Chapter 1
Crying out in haunting agony across the dark skies of Moldova, great eagles and owls alike mourned the death of their greatest hero and protector. Only the strongest of beings could gain the allegiance of the majestic birds of prey. And that night the mightiest of them all had been slain in cold blood while trying to protect his family.
Hearing the blood curdling calls of the otherwise docile creatures growing in their intensity, a particularly large man grew uneasy as he continued his journey across some rough terrain. He was well acquainted with the birds and so knew something important must have happened to cause them to act in such a way. And though he didn't want to admit it, he knew what he was hearing weren’t cries of happiness.
The normally starry skies of the region were unnaturally dark that night, which gave him and the woman that was accompanying him a rather unwelcoming sense of threatening. The obscure trees which loomed over them in a far more sinister way than they would have normally, caused the woman to become quite unnerved.
“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” she said, moving closer to him as they continued on their traveling root. Her choppy footsteps and occasional stumbles made it quite clear how uncomfortable she was at the moment. Going unanswered, the echo of her question was quickly drowned out by the continuous screeching and screaming of the birds overhead who had reached a point of frenzy now. Flashing in and out of the trees their aggravation was becoming apparent.
“I cannot see anything,” continued the woman, fumbling over the root of a tree. Catching her as she fell, the man lifted her back to her feet and urged them to continue. Brushing her light colored hair out of her face and staring up at him she was quite annoyed by his silence.
“Why can’t we just—?”
“No,” he responded curtly, silencing her. Shooting him an unpleasant glare, she decided that now probably wasn’t the time for a quarrel. Seeming to sense the brief but heated gaze he merely tightened his hold on her hand.
“Look I’m sorry for being brash but he asked me not to,” he said, the sincerity of his voice almost tangible. Waiting for her to respond, the silence made it clear to him that she was waiting for a more in depth explanation.
“Fatima, I’m as baffled as you are, but we shall know why soon enough.”
“The reason for all this?” she asked, finishing his statement. Nodding absentmindedly, the man stared off into the distance again. Walking onward for some time they passed through a small village which had been deserted for the most part. Old and crumbling the various cobblestone homes were dark and lifeless as their doors lay open listlessly. Darting from one of the doorways was a large cat that had something small hanging from its mouth.
“Oran, that was the last village for miles around. Where are we going?” she continued, looking back at the cluster of houses. Again he didn’t respond, but this time it wasn’t intentional. He had stopped dead in his tracks, causing her to walk a step or two ahead of him. A rustle in the nearby brush seemed to be the cause of his reaction. The sound of snapping branches and rustling leaves grew steadily in their intensity as something drew closer to them.
Oran’s left hand was wrapped firmly around the hilt of a large claymore at his waist while the other positioned Fatima at his back. His massive frame, paired with long shaggy black hair, hid her entirely as he continued to stare into the night.
“Be warned, I am armed,” said Oran calmly into the thicket ahead of him, he could feel and see his soulscar coming to life as the trees around them were illuminated by its faint glow. This glow, which was the source of his power, was being emitted from the tribal-like markings that covered his body. His words, however, didn’t seem to worry whatever it was that was headed in their direction, for it instead seemed to have increased its pace instead. Oran drew his sword a split second before the shape of a man burst into view ahead of them. He also felt Fatima stiffen as she anticipated what would happen next.
“What is this place?” said the disturbed looking man after an elongated pause. He seemed to be out of breath as he spoke. Half a foot shorter than Oran, but still fairly large, the strange man whose cropped red hair looked a bit disheveled seemed to pose little threat as he shuffled his feet forward clumsily, positioning himself in front of his new acquaintances. He then glared fixedly into Oran’s dark eyes for a brief moment before turning ninety degrees on the spot and disappearing once again into the darkness. The exchange took all of fifteen seconds before it was over.
“Oran, was that—?” started Fatima before being cut off by the man posing as her makeshift shield. Oran sheathed his blade in a single motion, lifted her into his arms, and from his back exploded a pair of enormous white wings.
“It can’t be,” he said in a strained whisper, as he catapulted his self from the ground with thunderous force. Fatima, hearing and feeling the intensity of his voice, decided once again that now probably wasn’t the time for bickering.
Oran’s wild locks whipped fiercely through wind as he drove himself faster and faster through the cold night sky. Fatima stared into his slightly glowing face with both confusion and fear, not once had she ever seen insecurity in those handsome features. Something had to be wrong.
The forest below them was becoming so dense that even in sunlight you couldn’t have seen what it was sheltering below its leaves. Oran however, showed little regard to this obstacle as he stared intently at something that would have been invisible to the human eye. And with one change of direction, his wings retracted back inside his body as he fell through the forest’s canopy. Fatima, who was still clinging to him, was unharmed during their descent for he had positioned his massive shoulders over her body.
The sound of his feet meeting the ground was surprisingly quiet except for the small crack of a now fractured twig. After a brief pause Oran lifted his head slowly and found his self face to face with that of a massive dog. Its hair was nearly as dark as his, but not nearly as long. The two of them gazed upon each other for a moment before, the dog, turning abruptly, trotted off in the opposite direction.
Oran followed suit quickly, placing a panting Fatima on her feet, who, still in a mode of cooperation, did not speak. They followed closely behind the dog as it meandered its way through the brush with obvious intent. Walking for an extended period of time Fatima was becoming visibly impatient as she scanned their surroundings for some indication as to where they were headed. The only observable clue available to her was a light which was somewhere deep in the forest ahead of them. But before long a second indicator revealed itself. The sound of two voices could be heard in the distance, and at the sound of them the dog halted its approach, with Oran and Fatima tight at its heels. Fatima attempted to make a pass around the dog but its deep growl paired with Oran’s unwavering grasp halted her attempts.
“Why are we waiting?” she asked, obviously annoyed.
“Not yet,” answered Oran in an out of breath tone. The energy he felt emanating from the clearing ahead was enormous. While Fatima believed the light ahead to be that of burning torches, Oran knew otherwise.
“How can you stand and do nothing, he was your father!” said a booming voice before it was cut off by that of another. And while this one was not as intense, it seemed to carry a lot farther than the first. It also gave the indication that its owner was struggling not to lose his composure.
“I told you we will join you all briefly, now please go, the others need your help.”
“We need to leave together, it would be foolish to be caught separated if we could fight as one!” continued the more boisterous of the two.
“Barron, you must trust me, I know what I’m doing. Now go!” responded the second voice losing all restraint now. The authority in his voice was as undeniable as it was gut-wrenching. There was then a brief silence as Oran held his breath. He had never heard Tyriel speak in this tone. There was then a clang of what sounded like iron against iron, and a great whooshing. This sound was the tell tale sign of an angel taking flight, but this was not one angel. From the sound of it there were dozens, maybe more, and they were all headed off to fight. Oran fought the urge surging through him to follow his comrades but something else told him he couldn’t. The sound of his brother’s and sister’s wings pounding the night sky faded off into the distance as he stayed glued to the spot. The light he and Fatima had witnessed had been created by a collection of dozens, maybe even one hundred angels and their individual soul scars.
Oran then felt a tug on his hand and looked up to see the dog heading off into the night again, with Fatima following. He could tell that while she was quite clueless as to what was going on, she had an idea that something important was happening. Finally deciding to follow her, he struggled to find a plausible reason why he’d been asked to stay behind, as well as why he had been asked to come in secrecy? The brief connection he had shared with the estranged angel earlier had shed light on a horrible travesty that should be met with action, not secrecy.
His thoughts were as chilling as they were frustrating. Why had Gorin been walking in the opposite direction? This thought evoked in him two urges, to fly off after the deserter, and follow his brethren.
“There are none of us yearning vengeance more than I Oran, please, steady yourself,” said a voice from the clearing he and Fatima were now standing in. Oran had to force himself to look at Tyriel, who the great black dog greeted before disappearing into the small cottage at his back. Being covered in moss and vines the dwelling probably wouldn’t look inhabited to the average onlooker.
“Tyriel, what happened?” asked Fatima approaching the angel who was even larger than Oran. Tyriel didn’t bother to take his dark eyes from Oran’s when he answered her question.
“Fatima, Roselyn could use your assistance. Please, go inside,” he said. Staring blankly at him for a moment, Fatima turned back to Oran who gave her a nod, before she hurried off into the candle lit home. There was an extended silence then between Tyriel and Oran that seemed to last an eternity. While Tyriel was searching the confines of his mind for words that would suffice for the moment, Oran had busied himself with scrutinizing his own appearance by comparing it to Tyriel’s. Tyriel was known amongst the angels and humans alike as the most handsome of the angels. He had not been given this acknowledgment because of traditional standards, however.
He had received this tribute because of the simple fact that he was not ashamed of his lineage. A majority of the angels that dwelled in earth’s realm had chosen to take on a more human appearance, preferring to hide their wings from the naked eye by retracting them. Tyriel, however, never did this. And to make it even more evident that he was not human he kept his soul scar visible at all times, the glowing markings that covered his skin were the most intricate set ever worn by an angel as far as anyone knew.
“Is it true then? He’s… he’s gone?” asked Oran, the rage that had been building in his chest rising slowly. The two of them continued to stare into each other’s eyes intently, but in non-threateningly manner.
“Yes old friend, we have been betrayed, the— they are gone,” answered Tyriel, making it quite evident that he was trying to keep his emotions at bay.
“Then we must go!” roared Oran, drawing his sword, and releasing his wings. The fire in his eyes seemed to be even more intense than his soul scar which had reached its peak. Lighting in entirety the space in front of the house quite intensely, Tyriel gestured for Oran to calm his self.
“No my friend, I have another task for you, I cannot ask you to fight,” said Tyriel quickly, sensing the haste and fire in Oran’s eyes and voice
“What are you talking about? Barron’s right; we need to attack him now before he—.”
“Oran do you not think I understand what we must do, who would know more than I dammit?” shouted Tyriel fiercely, silencing him. A loud crashing sound came from the house a second later, grabbing Oran’s attention.
“Everything is fine,” said Tyriel, waving it off.
“But it is you, you have to fight him, you are our only hope!” screamed Oran, clearly baffled. Another loud crash then sounded from the house but neither of the two men paid any notice. The intensity of the conversation between the two of them was growing by the second.
“You are wrong,” said a female voice, this voice however wasn’t like that of Fatima’s; it was stronger and more reserved. Hearing it, Oran finally broke his eyes from Tyriel’s and turned to see the beautiful face of a lady angel. Her red hair was just visible under a hooded cloak she was wearing. But it wasn’t her beauty that had his attention; it was what she was holding. Cradled in her arms, apparently fast asleep, was a small child. Like its mother, this was no ordinary baby. His wings which were miniscule compared to hers; were lying limp against his body.
“This is our son, Oran,” said Tyriel, turning to gaze upon the tiny bundle of which he spoke. The pride and affection in his eyes was undeniable despite the testy situation he seemed to be in. The woman then eased closer to him and triggered several split second occurrences that happened so fast that human eyes wouldn’t have been able to comprehend them. The moment the light from Tyriel’s soul scar touched the child’s skin a chain reaction occurred. Snapping out of his slumber, the child’s own scar burst into life nearly blinding everyone. Finding his self in the arms of his mother the child shot towards the sky with lightning speed, but the tiny angel was no match for its father. Tyriel disappeared, caught the child in his plate-sized hands, and reappeared beside his wife with a strangely calm expression. This obviously wasn’t anything new to him. The child on the other hand, was writhing in its father’s strong yet gentle grasp, desperate to get free.
Oran was simply dumbfounded as he watched this spectacle unfold. He could not believe what he was seeing; he had not even known Roselyn to be pregnant. It took a moment or so for him to regroup from this unexpected surprise, considering the circumstances, the last thing he had expected to, or wanted to see, was a child.
“Tyriel, what are you saying?” asked Oran hoarsely, half knowing the answer already. Tyriel and Roselyn seemed to be sizing him up as he asked this, but from the looks on their faces their decision had already been made.
“My parents are dead, Raziel has taken power,” said Tyriel, his hand curling into a powerful fist. A weight dropped in Oran’s stomach then, almost bringing him to his knees. He had already known this but hearing it from Tyriel himself was even more disheartening. The great King and Queen of Eron were dead. It didn’t seem real.
“But we can still fight. Our kind has never failed in overcoming the odds,” said Oran trying to gather himself, they couldn’t give up on hope? Tyriel looked deep into his son’s eyes while responding, clearly lost in thought.
“Yes— we can, and we will, but I am afraid I won’t be the one that leads us to victory. It is too late for that.” His words, as devastating as they were, seemed to have little effect on Tyriel himself. Oran wanted to dispute him but he couldn’t overlook the fact that Tyriel didn’t seem bothered by what he himself had said. And so it was Roselyn’s intervention that broke the silence.
“Oran, he awoke the guard,” she said, her voice wavering for the first time as she took her child into her arms again. The sickness Oran felt now was almost visible on his face. He could no longer speak.
“We have to take him with us,” said Fatima, reappearing with the black dog and a bundle of what appeared to be food. She then walked over to Oran, lifted his head into her hands and looked deep into his eyes.
“We are their only hope,” she said in a pleading, yet confident voice. It was upon seeing this display of strength in Fatima’s eyes that caused the shakiness he was feeling in his knees to waver a bit. If she could show strength like this then there was no reason he could not do the same.
“He must live, Oran. If our kind is to have any hope, he must live,” said Tyriel calmly. The immensity of the situation finally seemed to click for Oran then. This was what Tyriel wanted him to do, why he couldn’t allow him fight. He and Fatima had to raise the child. He wasn’t sure how it could possibly make a difference now. But he knew that in time, it would
The five of them stood in silence for a while as the child continued with its attempt to get free. Fatima was the only one that seemed bothered by what was happening.
“What’s wrong with him?” she finally managed to ask, as the baby took a swing at its own mother who seemed not to have noticed. Oran then realized that the commotion he had overheard earlier was probably the baby trying to find a way out of the house.
“Right, there is something I need you to know before you take him,” said Tyriel in a curiously cautious voice.
“As you can see he is very unstable at the moment, but don’t let this worry you. All angels go through this stage during their childhood,” he continued as his voice died down significantly. It was obvious he was thinking about the childhood he wouldn’t be around to witness.
“But I still don’t understand. Why is he so violent? And why does he keep trying to escape?” asked Fatima, examining the ever-struggling infant. It was no surprise that she wanted to know everything there was about newborn angel behavior. This seemed to please Roselyn though she didn’t address the matter aloud herself.
“Fatima I understand and appreciate your concern but we don’t have the time to explain everything. You will find out soon enough,” said Tyriel, looking directly at Oran, who simply stared back at him. It would be up to him to teach Fatima the ways of angel rearing.
Roselyn then began to sing to the child in a voice that was just over a whisper. Oran recognized the song instantly. Though it was a just a distant memory he could remember his mother singing it to him. Fatima stared confusedly as Tyriel, Oran, and the child all locked eyes on Roselyn’s face. Though she thought it sounded truly beautiful she couldn’t understand a word of what Roselyn was saying. The language of the song was unknown to her.
It wasn’t long before the child had given up his struggle completely. He was staring deep into his mother’s eyes and with every word she sang the less he struggled. His soul scar was also losing its brilliance. Roselyn had to repeat the song several times before the child finally ended his struggle.
“He’s even more stubborn than I was,” said Tyriel with a weak smile.
Roselyn then stepped towards Fatima who held out her arms instinctively, yet graciously. Roselyn’s cheeks, which were normally that of a soft pink complexion, were flushing scarlet. This was obviously very hard for her to do. The baby however showed little notice of the exchange, probably thinking it would only be brief. His dark brown eyes and hair, identical to that of his father’s were almost shocking. His now dimly lit soul scar was also strikingly similar. Staring up into the faces of the foreign couple that would soon be his new parents with a vague interest, he yawned half-heartedly. Fatima, smiling lightly, looked up at Oran and raised an eyebrow. He didn’t look as enthused as she would have liked. Though he wanted to look happy he couldn’t help but feel heartbroken for Tyriel and Roselyn. He couldn’t fathom the idea of having to give up his only child, especially at such a tender age.
“Does he have anything to wear?” he finally managed to ask after some time. Tyriel gave him an appraising smile before whispering something that was inaudible. Inaudible to everyone but the child it turned out. For at the moving of his father’s lips the infant angel had taken flight.
“No!” shrieked Fatima, but it was too late. The tiny baby was flapping his way clumsily through the air to his father before landing safely in his hands. Turing away, Tyriel walked back into the house and disappeared from sight. The rest of them stood in silence for a while as Roselyn attempted to dry tears that had made their way down her puffy cheeks.
“I have something for you,” she finally managed to say in Fatima’s direction, though still sobbing quietly. Fatima blushed lightly at this statement, clearly not understanding.
“You’ve already given me enough, really,” she said, in a slightly guilty tone.
“I know you must feel terrible, giving your child to a human girl, how could I ever protect him?” she said, tearing up at her own words.
“Do not say such a thing, I could have chosen an angel couple if I had wanted,” said Roselyn.
“Then, then why did you—?”
“I chose you because you are strong, and your heart is kind,” answered Roselyn gingerly. Her expression made it clear that she had thought long and hard about this. As the two of them gazed upon one another encouragingly, Oran couldn’t help but notice the deteriorating conditions surrounding them. The air was so cold and dry now that it could have cut them. He had never felt anything like it. And paired with the constant cries from overhead it was all he could do not to throw a fit.
“I just wish you could stay strong forever,” said Roselyn, causing a puzzled expression to form on Fatima’s face.
“My son is going to need you Fatima, and so is he,” said Roselyn gesturing towards Oran who was just as confused as his wife.
“Stand very still?” continued Roselyn, looking extremely focused. Oran shifted slightly, catching on to what was about to take place. Fatima, however, was still clueless as to what was going on but did as she was asked anyway. Roselyn then closed her eyes and stood motionless. Her features made it clear that her level of concentration was rising by the second. Glaring at her in anticipation, Fatima awaited any sign as to what was going to happen next.
The sign she was waiting for then began to show itself as Roselyn’s soulscar began to give off more than just light. Identical to one another in every way tiny spheres of a white substance began to revolve around her body, starting out slowly before quickening their pace. So in what was mere seconds they were racing around her entirety at a blinding speed. Fatima stared at the unexplainable spectacle with a sense of both fear and awe as Oran stood dumbfounded as well. He simply couldn’t believe what was happening. The spheres of light then began to brighten as they drew more and more energy from Roselyn’s soul scar. Which, judging by her slightly glistening skin, had caused her to work up a light sweat.
Fatima’s eyes grew wide as a wild idea formed itself in her mind. Was Roselyn giving her, her energy? And though this thought made her want to stop Roselyn she couldn’t help but think that maybe this was for the greater good. It was at exactly that moment when the spheres of light slowed down, that Tyriel reappeared. The baby was now completely clothed, wrapped tightly in a blanket, and fast asleep.
Tyriel watched Roselyn slowly with a warm look, but couldn’t seem to muster a smile. Oran’s heart on the other hand was pounding so hard in his chest that he was afraid someone would hear it.
“Tyriel, I—,” he said before silencing himself. The spheres, which had slowed to a stop now, were now making their way towards a statue-like Fatima. They then began to revolve around her in a fashion similar to the way they had around Roselyn. But instead of brightening they began to fade. Roselyn, whose part in the exchange was over, was panting slightly as her soul scar grew dark. She had just given Fatima every ounce of energy she had. And though she barely had any strength left for herself she appeared to be happy. She had given her child the best chance he had at surviving.
“You shall fear death no longer,” said Tyriel smiling slightly as Roselyn returned to his side. The spheres of light had all but disappeared as the wild thought Fatima had conjured solidified itself.
“But what about you?” she gasped as her entire body took on a much lighter feeling than normal. Looking down at her hands and then at Oran who was at a complete loss of words, she knew things would never be the same.
“Once you have a child of your own you will understand,” said Roselyn with a warm smile. Continuing to gawk at her Fatima couldn’t manage muster any sort of response as she tried to come to terms with what had happened. It had all occurred so quickly, her new motherhood as well as prolonged longevity. Their implications it seemed were just beginning to hit home for her.
“We must go now I’m afraid,” said Tyriel, approaching Oran for the first time. Oran, who hadn’t spoken a full sentence in ages, looked down at the bundle of life and then examined its father. Moving almost robotically, the look Tyriel was giving him needed no explaining.
Take care of him, said Tyriel, but with no actual words. Oran nodded understandingly and took the baby into his own arms. Tyriel then turned back to his wife who was holding out her hand for his. Breathing steadily but heavily it seemed that her depleted energy was still on the decline somehow. Taking her into his arms and burying his head in her crimson hair, the two of them shared a tender moment that Oran would never forget for as long as he lived. Taking in the beautiful couple for what he knew was the last time he understood the task that was at hand for him and Fatima. The entire angel race would live and die with the child, who was now his son.
“You cannot be discovered, your son must live,” said Tyriel earnestly. Oran and Fatima nodded in unison at his words.
“Will you not say goodbye?” asked Fatima as Tyriel drew his wings to full length. Unable to do the same, Roselyn clung to her husband for support. The two of them then rose slowly into the air as they prepared to depart. Forgetting her question Fatima merely gazed at the purely evocative scene unfolding place in front of her. As bleak as things undoubtedly were at the moment, the two of them locked in each other’s arms gave her the sense that hope was still alive.
“Our kind doesn’t believe in goodbyes,” said Oran, as what felt like a torch of pride was lit within him.
“For our spirits live on forever.”
