You are a Judicator. A Paladin. A mere Seraphim among many with a timer ticking down on your wrist.
Though you are odd, different- you do not rule and reign with a sword and shield like many of your allies. You are ridiculed, belittled, wounded for having a glimmering rifle. A coward.
You ignore the remarks.
None can argue your sure shot when your wings have you in the air, sniping at the enemy far below.
That is not the only reason- it is more of an excuse. For you have lived Eons, yet your timer continues its solitary count down. Marked and matched by no one.
You will not meet them for some years to come- days to you, it almost seems, yet still millennia away.
No. The real derision, is that your soul mate- your other half is not a seraphim- no holy creature, for your species does not breed, but is created, and none have been or will be until your current flock will be destroyed and killed. Eradicated.
You are alone in your existence, while your fellows have all found their other halves, bonded, morphed into something more and created stronger beings...
They wished to judge you prematurely, execute you, a Judicator, because one day you will become a fallen, and that day is marked plainly on your wrist for all to see.