The humans of this age are different. Not in appearance or of mind, but of substance. Of soul. It is as though the Light within them has become diluted with each passing generation. The strongest of them are still as mighty as what I remember, but they are comparably few.

ARC 5 - PARACLETE

CHAPTER 4 - CHOOSE OR BE CHOSEN

The books atop the bed had enough dust on them that it wasn’t much of an assumption to say the mattress had been unused for quite some time. That did beg the question, then, of where the Angel actually slept. If she slept, Tera corrected herself. The bedroom-turned-study smelled much the same as it had last time, a few scented candles trying to break through the thick layer of stale musk that coated every inch of the room.

Rather than delicately move the books somewhere else, Harut simply pushed them off the far side bed and onto the floor in a series of dull thumps. She peeled back the blanket to reveal a clean sheet below, then walked over to where a glass container sat atop a small flame and gave it a stir with a thin rod.

“Are you just going to stand there?” the Angel asked without looking over her shoulder. “Clothes off and on the bed.”

This was it, then. Tera did her best not to show any surprise. This would be the day. A bright morning, not notably different than any other. The oatmeal she’d eaten had been cold, the juice lukewarm, and there was a stitch in her shirt out of place that kept pricking the top of her left shoulder. She’d come over to the Highlord’s manor, expecting another of Harut’s lessons, but found the Angel hard at work at the liquid bubbling away in the corner.

Was she ready? Was there even a way to know? Not all mages bore marks, but despite Harut’s efforts, Tera had been unable to manifest the Light even when trying to turn it into something else. The Angel had decided, unceremoniously and quite suddenly, that this was the only way. But there would be no undoing these marks. They might only show on the skin, but if what Harut said was true, they would run deep into the soul. An alteration to one’s very being.

Tera tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.

“How can I trust you?” she asked.

“Have I ever lied to you?” the Angel answered, still stirring.

Tera gave her shoulder an awkward scratch. “I’m not sure I would know if you had.”

“If I wanted you dead you would be. If I didn’t want to teach you, I would cast you aside. I do this because it is mutually beneficial.”

Harut’s voice was almost song-like, bouncing between each possibility and outcome. She hummed her way through the words, unconcerned with the weight they bore.

“And granting me power benefits you how?” Tera asked, narrowing her eyes.

There was a hiccup in the stirring. The smallest of signs, but the clattering of the rod against the glass had broken its rhythm, even if only for a single stroke.

“I crave knowledge, Child,” the Angel admitted. “Even when I was young, not knowing of things burned in me so deep that it kept me from sleep. I will give you what you seek so that you may go forth and seek for me.”

“I’m to be your errand girl?” she clarified with disappointedly crossed arms.

“If you choose to think of it that way,” Harut said softly, “but I will ask little of you other than to tell me what you encounter simply by nature of your position.”

Tera maintained her hard stance. The Angel wasn’t looking at her, but no one could ignore the entire presence of someone else - especially if they were the only other person in the room. She’d already made up her mind that she was going to take what Harut had to offer. Despite whatever terror came with the unknown, it was the key to her dreams. There was much she wanted to learn once she’d realize the Angel was acting as a sort of personal mentor, but at this particular moment the only bit of information that mattered were the details of their arrangement - something Harut had yet to discuss without being asked first. It was worth it to press now. It wasn’t like there would be much time later.

“You could ask that of any Templar,” Tera pointed out.

“But you aren’t going to be just any Templar, anymore,” Harut said. “You do intend to take the Crusader Trial, do you not?”

“Yes…” Tera admitted. She did intend to, but it still seemed such a daunting thing without anything other than an Angel’s assurance of unknown power.

“Then you will have assignments - see and hear things that may be of interest to me.” Harut picked up the glass container from atop the flame, apparently unphased at the temperature it should have held. Its roiling boil quickly faded as the Angel walked over to a chair and table set up near the bed. “I only ask that you recount your days to me.”

And Tera understood. The Angels were likely to have their own motivations. Harut, like the rest of them, was caged within the Citadel, even if she did sneak out to visit the Church’s library often. Relaying her daily encounters seemed an innocuous enough request until one considered that a Justicar may be given sensitive assignments and know information kept at the highest levels of the Order. Light, if all the Angel’s were working together, and there was little reason to assume otherwise, that meant that even the few times Raegn had talked to one they might have been seeking to exploit him.

At Harut’s dismayed nod Tera began to pull off her clothes. It was never a question of if she’d accept the power, only how willing she was to pay back the favor. She’d hear the Angel’s questions and judge for herself just what she would share. Harut had already invested a significant amount of time in her; she doubted the Angel would kill her if she refused. A bit of a gamble, but an educated one, at least.

She laid face down at the Angel’s instruction, turning her head to the side so she wouldn’t smother herself in the bedsheets. The glass container sat on the table before her, its faint blue liquid…glowing? More than just ink, then. She thought about asking what it was, but ultimately the point was moot. Harut would tell her if it was of any importance. Even if she didn’t, it was too late now.

Tera let her eyes close.

Light, when I open them again, let me be worthy, she prayed. Let me stand as tall as those around me. Let me stand with them. I don’t want to be alone.

She winced at the prick of the needle in the center of her back, but her thoughts carried her far enough away that it made the pain seem distant, too. If she were as strong as her sister, her jealousy would vanish like fog to the sun. They could finally have the relationship that Nora had always wanted. And with such strength, she would finally be a Justicar. Her dream fulfilled. An old dream, though, was it not? She’d forgotten it in the time she’d spent with Raegn, yet now her desire to see it done burned because of him. If she were a Justicar, she could be with him. With Kai and Nalani, too. They would all be together.

All that was required was taking the hand offered by an Angel.

Despite Harut never giving any reason for Tera to believe the stories true, they still told of the Angels of old. People hadn’t just been humbled by them - they’d feared them. The power of Heaven was said to be insurmountable. The Archangel’s were the closest representation and their actions during the Void War - the battles they fought - were nigh unfathomable. Humanity had been right to stay far away from them. And the Angels? Well, one only need read some of Highlord Oswald’s journals to learn that they were just as indiscriminate in their fighting. Far more Void were slain by their hand than humans, but humans were slain by them all the same. Whether it was accident or collateral was a question’s lost to time, save for the fact that the ones who held the answer had returned. Since that moment, the Order had kept them on a tight leash. It had to be for a reason.

Tera winced again as the needle began to make its way down her spine. Hopefully, Raegn wasn’t too trusting of them.

A pleasant day had turned into an equally pleasant night. The sky held a beautiful canvas of black, the stars looking down on the Realm below, and a few wisps of clouds meandering their way across, unaware of the scene they were interrupting.

Raegn sat on a large rock, throwing small bits of where it had chipped away at the edge into the lake. Or was it a pond? He looked around some, trying to determine if there was any outlet for it. The Citadel was on an island, the river on two sides and the ocean the third, so if it wasn’t draining anywhere did that make it a pond? He tsked at the silliness of the question and threw another pebble into the water. It skipped a few times, then sank to the bottom with all the others. It didn’t matter what type of body of water it was, he’d only come here to be alone. The garden would have been preferable, but now that spring was fully in season the blooming flowers apparently drew a crowd no matter how late the night.

Not able to think with the quiet giggling of girls between kisses from their lovers, he’d left. There wasn’t even a particular place he wanted to go, but the walking had calmed his mind some and before he knew it he’d made his way into the wood surrounding the Highlord’s manor and the pond it contained. If he squinted hard enough he could make out some light from a few of the windows. Servants, probably. Either unwilling or ordered by someone not to let the building fall into complete disrepair.

He sighed when the next pebble didn’t skip a single time.

The idea of traveling to the Shaktikan Empire was a dull one, at best. For one, it was supposedly excruciatingly hot on the other side of the mountains to the west. There was some partially arable land, but it fell off and turned to an entire sea of sand, if he remembered the map of the Realm correctly. To make that point worse, wearing the armor of the Crownguard for the duration of the journey was going to turn him into a walking oven. And to spend two whole seasons there just for two royals to meet before they had some political marriage? Light, damn them! he cursed. If it was political who cared what they thought of each other?

He threw the next stone harder but it, too, failed to bounce across the surface.

Shaktikan law forbade the use of the Light. The entire premise of their presence centered around the fact that they would only use their affinity if the Princess’s life was in danger. So much for all the training he’d planned. He’d only just become proficient with smaller shockwaves and barriers. There was still Erkan’s Lightblade technique to master. All of it would weaken in his mind like a sword left in the rain.

And the Highlord! For all his posturing when under the King’s eye, he’d given in the moment they’d returned to the Citadel. Penned his response while he, Nora, and Cenric stood in his office! No matter how Cenric had argued against tasking the Justicar on such a foolish errand, the Highlord had been unconvinced. Once they’d been ordered out to begin their preparations, Nora had even advised him to accept their fate - to find purpose in it. As if being a common guard for royalty might somehow equate to hunting a cult or closing the portals that were now periodically popping up throughout the Realm. Light, damn them all!

“Hello, Waker.”

Raegn startled at the voice and nearly slipped off his seat atop the rock. When he regained his place atop a particularly flat spot, he found the Angel looking for a handhold on the side to scale her way up. He offered a hand to help hoist her. Her smile flashed as bright as the starlight that swept across richly green eyes.

Soft as the first time, Raegn noted when she took his hand and pulled herself up to sit next to him. She was a curious one. They’d only spoken twice, yet both times were a muddled mix of awkward and poignant. Would she continue their last conversation? Tell him about his fate?

The longer he waited for her to speak the more doubt crept in. Had she forgotten? She’d called to him the way she had before, though. She had to remember who he was.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” he asked. “Waker, I mean?”

The Angel leaned back onto her arms and stared up at the night sky. “You did wake us, did you not?”

“I don’t know that I did.”

She hummed in amusement, a warm sound somewhere between the creak of worn wood and the soft purr of a kitten. “You did. I saw.”

“Alright, so I woke you,” Raegn acquiesced and tossed another stone. Two skips. “So what am I supposed to call you? Sleeper?”

She gave a mild chuckle. “You’re a curious one, Waker,” the Angel said, turning her head to rest it atop her knees and stare at him. “Most people are afraid or awestruck when they see us. You do realize I’m an Angel?”

“I’ve met the Divine,” Raegn said and bit his lip as he remembered how Camael ignored his pleas. “I don’t think it matters how we speak. You’ll simply do what you want regardless.”

A breeze swept through the night, rustling the branches of the trees all around them and raising the tiniest of waves across the pond. Raegn brushed the hair it tousled onto his forehead away and caught the Angel still staring at him. It was…difficult not to stare back. She had all the features of an Elysian, that face sculpted into stunning beauty, silky blonde hair, and those eyes…surprisingly the least Elysian thing about her. Was she a northerner? Whatever curiosity she held for him he had twice-fold for her.

“You can call me Ana,” she said as he tried to focus on the settling water.

“My name is Raegn,” he offered in return.

“I know.”

Then why call me otherwise? A simple question, but one not asked. She must have her reasons. Waking someone from a centuries-long slumber was bound to be a significant event in their life. Who was he to take that from her?

“You said you saw me when I woke you. What did you see?” he asked instead.

“You summon Camael,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Then you saw how he betrayed us!” Raegn exclaimed.

The thought of someone else able to second his story washed over him. No one would argue against the weight of an Angel’s word. Plenty already believed that Camael had come down at the obelisks call, but he saw the frowns when he described how Camael ignored him. How the Archangel had destroyed an entire city.

“You saw how he killed the Divine’s own creation!” he added.

“Yes.”

She’d turned to rest her chin atop her folded arms that were, in turn, atop her knees with feet tucked in close. She looked out over the pond, allowing Raegn a turn to stare. Unfortunately, she gave no reaction. Her face had returned to the expressionless mask she’d worn under her hood when they’d first met.

“It doesn’t bother you?” he pressed.

“I have seen far worse,” she admitted softly. “Much of our memory is gone, but there is enough. Camael did what he felt he had to. You are nothing to stop him or say otherwise. No one is.”

Raegn sat atop the rock, stunned still as the stone itself. That was it, then? She’d seen his plight and was as unmoved as the Archangel had been. It was more than disappointing. It was wrong! They were both of Heaven! Both fought to save the Realm in the past. What made the present so unworthy as to be held with disdain?

He gave up on looking at her and returned his gaze to the water reflecting the stars. She'd only been maintaining the same empty expression from before, anyway. Was he supposed to feel sorry for her? She must hold more power than he could ever hope to have, yet she did nothing with it.

Only because they’re trapped in the Citadel, he reminded himself. And she probably had seen worse than Bastion’s fall. Humanity had nearly been wiped from the Realm. If she was chosen to ascend, she would have been alive during the worst of it. Did it haunt her? Were her nights filled with dreams like his? Dreams filled with dying screams that woke the dreamer in a cold sweat? Would an Angel have those? Or were they simply above fear? Above regret?

When Ana turned her head suddenly, so too did Raegn, if only to see what had caught her attention. Along the path that led away from the manor, a girl with brunette hair was making her way in their general direction. The same girl that had been with her in the Great Hall.

“I should go,” Ana said, but Raegn caught her by the arm before she could hop down off the rock.

These short conversations, always ending at someone else’s behest and with unanswered questions, were frustrating. Each time, a tease of gleaning some small piece of information from her and yearning for more, then being forced to wait until he happened upon her again. It was more than he wished to bear.

“Promise me you’ll come back here,” he said. “That we can speak again.”

Ana leaned back towards him and ran a hand along his cheek.

“It’s not me that must return,” she told him while she searched his eyes. “It’s you. You must always come back, Waker. Always.”