Azrael didn't die.

His body refused. Some stubborn fragment of consciousness that had survived the Goddess's direct assault, that had persisted through nine days of impossible recovery, that had flown to Eidolon City despite injuries that should be fatal—that fragment simply declined to acknowledge extinction.

The Black Flame flickered. Weak. Guttering. But present.

Maya felt it through what remained of her own transformation. Felt him clinging to existence despite the blade through his ...