Luke leans his head back, near touching the trunk of the tree behind him, and lets out his breath. He opens his eyes slowly, the slit pupils have went back normal, as had his iris, but the black sclera has remained. He looks up at the falling leafs above him. A leaf falls past his face, brushing against his cheek as it falls into his lap. He looks down at the fallen leaf and is reminded about a fallen angel.
Damian draws his sword, one he had just purchased later that day, and holds it out in front of him. Despite already testing it when he bought it, he still held it in front of him as if studying it. Truth is, he just likes to look at it.