“Tyriel!” Kirin gasped as he beheld the Nephilim standing about ten paces away, his snow-white wings fully restored and spread wide as the Golden glow of the hearth blazing inside the darkened chamber beyond framed his lithe shadowed form like a halo. “Splendid,” Ejaenin uttered softly as she eyed the magnificent creature standing before them. She extended her compliments as he sister witches filed out of the castle one by one and stepped out into the courtyard. “Your success is apparent, Sisters, as is your skill,” she said as she confidently strode over to Tyriel and regarded him with an appreciative eye. As the Nephilim allowed her to test the strong line of his newly restored, extended right wing, she cooed to Pemla, “You have done an extraordinarily fine job healing his wings.” Ejaenin put on a wide-eyed, innocent expression as she then turned to Kirin and teasingly asked, “Do you not think so, Dear One?” When Kirin’s mouth went agape and he failed to respond, Ejaenin pursed her lips to keep from laughing and walked over to him. The young prince’s glassy green eyes were fixed only on Tyriel as she grasped his short-cropped beard by her fingertips and yanked his chin up, thereby shutting his open mouth. The elder witch glanced over at her sisters before declaring in a surprised but innocent tone, “I think he is finally mute!” Pemba chuckled as she noted Kirin’s stunned expression. She turned to her sisters and remarked dryly, “It seems our godson is quite surprised to see his old friend up and about.” The Fabiosa sisters giggled and chortled amongst themselves as they noticed Kirin’s emotions quickly cycling from blatant admiration to all- out embarrassment. “It seems you are quite smitten, My Boy,” Eenre happily remarked as she nodded toward the Angelic.