Page 44

Archer

I rubbed my eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

The ancient text before me swam with words I'd read so many times they were beginning to lose meaning.

My quarters were dimly lit with only a few candles casting long shadows across the walls.

The scent of old parchment and leather bindings filled my nostrils as I hunched over the massive tome, my shoulders tight with tension.

"Fuck," I muttered, pushing my raven hair back from my face.

My daggers materialized in my hands without conscious thought—a nervous habit I'd developed over centuries.

I twirled them deftly between my fingers as I stared down at the page, the metal catching the candlelight as they spun.

The familiar weight was comforting as I tried to focus my fatigued mind.

Light-bearer, Light-bringer, Light-giver, Light-maker.

.. the variations were endless. I'd compiled a list of over a hundred ancestral weapons with "light" in their names, scattered across different realms and timelines.

How the hell was I supposed to know which one might be connected to Callum's Lightsbane?

I'd been translating passages for hours, cross-referencing symbols, checking for errors in the magical translations.

The Angelic tongue was notoriously difficult—full of subtleties and double meanings that could completely change a text's interpretation.

Even for someone like me, with partial Angelic blood, it was a struggle.

That was something I tried not to think about too often—my origins.

My mother, an angel tricked by my demon father, their forbidden coupling resulting in me.

Traded away as part of their bargain, consigned to service to the throne and to Rowen.

Few knew of my heritage, and I preferred to keep it that way.

My healing powers—the ones that marked me as different—remained my most closely guarded secret, only used when absolutely necessary.

I sighed heavily and leaned back, the wooden chair creaking under my weight. My eyes burned from straining to read the intricate script for so long. Dawn would come soon, and I had nothing concrete to show for my night's work. Just theories and maybes and could-bes.

But Sierra had nearly died. The shadow beast was growing bolder, stronger. We didn't have the luxury of time for maybes and could-bes.

The door to my quarters opened with a soft click, and I looked up to see Sierra padding quietly into the room.

She wore a silky nightgown that clung to her curves, her silver hair falling loose around her shoulders.

In her hands, she carried a steaming cup.

The scent of chamomile and honey wafted toward me.

"You're still at it," she said softly, concern etched across her delicate features. She set the tea down beside the book and stood behind me, her small hands coming to rest on my shoulders. Her fingers dug into the knotted muscles there, and I couldn't help but groan at the relief.

"I have to find something," I said, my voice rougher than I'd intended. "Anything that might help us understand the connection."

Sierra's thumbs pressed into a particularly tight spot at the base of my neck, and I felt my eyes close involuntarily. Her touch was gentle but firm, her fingers working magic on my tense muscles.

"You won't be much help to anyone if you work yourself to exhaustion," she chided softly. "The tea will help. And then you should come to bed."

The suggestion sent a jolt of heat through me despite my fatigue.

Since Sierra had come into our lives, sleep had taken on new appeal—her body nestled between us, warm and soft and perfect.

But that same body had nearly been broken on the rocks below our balcony just hours ago.

The image was enough to snap my focus back to the task at hand.

"In a bit," I promised, reaching for the tea she'd brought. The warmth of the cup seeped into my palms as I took a tentative sip. The honey soothed my throat, and I suddenly realized how dry it had become during my hours of study.

Sierra moved around to face me, her piercings catching the candlelight as she studied my face.

There was a softness in her eyes that made my chest tight.

Without waiting for an invitation, she settled onto my lap, her weight a welcome pressure against my thighs.

I instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her.

"Show me what you've found," she said, leaning forward to look at the book.

"Not much," I admitted, setting the tea aside.

"There are references to light weapons throughout history, but nothing concrete tying Lightsbane to Lightbringer.

" I ran my hand through my hair in frustration.

"I've been translating passages for hours, but the Angelic tongue is.

.. difficult. Even with magical translation aids, nuances get lost."

Sierra hummed thoughtfully, pulling the book closer. Her eyes scanned the page, brow furrowed in concentration. Her fingers, delicate and pale, traced over a passage I'd been struggling with for the past hour.

Then, to my complete astonishment, she began to speak.

The words flowed from her lips with perfect pronunciation, her accent flawless in a way that should have been impossible for someone without years of study. The Angelic tongue was notoriously difficult to master—the sounds required vocal structures that most humans simply didn't possess.

Yet here was Sierra, reciting a complex passage as naturally as if she were speaking her native language.

My daggers stilled in my hands as I stared at her in absolute wonder. "How did you do that?"

Sierra blinked, looking genuinely confused. "Do what?"

"That language—the Angelic tongue. You spoke it perfectly. The accent, the inflections... everything." I studied her face closely. "That's no small feat, Sierra. Most beings can't even approximate those sounds correctly."

She looked down at the page, then back at me, her silver hair falling forward to frame her face. "I... I don't know. I just looked at it, and I could... read it. It felt natural."

A suspicion began to form in my mind. I'd known Sierra was special from the moment we'd met her. Her ability to speak with the dead, her unique powers—powers that were still developing. But this... this suggested something else entirely.

"Sierra," I began carefully, setting my daggers aside and taking her hands in mine. "Is there any chance you might have Angelic blood?"

Her eyes widened, the silver-grey irises catching the candlelight. "Angelic blood? Me?" She shook her head. "I don't think so. Gran never mentioned anything like that. She just said I was special."

"Special doesn't begin to cover it," I murmured, squeezing her fingers gently. "The Angelic tongue isn't something you can just pick up, Sierra. It requires certain... physiological structures. Vocal cords that can produce sounds beyond the human range."

She looked troubled, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "But I don't know anything about angels. I was raised by my grandmother. My parents died when I was young."

"Perhaps your Gran knew more than she told you," I suggested gently. "Or perhaps she didn't know herself."

Sierra's expression was pained, and I immediately regretted pushing the subject. Her past was still a tender wound, and here I was, prodding at it with theories and suspicions. I cupped her face with one hand, my thumb brushing over her cheek.

"Hey," I said softly, "it doesn't matter where your abilities come from. What matters is that you have them, and they're part of what makes you... you."

She leaned into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. When she opened them again, there was a new resolve there. "What did it say? The passage I read."

I looked down at the text, my mind replaying her perfect recitation. As I mentally translated the words, something clicked into place—something I'd missed before because I'd been reading the standard translation.

"'The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it,'" I began, translating the first part. "That's a common phrase in Angelic texts. But the next part..."

I frowned, going over the words in my head again, giving special attention to her pronunciation and inflection.

"'When dark turns to dawn, and the scourge is brought along, the one with dual blood shall forge it together to be the bringer of the sun.'"

Sierra tilted her head. "And that means...?"

"It's not how I've been reading it," I said, excitement beginning to build in my chest. "The translation I've been using renders 'flagellum' as 'scourge'—which is technically correct.

But in this context, with your pronunciation.

.." My mind raced, putting pieces together rapidly. "It should be 'bane.' Lightsbane."

Sierra's eyes widened, and I could see she was following my train of thought. "And 'adductor solis'?"

"'Bringer of the sun,'" I translated. "But 'solis' can also mean 'light' in certain contexts. Lightbringer." I flipped through my notes frantically. "That has to be it. Lightsbane and Lightbringer aren't separate weapons—they're the same weapon in different forms, or parts of the same whole!"

I scanned the passage again, new understanding dawning. "'The one with dual blood shall forge it together.' Dual blood... someone of mixed heritage." I looked up at Sierra, my excitement building. "Someone like me."

The realization hit me like a physical blow. My Angelic blood—the heritage I'd tried so hard to forget—might be the key to defeating the shadow beast. The cruel irony wasn't lost on me; the very thing that had marked me as different, as other, might now be what saved us all.

"What does it mean, Archer?" Sierra's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "How do we get Lightbringer?"

I stood abruptly, lifting Sierra with me. Joy and relief surged through me as the pieces finally, finally clicked into place. I spun her around the room, her silver hair flying out behind her, a laugh escaping her lips.

"It means," I said, setting her down but keeping her close, "that Callum's Lightsbane isn't just similar to Lightbringer—it's part of it. 'The one with dual blood shall forge it together.' I have to use my Angelic blood to transform Lightsbane into Lightbringer."

Sierra's eyes shone with hope and wonder. "You can do that? How?"

"I'm not entirely sure," I admitted, "but I think my healing powers are the key. They're Angelic in nature, which is why I've always been careful about using them. But if I focus that power not on healing, but on transformation..." I trailed off, my mind racing with possibilities.

"This is it, Sierra," I said, cupping her face in my hands. "This is how we defeat the shadow beast. This is how we keep you safe."

The relief that washed over me was almost painful in its intensity.

After hours of searching, of fearing we had no way to protect Sierra, we finally had a plan.

A concrete way forward. I couldn't help myself—I bent down and captured her lips with mine, pouring all my relief and joy and hope into the kiss.

When I pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. "We need to tell the others," she said breathlessly.

I nodded, unable to contain my excitement. "Callum needs to bring Lightsbane. We need to try this as soon as possible, before the shadow beast returns."

I gathered Sierra in my arms once more, spinning her around the room in pure elation. For the first time since I'd watched her nearly plummet to her death, I felt something other than fear and dread.

I felt hope.