(Told by Gabriel – Several Years After the Prologue, at the Monastery)
The wind howled around the old wooden walls of the monastery, tugging at the rotting beams as if it wanted to strip away the secrets that had been hidden there for years. The heavy scent of cold stone and damp incense hung in the air like a suffocating weight as I crept through the dark corridors.
There was no comfort here. No warmth. No compassion.
The nuns always said we were lucky to be alive. That God had given us a second chance.
But if this was grace… then I had misunderstood God.
"Gabriel, hurry."
Raphael's whisper snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked up and saw him crouching under one of the low stone arches. His slim but wiry body moved silently, tension etched into his features. Michael followed close behind, smaller and slighter, his fingers tightly clutching a rosary he had stolen weeks ago from one of the nuns.
We had learned how to move in the shadows.
Not because we feared vampires.
But because we feared people.
"The Punishments of God"
The monastery was not a safe place. We were orphans of Lumen Dei, children of an order the Church itself wanted to erase. To the nuns, we were not brothers in faith but living reminders of a sin they wished to purge.
Asking questions was dangerous. Speaking of our parents brought punishment. We were treated like outcasts, as if our blood carried some kind of impurity.
Raphael had defied them more than once – and paid dearly every time.
One night was burned into my memory. Raphael was no older than eleven when Sister Miriam forced him to his knees in the bitter cold courtyard. With arms outstretched, he had to balance a heavy Bible while the icy wind tore at him, sinking into his bones.
"Pain cleanses the soul," she had said, the wooden rod in her hands tapping rhythmically against the ground like a warning.
I hadn't watched. Instead, I had bloodied my own fists, pounding the walls of our chamber in frustration.
Because I had been powerless.
But tonight?
Tonight was different.
"The Weapons of Our Parents"
Raphael pushed the old wooden door of the chapel open, and we slipped inside. The air was stale, heavy with dust, and the faint glow of nearly burned-out candles cast flickering shadows over the crumbling wooden pews.
And there, right in front of the altar, they lay.
The weapons of our parents.
Dust-covered, hidden, forgotten by the world. The Church had forbidden the destruction of holy artifacts, but it had buried them – hoping no one would ever use them again.
I stepped forward, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.
The sword drew my gaze like a beacon. Its gold-silver gleam seemed to capture the faint candlelight, and for the first time in years, I felt something other than fear.
Not dread.
Not sorrow.
It was certainty. Burning. Blazing. Unstoppable.
My hand closed around the hilt.
And then…
Then came the light.
"God Has Not Forgotten Us"
It was like fire coursing through my veins. A power so pure and overwhelming surged through me that I thought my body would break under its weight. Heat burned in my arm, but it wasn't physical flame – it was something else. Something higher.
Images erupted in my mind. Angels. War. An ancient battle between light and darkness.
I gasped, stumbling back – but the sword stayed in my hand, as if it had always belonged there.
Beside me, Raphael froze as his fingers touched the lance. A golden glow surged through the engravings on the spear, as though it had come alive. His breathing quickened as the power took hold of him.
Michael, ever cautious, hesitated. His hand trembled before it brushed the grips of the short swords. A faint, barely audible hum vibrated through the air as the weapons responded to his touch.
And then…
Silence.
We stood there, three boys in a forgotten chapel. In our hands, we held weapons not made for us, but for warriors.
I didn't know why God had given us this power. I didn't know what lay ahead.
But I knew one thing.
The Church might have cast us out. The world might have forgotten us.
But God?
God had not forgotten us.
And it was time to take back what had been stolen from us.