Twas morning, and Meredith read the scroll delivered by a pigeon from Byron.
"A battalion has been dispatched and awaits your command, Commander. Meet them at Middleton, a town en route to the capital. I trust you'll guide them with the same determination you've shown so far."
This was good news. It should have been heartening. But the weight of Gabriel's words—of her destiny as Pyria's protector and the sacrifice it would demand—settled heavy on her shoulders.
Meredith knew she couldn't escape what was coming.
She inhaled deeply, fixing her expression into something brighter. Not today, she told herself. Today, I'm just Meredith. Just a princess and a commander, with people who need me to lead—not worry.
Meredith rolled up the parchment, her grip firm with the weight of Byron's trust. "Looks like we're moving up in the world, Fresia," she said with a faint grin.
Fresia, ever watchful, nodded. "More troops means more responsibility, Your Highness."
Meredith nodded, tucking the scroll into her belt. "Before we leave, let's make sure the island is ready. If Pyria falls, this place has to be more than a retreat—it needs to be a fortress."
---
Meredith inspected the island's defenses alongside Garrick and Fresia. The engineers had worked tirelessly, reinforcing bridges and fortifying key points. Scouts mapped the surrounding terrain, while the soldiers began laying the groundwork for supply storage.
"It's no castle," Garrick said gruffly, arms crossed as they surveyed the cliffs, "but it'll hold."
"It has to," Meredith replied, her gaze distant. "If the capital falls, this place will carry the weight of the kingdom."
Garrick nodded, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon.
As the workday wound down, the mood across the camp shifted. Soldiers relaxed on the beach, their laughter mingling with the crash of the waves. Gabriel perched in the shade of a tree, golden eyes observing but his expression soft.
Meredith, ever one to seize an opportunity, suggested an impromptu race. "First one to the river and back owes the winner a week's worth of chores!" she declared.
The soldiers eagerly joined, their boots kicking up sand as they dashed toward the cool, glimmering water. Fresia's laughter rang out as she attempted to keep pace, her usually reserved demeanor briefly forgotten.
Gabriel, ever composed, declined to participate, earning a playful glare from Meredith. "Too angelic to run, huh?" she teased.
"Too sensible," he replied, though the corner of his lips twitched.
For a fleeting moment, Meredith forgot about her mark, her destiny, and the shadow looming over her. She was just here—alive, surrounded by her people.
---
Later, as the soldiers cooled off in the river further downstream, Meredith wandered toward a more secluded bend of the water. With a serene hum and no hesitation, she began to strip, her mind focused entirely on the cool relief the water promised.
"Your Highness!" Fresia's voice rang out sharply, startling Meredith mid-motion as she rushed toward her, her face aflame.
"What?" Meredith asked, her tone genuinely confused. "It's just a river, and they're way over there. They've all seen me fight a dragon; this isn't exactly scandalous."
Fresia's mouth opened and closed as she struggled to form words. "But... but someone might wander closer!"
Meredith shrugged nonchalantly. "Then they'll just get a better appreciation of how fearless their commander is."
"Fearless or shameless?" Fresia hissed, her hands fluttering in an attempt to shield Meredith from potential prying eyes, even though the soldiers were barely visible in the distance.
From a nearby tree, Gabriel stepped forward, his expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Without a word, he extended his hand, murmuring softly as a shimmering veil of light formed around Meredith, obscuring her entirely from view.
Fresia shot him a grateful look, but Meredith merely tilted her head, grinning mischievously. "Let me guess—a hiding spell?"
Gabriel met her gaze, his golden eyes steady. "A necessary precaution."
As he spoke, a faint rustling from further along the river caught their attention. A few soldiers, drawn by curiosity or the sound of Fresia's raised voice, had edged closer and were now awkwardly averting their gazes, faces tinged with embarrassment.
Gabriel sighed deeply, extended his hand and whispered a spell. A faint shimmer of gold spread across the area, brushing past the soldiers like a soft breeze. Their startled expressions softened into confusion as they blinked at one another.
The soldiers startled expressions softened as confusion took over. "What were we doing again?" one soldier muttered to another.
"Fishing, probably," the other replied.
Gabriel lowered his hand, turning back to Meredith with a faintly reproachful look. "And now, no one remembers."
Meredith blinked, staring at Gabriel. "Was that a forgetting spell?"
Gabriel met her gaze steadily. "It was necessary."
Meredith's grin widened. "You just wanted to keep me from causing a scandal, didn't you?"
His lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "That, and saving Fresia from dying of embarrassment."
From her perch on the riverbank, Fresia watched the interplay between Meredith and Gabriel. The way Meredith leaned into his presence, her laughter unguarded, stung more than Fresia wanted to admit.
She doesn't see it, Fresia thought bitterly. How he looks at her. How she looks at him.
"I was supposed to protect her," she whispered, "Not… lose her to an angel."
---
As the stars painted the night sky, Meredith and Gabriel sat side by side on the cliffs overlooking the sea. The sound of waves filled the silence between them, soothing yet charged.
"Do angels have commanders?" Meredith asked suddenly, turning to him.
Gabriel glanced at her, his golden gaze thoughtful. "We feel each other's strength. Naturally, we align with those we respect. I chose Raphael."
"What about the others?" Meredith teased lightly.
Gabriel's expression darkened ever so slightly. "Malachel commands through fear and destruction. Cassiel is wise but distant. Raphael…" He paused, as if weighing his words. "Raphael inspires something different. Loyalty, perhaps. Understanding."
Meredith studied him, her expression soft. "And what about you? Do you inspire loyalty?"
Gabriel looked out over the water, his tone quiet. "That is not my purpose."
"Maybe not," Meredith said, leaning closer, her voice just above a whisper. "But you've earned mine anyway."
Gabriel paused, his golden eyes lingering on her, their glow soft yet searching. For a fleeting moment, his gaze drifted over her features—the set of her jaw, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands rested just a little too still in her lap. He knew her well enough by now to recognize the cracks beneath her composed exterior.
"You're avoiding it," he said finally, his voice quiet but steady, cutting through the stillness like a blade.
She stiffened. "Avoiding what?"
"The inevitable," Gabriel said simply.
Her throat tightened, but she forced a laugh. "You mean the part where I turn into a big scary dragon? What's to avoid? Sounds fun."
Gabriel's gaze didn't waver. "You don't have to pretend with me, Meredith."
She clenched her fists. "What else am I supposed to do? Sit around and brood like you?"
"It's not a weakness for mortals to feel afraid."
The words struck her harder than they should have, piercing the armor she'd carefully constructed throughout the day. For a moment, the facade cracked.
"What's the point of being afraid?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's going to happen whether I like it or not. I don't get a choice, Gabriel. My life, my humanity—it's already gone. So, no, I'm not afraid. I'm furious."
Gabriel stepped closer, his golden gaze steady and filled with a rare tenderness. "Your people see you as a beacon of strength. But strength isn't pretending the fear isn't there. It's carrying it with you and fighting anyway."
Her chest ached at his words, and for a moment, she wanted to scream—to rage at the injustice of it all. But instead, she exhaled slowly, swallowing her anger.
"What if I don't want to fight anymore?" she murmured.
Gabriel hesitated, then reached out, his hand brushing her cheek. The touch was fleeting, but it grounded her.
"Then let us carry it with you," he said softly.
Meredith closed her eyes, the weight of his words settling over her like a fragile comfort. She didn't reply, letting the silence stretch between them as the waves roared below.
When Meredith returned to the camp, her mask was firmly back in place. She laughed with her soldiers, teased Fresia, and shared a quiet meal with Garrick.
She lay awake long after the camp had quieted, her thoughts a tangle of fear, anger, and resignation.
Tomorrow, she would lead the reinforcements. Tomorrow, she would fight for Pyria.
But tonight, she let herself ache in silence, knowing it might be the last night she had left to feel human.
---
Late at night, as the dwellers of Elysia Island drifted into slumber, Gabriel took to the skies. The moonlight caught the edges of his wings, casting fleeting silver streaks across the dark expanse. His flight was swift, purposeful, and silent as he descended toward a cavern hidden beneath the island's rugged cliffs.
The cavern was dim, its stillness broken only by the soft hum of celestial magic. He approached cautiously, his wings folded tight.
Raphael stood motionless, his golden eyes fixed on the sigil he just formed before him. Its intricate patterns spun slowly, casting shifting shadows on the stone walls. He didn't look at Gabriel as he spoke.
"You summoned me," Gabriel said, his voice respectful but curious.
Raphael's gaze didn't waver from the sigil. "You need to see something," he replied evenly.
He pressed his hand into the center of the sigil. The golden light pulsed, unraveling into delicate threads that surged toward Gabriel. He stiffened as the magic surrounded him, but the energy wasn't hostile—it wrapped around his mind, pulling him into Raphael's memory.
Gabriel's vision shifted, and he found himself standing in a lively border village.
The faint hum of a lute carried through the air, drawing his attention to the center of the square, where a bard sat on a makeshift stage. His fingers danced over the strings of his instrument, coaxing a melody that seemed to breathe life into the crowd.
"Lorien," Raphael's voice echoed faintly, though he was not present in the memory.
The bard was a graceful figure, his dark hair flowing in gentle waves around his face, his brown eyes twinkling with merriment.
As he sang, he infused his words with warmth and wit, captivating the villagers with tales of courage and tragedy. Even Gabriel, watching through Raphael's eyes, felt the pull of Lorien's artistry.
In the memory, Raphael stood at the edge of the square, observing in silence. He had been drawn to the bard not just for his talent, but for the way he made the mortal world seem less distant—how his songs brought meaning to moments most angels overlooked.
Raphael began visiting the village often, staying hidden but always listening.
---
As the memory string unfurled, Gabriel found himself now immersed in a night. Moonlight cascaded over Lorien, pooling at his feet as he sat, his lute cradled against his knee.
He plucked a quiet melody, each note lingering in the still night air like a whispered secret. His dark hair framed his face, his eyes half-lidded as if lost in thought.
"You're here again," Lorien said softly, not looking up. There was no teasing in his tone, only a quiet recognition. "You always come when the world falls silent."
Raphael stepped forward, his form emerging from the shadows. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, his golden eyes steady and unreadable. "I observe."
Lorien finally lifted his gaze, his movements unhurried, like the rhythm of his song. "You observe everything, don't you?" His voice carried a gentle curiosity, each word deliberate and thoughtful. "But do you see it? The way the world breathes, even in its quiet moments?"
Raphael didn't answer, his wings shifting slightly as he regarded the bard.
Lorien tilted his head, his expression serene. "Do you hear it, at least?" He gestured lightly to his lute, the notes fading into the soft hum of the night. "The songs, do they reach you?"
Raphael hesitated for the briefest of moments. "They are not without merit."
Lorien's lips curved into a small, tender smile, the kind that carried no triumph, only understanding. "That's high praise from an angel," he said quietly, his fingers brushing the strings of the lute. "It's enough."
The two stood in the shared stillness, the melody from the lute lingering like a bridge between their worlds.
---
The memory shifted again, this time to a secluded clearing bathed in soft moonlight.
Lorien, now visibly older, stood quietly before Raphael, his tunic pulled slightly aside to reveal the faint outline of a Thysia mark glowing softly on his chest. The light pulsed faintly, rhythmic like a heartbeat.
"My mark," Lorien said, his voice quiet and steady, though his smile carried a weight it couldn't hide. "It's stirring again."
Raphael's golden eyes lingered on the mark, his expression impassive, but his jaw tightened ever so slightly. He remained silent for a moment, the stillness between them heavy with unspoken understanding. At last, he turned and motioned for Lorien to follow. "Come with me."
The scene shifted, the quiet serenity of the clearing giving way to the dim, cool expanse of an underground cave. Its walls glimmered faintly with crystals, their soft light illuminating the supplies scattered neatly along one wall—a makeshift refuge, practical and sparse.
Lorien sat cross-legged on the floor, his lute resting in his lap. He plucked at its strings absently, a delicate melody filling the air like a gentle breeze.
"This is where you'll stay," Raphael said firmly, his voice low but resolute. "From now on. I will take care of you."
Lorien looked up from the lute, his eyes meeting Raphael's with quiet trust.
"I believe you," he said softly. "I always have." He tilted his head slightly, that familiar gesture of quiet curiosity. "But why?"
Raphael didn't answer. His gaze shifted to the far end of the cave, his wings shifting slightly as if the weight of the question pressed against him. His silence was heavy, not from indifference but from truths too difficult to speak aloud.
The melody Lorien played softened, filling the space between them like an unspoken understanding. After a moment, he smiled faintly, his eyes still on Raphael. "You don't have to explain," he murmured. "I can feel it."
Raphael's golden eyes flicked back to Lorien, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the cave's entrance, his figure blending into the faint shadows as Lorien's song carried softly behind him.
---
Time seemed to have elapsed significantly within the confines of the cave.
Lorien sat cross-legged on the ground, his lute resting lightly in his lap, its strings vibrating with the faint echoes of his touch.
Raphael stood near the edge of the glow, his golden eyes steady as they observed the bard. His presence was silent, imposing, and still as the air before a storm.
"Raphael," Lorien said softly, his fingers plucking a quiet, wandering tune from the lute. "Do you ever wonder how mortals see you?"
Raphael's brow furrowed slightly. "It is irrelevant. Their perceptions do not alter what I am."
Lorien chuckled, the sound low and warm. "That's exactly what I mean. You carry so much weight on those wings of yours—command, justice, vigilance—but you never pause to wonder how your light falls on the ones below."
Raphael didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the bard as if weighing his words.
"Let me tell you, then," Lorien said, tilting his head in that thoughtful way of his. "To us, you're like a distant star. Beautiful, powerful, untouchable. You shine so brightly that it's hard to look directly at you, and yet..." He strummed a few notes, letting the melody linger. "We long for the warmth, even knowing it's out of reach."
Raphael's expression didn't shift, but there was a subtle tension in his stance, his wings shifting slightly. "You speak as if the star itself should care."
"Not care," Lorien corrected gently, his eyes lifting to meet Raphael's. "But maybe notice."
The bard's hands began to move more purposefully over the lute, coaxing a melody that filled the cave. It was soft at first, tentative, like the beginning of a story. Then, his voice joined the music, low and reverent, as though he was offering something sacred.
"In the silence, wings unfold,
Guardian bound by duty's hold.
Eyes of gold, yet shadows near,
A steadfast soul with none to fear."
Lorien's gaze lingered on Raphael, not in challenge but in quiet understanding. The words carried a weight that wasn't meant to flatter—it was an offering, a reflection of something Lorien saw and valued deeply.
"Through battles fought, through skies alight,
You bear the weight of endless nights.
Yet in your watch, no mortal knows,
The quiet heart the angel shows."
The song ended as softly as it began, the lute's last note fading into the silence of the cave. Lorien set the instrument aside, leaning back on his hands. His grin was softer now, more subdued. "There. A song for you. It's not perfect, but it's yours."
Raphael remained motionless, his golden eyes unblinking. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and even. "What purpose does it serve?"
Lorien tilted his head again, that familiar gesture that seemed to reach for something beyond words. "No purpose. Songs don't need one. Sometimes, they're just... to let someone know they're seen."
Raphael's gaze didn't falter, though his wings shifted slightly, their edges catching the light. "I do not require such acknowledgment."
"I know," Lorien said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "But I wanted to give it to you anyway."
The cave was silent for a long moment, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Finally, Raphael turned his gaze away, though he didn't leave.
His silhouette remained framed in the faint glow of the crystals, standing watch as the bard began to hum quietly—a tune meant for no one else.
---
The memory shifted to a garden party in Pyria's kingdom, an event Cassiel and Raphael had attended a few months ago under Elyon's command. The scene was vivid: the air filled with the sound of laughter, the clinking of goblets, and the soft melodies of musicians.
One of Pyria's princesses, wearing a deep rich purple dress, was twirling around in many mischievous acts accompanied by her concerned handmaiden. The King and Queen just expressed their concerns about the many dragons plaguing the kingdom.
Through Raphael's eyes, Gabriel then saw the dragon—decently sized, easily twice of a human. Its eyes glowed, its long tail lashed like a whip behind it.
Raphael approached, his blade steady in his grip. The dragon reared slightly, preparing to strike, however it barely managed a lurch. With swift precision, Raphael struck. His blade cut through, swift and final.
The dragon collapsed to the ground, its body curling into the ground below. Raphael sheathed his blade.
Shortly after, Raphael descends, approaching the fallen creature for a closer inspection, his expression inscrutable and unreadable.
It was then, as he stood over the dragon, that a faint hum broke the silence. The sound was fragile and uneven, carried on the creature's last breaths. Raphael froze as the melody formed—a broken fragment of a song he knew all too well.
His golden eyes widened slightly, his stoic mask faltering for a fraction of a second. The dragon tilted its head weakly, its golden eyes meeting Raphael's one last time before closing. The gesture—thoughtful, curious—was unmistakable.
The realization crashed over Raphael like a wave, freezing him in place. The melody faded into silence, leaving only the weight of what had been done.
---
The memory faded, and Gabriel staggered, his breath catching. His golden eyes were wide with shock as he turned to Raphael. "That dragon... it was him. Lorien."
Raphael didn't respond immediately. His expression remained impassive, but the heaviness in his eyes spoke volumes. Finally, he said quietly, "Yes."
Gabriel's voice trembled. "You knew?"
"I didn't." Raphael's tone was steady, but there was an edge of regret. "Not until it was done."
Gabriel lowered his gaze, his hands clenching at his sides. "And you've carried this alone all this time?"
Raphael gave the faintest of nods. "It's mine to carry."
Gabriel hesitated, then asked, "Why show me this?"
Raphael stepped closer, his golden eyes meeting Gabriel's with quiet intensity. "Because it's yours now, too."
---
Fresia sat alone in her tent, the soft glow of a candle flickering beside her. She absentmindedly rubbed her arms, trying to shake off a restless feeling that had crept into her all day.
Then, a sharp, searing pulse shot through her chest. Fresia gasped, clutching the spot where her Thysia mark lay hidden beneath her gown.
The mark burned faintly beneath her fingertips, its edges glowing softly through the fabric. Her breathing quickened as another pulse followed, stronger this time, radiating outward like a distant call.
For a moment, the pull felt almost unbearable, as though something was calling her, pulling her toward an unknown fate. Before she could collect her thoughts, the mark flared again, its rhythm quickening as if answering a summons she couldn't hear. Fresia staggered to her feet, trembling. Deep down, she realized this wasn't just a coincidence.
Her Thysia mark was awakening.