Stolas observed himself in the mirror with awe. It's perfect, he thought. Every single minute blemish disappeared entirely. For the first time in what felt like years he didn't dedicate energy to blocking out pain. He ran his hands across his body and to his delight, underneath his fingers he felt definition. Slim lines sketched muscle across his body and a smile spread across his face. Seems all of his exertion amounted to something. "Maybe now I can go shirtless," although just as he said that the image of Éirean and Kalou popped into his mind and burst his bubble. A knock on the door drew his attention.
"Do not come in!" He cried scrambling for his clothes.
"Your royal highness you need to come downstairs." Said Rook. "The first dragon is hatching." Stolas paused.
"Oh…right."
He stopped by the library as well as the room Caine claimed as his own to pick up the notebooks. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the library's owner, he came across tonnes of relevant material. Staggering downstairs encumbered, he waddled into the lounge and tossed his haul onto the nearest chair. In the fireplace, the crimson drake egg split into further fragments as a tiny, clawed paw emerged from within.
"What should we name it?" Wondered Rook. Both he and his brother perched as close to the fire as they could while Kalou and Éirean squatted only inches behind them with the same childlike expressions. Stolas glowered.
"We do not name it. In this situation, no one can afford to become attached." I made that mistake with Bleach, he thought. Except this time, it would be him cutting the animals into pieces. "I need to observe the hatching process to help gain proper understanding. I know you want to watch but I'm going to ask you to leave." He said as he threw cushions to the floor to construct his makeshift study den. Kalou sighed.
"I understand, but you are doing that a lot lately."
"I have reason to." His voice carried more venom than intended, yet not underserved. "Go and spend the time apologising to those boys if you have not given them the courtesy yet."
"I have, and I will again." Kalou replied, dejected. The room emptied just before the frostiness in the air extinguished the fire. Stolas nestled into his den and donned his reading glasses. With a mug of tea beside him he settled in for a long twenty-four hours of research.
"Balit el." Stolas jolted up from his hunched position by the fire. Resembling a goblin with a plunder of ancient academia he adjusted his glasses and pulled away one curtain of hair to see if his blurred vision deceived him. Stretched across the chaise longue the Virtue lounged with his feet up on arm rest and his hands crossed behind his head.
"How…how long have you been here?" Stolas stammered. Snapped out of his studying trance his heart rate steadily increased. The angel did not reply. "If my family find you, they will kill you." He said scrambling to get up and sending books flying as he did so. "Thank you for all of your help with-" he hesitated, "This." He said gesturing to his body. "But you need to leave. I don't have time to ask you questions now. I can only focus on one thing." The angel remained still for a moment, before inclining his head towards the fire. The dragon now poked out its little head and as the sun rose over the fjord the hatching process drew closer to completion. A pivotal moment. The Virtue rose from his position and glided to Stolas's side. Curiosity at his behaviour superseded the prince's heavy breathing and panic. Sweat beaded across his body, yet the fear of the angel dampened with every second he looked at him. The feeling arose instinctively yet his calm presence put him further at ease with every visit. "Why are you here?"
"Dragons. Par zirom drilpa aspt." Said the angel in an even tone. Stolas hung on every word of Enochian, a stunning language he yearned to learn.
"You are here for my dragons?" he asked, inadvertently placing himself between the angel and the fireplace. The angel stared at him before silently shaking his head.
"Hm, no." he muttered, and without warning clutched Stolas' chin. The lump in his throat would not allow him to reply. Stolas looked into his shadowed eyes behind the mask while acutely aware of the angel's razor sharp nails millimetres from his throat. Every hair on his body stood on end, he tensed until he struggled to breathe. The angel's cool aura seeped into his skin and a chill creeped up Stolas' spine as his soft grip travelled from his jaw, lower, until both hands travelled across his body. "Pain?"
"No…no. I'm not hurt anymore." The angel's gaze snapped up.
"Good." He released him. Stolas heard his heart beating like a drum. Mountains of words rested on the tip of his tongue, but he wished to learn one thing before everything else and it weighed on his mind since the day he first faced this Virtue.
"What is your name?" he blurted. The angel paused thoughtfully. As if playing the information over in his mind.
"No."
"No?" The image of the angel notebook sprang to mind. Not all angels have names, do they? Only those close to Ascha had the honour of a name, one God bestowed upon them himself. How inconvenient. "Then let me give you one," he said in a small voice. "I need to know what to call you when we meet again, I can't just call you, you." An unfamiliar expression carved the angel's face. Stolas' eyes widened. Is that the tiniest hint of a smile? "I know what to call you. How does Michaeas sound?"
"Stolas, do you need any more food in there? And who are you talking to?" The handle on his door turned as his brother's voice emitted from outside.
"No I'm-" a blur swept by and the window cast itself open. "I'm alone…come in." Kalou entered with a coy expression and a steaming bowl in his hands.
"I brought you some of that broth you like. Hey, do you want me to shut that window for you? You're shaking."
"I'm sorry I was lost in thought there." He said catching himself. "If you wouldn't mind."
"How is the studying going?" He asked before slamming the window closed and setting down his broth. "The little one seems to be coming along well. Do you think you could spare time for a nap?"
"How sleep deprived do I look?" Kalou smiled and did not answer his question. No wonder the angel thought I was still hurt, he thought. A light simmer of embarrassment heated his cheeks. "I need to wait until it hatches fully, which should hopefully be within the next hour. The others have not cracked yet." Kalou raised an eyebrow. Stolas knew he suspected that something bothered him. In usual fashion, Kalou gave him the space he needed to work and left the room with a light nod of acknowledgement.
As the early morning melted the nightly frost, the drake let out its first cry and tumbled into the coals. The heat radiating from its small form sent ripples through the air. When its paws contacted the wooden floor, it left scorched, indented prints in its wake. Stolas observed its behaviours, movement, the texture of its skin and how the muscles moved underneath. As his thoughts evolved his quill moved on its lonesome and he lost his grip on reality again. Yet, he could not immerse himself entirely. Stolas sensed eyes boring into the back of his head.
At the sound of the dinner bell, Stolas made his way to the dining room with the appearance of an undead monster and a drake clinging to his back. "You look like you need to sleep for a week." said Caine as he stuffed his face.
"I feel nauseous, but this is hardly the worst part of the process." Stolas croaked. "The drake imprinted on me as I thought it would. Hostility will not be a problem."
"Great, let's see the little guy then." Stolas sat down and removed the hatchling latched onto his back, plopping him on the table. Like its egg, its skin ran with dark veins and crimson scales that moulded into scarlet feathers on the elbows and neck. It had a box-like head and bulky body with a stubby tail. Cute and simultaneously ugly. It met with delighted smiles.
"So, shall we discuss our next move? We cannot stay here forever." Said Caine, eyeing Éirean. "We have gained much from this city. With Stolas' revelation we can head straight for the nest after gathering at least another relic, any weapon in his hands is effective so we have no need to travel the continent in search of many others. You may study the Dragons and harness the necessary knowledge on route."
"Do you even know where this 'nest' is?" Asked Kalou.
"I have hunted angels for years, and from what I have observed their activity is concentrated in the east. Lohur territory."
"At least it is not Galdria. We would be slaughtered at the border." Muttered Kalou between bites of food.
"I suggest we get a carriage, head to the capital and investigate. Narrow down the search area to places where people have gone missing, perhaps there is another relic there too."
"We could always just ask." Stolas deadpanned.
"Yes that's what I'm saying, we talk to officials and-"
"The angels Caine. Ask them." Just as Caine began to vomit words of outrage Stolas cut him off again. "Our goals are aligned in this. They want to take me there alive, and I want to go there alive. There is room for negotiation." Kalou burst out laughing.
"Wow brother. You would rather negotiate with the race you plan to genocide than visit your fiancée?"
Stolas froze. His pupils shrunk.
"Get down!"
The window imploded.
Everyone scattered. Stained glass pierced the air as a body slammed into the wall behind them. Michaeas coughed up smoking black blood and gripped his stomach that housed a gaping hole. The power jumped through slamming onto the dining table, cracking the wood beneath its feet, wielding a flying mace. "Micalz el..." it said, its head tilting toward Stolas.
"Ag!" Michaeas bellowed. He barrelled forward and met the power's next strike upon the table, blocking the blow with his gauntlets crossed over his face. The air in the room thickened with tension and Stolas remained dazed. Caine, Kalou and Éirean kept to the walls and corners, paralysed with shock. The little drake hissed and roared at the angels, choking up little torrents of fire as it wrapped itself around Stolas' shoulders and guarded his neck.
Michaeas guarded and stayed on the defensive as he healed, deflecting blow after blow that travelled at sickening speed. In seconds the pair exchanged over twenty strikes. Stolas knew that although he ranked above the power, Virtues did not carry the same fighting ability, nor vicious malice, that the Powers did. It exhumed such anger and bloodlust in its defining cries that it dawned on him this is not a mere quarrel but a fight to the death. Adrenalin kicked in.
"Michaeas!" he cried, running into the centre of the room. Michaeas' attention snapped to him for only a moment, a moment that the Power took advantage of where it planted a fist into the Virtue's healing gut making him topple backwards off the table. Before he could hit the ground however the Power grabbed him by his hair and lurched him back, with its mace heading directly for his face. Stolas could hardly make out their movements, but the Power's legs remained static. He wiped them out from under it, slicing the tendons in the feet as he did so with a giant bone blade. As the power collapsed into the table, crashing through the wood its flying mace altered its trajectory and flailed in the air, missing Michaeas' face by a slither and leaving a deep gash across his mask.
"Balit el…" He panted, intermittently staring at the downed Power that wailed in pain and Stolas holding a five and a half foot long bloodstained scythe.
"Are you okay?" Stolas asked, worry creasing his brow.
"Mhm." He hummed with a nod. Stolas watched as his skin healed and closed over in a matter of minutes. "Kill." He said in a flat tone. On command Stolas did not hesitate to jump into the hole and slash the Power's throat, swallowing the bile in his mouth as he did so.
"I assume you heard us, will you join us then?" He uttered between haggard breaths as blood dripped down his face from the spatter.
"Stolas!" Caine exclaimed.
"Not another goddamn word." Stolas snapped. Surprise registered on his mentor's face. "We want the same thing. Take me to Belial." He held out his shaking hand to the angel expectantly, a steely look in his eye. "Join us." Stolas awaited his response and with every second of loud silence his nerves grew. Inside he begged the angel to say yes and not do something overtly drastic. Michaeas took a very deliberate step towards Caine, addressing him and the others, lowering Stolas's hand gently. A pang of panic travelled up his arm and into his chest from the angel's touch and his head started to throb.
"I will not kill."
"Yet." said Caine. "How do I know you will not kill us on the road, or when we get there?"
"This would be a temporary alliance. No one is telling you to drop your guard." Said Stolas stepping between them, an arm out to each side.
"Do you trust him?" asked Kalou with a shaky intake of breath. Stolas nodded without blinking, although he let his own nervousness seep through. With his voice still wavering he continued.
"He is not stupid. He knows I can hurt him, and that if he lays a hand on any of you that I would chop it off. It is nothing more than common sense and self-preservation." He paused, adjusting his gaze to meet his brother dead in the eye. "Think about it, he has done nothing but help us so far." Kalou narrowed his eyes.
"He has helped you exclusively."
"Perhaps, but has he ever so much as laid a finger on any of you either?" Kalou fidgeted and fumbled with his fingers, yet after considering his brother's words, drifted to his side with a guilty look, repentance still on his mind. Éirean sighed and followed. All eyes turned to Caine. Like a cornered animal, his entire body radiated hostility.
"These beasts murdered my brother and brought your father and I to the brink of death, you would dare side with them?"
"What happened to my father?" Stolas asked reflexively.