It was midday by the time Philos awoke. After the fighting, Fox and Hyena, unknown to Philos or the other boys, were both rounded up by the Black Roses, with only a little resistance and promptly placed in the dungeons below the Emerald Gate. Gilliam believed that an extended sentence was fitting and would give them ample time to repent for their crimes.
Philos got out of bed and stretched, noticing instantly the soreness in his shoulder and forearm. It seemed, he decided, that even though he had healed rapidly, his body had to adjust still. He hadn't noticed this aching before, but perhaps that was just because of the adrenaline that he had felt during the fight.
Whatever the case, he was sore now and his muscles were stiff as he extended his arms to loosen them a little.
Beyond the door, he could hear the muffled voices of his friends in the den outside of his room. He looked around the quarters. He smiled. There, in the corner, a fresh change of clothes sat in the chair, along with his brown jacket.
Let's get dressed, I guess.
"Bout time!" Joseph said as Philos opened the door and stepped into the room.
Philos looked around. Joseph and Alphonso were both seated at a table near the hearth, a plate full of chicken and rice in front of the Beastfolk boy and two almost empty plates in front of Alphonso.
"We thought you were gonna sleep forever!" Alphonso said, his voice muffled because his mouth was full of food.
"No," Philos laughed, his voice still raspy from sleep, "I'm alive." He stretched his arm out. "Just a bit sore."
"It was a rough night!" Joseph smiled, his cat ears perking up. "You think you're sore? You should see Uri! It's a damned miracle he's alive!"
"Uri?" Philos had just noticed that his little brother wasn't present in the room.
"Who's still hungry?" Kerri said as she entered from the kitchen, two plates of rice and chicken in her hands.
"I'll take another!" Alphonso said as he raised his hand.
"Of course you will, fatso!" Joseph mocked, narrowing his eyes.
"What'd you say, stupid mutt?"
"Dude." Joseph shot back, his feline ears lowering. "Do you just not know what cats are?"
"Kerri," Philos said, ignoring his bickering friends in the background. "Do you know where Uri is?"
Suddenly, her face tensed.
"Outside," she said. "He's had a rough night, that's all."
Uri sat in a rocking chair on the far side of the large porch that wrapped around the entirety of the building. The stairs that had been obliterated the night before had been replaced by cement blocks as a temporary fix.
It wasn't hard to find Uri, though. Philos knew where he would be, and he found him on the backside of the porch, away from everyone else.
Philos approached and stopped; the two were silent.
"He slit my throat." Uri finally said, his voice raspy and raw. "But somehow, I'm alive. How am I alive? I felt the blood leave my body. I felt the air leave my lungs. I was cold; everything went black, but..." He trailed off.
"Uri..." Philos muttered. He could feel that rage rising in his belly. His brother hurt, and Philos couldn't help him.
He was helpless once again.
"Brother," Uri spoke up again, "what are we?"
"So you're finally understanding the gravity of your powers," a deep voice said.
The two boys turned to see Sir Smith approaching them, his blue halo glowing above his head. The Angel straightened the cuffs on his red jacket.
"In my homeland," he began, "in the kingdom beyond the sea—the place you call Heaven, the legend of Vespira is frankly lost, its eloquence and beauty replaced with savage lies. To most Angels, the story of that girl's humility is spoken of as the wrath of an Unholy Beast.
"To Angels, the Starborn are demons mentioned merely in superstitious lore." The Angel paused, placing his hands upon the wooden rail. "To them, you are the enemies of Heaven, the bringers of the End of the World."
"And to you?" Philos prodded, his voice almost cold. "What are we to you, Sir Smith?"
The Angel said nothing, a contemplative look on his face.
"Philos!" Dalt exclaimed as he rushed around the corner.
"Hey, kid!" Philos smiled at his newfound friend. "What's up?"
"I'm not a—" He stopped. "Never mind! I wanna show you something! Follow me!"
And just like that, the young boy shot off. Philos looked at Uri, who shrugged, then he rushed to follow.
Philos finally caught up to Dalt after a short time. Midday was turning into evening, the sun's golden light bathing everything in an aurous hue. The town was quiet now, peaceful and slow as the two walked down the dirt roads. Philos thought about asking the young boy where they were going, but decided that he wouldn't bother him and to merely continue following.
Dalt hurried down a side road until the town passed behind them and they were in the wilderness. Then, through the clearing, the remnants of a farmhouse revealed itself within the brush.
The boy stopped.
"Dalt," Philos said softly as he stood beside the boy. "Is this—?"
"My family's house," the boy answered before the other could finish. "I want to show you something. C'mon."
Philos followed behind once more.
"The house isn't safe anymore," the little boy said. "So we have to go this way."
To the side of the house, the wooden fence had fallen in, revealing behind it the shrubbed dirt of the fields, long forgotten by the world.
"C'mon!" Dalt waved as he rushed ahead.
"H-hey!" Philos hurried up. "Hold up! Where are we—?"
The boy stopped at a depression in the earth. "There." Dalt pointed. "That's it."
Philos followed the other's finger. There, in the low of the land, an ornate hilt lay. His reddish eyes widened. It was beautiful, made of golds and blacks and ivory. It was only a hilt, but even so, it was mesmerizing.
"Dalt, is this—?"
"My father's treasure." he cut the other off. "Judine told me that you know the story, so"—he took a deep breath—"I want you to have it."
"Dalt..."
"It's the least I can do. You really saved me, Philos. I want you to have my family's treasure.
"But I thought no one could lift it?"
Dalt looked up at Philos. In his eyes, Philos could see, not a fire, but a stony resolve.
"No one could lift it," the boy said. "But you aren't like anyone else! I saw how your body healed so quickly! No normal person could survive the sword wounds that you took. The hilt might be magic, but you're magic, too!"
Maybe he was right. Philos couldn't bring himself to deny it.
"Just try to lift it!" Dalt insisted.
Philos sighed deeply. "Alright."
He stepped forward. It was odd, really. Philos stared at the hilt glistening in the sunlight. It was calling to him, or at least it felt that way. He bent down and wrapped his fingers around it. Then, with no trouble, he lifted the artifact off of the ground.
"I knew it!" Dalt exclaimed.
Philos held the hilt up. Maybe he was meant to wield it. It felt like that, at least.
"But it's just a hilt—"
Suddenly, the hilt began to glow brightly. A great flash exploded from the hilt. Philos and Dalt took a moment to regain sight.
"The hilt!?" the young boy said with excitement and marvel.
"Has a blade...?" Philos finished.
Philos looked at the weapon in his hand. Flowing from the hilt, a violet beam of energy seemed to extend like a blade. Philos eyed it in wonder. Along this phantom sword, stars and galaxies seemed to collide.
"What is this...?" Philos gasped.
"A fragment of the Cosmic Blade," a deep voice said, "its name is 'Exillio.'"
The two turned to the voice to see a tall man in armor standing before them. Philos eyed him curiously, his silver armor seemingly covered in ice.
"Who are you?!" Dalt snapped.
"I mean you no harm," he said, frost spilling from his mouth. "Let's go back to the inn. We need to talk."
Everyone sat in the den of the inn, their eyes looking intently upon the strange frigid man.
"I guess there is much explaining to be done," the frosty knight began. "My name is 'Ice' Gilliam Murdock, second in command of what you call the 'Resistance Army.'"
"Resistance Army?" Alphonso blurted out as everyone was still processing the information.
"That is the common word for us, yes." He paused. "But we are more than that. We are the Black Roses, the Agents of Obsidian, the Aeon of Death and Love. And we are the ones who will free the world."
"So the Aeons are real?" Joseph spoke up.
"Aye," Gilliam said, nodding. "I assume that Sir Smith has told you already about their predicament. The god-king of the Morning Star Kingdom, Azazel, used his divine might to seal them away. My intelligence says that he keeps them trapped in his palace, which we believe is located in the center of the continent across the sea—the center of the Angelic nation."
Philos raised an eyebrow. "So what do you want?"
"I want what you want, just indirectly. I want you to stop my older brother, the Adonai, Myhael Murdock."
"Brother?!" everyone gasped in unison.
"Yes," Gilliam laughed, frost spilling from his mouth. "My brother is about to make a political decision that will cast the world into darkness. If we wish to protect the Outskirts and the people within it, we must stop him."
The room was silent, the tension within thick and brumous.
"Your brother," Philos spoke up. "He's a magic user, isn't he?"
"I figured you would bring that up," Gilliam said, sighing. "It's true. Both he and I are magic users. That's what happens when a non-Angel eats the heart of an Angel—they gain the Angel's powers. Though that is a secret to most people. It does them no good, considering it only works if the heart is still beating."
"My wounds when he burned me," Philos began, "they didn't heal like a cut or scrape—I've even recovered from burns before, but those flames were different..."
"They're magical, and as such, your Starblood can't heal them."
Uri sighed. "So what do you want with us?"
Gilliam smiled. "A truce, so to speak. We need to stop the Adonai before he can make the decision."
"Decision?" Joseph asked, tilting his head.
"I can't say much more, but the choice he will make—very soon, at that—will doom the Outskirts for good." He paused. "Listen to me, young men, I can help you save your friends—the girl named Vylet and the one who calls herself Astrid."
The boys looked at each other, their eyes meeting each other's. It was obvious what had to be done.
"Alright, Gilliam," Philos said. "You've got yourself a truce!"
Gilliam smiled, frost leaving his mouth. "Very well, my boys. Let me take you through the Emerald Gate!"
The Adonai's Government Tower was darkening with the night as a solitary soldier made her way down the hall, a shotgun in her hands and a short bow upon her back, a small quiver of arrows at her side. Her small frame made her look awkward for a warrior, and golden blonde strands of hair fell from behind her masked face.
She hurried down the hall, her mind mulling over the orders she had been given—important orders, directly from her leader.
She took a turn and made her way down into the dungeons. Nodding to the warden, she passed him by and took a corridor to the left. The cells here were mostly empty, but one—all the way at the end—was occupied.
She opened the door with a master key she had received from her boss, and stepped in.
"You," the soldier said as she looked at the prisoner. She was thin and almost starved, the lavender dye of her hair beginning to fade and her white-blonde roots beginning to show on the top of her head. She was sitting in the far corner, opposite her stake. The chain to the clasp around her ankle lay sprawled out upon the floor.
"Vylet Noire, correct?" the soldier said, her voice stern.
Vylet looked up to see that she was looking down the barrel of a shotgun.
"I have been given orders to end this," the soldier said.
Vylet closed her eyes.
The shotgun blast resounded through the hallway.