Vem descended the winding stone steps of the dungeon, his boots a steady rhythm against the cold, unforgiving walls. The air thickened as he went deeper, the damp chill creeping up his spine. Dim torches sputtered, their light barely enough to illuminate the narrow passage, casting distorted shadows that twisted and flickered along the stone. The dungeon was filled with a stillness, broken only by the occasional whisper of a draft or the sound of a distant sigh.
He had expected to find Yulia here, where she often sat in quiet seclusion, huddled among the others—angels like her, who had once soared through the heavens but now found themselves condemned. Yet, before he could search any further, the unmistakable voice of Kalani broke the silence. She bounded over with her usual eagerness, her bare feet making no sound against the stone floor. Her wide, bright smile contrasted with the somber mood of the dungeon.
Vem's eyes scanned the far corner where Yulia usually stayed, but she wasn't there.
Kalani, perched on the opposite side of the room, spotted him and skipped over, her steps far too light for the gloom of the place. She flashed a wide grin that seemed out of place. "Looking for Yulia?" she asked, her voice far too loud, far too cheerful. "She's in the kitchen."
Vem blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "The kitchen?" he repeated, his brow furrowing as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yes!" Kalani chirped, bouncing on her toes. "She's been there for a while. Said she had something special to make." Her eyes gleamed, the sort of sparkle that hinted she knew far more than she was letting on.
Before Vem could press her for more, Valeria stepped forward, her eyes narrowing slightly, a tinge of jealousy evident in her voice. "Why do you need to see her?" she asked, her arms crossing over her chest in a defensive posture, her wings twitching at the edges.
Vem held her gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not. She asked to see me."
The tension in Valeria's shoulders eased, and she glanced away, her lips curling into an awkward smile. Kalani, who had been hanging on every word, breathed a sigh of relief. Vem shook his head softly, leaving them behind as he stepped out of the dungeon, the weight of its shadows clinging to his boots.
Outside, Pilor sat waiting, perched on the low stone railing, his fiery feathers glowing in the midday sun. He blinked up at Vem, tilting his head slightly as if asking where he had been. Vem stroked the bird's soft plumage briefly before making his way toward the Palace kitchen, Pilor fluttering along beside him.
The path to the Palace wound through the gardens, and despite the heavy weight in his chest, Vem found himself pausing to admire the explosion of life around him.
The air was different out there—fresh and fragrant with the scent of flowers carried by the wind. Above, the sky was a piercing blue, the sun casting a golden glow over the lush, well-kept gardens of the Palace. The world outside seemed to mock the sorrow that clung to the fallen in the shadows of the dungeon.
The path to the kitchen led Vem through these vibrant gardens, where flowers bloomed in a riot of colors—crimson roses, sapphire-blue delphiniums, and golden sunflowers that turned their faces to the sky. The marble of the Palace shone in the sunlight, its towering archways and pillars.
When Vem stepped into the kitchen, the first thing that hit him was the overwhelming aroma of food. The kitchen itself was a world away from the rest of the Palace, a space both practical and serene. Sunlight streamed through large windows, washing the room in a soft, warm glow.
The smell of simmering stews, rich with the tang of exotic spices, filled the air, and the sound of a slow, rhythmic bubbling accompanied the quiet clatter of dishes. Copper pots hung in neat rows from the ceiling, their polished surfaces gleaming as they caught the light. Herbs were strung up above the countertops—lavender, rosemary, thyme—filling the air with their heady perfume.
A large wooden table stood in the center, covered in an array of dishes. Bowls of thick, creamy soup, their surfaces dotted with herbs, steamed beside loaves of freshly baked bread, their crusts a deep golden brown. Plates of roasted vegetables, glistening with olive oil, were sprinkled with flecks of sea salt and the faintest hint of rosemary.
At the center of it all stood Yulia, her back turned to him, stirring a pot with deliberate, careful movements. The sound of the wooden spoon scraping against the sides of the pot blended harmoniously with the bubbling of the simmering broth inside. The air around her was thick with the scent of roasted garlic, fresh thyme, and something warm and sweet, perhaps honey.
Vem let his gaze wander over the feast that lay across the table. A loaf of bread, its crust golden and crisp, sat cooling beside a tray of roasted vegetables—carrots, potatoes, and parsnips—glossy with olive oil and flecked with herbs. There were bowls of velvety soup, rich and creamy, still steaming, and a plate of small, delicate cakes, each one meticulously decorated with sugared berries and a dusting of fine powdered sugar.
Yulia glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a quiet smile when she saw him. "I wasn't sure you'd come," she said softly, her voice carrying an edge of vulnerability that tugged at something inside him.
Vem stepped further into the room, inhaling deeply as the savory scents enveloped him. "I couldn't resist," he teased gently, eyeing the spread of food. "Is all this for me?"
"For us," she corrected with a small chuckle, though there was a heaviness behind her laughter. She turned back to the pot, stirring it one last time before setting the spoon down. "I wanted to... thank you. For everything."
Her words hung in the air, thick with emotion. Vem stepped closer, watching the way she moved—there was something almost reverent in how she prepared each dish. Every motion was precise, deliberate, as though the act of cooking was a ritual in itself. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble," he murmured, though he was touched deeply by her gesture.
"You didn't have to go through all this trouble," he murmured, stepping closer, watching her as she worked. "I would've been happy with just bread and water."
She let out a soft, sad laugh, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I did have to," she whispered. "You saved me, Vem. You saved all of us, but especially me."
Vem felt a pang in his chest as he remembered. Yulia had been in worse shape than most when he found her, her wings shredded beyond repair, her body broken and bruised. "You were in a bad state," he said quietly, the words seeming inadequate for what she had endured.
Yulia turned away for a moment, as if gathering herself, before speaking again. "When you found me, I was... dying," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "They left me to rot. My wings were gone, my body shattered. I was barely clinging to life. And I thought..." She swallowed, her voice trembling slightly. "I thought I wouldn't make it."
Her voice cracked, the memory clearly raw. Vem's chest tightened. He had known she was in bad shape when he found her, but hearing her speak of it—hearing the pain still clinging to her words—made the reality of it all the more unbearable.
Yulia wiped her eyes quickly, as if embarrassed by her tears, and retrieved something from behind the table. She held it out to him, her hands trembling slightly. Seraphina—his sword. The blade gleamed, though there were a few new scratches marking its once-perfect surface. "It's still intact," she whispered. "Somehow."
Vem took the sword from her. He ran a finger along the cool, smooth metal, lost in thought. "Thank you," he said quietly, though his mind was already drifting elsewhere.
Yulia's next words pierced through his thoughts. "Not all of us made it to the Black Sea."
Vem looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"
Yulia's expression darkened. "Those who refused to go, who couldn't bear the thought of what awaited them in its depths... they were exiled. Cast out into other realms, scattered like leaves in the wind."
Her voice dropped lower as she explained. "The Black Sea... it is not water as we know it. It is endless and deep, but it is not made of liquid. It's a void, swirling with dark energy, swallowing everything that touches its surface. Angels who enter it… they never return the same. If they return at all. Some are consumed, their essence obliterated. Others emerge twisted, their wings blackened, their eyes hollow. It changes them, Vem. It warps their very souls. The Sea is punishment, not just for rebellion, but for questioning the whims of those in power. It is a place of eternal torment."
Vem's stomach twisted as her words sunk in. He couldn't fathom such cruelty. To banish angels to a place where their very being could be undone simply for questioning authority—it was beyond barbaric. It was a violation of everything he had ever believed in.
"That's madness," he muttered, shaking his head.
Yulia nodded, her eyes clouded with sorrow. "But it's our reality.
Her gaze softened, and she motioned to a plate on the table. "I made something for Pilor too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Tiny bird-shaped cakes, decorated with bright berries, sat neatly arranged. "I know wherever you go, he follows."
Vem chuckled, glancing over at Pilor, who had now settled near the window, fast asleep. "He'll love them," he said, his heart feeling heavier than it had before. As much as he tried to push it down, the weight of everything pressed harder against his chest.
After a while of eating and quiet conversation, Vem finally stood. "I should go," he said, though he didn't want to leave. The world outside of this moment felt too harsh, too chaotic.
Yulia nodded, turning back to the dishes, her back to him once more. "I'll be here," she said, her voice soft, almost fragile.
As Vem walked out of the kitchen, the sound of running water and Yulia's quiet humming followed him.