Page 19

I couldn't watch. Couldn't bear to see another friend die. I turned away, tears streaming down my face, and flew harder, faster, deeper into the night.

But I wasn't alone for long. Heavy wingbeats thundered behind me, and a chill ran down my spine. I didn't need to look to know who pursued me.

Molraz, now transformed in his full demon self.

I dove toward the forest, hoping to lose him among the trees, but he was faster than I'd anticipated. A blast of darkfire caught the edge of my wing, sending me spiraling through the air. I managed to right myself, but another blast followed, this one clipping my shoulder.

Pain lanced through me, but I pushed on, breaking through the tree line and racing above the forest canopy. The dagger felt like a brand against my hip, burning with the weight of its importance.

I had to protect it. Had to get it somewhere safe, away from Rhodes and Molraz and whatever terrible purpose they intended for it.

The forest gave way to rocky terrain, and ahead I could see the edge of a cliff, with the ocean pounding against the rocks far below. I veered toward it, hoping to find a new direction, but Molraz was too close now.

With a savage cry, he caught up to me, his clawed hand closing around my wing. Pain exploded through me as he wrenched me backward, his grip tightening until I felt feathers tear.

We crashed to the ground in a tangle of wings and limbs, skidding across the rocky earth until we came to a stop mere yards from the cliff's edge. I scrambled to my feet, drawing my sword with trembling hands.

Molraz rose before me, towering and terrible, his eyes blazing with demonic fire. He had emitted an evilness about him as a man, but now as a demon, in his tall, twisted form, with huge bat-like wings, dark skin, and blazing eyes, he was terrifying.

“The dagger, little angel,” he growled, his voice deep. “Give it to me, and perhaps I'll make your death quick.”

“Never,” I gasped, though my voice quavered with fear.

He lunged, faster than I could react. His claws raked across my arm, drawing blood and taking my sword from me. He closed his claw around the hilt, and darkfire surround it. A second, my sword was there. The next, it was a cloud of ashes.

I staggered back, clutching my wounded arm, my wings flaring instinctively for balance. Molraz's gaze fixed on them, and a cruel smile spread across his face.

“No wings,” he said, “no escape.”

He moved with terrifying speed, his hands clamping around the base of my right wing before I could dodge. Pain like nothing I'd ever known tore through me as he pulled, the sickening sound of ripping flesh and breaking bone filling my ears.

I screamed, the world going white with agony. My knees buckled, but Molraz held me upright by my wing, prolonging the torture. With a final, savage wrench, he tore it free.

The pain was unimaginable. Beyond description. Beyond comprehension. I collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from the ragged wound where my wing had been. Through a haze of agony, I saw Molraz toss the severed wing aside like garbage.

He reached for the other one.

I was too dazed with pain to fight, and in an instant, he ripped off the other wing as well.

“Too easy,” he snarled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Desperation gave me strength I didn't know I had. I rolled away from him, my body screaming in protest, and scrambled toward a broken branch. Not thinking straight, I grabbed it and pointed the sharpened end at him.

Molraz laughed, the sound like stones grinding together. “Still fighting, little angel? How admirable. How futile.”

In the distance, I could see Rhodes approaching, flanked by his loyal Seraphim. Time was running out.

With a cry that was half rage, half despair, I called on my light magic—the pure energy that resided at the core of every angel. It flared around me, brilliant and blinding, momentarily forcing Molraz back.

It wouldn't last long. I knew that. But it might give me the seconds I needed.

I staggered to the cliff's edge, blood trailing behind me, the dagger still secure in my belt. Below, the ocean crashed against jagged rocks, dark and forbidding.

Molraz recovered quickly, advancing on me with fury etched into his demonic features. “There's nowhere to go, angel. Give me the dagger.”

I looked at him, then at Rhodes approaching in the distance, then back at the churning river below.

“No,” I said simply, and stepped backward off the cliff.

The fall seemed to last forever. The wind tore at my face, and the river rushed up to meet me with deadly promise. I closed my eyes, clutching the dagger to my chest.

If this was death, at least I'd die knowing I'd kept the dagger from their hands.

The impact with the water was like hitting solid stone. Pain exploded through me, and then darkness swallowed everything.

* * *

I gasped, the memory so vivid that for a moment, I swore I could feel the saltwater burning in my lungs, the agony of my torn wings blazing across my back.

The Reflecting Pool churned around my ankles, the water no longer silver but a deep, turbulent blue that seemed to be responding to my distress.

“By the light,” someone whispered from the edge of the circle. One of Kadriel's angels, his face pale with shock.

But the memory wasn't finished with me yet. The water surged, and I was falling again?—

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly, painfully. I was on a beach, the sand beneath me wet and cold, my body broken and bleeding. Every breath was agony, every heartbeat a struggle. But I was alive.

The dagger was still clutched in my hand, its blade gleaming despite everything it had been through. I tried to move, to push myself up, but my body refused to cooperate. The wound where my wings had been continued to weep blood into the sand.

I was going to die here, I realized. Slowly, painfully, but still having accomplished the one thing Soren had asked of me: I had kept the dagger from Rhodes.

Footsteps approached, crunching on the wet sand. I tensed, expecting Molraz or one of his demons, come to finish what they'd started.

But it was an old human woman, her weathered face creased with concern as she knelt beside me. No, not human—my fading senses could detect the subtle magic that surrounded her.

A witch.

“Easy, child,” she murmured, her hands gentle as she assessed my wounds. “You're safe now.”

I tried to speak, to warn her about the demons that might still be searching for me, but all that came out was a pained whimper.

“Save your strength,” she advised, her fingers hovering over the worst of my injuries. “I'm going to help you, but we need to move quickly. They'll be looking for you.”

With unbelievable strength, she helped me to my feet, supporting most of my weight as we staggered away from the shore. The dagger was still in my hand, and she eyed it with wary suspicion.

“I take that dagger is special,” she said. Not a question.

“It’s cursed,” I said, my voice coarse.

After the most painful walk of my life, we went down a sharp hill and reached a small cabin hidden behind it. The witch guided me inside, helped me to a narrow bed that smelled of herbs.

“Rest now,” she said, taking the dagger from my rigid fingers. “I'll keep this safe until you're strong enough to decide what to do with it.”

I tried to protest—the dagger was my responsibility, my burden—but darkness was already pulling me under, my body surrendering to the exhaustion and trauma of the day.

As consciousness slipped away, I heard her final words, soft with a compassion I hadn't expected:

“Sleep, Ariella. The fight isn't over, but you've won this battle. Sleep.”

* * *

The Reflecting Pool calmed suddenly, the turbulent blue fading back to silver, then to clear, still water.

I staggered, my legs nearly giving out beneath me as the memory released its grip.

Strong hands caught me before I could fall—Levi, who had apparently moved to the edge of the pool during the trial.

“That's enough,” he growled, his eyes blazing with protective fury as he glared at Maeve. “She's done. You've seen enough.”

The witch looked shaken, her blind eyes wide, her hands trembling slightly. “Yes,” she agreed softly. “More than enough.”

I let Levi help me from the pool, my legs unsteady, my mind still half-trapped in the vivid replay of that terrible day. Every sensation had been exactly as I remembered it—the pain, the fear, the crushing weight of failure and loss.

“Ariella.” Kadriel's voice cut through the fog in my mind. She had moved closer, her expression solemn but somehow gentler than before. “Are you all right?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak yet. Levi's arm around my waist was the only thing keeping me upright, his warmth a lifeline pulling me back to the present.

Maeve approached slowly, her blind eyes somehow finding mine with unerring accuracy. “I have seen many truths in this pool,” she said, her voice soft but carrying in the silence of the chamber. “Many souls laid bare. But never one like yours, Ariella.”

“What does that mean?” Levi demanded, still on edge, still protective.

“It means,” Maeve said, turning to address the watching angels, “that her intentions are pure. Her heart is true. She fights not for power or revenge, but for what is right.”

Murmurs ran through the gathered angels, some skeptical, others thoughtful.

“Can she win?” one called out. “Against Rhodes and his followers?”

Maeve hesitated, her ancient face troubled.

“The future is never certain,” she admitted.

“I cannot guarantee victory. But I can tell you this: in all the paths I've seen, in all the futures that might be, she represents our best hope. Perhaps our only chance for a better future—for angels, for Earth, for all realms.”

Kadriel studied me, her eyes measuring and assessing. “You're asking a lot,” she said finally. “For us to return to Elysium, to face the very powers that exiled us.”

“I know,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “But Rhodes has to be stopped. And I can't do it alone.”

“No,” she agreed. “You can't.” She was silent for a long moment, the weight of decision heavy in the air between us. Then she straightened, her injured arm shifting in its sling as she stood taller. “Very well, Ariella. The Lost Legion will follow you into battle.”

Relief washed through me, so powerful it nearly brought me to my knees again. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Kadriel's expression remained grave. “Don't thank me yet. This won’t be an easy battle.”