his skull, a counterpoint to the throbbing pain that still radiated from every inch of his body. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids felt glued shut. He forced them, wincing as a sliver of harsh, fluorescent light sliced through the darkness.

He was in a hospital room. Sterile white walls, the faint scent of antiseptic, the tangle of tubes snaking from his arm into an IV drip. Familiar, yet…wrong. He remembered the alley, the sickening crack of bone against bone, the rising tide of pain that threatened to drown him. He should be dead. Or at least, broken beyond repair.

He cautiously moved his head, a small victory against the lingering agony. His left arm – or rather, where his left arm *should* be – throbbed, a phantom limb screaming in protest. The right side felt equally alien, a strange lightness accompanying the familiar ache. The memories flooded back: the motorcycle, the screech of tires, the crushing impact…both limbs gone. He’d resigned himself to a life of helpless immobility.

So, what was this? Some cruel joke? An elaborate hallucination fueled by painkillers?

He focused his blurry vision on his body. Bandages swathed his torso, his head was wrapped in gauze, but beneath the covering, something felt…different. Stronger. He could feel a vibrant energy humming beneath his skin, a power he'd never known.

Then he saw it. Perched on the rail of his bed, close enough that he could almost reach out and touch it, was a raven. Not just *any* raven. This one was impossibly large, its obsidian feathers gleaming even in the sterile hospital light. Its eyes, intelligent and knowing, were fixed on him.

And then, it spoke.

"Took you long enough to wake up, soldier." The voice was a low, gravelly rasp, somehow both ancient and laced with a hint of amusement. It resonated in Ethan's mind more than it did in the air, a feeling more than a sound.

Ethan stared, his mind struggling to reconcile what he was seeing – and hearing – with any semblance of reality. "Am I…am I dreaming?" he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. His throat felt raw, parched.

The raven hopped closer, its claws clicking softly on the metal rail. "Dreaming? No, Blackwood. This is as real as the pain you're feeling. Though, I must admit, you're healing remarkably fast. Faster than anyone I've seen in quite some time."

"Healing? But…my arm, my leg…" Ethan stammered, trying to sit up. He winced, but the pain was strangely muted, a dull echo of the agony he remembered.

"Replaced," the raven said, matter-of-factly. "Not replaced as you understand it, not with prosthetics, not yet. Repaired. Regenerated. A gift, of sorts. Though, I doubt you'll see it that way at first."

"Regenerated? That's…impossible." Ethan’s logical, soldier-trained mind rejected the notion outright. Medical science hadn't advanced that far. He was hallucinating, he had to be.

"Impossible is just a word humans use to describe things they don't understand," the raven replied, tilting its head. "My name is Corvus, by the way. And you, Ethan Blackwood, are now a carrier of the Aethelred Strain."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The Aethelred Strain? It sounded like something from a science fiction movie, not reality.

"The Aethelred…what?" Ethan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"The Aethelred Strain," Corvus repeated, his voice laced with a hint of urgency. "A genetic anomaly, a dormant potential awakened within you. A legacy, if you will, from a source long forgotten by most of humanity."

"A legacy?" Ethan repeated, the word feeling alien on his tongue. "What are you talking about? And how are you…talking?" He gestured vaguely at the raven with his right hand, a hand that felt far stronger than he remembered.

Corvus ignored the question about his own sentience. "Imagine, if you will, a power that has lain dormant within the human genome for millennia. A power connected to something…greater. Something celestial, yet tragically fallen."

Ethan shook his head, his mind struggling to keep up. "Fallen…angel? Is that what you're saying? This is insane."

"Insane perhaps, but undeniably real," Corvus retorted. "The Strain originated from Aethelred, an entity banished from the celestial realms. His essence, his power, was scattered across the Earth, manifesting in rare and unpredictable ways throughout history. You, Ethan Blackwood, are one of the few who carry his blood, who possess the potential to unlock his power."

He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. The strength that coursed through him was undeniable. He remembered the beating he'd taken in the alley, the way he'd felt helpless, broken. Now, he felt…different. Powerful.

"So, this…Strain…it healed me?" Ethan asked, finally beginning to accept the impossible.

"Healed you, yes. But also…changed you," Corvus replied, his eyes unwavering. "You possess strength you never dreamed of, speed, resilience…abilities that will make you a target."

"A target? Who's going to target me? Local thugs?" Ethan scoffed, the cynicism that had become his trademark creeping back into his voice.

"More than thugs, Blackwood," Corvus said gravely. "There are those who know about the Aethelred Strain, those who fear its potential. They call themselves the Order of Gabriel. They believe the Strain is an abomination, a corruption that must be purged from the Earth. They will hunt you, Ethan. They will stop at nothing to eliminate you."

The words were a cold splash of reality, a chilling counterpoint to the miracle of his healing. He’d gone from a broken, forgotten soldier to…what? A pawn in some ancient, celestial game?

"The Order of Gabriel?" Ethan echoed, his voice laced with disbelief. "A bunch of religious fanatics? Seriously?"

"Fanatics, yes. But also resourceful, powerful, and incredibly dangerous," Corvus warned. "They possess knowledge and resources you cannot imagine. They have been hunting the Aethelred Strain for centuries."

Ethan ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers brushed against the bandages. He felt a surge of anger, a familiar rage rising within him. He'd fought wars, faced death head-on, and now he was being dragged into some centuries-old supernatural conflict?

"Why me?" he asked, his voice tight with frustration. "Why now? Why can't they just leave me alone?"

Corvus hopped closer, his intelligent eyes meeting Ethan's. "You are not just a carrier of the Aethelred Strain, Ethan. You are a descendant of Aethelred himself. Your bloodline carries a particularly potent form of the Strain. You have the potential to become something…more."

"More what?" Ethan demanded, his voice rising. "More messed up? More of a freak?"

"More powerful," Corvus stated. "More capable. More…than human. The Strain is a gift, Ethan, but it is also a burden. A responsibility. It is up to you to decide what you will do with it."

Ethan stared at the raven, his mind reeling. He had so many questions, so many doubts. He was a soldier, not some chosen one destined to save the world. He was a broken man, haunted by his past. How could he possibly be responsible for anything, let alone the fate of the world?

"I don't want this," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I just want to be left alone."

"That is not an option," Corvus replied, his voice firm. "The Order of Gabriel will not let you. The Strain will not let you. You have been chosen, Ethan. Whether you like it or not, you are now part of something much larger than yourself."

He looked back at the raven. "What am I supposed to do?"

Corvus ruffled his feathers, a flicker of something that might have been sympathy in his eyes. "First, you must learn to control your powers. You must understand the Strain, its strengths and its weaknesses. And then…you must decide what kind of weapon you will be. A weapon for the Order of Gabriel? A weapon for Aethelred himself? Or something else entirely."

The raven paused, then added, "I will help you, Ethan. I will guide you. But ultimately, the choice is yours."

The beeping of the heart monitor seemed to grow louder, a relentless reminder of his precarious existence. He was no longer just Ethan Blackwood, ex-soldier, double amputee. He was something…more. Something dangerous. Something hunted.

He looked at Corvus, the talking raven, his unlikely guide in this terrifying new reality. "Alright," he said, his voice still shaky but laced with a newfound determination. "Tell me everything." He knew his life would never be the same, and as much as he wanted to fight it, he knew he couldn't run. The wreckage of his past was nothing compared to the storm that was about to break. He had wings now, even if he didn't know how to fly. Yet.