The world came back in fragments.
A crack of light. A tremor in his limbs. The stench of scorched air and broken marble. Caleb groaned, rolling onto his side, coughing as dust clawed down his throat. His fingers instinctively reached out—searching—not for a weapon, but for his violin.
The neck of the instrument lay inches away, snapped clean. His heart twisted.
Then the rest of the memory surged back—music swelling in the chamber, glyphs igniting, the confrontation between celestial forces that defied anything he had ever imagined. The clash of power had been more than physical—it had been soul-deep, reality-bending. The music... his music... had been at the center of it.
"You're awake," a soft voice said nearby, layered with exhaustion and relief.
He turned his head sharply. Serenya knelt beside him, her long coat smudged with ash, her braid slightly undone. Her eyes scanned his face, but they flicked constantly—toward the shadows, the walls, the fallen debris. Tension radiated off her like heat from embers.
"I thought you were dead for a second," she muttered, trying to sound casual, but her voice was too tight. "You always have to do things the dramatic way, huh?"
Caleb attempted a smile, but it faded when he saw who stood a few paces behind Serenya.
She was tall. Ethereal. Wreathed in flickering ash and pale light.
Avesari.
The angel.
Her wings were fractured remnants of something once divine, dragging faint trails of smoke behind her. Her robes hung loose, torn, and blood stained the corner of her lips. She looked like a statue carved from moonlight and sorrow. And she was watching him—not with judgment, but with something unreadable.
Serenya stood protectively between them, one hand subtly brushing the hilt of the dagger at her hip.
"She saved your life," Serenya said stiffly. "I think."
Caleb's voice was dry. "I'd ask if anyone got the name of the angel that hit me, but I guess I should thank her instead?"
"I didn't strike you," Avesari said, her voice quiet but unwavering. "But your song struck something far older. It awakened echoes that were meant to stay silent. Serethiel reacted."
"Serethiel?" Caleb echoed, trying to sit up. "The council elder?"
"An agent of the corrupted archangel," Serenya cut in. Her eyes didn't leave Avesari. "He was hiding in plain sight for years. Manipulating doctrine. Hiding the true shape of the glyphs. Spreading rot under the Council's nose."
"No," Avesari corrected, her gaze never flinching. "He was the Council. Or rather... one of its architects. The rot was by design."
A heavy silence followed.
Caleb struggled to process it all. "So... you're saying the Council's been compromised from the beginning? That Serethiel—he wasn't just corrupted, he was orchestrating everything?"
Avesari's silence was answer enough.
Serenya folded her arms, but Caleb saw her hand still near the dagger. "You expect us to believe you? After you burst into the Council chamber and turned it into a war zone? You're a fallen. What proof do you have that you aren't just the other side of the same problem?"
Avesari blinked slowly, her shoulders visibly tightening. "I don't. Not yet."
The honesty in her voice startled them both.
"I was once like him," she continued. "But I chose to fall rather than destroy. I disobeyed when I was told to carry out judgment on the innocent. I didn't seek rebellion. I sought mercy."
Serenya's mouth twitched, uncertainty flickering in her expression. "You speak like that's supposed to make you a hero."
"It doesn't," Avesari said. "It makes me culpable. And tired."
Caleb looked between them, feeling the weight of the moment. His voice was softer now. "She saved me, Serenya. I felt it. When Serethiel would've killed me, she—"
"Did what she thought she had to," Serenya interrupted. But the steel in her voice had dulled. She glanced away, chewing the inside of her cheek. "You always believe the best in people."
"No," Caleb said. "I just believe people—and angels—can change."
They stood in uneasy silence for a time. Outside the shattered windows, night had fallen in full. The Council tower groaned under the strain of damaged glyphs. Somewhere above, the dark star still pulsed faintly. Caleb felt its presence like a pressure behind his eyes.
Finally, Avesari turned away and looked out over the skyline. "They'll come looking. The other elders. The ones not yet turned. Or the ones hiding their allegiance."
Serenya shifted her weight. "Then we leave before they find us."
"Where?" Caleb asked, slowly rising to his feet. "Where do we go now?"
Avesari turned back to him, eyes still glowing faintly. "There's a sanctuary hidden beyond the old ruins, protected by the last of the neutral Chroniclers. If we make it there, we may find what was lost."
Serenya's brow furrowed. "You mean the original glyphwork?"
"No," Avesari said. "I mean the origin of the prophecy."
Caleb's heart jumped. The words rang in his mind like the echo of a chord unfinished.
Serenya looked from angel to musician, then sighed deeply. "You realize how insane this is. Right?"
"Yes," Caleb said, dusting off his shirt and picking up the broken remains of his violin. "But I think I've already crossed that threshold."
He paused. "Besides... what do I have to lose?"
Serenya hesitated. And then, with a reluctant nod, she stepped back, finally lowering her guard. "Fine. But if you so much as flick your wing in my direction," she said to Avesari, "I will not hesitate."
Avesari nodded solemnly. "Fair."
As they turned toward the exit of the ruined tower, the stars shifted above. The air carried a strange stillness, as though the world itself held its breath.
From far away, thunder echoed—not from a storm, but from something waking.
The path ahead would not be safe. But something had begun.
A song. A prophecy. A bond.
Three souls drawn together by fate, heading toward answers buried beneath layers of ash and light.