After causing enough harm for a lifetime (or ten) and accidentally sinking Atlantis (sorry!), Sangris is more than happy to simply settle down and enjoy the day to day adventures that often are found tossed in his lap with little to no prior warning. Not that he midns! He's not even 6 billion years old, thank you very much, and despite nearly permanently dying more times than he'd like to count, or comfortably admit, it won't stop him from diving headfirst into some stuff that'll most likely fuck him up.

What an idiot.

Mikhail

When he first arrived with his sister, Sangris (still going by Fiacre) found himself in a brand new planet with far too much going on, not enough knowledge on him, and far too much naivity to keep going. Luckily for him, he had the wodnerful assistance of essentially being adopted by Mikhail, a guardian angel descended from his like named archangel ancestor. Despite knowing the risks it'd take to raise the demon twins, Mikhail accepted the banishment instead of taking the two out like commanded to. From there, he showed them the ins and out of the planet, quietly raising them in a massive library filled to the brim with everything they'd ever need to read and apply to the real life one day. Mikhail always said, 'When you understand the power of names and the history of titles, that's when I know you're ready to leave my care'.

And thus, Sangris was chosen.

Afterwards, But Not the Entire After

Unfortunately for freshly dubbed Sangris, humanity was nothing like the fairy tales he read about. Even the horror stories he used to massively consume late at night and into the early light was nothing compared to what he witnessed. The first human he met showed him love and compassion, and when he turned, the human tried to rip out his core, his very being, the only thing keeping him alive. This was the first time he died, with a flaming sword driven between his wings and silver blood marring the world. The second time was was right afterwards, sheer rage forcing his body to recollect itself right away, animosity burning under his fingertips as the sword plunged into him once again. Not as if it mattered.

Sangris got his revenge, died, and learned that his feathers lost colors every twice he died. The first two turned one a stunning, shimmering shade of sunset, just like a pheonix's.

Alas- Sangris is bright and far too forgiving, and didn't let that dissuade him. Dying and dying and births and being reborn, lost memories and regained friends, brimstone and hellflame, wars and afterwards, he's experienced it all. Despite it all, Sangris never grew tired, every life something new, every timeline, something different. And, when he comes across a strange, far too round lake, and a man standing in a field of hyacinths, all he gets is a feeling.