A small shiver ripples through me. What If Rice hadn't come to me, I would've gone straight to Fox's door.
I picture his faces—and how sharp it burns. What would he have done if I had so much as dared to knock on his door right now.
I moved to sit beside Rice on the edge of the bed, letting the silence stretch between us until seconds congeal into long, heavy minutes. He's staring at a blank space on the wall, and I stare at his... eyes.
"But I can't see you, Rice," I say, quietly. "I wish I could reciprocate, at least by knowing what you're feeling."
His lips tilt into a faint smile but it flickers out before it can settle. "My feelings are as countless as my eyes, brother. You wouldn't want to be in my head."
I wouldn't, but do I have any choice? Soon-after the ritual, I'll be sharing his abilities anyway; his thoughts, his silence. I'll step into his mind as if slipping into a borrowed body. I'll be invading his privacy too. No one likes that, but what must be done, must be done.
I press my lips together. "Hhm, you're right." I nudge his arm with mine, trying to lighten the air between us. "But hey, if I can't be in your head, I can at least be on your wheels, right?"
A short genuine laugh bursts out of him, a sound I rarely hear. I join in, but the noise that leaves my throat feels too forced to sound like joy.
I lean in, bumping my shoulder against his again. "Come on, Rice. I've always wanted to ride them. If you lend me your wheels, I swear it'll cheer me up more than another hour of staring out this window."
He turns, really looking at me. He studies me for seconds, assessing my mood, my intent, until he seems certain I'm not teasing. Then he shifts slightly on the mattress, his voice dropping low.
"That's bad habit, brother."
I arch a brow. "How so?"
"Well, because... I am the wheels, and giving it to you is like putting my very soul into your temperamental hands."
"Temperamental? That's absurd."
"Don't deny it, because it's who you are," he snaps, though not unkindly. "Lending you my wheels even for a second wouldn't just hand you my abilities, it would strip me bare and useless. Don't you get that?"
I arch both brows even higher, voice flat. "Did you... just call me useless?"
His eyes go wide, panic flaring—like a child caught with his hand still halfway into the forbidden candy jar. "Fury…? You know that's not what I meant."
"Good." My voice softens into something more dangerous. "Then make me understand why you won't."
His shoulders slump as though I've pulled the air right out of him. "It's just… I've always had my wheels, okay. A single minute without them—"
"Won't kill you, Rice." I tilt my head, feigning innocence. "One minute without your precious wheels won't hurt. And it would mean that I'm entirely alone. It would mean a lot to me."
He shifts on the bed and I follow him. "Fury."
"What if I say please?" I pout.
Rice has always been a fortress. Rigid, disciplined, carved from all the things I may never be. But with me, he is always tight and tense. His true self perpetually strains, as if he lives in fear of letting his guard down, and when the carefully constructed facade finally slips, his next immediate task is to prevent me from seeing the cracks.
If we weren't brothers, I'd almost swear he loves me more than his rider. And that would be his bad habit.
"Please, Rice. After today, I won't ask again. And it's not even forbidden to lend them—I'm your brother after all. Your superior, in a few things."
"Where in Aravoth," he grits out, "have you ever seen a Seraphim riding Thrones—" he stops abruptly, face growing paler than the moon itself.
I grin. "Well… today might just be the first—"
"No."
"Come on, brother...." I whine, dragging the syllables out, then intensifying my pout.
He hesitates for several long moments, calculating the cost. Then, finally, he let out a sharp, decisive exhale.
"Fine."
"Yes!" I light up, but his next words slice my victory short.
"I will not lend you my wheels—but!" He lifts a finger. "But... I can lend you something better."
My brows form a confused knot above my eyes. "Is there anything in all the Seven realms better than riding your chariot?"
†
He rises from the bed, taking two steps away from me, his shoulders bunching as his great, pale wings unfurl with a soft rasp.
Then, with the same careless grace that always gets on my nerves, he reache to his side, plucks a single iridescent feather and lets it drift toward me.
I stare up at the rotating plume as it hovers just above my eye level. "Seriously, Rice? What exactly am I supposed to do with your feather? And how exactly is it supposed to be better than wheels?"
His lips part, stunned, as if I haven't just spoken a question but landed a solid, unexpected blow to his chest. "Did you know that sigils can also be drawn with these?" He asks, then straightens. "Watch."
He retrieves the feather, holding it gently by the tip. "First, you must activate it by calling on the name of a specific angel, and then let the feather do the rest." he clears his throat for dramatic effect of course. "Saint Michael."
The feather hums, blazing with a bright, silver energy. Before the light fades, a shiny sword and shield materialize in his hands. He offers a slight, self-satisfied smile; I do not return it.
"See?" he holds the shield to his chest and the sword to his side, as if preparing for battle. "I don't need to speak my wish; the feather knew exactly what I wanted—the second I held it." He raises the sword and the sword's edge catches the faint light.
My arms remain crossed against my chest, in fact, I tighten them. "'Saint Michael,'" I repeat flatly. "Don't tell me the mighty Rice has a role model. And isn't that the same sword he held when he banished his own brother?" I arch a brow.
His smile drops, then his hands follow. "It was a battle he won fair and square," he says, his tone suddenly defensive. The sword and shield vanish into mist.
"My point is..." He steps forward. "You don't have to be good at drawing sigils. Sometimes, you can do almost anything with this, without having to draw a rune first."
"Anything?" I snatch the feather back. It feels lighter than I expect, and still warm with residual energy. "Including summoning a pair of wheels?"
He frown. "Fury?"
I mirror the frown. "Don't Fury me. You don't want to give me what I asked for, so now you're scrambling for cheap excuses to keep me busy."
"Angels don't lie, brother. When I said I wouldn't lend you my wheels, I meant it. They're required for missions, not for you."
"And this—" I raise the feather in his face. "This is your brilliant way of cheering me up? You're a lousy babysitter."
"Fury—"
"Save it!" I slam the feather against his chest, and he stumbles back a step—seriously, where's his stamina. I cross my fingers behind my back. "I know feathers are part of the materials used for drawing sigils—and I also know how the summoning trick works."
He looks at me, then raises a brow.. "You're... Certain?"
"Certain? You're asking me if I'm certain?" I scoff, looking away. "I'm not entirely useless, you know. And I don't need your entertainment, I only asked for your wheels because I wouldn't ride someone else's. And if I could make temporary ones with a sigil, I wouldn't be begging you."
His brow arches higher. "You haven't tried the summoning trick before, have you?"
Another scoff. "Yes I have. In fact, I've got an idea."
He leans forward. "What idea?"
"It's a secret," I say lightly, allowing a small, knowing smirk to touch my lips. "One that I can only share after it is complete," I stroll down to the door and opens it. "But first, I'm going to need some privacy to complete it."
He nods once, then twice, but doesn't move from the spot. When my cue finally clicks, he gives a very slow nod. "You're… asking me to leave?"
I wrestle with the coil of unease tightening in my gut before forcing my lips to smile.
"Yes."
"But—"
"I understand, Rice. You... won't come visit again until the next decade. It's fine."
The weight of those words seems to crush something inside him. His shoulders sag, as though he's just remembered what he's been trying to forget. When he looks up again, urgency flashes across his face, raw and unguarded.
"Brother—"
"I know." I force my own voice to steady. "You usually stay longer. But even if it's only been five minutes, I'll still be alright."
His eyes go thundercloud dark, my name tearing from his throat as a warning, as a plea.
"Fury?"
I tighten my hold on the door. He doesn't usually make things so difficult, what has gotten into him? "I'll be fine... I promise."
The truth is... until the ritual is complete, I don't really know if I will ever be okay.
It already hurts to send him away, knowing the agonizing stretch of years until the next ritual. But the pain of being his other half and yet never being able to truly bond with him is a deeper, constant ache.
And now… without meaning to, he's handed me a way out. A solution.
I can't afford to waste a single second to act on it. I look up again, my voice firm and reassuring this time. "I'll be fine, Rice. Trust me."
He stands for a minute longer, studying me before finally stepping forward. His fingers graze my mine as he presses his feather into my hand.
"Keep it," he mutters, with the usual timbre I recognise. Before I can respond, he brushes past me without a backward glance.
I close the door, then huff out a quiet scoff. "Thank you, Rice," I say to the feather, then let it float from my hand, towards the bed. "But I won't be needing your feather to do this trick."
The familiar weight of my wings settles along my shoulder blades as I spread them out, then stride to the centre of the room, a few steps away from my mirror.
There must be an angel who holds the key to every mystery, to every thread of fate and destiny. One who knows the true beginning and the unwritten end of every existence.
There must be a reason why I can't bond with my brothers; Are they truly my other half? Am I truly theirs? Or is there someone else I belong to?
From my own wing, I carefully pluck a feather and hold it faintly between my fingers, the tip pointing upward. And then, I call upon a name.
"Raziel."
I squeeze my eyes shut, anticipating the weight of Raziel's book of hidden knowledge in my hands. But anticipation is all I got, no reveal, no void calling my name.
I open my eyes but instinctively squint them due to the excess burst of light that suddenly floods my room. My feather should be the source of the intense celestial glow, but it isn't. It's the mirror.
And my reflection is gone, replaced by a sea of dimming stars scattered across a vast midnight sky.
Stars... Wait, stars? Is this how Raziel communicates?
I scratch my temple. You're smart, Fury, so think. Think, think, think. Aren't stars believed to be the souls of those who have fallen, why would Raziel reveal them to me? Or are these... My stars?
My gaze drops to the feather in my hand. It's still the same; It isn't glowing the way it should when it's activated, but yet it thrums faintly, already triggered in some way.
I thought the feather would know what I want before I ask, doesn't the rule apply to Raziel?
I lift my gaze to the mirror again, my voice steady as I speak the necessary word; hopefully, it will unlock the vision I crave.
"Fury."
And so, the feather bursts into a brilliant, blinding light, throbbing in my hand like a living heart. A blue bird rips out of the mirror next. Startled, I duck, my arms instinctively thrown up to shield my face as it sweeps over me with a rush of air and lands on the window ledge, chirping softly, as if announcing the opening of some hidden gate.
My attention snaps back to the mirror, and a sudden, sharp intake of breath catches in my throat, freezing me in place.
The stars are gone now, replaced by something—someone, more beautiful.
I've seen angels before. I've stood in the golden courts of Aravoth where beauty is personified. But this woman, she... eclipses every memory. Her beauty- even while she sleeps, defies comparison.
Drawn by an irresistible force, I step closer to the mirror, my hand trembling as I reach for her. There should be some sort of barrier between us, but there isn't. The cold glass surface of the mirror ripples to my touch and my fingers sink through it, as if breaching the skin of a still water.
I don't feel strange reaching for her, only familiarity. Like my soul recognises her even when I don't. Without breaking the stride, I drive my whole body through, and in the space of a single breath, I'm inside a hut, in a clothing made of... fur?