“I’ll do it,” I mutter. Even if it stains my soul. Even if I don’t recognize myself after it’s all said and done. It will be worth it if I get my hands on S’lach. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll also get a chance to make things right with Celine.
S’lach waits three days to summon me: a power trip as transparent as the smug curl of his lips as he watches me approach. My injuries are healing, but I’m still in pain. Pain I refuse to show him. He’s already going to make me bend the knee.
I won’t be able to stomach anything more.
“I knew you would come around.” S’lach strokes his red beard.His wings are tucked; the stained symbol of his radiant corruption hidden even in his inner sanctum.Sore spot or denial?For all I know, he’s proud of the outward sign of his inner moral decay.
I dip my chin. An acknowledgment, but not a graceful one.
I loathe him. He knows that, and pretending I don’t won’t do anything but make him suspicious. It’s a small mercy, really.
He smiles, and I look away, examining the room instead of his cold brown eyes. The study has changed since the last time I was here. White lights line the intersections of the walls, ceiling, and floor. The glow is clinical. Thorough. It hides nothing, banishing any and all shadows before they can form.
There’s a hollowness to the room, the absence of art or books noticeable. Flat lines, endless white... if I screamed, would the sound repeat forever or be devoured before it had a chance to be heard?
Besides S’lach’s red hair, which stands out against the endless sea of white like a warning, the only interesting feature is the lines. They protrude from the walls in various shades of white, adding texture to the endless, flat expanse.
At first, I think they’re abstract, then a chill rakes down my spine.Runes. They’re runes. Oversized and discordant, once I’ve seen them, there’s no going back. They spell the same thing over and over: silence.
S’lach’s radiant word. The only thing he loves.
It gets worse. Each large rune of silence surrounds a smaller character. Deliberately broken, they’re made up of jagged lines and raised dots.
I read the timeline of his destruction, blood pounding in my head as a strange coldness sinks into my bones, digging in so deeply I fear I’ll never be able to shake it. Reverie, ember, dawn, echo—gods, alive and dead—he’s collecting radiant words as trophies and stamping them on the wall. Bragging, as if no one can stop him... because they can’t.
I believe in the old ways. In part, due to S’lach himself. No accident could have gifted such a dangerous word to an evil angel. The gods must be behind it, either for their own capricious amusement, or to teach the rest of us a lesson. Celine wouldn’t agree. She’s uninterested in the concept of a higher power, especially one that meddles in her life.
Given how she grew up, I can’t blame her.
The door opens behind me. An angel enters, carrying a large silver box. His head is bowed, his wingtips nearly dragging against the floor. From the thin, narrow shape of the feathers, he belongs tonish eluun.
Laborers gifted with neither magic nor wings capable of flight, theeluunechelonis the backbone of the celestial realm.Eluunangels were once celebrated for their contributions and gifted with the best place to live as a result. In community-first villages clustered across the base of the realm, they’re the only ones with access to real dirt, plants, and natural water.
But that was before.
Theeluunbows to S’lach, his fingers clasped tightly around the handle of the case.
S’lach grunts and pushes up from his seat. “There, in the open spot. Be quick about it.”
Theeluunhurries to obey, zeroing in on a blank patch inside an oversized silence rune. He places the silver box on the floor gingerly and pulls a device from it. It’s shaped like a pen, but ten times bigger, with three connected glass bottles suspended beneath the handle. The first bottle is filled with flame, the middle one contains dull metal cubes, and the final one is brimming with white paint.
The device itself is interesting—clearly something developed by the engineering tier.Nish orikget little credit for their inventions, but without them, the entire realm would cease to function.
With a quick, terrified glance at S’lach, the worker activates the device.
It emits the strangest collection of noises, a combination of rattle, hum, and splash. Within seconds, the individual components of each bottle are no longer identifiable. They’re being changed—no, combined. Sucked up into the machine and fused, they emerge from the tip and stick to the wall, drying in raised, white lines.
S’lach is adding a new rune.
And he wants me to watch.
“Have you forgotten her yet?” he demands. I meet his stare. There’s only oneherhe could be referring to, and by the cruel grin on his face, he knows I never will.
I give him no reaction, and the glee melts from his face, revealing something darker. “You’ve spent too much time aroundnishvarek,” he says.“The guardians and their stoicism. It’s boring and outdated, Malach. That’s why my daughter could never love you.”
He pauses. His stare rolls over my face, searching for anything to feed his malice. I hold my hatred back with everything I have, even though I long to throw him through the white walls he’s using to desecrate our radiant words.
I lift one eyebrow, the one rebellion I allow myself, and wait.
