Page 17

“Kadriel,” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

The name stirred something deep in my memory—a fleeting image of a tall, silver-haired angel with fierce eyes, standing beside my father in our family's garden.

I had been young, too young to understand the significance of the archangel visiting our home, but I remembered how my father had laughed at something she said, his hand resting companionably on her shoulder.

“You remember,” Kadriel observed, her piercing gaze assessing my reaction.

“Not much,” I admitted. “Just glimpses. You visited our home a couple of times. You and my father were laughing.”

A flicker of softness crossed her face, so brief I almost missed it. “Your father had a talent for finding humor even in the darkest times. It was what made him such a good commander.”

“You knew him well,” I said. It wasn't a question.

“We fought side by side for nearly a century,” she confirmed. “He was my most trusted lieutenant, and later, one of my few true friends.” Her gaze drifted to the maps on the wall, as if seeing battles long past reflected there. “His death was a blow I never expected.”

My chest tightened. “They told us he died honorably in battle. Fighting demons at the eastern gate.”

Kadriel's eyes snapped back to mine, suddenly sharp with anger. “Is that what they told you? A hero's death, clean and noble?”

I nodded, confused by her reaction. “That's what everyone said. What my mother believed.”

“Lies,” she spat, her injured arm shifting in its sling as she leaned forward. “Your father didn't die in battle, Ariella. He was murdered. By Ylena.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. “What? No, that can't be?—”

“He discovered her plans,” Kadriel continued, her voice tight with controlled rage. “Not all of them, but enough to know she was working against Adona. Against everything we stood for. He confronted her, thinking he could reason with her. He was always too trusting.”

I stared at her, my mind struggling to process what she was saying. “Ylena killed my father? But she was my mentor.”

And Levi’s mother. Beside me, he was rigid.

“She took you under her wing to keep an eye on you,” Kadriel finished grimly. “To make sure you never learned the truth. And later, when you showed promise, to groom you as an ally.”

A sickening wave of betrayal washed over me. Ylena had been more than my mentor—she had been a surrogate parent after my father's death, guiding me, shaping me. And all the while, his blood had been on her hands.

“How do you know this?” Levi asked, speaking for the first time since we'd entered the room. His voice was calm, but I could sense the tension beneath it.

Kadriel's eyes shifted to him, narrowing slightly.

“Because I confronted her afterward. I suspected her involvement, and when I pressed her, she attacked me.” She gestured to her injured arm.

“This was her parting gift. A permanent wound that should have killed me, but I managed to escape to Earth before she could finish the job.”

“And you've been here ever since,” I said softly. “Building the Lost Legion.”

She nodded. “At first, it was just survival. But over time, others joined us—angels who saw the corruption in Elysium, who refused to be part of what it was becoming. We found this place, warded it, made it home.” She gestured vaguely to the surrounding structure.

“We have seventeen now, counting myself. Some have formed bonds with the supernaturals in town, others with each other. But mostly, we keep to ourselves.”

“No children?” I asked, noticing the absence of younger angels in the halls we'd passed.

“No.” Kadriel's expression hardened. “We chose not to bring children into exile. It wouldn't have been fair.”

I sat back, trying to absorb everything she'd told me.

My father, murdered by the archangel I'd idolized—another negative tally on the growing list. Kadriel, not dead as everyone believed, but building a sanctuary for those who opposed the very forces I was now fighting against. It was almost too much to take in.

“Six months ago,” Kadriel continued, “I learned of your fall from grace. The accusations against you were familiar. Too similar to what they said about me before my exile.”

“You knew it was a setup,” I guessed.

“I suspected.” She tapped her fingers against the table, a rhythmic pattern that betrayed her tension. “I considered reaching out to you then, but there were complications. And I wasn't certain where your loyalties truly lay.”

“And now?” I asked. “I'm here, asking for your help. Ylena is dead, but Rhodes has a powerful dagger, and he's planning to use it on Adona in two days. We're running out of time.”

Kadriel studied me, her ancient eyes seeming to look beyond the surface. “Your determination is admirable, Ariella. But I can't risk my people, not without being certain.”

“Certain of what?” Levi asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Of her heart,” Kadriel replied simply. “Of her purpose. Of whether this cause is truly worth dying for.” She paused.

“We’ve been through too much and we would rather stay here and live quietly than to risk everything for nothing.

” She glanced toward the door, where a figure had silently appeared. “Maeve. Join us.”

A woman stepped into the room, her movements graceful despite her obvious age. She was human in appearance, with skin like weathered parchment and hair white as fresh snow. But her eyes were what caught my attention—entirely white, without iris or pupil, like twin moons set in her lined face.

“This is Maeve,” Kadriel said, her tone softening slightly as the woman moved to stand beside her chair. “My partner, and our seer.”

Maeve's blind eyes seemed to fix on me with unnerving accuracy. “You carry many burdens, young angel,” she said, her voice melodious despite its age. “So many paths converging within you.”

I shifted uncomfortably under her sightless gaze. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Kadriel said, “that before we commit to your cause, before we risk everything we've built here, we need to know the truth. All of it. Not just what you choose to tell us.”

A chill ran down my spine. “What kind of truth?”

Maeve smiled, a gentle expression that somehow did nothing to relieve my growing unease. “The kind that can only be revealed through trial. I have the gift of sight beyond sight, of peering into a soul's true nature and the paths that lie before it.”

“A trial?” Levi's posture shifted subtly, becoming more protective. “What exactly does that entail?”

“Nothing physical,” Maeve assured him. “But it will not be pleasant. The spell requires Ariella to relive her most defining moment—the day she lost her wings and took the dagger. We will all witness it as it truly happened, not as she remembers it or as she might tell it.”

“No,” Levi said flatly. “Absolutely not.”

I placed a hand on his arm, stopping his protest. “It's okay, Levi.”

“The hell it is,” he growled. “They're asking to rummage through your head, to force you to relive one of the worst days of your life, all to satisfy their curiosity? No.”

“It's not curiosity,” Kadriel interjected, her tone sharp. “It's survival. I won't lead my people into a war without knowing exactly what we're fighting for—and who we're fighting alongside.”

I met her gaze steadily. “I understand. And I'll do it.”

“Ariella—” Levi began, but I cut him off.

“We need them, Levi. If reliving that day is the price for their help, then I'll pay it.” I turned back to Kadriel and Maeve. “What do I need to do?”

Kadriel seemed to approve of my decision, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. “Follow Maeve. She'll prepare you for the trial.”

Maeve held out her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, I took it. Her skin was cool and dry, but I could feel the power thrumming beneath its paper-thin surface.

“The rest of us will join shortly,” Kadriel said, rising from her chair. “This is not a spectacle to be witnessed lightly.”

Maeve led me from the room and down a winding corridor that descended deeper into the mountain.

Levi followed close behind, his disapproval radiating from him in waves, but he didn't try to stop me again.

After several minutes, we reached a small, circular chamber lit by seven floating crystals that cast prismatic light across the polished stone walls.

In the center of the room was a shallow basin carved directly into the floor, filled with what looked like clear water but reflected no light or image. Around the basin's edge were strange symbols etched into the stone—not angelic script, but something older, more primal.

“The Reflecting Pool,” Maeve explained, releasing my hand. “It shows truth as it was, not as we remember it or wish it to be.”

I stared at the pool, apprehension building in my chest. “Will it hurt?”

“Not physically,” she said. “But memories often carry their own kind of pain.”

The chamber door opened again, and Kadriel entered, followed by several other angels. They positioned themselves around the room, their faces solemn and watchful. This, I realized, was to be a public trial—my worst moment laid bare before strangers.

Maeve moved to the edge of the pool and gestured for me to join her. “Remove your shoes and step into the water,” she instructed.

I did as she asked, slipping my boots off and stepping gingerly into the pool. The liquid—if it was liquid at all—felt neither warm nor cold, but somehow alive, tingling against my skin.

“Close your eyes,” Maeve said, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Think back to that day. See it in your mind. The moment everything changed.”

I closed my eyes, letting the memory surface—the trap, the betrayal, the searing pain as my wings were severed, the terror and determination as I fled with the dagger.

“Are you ready?” Maeve asked, her voice seeming to come from very far away.

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, meeting Maeve's sightless gaze. “I'm ready.”