The Angel

I flip the book close and gently place it on the table. My gaze swipes the room picking on any detail I might have missed, permanently etching it into my memory. This dwelling hasn’t been my home for long, but I like to remember the simplicity of its grey walls, the soft scent of old wood and the roughness of the stone under my feet. Soft light streams into the room from the small window across, lighting whatever few possessions still remain. An empty bookshelf parted from the colours of the books that it once held, a hard couch by the window, a chest in the corner, a table and a chair. Not much, but enough to provide for all my needs.

I slide the chair perfectly into its designated place and sigh. Without my personal artifacts foreign emptiness hangs thick in the air making this place difficult to recognize. I run my fingers along the smooth surface of the table, halting when they reach the hilt of the sword leaned against the edge. My trusted claymore, its wide, silvery blade is light in my hand as I raise it to check for imperfections. There are none, as I’ve determined many times before. But checking it brings a kind of solace, a certainty in the dependence of my sword.

Two green eyes stare back at me from the polished surface, distant with brooding contemplation. I am thinking too hard again, my forehead tense and my shoulders stiff. Relaxing, I lower my sword and try my best to ease my mind from the matters at hand. As impossible as that is.

A sigh slips my lips as I fit the blade in its sheath at my belt. It’s time. With one last glance at my current home I head for the exit. The metal plating of my boots hammers against the stone in rhythm, ceasing once I reach the door. At the handle I hesitate a short moment then pull it open and walk out into the blinding sunlight.

It takes a moment to adjust and I need to raise a hand to shield my eyes from the angry glare. Once my vision clears, vast grasslands emerge before me. My house lies on the fringe, right where the low buildings melt into the endless green. Green that is now the colour of the sun, spreading across the horizon like a sea of gold.

At first this change was seen as an omen though of what no one could provide an answer. Not the historians, not the celestial diviners, and most certainly not the common warriors. In the end, the fact our evergreen fields turned yellow for the very first time in their known existence was brushed aside with a cheerful:”Have you seen the fields today? Aren’t they such a lovely shade of gold?”

Narrow streets press around me as I navigate across my gray town. Gray after the roofs of its uniform white houses. Only the central mansion towers above the sea of grey tile, its bronze roofs reflecting the sun so horridly I’m certain its only purpose is to torture the eyes of passers-by.Today too, like a second sun the enclosure of the central palace shines across the townscape. Magnificent though silent, not a single soul strolling its corridors. It never found a new dweller, remaining only an empty monument of past glory.

The town itself seems abandoned today, the usually crowded alleys vacant and the gardens barren. Silence slithers down the central street, imposing its stillness upon every corner. In the distance, I sometimes see lone silhouettes pass by, vanishing as phantoms by the time I reach them.

My steps alone echo when I walk across the gardens. Lush and green, and still, not even the wind daring to break their silence. The tall white arches of the shrine near. A simple structure, smooth white columns and not much else but greenery beyond. I pass through and the beam of light emerges, invisible from the outside, the beam extends up into the heavens.

Another warrior enters the inner shrine, his armour of the purest silver. A common mage from the eagle order, or so the twin eagles on his chest piece and the markings on the blue-white cape on his shoulder betray. He nods when our eyes meet, and without slowing walks into the golden light.

I make haste after, shutting my eyes as I sink into the light. I feel the shift, though it is momentary, and when my eyes snap open once again, I stand in the centre of a different garden. The trees are taller here, and the arches much wider, as I hurry after the mage. I trail him until the next intersection where he splits off, heading for the misty shape of the Citadel of Light.

The fortress hovers roughly in the centre of the Gate City, still grander than anything I have seen through my existence. It is not here, in reality, what I see is a mere projection, or a portal for those welcome on its grounds. The real Citadel is an entire layer huddled somewhere in the core levels of Heaven.

Out of the four streets branching from the central Fountain, I take the far right. It veers off into the city, cutting straight across the Knowledge district where all the temples, libraries and courts lie. A true collection of the most impressive stone structures, unique and magnificent and just the same as their mirror images in all the other Gate Cities.

The glare of the sun blinds me again when I turn the corner. Judging by its angle, I am late. My steps hasten as much as my heavy, hard boots would allow, which is still enough to send the angel coming from around the corner flying back. He bounces off my chest piece and tumbles to the ground in a heap of robes, books and curses. I try to offer him my aid, but his piercing blue eyes burn holes into me as he springs back standing.

“You should watch where you’re going.” he hisses, but his threat fails miserably on the account of his height, his light brown head barely comes up to my shoulder.

The light blue colour of his robe mark him as a negotiator, a civil servant, and I wonder what accounts of conflicts, resolved or stirred, hide in the books he is now vigorously piling back together. He ranks higher, and so I wait until he finally straightens, and cradling the books in his arms gives me one last withering glare before hurrying down the street.

I turn the other way, and continue towards my destination. It isn’t far now, I can see the opening of the square up ahead. In its middle stands the temple, a massive building of smooth stone with its four towers and triangular roof reaching up for the sun. The large metal gates are closed now, and as I ascend the stairs I spy no way to open them.

Up close I inspect them once more before knocking. With a screech, they open, wide enough for a thin angel to stick her face out. A pair of light brown eyes study me, her lips bunched into a dot.

“You’re late.” she says in the end.

“Not really.” I answer, glancing at the sky. If my estimation is correct, I am on time though barely.

She rolls her eyes and pushes the wing open so that I can enter. I slip in and follow her as she creeps along the hallway. Rows of warriors already line the inner chamber, perfectly aligned alongside each other. I feel the glances as I make my way across, though no one moves nor says a thing. In the middle of the chamber, stands a platform and on it now is a table rather than a podium, parchments and maps lying scattered across it. Two figures tower over the papers, and between them, in an elaborate and cushioned chair, sits the Archangel.

Menael.

My gaze lingers on him as I take my place among the front row. He doesn’t seem to notice my arrival, absorbed in something in the scroll in front of him. The Archangel huffs and shifts the parchment until it suits his fancy, then let’s it roll closed and reaches for another.

I don’t let my frown show, it should have been Cathatel in that chair, not him. Yet by a logic mysterious to me, he has been put in charge of the city defences. And for reasons even more unfathomable, I have been assigned to his guard.

Silence is heavy in the air, broken occasionally by the sound of shifting paper. We stand tall and straight in our formation, waiting for his word. In the distance the gates creak open once again and a set of footsteps follows as another angel joins the lines.

I glance at the Archangel again and this time he meets my eyes. He knows that I am here, I note a hint of annoyance in his gaze before I break the contact. The short encounter has given me everything I needed. Right and wrong, justice and corruption, I have been conflicted over the true reality of things for far too long.

But no more.

Just one look into his eyes and I know the decision I must make.