The angel’s deep blue eyes glowed with tenderness. “For her, yes.”
Lore didn’t speak for a moment, staring out into the flowing field covered with tiny white flowers, which reminded him of the snow around the abbey. Nia’s smirking face and sparkling amber eyes slid into his thoughts. He shut her out.
“You do understand the repercussions of your decision, yes?”
“Aye. I will lose my wings and most of my powers, and…and much more.”
“And her?”
His chest rose and fell. “She knows. I told her. She didn’t want me to do this, but I cannot remain here without her.”
Lore frowned at the blooms, then he rose and nodded, giving the go-ahead for the angel’s fall from grace.
“Thank you, Ditari.” A smile lit his face like a star, as if he’d been granted heavenly favor.
His task completed, Lore focused on what he’d actually come for. Answers. There was only one place for those.
He shifted to the archives situated deep in the pale cliffs on the northern side of the realm, shrouded in miasma. Billows of mist swirled around him as he took form. Not many could find the ever-moving and always shielded archives. Given who he was, Lore had earned the right eons ago to enter at will.
He bypassed the towering pillars of pearlescent marble, veined with shimmering silver and framing the colossal doorway, and headed inside, sensing only the archive keepers about.
Good.
The murals on the luminous walls drew his attention, depicting the intricate scenes of celestial battles, the dawn of creation, and the harmonious moments shared between angels and humanity…
But it was no longer so, was it?
He approached a pair of massive doors forged from dark metal and inlaid with glowing celestial quartz along the edges. The doors bore the sigil of the seraphs, a brilliant sun flanked by crescent moons signifying the eternal balance between light and dark, day and night.
The doors slid open into the cool interior, with the same pale walls, but the glimmer here remained muted.
Three angels in long white gowns and hoods covering their hair worked quietly at their stations.
Lore drew his wings flat to his back as he approached the first workstation.
A dusky-skinned angel seated at the desk looked up. “Ditari Loráed.” She rose hastily and bowed, her voice soft and reverential. “How may I be of service?”
“I need access to the sanctified depository.”
She blinked her dark gray eyes, seeming startled. Guess not many—no,no one—had requested a visit to the place.
“Ditari, I don’t have the authority for that level. I must consult with Archeia Charmelai?—”
He cast her a cool stare.
“I shall make haste.” She bowed and shifted.
Lore slid his hands into his pockets and waited, his thoughts back on Nia and what she had revealed. Had the winds pushed her to the mountain edge?
A tinge of irritation cracked through his shields that others would interfere with his job.
The angel reappeared with a box and set it on the desk. With a wave of her hand, the lid eased open, emitting a burst of brightness. The single key made of pure light rose into the air and glided over to settle on his palm.
It felt like air, but its warmth seeped through his folded fingers, indicating he held it.
Lore flashed to the lower depths of the sacred archives within the endless library and headed deeper. The passing of ages had left the air dense but it remained temperate.
Glowing crystals set in the recessed hollows in the ceiling bathed the place with soft, silvery light, casting intricate patterns on the polished onyx floor. Wards glimmered, warnings that nothing could be removed and that the price of trying would be steep.
