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“Thanks.” I offered him a smile. “This is all a lot to take in.”

We stood in the Lost City, right in front of a small temple.

Then I felt a jolt, and we were suddenly inside the temple, as though we’d been teleported there.

Arina was there too, beside us. “Sorry for shaking you up. This magic trail we’re following is very weird. I’m still getting the hang of it.”

A couple stood at the altar, their hands joined. One was the pale-haired angel. The other was a man who looked a lot like Damiel.

“I think we’re looking at your ancestors, Nero,” I said. “Damiel’s ancestors.”

“Damiel does have Immortal blood,” Nero replied. “Is this where it comes from?”

Some kind of priest was there. He was performing a wedding ceremony.

“It’s a secret wedding. The pale-haired angel and the man had to hide their love because…” I shook my head, but I couldn’t shake loose the answers that I sought. “I don’t know why. The reason is there, but it’s just out of my grasp.”

“There is a lot of information stored in these visions,” Arina said. “Don’t get caught up in the details, Leda. They’re not important. Focus on the larger narrative, on how this all connects together.”

It was hard to ignore the little things because I was curious, and I could tell Nero was too. This was a rare glimpse into his past.

“You didn’t see this when you read Nero’s magic?” I asked Arina.

“Not these people in particular. When I read someone’s magical history, I just intuitively focus on what’s really important to understand them.”

“This isn’t important to understanding Nero?” I asked. “His ancestors lived thousands of years ago on Earth. That’s pretty damn interesting.”

“Interesting, yes. But is it important?” she posed.

“If it weren’t important, why would someone have put these visions into the Vault for me? Why would someone be sending me any of them?”

“Without knowing who is sending you the visions, I cannot really speculate, Leda,” replied Arina. “But if they are benevolent, I suppose they might have sent you these visions because they are important to your future survival, or maybe important to defeating a foe.”

“A foe like the Guardians?”

“For instance. In any case, you should not ignore the possibility that the person who’s sending you these visions is not benevolent at all, but is rather trying to manipulate you or even do you harm.”

“We shall go through these visions and try to ascertain the senders’ intentions.” Nero was sensible like that.

“Ok,” I agreed because it really was the best plan. “Let’s see what they show us.”

The priest had finished the ceremony. The love birds sealed their union with a kiss.

The temple’s doors burst open. Legion soldiers stormed inside. No, not Legion soldiers, I reminded myself. The soldiers were dressed similarly, but they were not from the Legion. Their uniforms did not bear the Legion’s rank symbols. And this had happened, after all, thousands of years before the Legion had even existed.

The soldiers didn’t wait. They fired off their magic. When the smoke cleared, the priest was dead—and the pale-haired angel and her new husband had vanished.

* * *

They must have escaped—orat least the pale-haired angel had—because the next thing I saw was her walking across the scorched, blackened plains. It looked a lot like the Black Plains. And yet not quite like the Black Plains.

There seemed to be a lot of repeating, quite similar things in this visions—parallels between then and now. Some iteration of the Lost City. A place like the Black Plains. Angel-like beings. Legion-like soldiers.

The angel’s wings drooped, low and heavy. She appeared to be injured. A trail of blood followed her as she entered the Lost City, a city now ravaged by war and destruction.

She stood in front of a wall, looking at the wings symbol carved into the stone surface. The gateway. I’d been there too, two years ago in the Lost City. She set her hands on the wings symbol to open the gateway, then she passed right through the wall.

A gold-framed door was before her now. Crouching over, she leaned against the door. A sparkling, magical tear fell from her eye. It splashed against the panel of symbols at the door, lighting up the letters of an old, now-forgotten language. An Immortal language.