Beloved

I dream of my leader. A beautiful person in every sense of the word. Fearless but humble. Wise but bold. Honest, confident, and yet so easy to approach in the quiet moments, when they aren’t giving speeches or being “the boss.” So… normal. To say you admire them is an understatement hard to quantify. Adoration, completely platonic and yet maybe even more than that. Could it be… love? Do I love her?

…Her?! No. Of course not. Him. …They’re… a him, aren’t they?

…I don’t understand. What’s happening? Why can’t I remember them? Hair like fire. Eyes that see every part of you, even the parts you didn’t know were there. Skin like stone, warm and pulsing with a power that’s always restrained, not because of fear but because of love. Wings surrounding me… Put your wings around me...Wings?

That’s not working. What about… what do they like? Art. Of course, they love art! Yes, yes, that’s right. She paints, though most don’t know it. Murals deep in the caverns where few tread, carved into mountains for the angels to see, burned into my skin… No? He does more than paint. He writes poetry, yes? For his partner! Yes, his partner, with hair in all the colors of the sky… Yes, she has a partner… doesn’t she?

No, I’m confused again. What’s his name? Why can’t I remember her name? My fearless leader. The one who pulled me from the darkness and into the light. I follow that same path to this day. Or maybe I already followed it? I can’t… Name. His name is… Mance. Mance Rayder? No, no, no! That’s not it, idiot! Her name is… it starts with an “A”...

A- - - - -? Why does that name sound so familiar? Why does it make me feel… this?

Fallen

               I dream of falling. Not through an endless void, but through my own life. I see who I was. A noble warrior. I had three comrades by my side. We ventured out into the darkness, four heroes staining the night with blood. No... spreading the light...? Yes, we were monsters, leading the charge into the unknown. Ach... Not monsters....

               Who was I? A soldier. Born and bred. I was born here and I'll die here. Unless... do I die here? I'm not sure. I think I remember dying but living. Like a fall without end. I see someone, falling. But he doesn't look like me. No wings, no hair, no sword. His eyes are closed, like he's asleep. Dreaming.

               We keep falling, together but apart. It's like I see him through a mirror. I see past him. See his companions. A goofball, an absolute buffoon with no social skills. His wings are brown and mottled, and his bow always strikes true. A distant, quiet girl he struggles to get to open up. She's got wings of pure white, with downy feathers that always seem to find their way into her nose. It's adorable when she sneezes, he thinks, but of course, he has eyes for another. Her divine magic never lets him down. And finally, his leader. He's got a sharp intelligence in his eyes, masked always by his aloof and fun manner. Wings of jet black, and three burning halos intertwined. He's the most powerful wizard the man has ever known.

               Why is it all wrong? He doesn't have wings, he doesn't know these people. But also he- does? Does he? I turn away from him as I fall, tilting my wings to catch the air. The pain nearly blinds me. I look back to see my feathers burn away, leaving behind a bloody skeleton whose bones snap off one by one. I've lost my wings?

               Of course I've lost them. I'm a failure. A traitor. I left them to die, didn't I? I'm not just falling down. I'm falling. No, I'm not falling. I'm dreaming, aren't I? And I'll wake up before I hit the bottom.

               I can see it rushing towards me now. Join us, Exajiora. I can't. You know she's right. Everything we've ever known is a lie. It was thirty thousand years ago, it's senseless to fight. If you're not with us, Exajiora, then you're against us. They raise their weapons. I raise mine. And for the sin of loyalty, I was cast down.

               I hit the bottom. My fall is complete. Everything I ever was is cracked and broken. I thought I would wake up, but instead I'm fading away. I use every muscle I have left to turn my head, and I see him there. He's still asleep, laying on the ground next to me, as if nothing's happened. My vision darkens. His eyes begin to flutter.

               I look up, and see two glowing ruby eyes staring down at me. Horns. But it's not disgust or hatred that those eyes feel. It's... pity.

Risen

               I served faithfully in his army. How could I not? Was there ever really a choice? At the time, I was sure. Knowing what I know now, I'm not so sure. What's passed is past, I suppose. It wasn't lost on me that every foe I slew was someone I had once called brother or sister. The blood with which I stained those hallowed halls was the same blood which once flowed through my veins. The bones I burned with the great forest were the same bones I lost in my fall.

               I tried not to think about the reality of my fight. The consequences of the First War come home to roost. A war in heaven meant a war on all worlds, but something was different this time. A new player.

               I first heard about him after the attack on the world tree. Mortal, angel, and devil alike stood shoulder-to-shoulder in defense of the roots of the universe, against untold legions of unbound wicked creatures slavering at the bits of their twisted masters. The battle was... brutal. We were well-organized, but they had the numbers, and no care for collateral damage; in fact, that was their goal. They didn't care how many millions fell, so long as the world tree burned.

               But it never did. During the battle, a burning star fell from the sky. For a moment the fighting stopped, as each combatant, each side looked upwards, wondering at this fell omen, hoping it was on their side. And then came the others. A thousand thousand falling stars, coming from every branch of the world tree, each one both weapon and warrior, each one following the first and greatest.

               That, I learned afterwards, was him. The angel unlike any other. The devil that flew to heaven. The First Arisen.

               I didn't give him much thought, to be honest. My memories of heaven had drowned in the blood of my enemies, day after day, until there was little left but hatred. No room for a spark of hope. Until I met my hope, face to face.

               It was one of the darkest days of the Second War. After the dissolution of the Abyss, we had assumed (or, I suppose, blindly wished) that the demons would slowly dissipate. That without a home, each slain demon would mean a step towards order in the universe. We were wrong. The Demogorgon, accursed being that it was, had done something that not a soul in creation could have predicted: it acted selflessly. Took the Heart of Chaos into its own and gave its life to corrupt it, anchoring the demons once more.

               We cut our way through Limbo, every inch costing more and more, as we clawed ourselves forwards, towards that Dark Heart. I was close enough to see that horrific ritual. Tens of thousands of demons, wailing in agony as their flesh was scoured from their bones, sucked into the Dark Heart by the last vestiges of the Demogorgon's power. Their essences combining in sickly beats of a heart, each one a wave of force that pushed me to my knees. I witnessed as Xavistratis ripped its first arm out of that roiling mass, pulling itself out of death and back into reality. In a desperate act, I threw my spear, hoping beyond hope that it might pierce his heart. It didn't.

               As the attention of that most invidious of demons turned towards me, I closed my eyes. I had failed, and I knew it. I had tried, given my all, and now I would fall again. But when that blast of abominable energy came for me, I felt only warmth. I opened my eyes and saw feathers of molten stone wrapped around me, illuminated only by his glowing eyes. Eyes filled, not with hatred, not with anger, not with pity, but with compassion. In that moment I could see as he looked right through me, saw everything I was and everything I had been and everything I could be, and he looked at me with kindness.

               He put his wings around me, and left me with nothing but hope.

Focused

My dreams are messy, choppy, like the dark waters of a storm. Flashes, images, cutting through the shadows like a blade.

I dream of wings.

I dream of stone.

I dream of four rings, and I dream of three crowns.

I dream of a red light above, always watching.

I dream of a blue light below, always waiting.

I dream of. . . I dream. . . I can't. I'm too exposed. Can't risk it.

Chosen

I was chosen. My leader, my savior, my everything, called me in. We've found something, he told me. Something that doesn't make sense. I shifted my weight in discomfort. We could feel his unease in waves, and if The First was worried, it didn't bode well. She put a hand on my shoulder and smiled, the confidence of her sunset hair betrayed by the slightest hints of blue.

You're familiar with the Despoilers? I grimaced, and his partner did too in spite of herself.  Foul ravagers, I said, with more vitriol than even I believed I felt. He nodded. The daemons consider them to be their leaders, their gods. But there is an older ~DesP-oiL er~. Their creator god, their.... First. I let out an involuntary shudder, and she held my hand tight. 

Long ago, the ~d-es PO -i-lers~ turned upon their god, imprisoned him in something they called the Shattered Spire, and locked it with a key tied to each of their beings. And somehow, the forces of Heaven got hold of those keys. I imagine it was at great cost, but...

There's a place, he continued. Ancient, primordial, and secret. It was... decided that the keys would be hidden there. The heat from him grew unpleasant, acrid. Not my decision. But the keys are there. And apparently, now something else is, too.

She nodded to him, and stepped up between us to the table. Flickering her fingers in the way of her inherent magic, she traced three orbs into the air, one blue, one green, one yellow. And in the center of the three, a red light, pulsing and blinking in a peculiar pattern. What-, I started to ask, but he interrupted me.

One hundred blinks, twelve pauses. Every cycle, the pauses increase by a factor of 1.12, for a total of one hundred and twelve cycles before resetting. The look on his face was grave, but I had to admit. I don't know what that means, I told him.

It's... difficult to explain. I could be looking for danger where there is none. But if I'm right, then this could be the start of something far more catastrophic than the Second War.

The breath left my lungs. The war was long behind us, but we never forgot it. We remembered each life lost, each one taken. Each ocean of blood spilled, every speck of ash from worlds burning. Every life saved was a dozen extinguished.

I steeled myself. You need only ask it of me, Aisavr, and I shall enact it.

I know this, my friend, I know. He nodded to his partner, and she stepped back to me. You'll go together, and find what has encroached upon Fundament. With luck, you'll find some aspect of Candescus has finally found its way home. Gods know we could use some light these days. And, if not... He stared into my eyes and I heard the unspoken. "If not, then come home."

We wasted no time. As always, she knew more than me, and was already prepared for the mission. And I was the brightest of His disciples. I needed nothing more than my wings, and with a single flap we were gone from Heaven.

She and I were a pair like no other. Angel and mortal. Devil and wicked. Stone and flesh. Arisen and redeemer. She felt the paths through worlds like a sailor feels the breeze. I moved with a speed and instinct that made lightning look bumbling and foolish. Together, we arced a path through countless planets, planes, spaces between and holy moons and everything. A shooting star tracing through the universe, on a path no one else could hope to mimic, to a place that none should know of.

We arrived, floating in the space between worlds. We saw the star, burning and bubbling and exploding in slow motion as they all do. They never ceased to be beautiful to me. We saw the three worlds, in an endless dance around each other. A curious, anomalous pattern. And in the center of them all, we saw it. A floating diamond of pure black, warping the space around it.

I looked to her, and she nodded, her jaw set. This thing, whatever it was, is what they feared. And that made me hate it.

Without a second thought, I charged towards it, a burning light in the skies of worlds that should never have seen me. She was startled at my actions, but steeled herself alongside me. If battle it would be, then she would battle with me no matter what. We were as one, and this moment was no different.

Until it was. Perhaps it sensed the danger and struck first. Perhaps I was so insignificant, it didn't even notice and it merely batted me away as one wipes sweat from their brow. As I flew towards it, a red glow emerged from within and in a moment, an arc of force light tore at me like a trillion blades.

In that second, I knew my folly. I had failed him. I had failed her. My singular rival. My other half. The one I hated and loved the most, the one thing standing between me and what I wanted and yet, herself, wanted. I had failed him, but I would not fail her too. 

In my final moment, I put my wings around her.

She lived.

And I fell.

Once more, I fell. I crashed and burned into the sand with such speed that it shattered like glass. I was broken into a thousand thousand pieces, ground into the dirt until I may well have been one with it. I looked to the sky and saw a blue star fading. I didn't fail her.

And then I felt a hand on my head, stroking gently. Shhh, she said, two shimmering blue eyes looking down on me. Not with fear, not with pity, but with love.

Reborn

I slumbered for an Age on this world. In the gentle summer breezes of Heaven, in the foul death-scorched air of Hell, and in the scouring ashen winds of a hundred worlds had I lived through Ages, but never before had I slumbered like this.

In my dreams, she spoke to me. An unfamiliar voice made familiar through nothing more complex than time. At times I felt every word like a hammer to my very being, while at others I barely caught whispers as they brushed against my skin.

She told me stories, such wondrous stories. Some were beautiful, some were tragic, some were painful. Some, I felt, were my stories, some were her stories. Some were stories that had not yet come to be, and still others were stories that would never be.

She told me a story about an angel, who loved and was loved until one day he wasn't, and the burned and broken wings stripped from him through death.

She told me a story about seven faceless heroes, who fought and bled and died and fought again until they saved a world they could not see.

She told me a story about a devil, who turned to darkness because of love and yet one day found light because of that very same love.

She told me a story about a sickness, a plague of magic that ravaged the lands and awoke an evil darkness within its ihabitants.

She told me a story about a child, born still and cold but with a love that turned his frozen blood to blazing golden light.

She told me a story about a soldier, so blinded by envy and hatred that he could not recognize the love in his own heart.

She told me a story about a champion, a battle-hardened hero of light destined to die without its kiss.

She told me a story about a woman, who gave her love and her life for the promise of a better world.

In sleep, she sang to me. Sweet songs that mothers sing to their babies. Ballads that lovers share in the night.

And something else, something more... complex. A tale told in song, of a pact between a witch of the sand and a witch of the snow. For one, a quiet place in which to live, and for the other, an audience with a dreaming god. The witch laid herself low and humbly begged for the fire god's aid, but the fire god said she could not help, for she had been sworn to her brethren to remain lost to the world. The witch, then, revealed her identity: a descendant of an ancient traveler that had once granted aid to the fire god and its ilk. 

Beholden to its centuries-old accord, the fire god acquiesced and granted the witch her wish: a place to sleep, a burning feather shorn, and a faint mortal shard to be reborn.

Faded

I'm losing sense of who I am. I've been too many people.

A loyalist and a traitor.

An angel and a devil.

A mortal and a celestial.

Alive and dead.

One and two.

Asleep and awake.

Fallen and Risen.

Chosen and broken.

Forsaken and hallowed.

Savior and destroyer.

Healer of men and slayer of gods.

What do I choose? Am I even allowed to choose anymore?

I chose to be loyal, to stand by those beside me. I believed in what we stood for, in goodness and heroism and- It didn't matter. They cast me down.

I chose to be strong, to destroy those who threatened me. I felt their bones crack in my grip, the flesh tear and blood pour over my fingers and- It didn't matter. I still lost.

So I chose to be brave, to protect those who needed me. I felt heat and bludgeons and ice and blades and a thousand thousand crushing blows and- It didn't matter. I still failed.

I chose to be wild, to live with those who chose me. I refused the iron fist of god, refused the shackles of so-called nobility, refused- but it didn't matter. I was still "tamed."

I chose to be selfish. I chose to be selfless. I chose goodness, and evil, I chose life and I chose death, I chose her and I chose him and what did it matter? It didn't. 

No. I didn't choose to be Exajiora, the Gray Blade of Coreniel. I didn't choose to be Val Noren, the Dragon of Nessus. I didn't choose to be Saga, the Chosen of the Halcyon Prince. But I did... I did choose to be Jiaroxea, the Second Arisen. I chose my master, I chose my fate, I chose my life and I... I chose my death. Me instead of her. That was my choice. 

But now a part of my soul is fading. I'm losing who I was, and I'm lost in the sea of choices. Will I be the glorious knight? Will I be the vicious monster? Will I be the right-hand man? Will I be the debonair healer? The lines between are blurring. Maybe I'm all of these things, maybe I'm nothing, maybe I'm something entirely different. But I have to choose... right?

Broken

Every day I serve his light grows brighter, warmer, near blinding in its glorious incandescence. And every day, her shadow grows longer, darker, threatening to block out not just my light but my life itself. These wretched feelings grow within me with each passing night, twisting and digging further into my blighted heart. I want nothing more than to speak them aloud, to share the burden before it crushes me into dust... but that aching, piercing voice cuts through the gloom with its fear: "What if he rejects me?" So I say nothing, and lurch further and further towards the penumbra I thought I had escaped.

I... hate her. Gods, it feels both right and wrong to say. Freeing and damning all at once. I hate her. I hate how she looks at him, and I hate how his gaze lingers as she leaves. I hate how she closes her eyes and bites the inside of her lip when he makes a joke. I hate how easily she places a gentle hand on his back when he is burdened, and I hate how instinctually he reaches back out to her. I hate how their adoration for each other hasn't faded one iota after thousands of mortal years. I hate how he sees her, and how he doesn't see me.

And, of course, I hate myself for all of it.

We were deep within apocalypse, trudging through the fetid swamps of Plaguemere. She and I, me and her. Together, alone. Pushing ever forward in near-silence towards our destiny.

The mission was, in its way, catastrophically simple: smite Balishek, pestilent despoiler, before things get any worse.

Creatures (mortal and otherwise) from across the planes had come together for the first time since the Second War, to annihilate the would-be Astran. Mortal heroes from a half-dozen different worlds who gathered the nine shards and reforged the Unmaker to be our lance. Heaven and Hell, working in concert to infuse it with all the divine and profane power it could retain without tearing itself asunder. And Charon himself, to provide us safe passage into the realm to strike Balishek at its seat of power; so great was Balishek's crime that even its own brothers had conspired to bring death upon its head.

So it was that we had been sent to deliver the killing blow. All the universe waited with bated breath, restrained by the cunning contracts of Asmodeus himself until our quest ended with either success or failure. The Whisper and The Roar.

Bluntly, our battle to Balishek isn't a story worthy of retelling. Demons and daemons, brought together by the twisted union of their gods. The Tanar'ri plague granted profane power by the dark god of pestilence itself. We cut through them like knives through silk, until we faced Balishek in its throne.

She was meant to be the distraction, her speed overcoming it while I struck the fatal blow. We didn't expect an avatar of Xavistratis to be defending it, and by the end we found ourself bloodied and bruised with little recourse. As Balishek readied a powerful thrust, I saw before me an opportunity.

In the second after it attacked, the demonic avatar would follow Balishek's path and double its strike. For the briefest moment it would be vulnerable... if only it was allowed to strike true. The tempestuous darkness swirled within me once more. If I let Karelia be struck, I could tear down the despoiler. Destroy my rival and become a hero in the same breath.

And then I looked down at her. Speckles of mud across her cheek, a rivulet of blood rolling from her lips, her opalescent eyes glimmering with fear and pain. She had realized the same thing I had, and I knew I was defeated. Not by her, but my own heart. So I pressed the lance in her hand, and thrust her to the sky as I vainly attempted to withstand the fiends' assault.

I am not my leader. Aisavr's wings were aegis, walls of celestial stone that could shrug off blows that would stagger even an archangel. But my wings were weapons, hefty slate bludgeons which brought my enemies to heel. Against the archdemon and his twisted daemon mate, my stone cracked and fractured like glass. And then her lance pierced the despoiler's skull.

Our battle ended with a ferocity the likes of which I haven't seen before or since. The light of the heavens, the fires of hell, the collective will of every mortal in the universe and the cold grip of death itself. All of this and more fell down upon the brow of the vilest daemon in ages, and in an instant it was unmade with such vigor that the crater which once held its palace still boils in molten glass to this day.

I awoke on my stomach in piercing, clawing agony. Before a cry could leave my lungs she was upon me, fingers pressing gently on my lips, a soothing whisper in my ear. Quickly she explaiend the situation: we were in a small cave, hiding from the massed army of daemons battling and shredding each other for the right to take the now-emptied pestilent throne. With great effort and pain, I turned my head to see the tattered remnants of what used to be my glorious, beautiful wings, now little more than a burnt and cragged skeleton of rock.

I faded in and out of consciousness for hours, days, weeks. I didn't know how long, and I wasn't sure I even wanted to. As I writhed and moaned in my suffering, I couldn't help but feel I deserved it. I had no right to call myself Arisen, soldier, or even friend. It was no wonder, I thought to myself, that Aisavr did not look at me like her. He could see the truth within me that I denied, the truth that she was worthy of his affection and that I was not. In that critical moment of greatest need, she had looked to me for help and I looked upon her with nothing but contempt and wished for her death.

Eventually I opened my eyes without stirring, looking upon the tainted muddy rock beneath me and cursing myself for continuing to survive when I deserved to fade away into oblivion. I heard her voice above me, felt Karelia's hands cradle my head from either side with the gentlest touch. "I'm. . . so, so sorry, Jiaroxea," she whispered, barely more than a breath. "Everything was just... There was so much on our shoulders, so much more weight than I could handle. I saw what needed to be done but I was... I was too weak. Too afraid."

Her breathing halted, shuddered. "You have to keep going, Jiaroxea. It can't end like this. I won't let it." Warm drops of liquid fell onto the back of my head. "You can't die because of my weakness, that's not fair dammit..."

It seemed almost farcical, the both of us destroying ourselves over a perceived failing that the other hadn't even considered. The ridiculousness of it all made everything else feel smaller and smaller with each stuttering breath she took. I'd long imagined a grand dramatic gesture, a gauntlet thrown down and an ultimatum delivered, our shared love forced to take a stand and make a choice. But perhaps that, too, was a self-centered construct to be torn down. Any tree, no matter how grand or tall, would burn if faced with the full might of the sun's gaze. My desires weren't just selfish, but self-destructive. Surely it could be enough, just to feel the warmth on my face and know that it would still nourish me even if another received even greater nourishment.

Once more, I made a choice. A choice of not just who to be, but how to be. Love is not a payment made from one to another, it is light, all-encompassing and infinite so long as it isn't smothered. There might always be a part of me that hates her, but that hate shouldn't be allowed to smother my light. After all, if he loves her, then should I not love her too?

Forsaken

I hated standing on that marble. I couldn't be sure whether it was merely my imagination or if the celestial stone did truly burn my fallen flesh, but I was never comfortable nonetheless. I had once served in that very hall, standing shoulder to shoulder with Voden, Mikara, and our leader, Nel Detris. We all four served Coreniel with honor and distinction, bearing heaven's fury down upon whatever corrupt bastards they sent us at.

My nose turned up involuntarily as the mortals began to say their goodbyes. Those memories served no purpose now; they would only distract me from accomplishing our greater mission. Desperate to put those thoughts from my mind, I focused my attention on the mortals.

"I should be there with you. We've fought all these years to find each other, we should stand together in this battle." The green one, standing stoutly in weathered and scarred ruby-red plate armor. His black hair was tinged with the slightest hints of white; these warriors had known each other for quite some time, it was clear (for mortals at least).

"I, for one, am happy to let you go and fight, Lex. I'm sure you'll do great!" A horned tiefling in a gaudy purple outfit, perhaps befitting some sort of merchant baron or noble patriarch. His smug words (and look) irked me, but his eyes betrayed the anxiety he felt. It seems he, too, inferred a finality to this departure; it was indeed a suicide mission in all but name.

"Can we, for once, just do this without the arguing and one-upping? Please?" A young woman, much too young to be their fellow heroic companion (or lover, for that matter). Her eyes were pale, however, and her features hardened; her calloused hands suggested that she had earned her ornamented armor with toil and sacrifice, not father's excess coin. With her pleading, the three men each sighed and relented with well-trodden warmth and an amiable smirk shared between them. Family, then, I decided, although certainly an unusual one.

"Yes, yes, alright carissi. You win, as usual," the mammoth man boomed warmly. I had been an abnormally tall angel (at least for one of my comparatively low status), and even then I was large for a devil. But the pale-skinned old warrior's eyes sat comfortably a foot higher than mine, and his massive arms were each thicker than both of mine put together. "Why don't we just enjoy a small meal together before the battle? An old custom of my tribe."

I had served with the hulking veteran at the World Tree; he and I fought at each other's side even before the Arisen called down the warriors of the universe. His allies had variously referred to him as Lex, Dawncaller, or occasionalyl Dawnbringer; he seemed to be known by many names to different people, a fact which I privately appreciated. Since then we'd shared nearly a dozen battlefields and rescued each other from certain death twice each. Perhaps, I thought, one day he and I might share this ritual meal. Perhaps he will beg to fight in my place, and I will reassure him bold stories of past victories.

I winced as a swell of raucous laughter bellowed out from the mortals, joy and love having overtaken anxiety. Love. An acrid pang of jealousy pierced my heart, sulfurous envy oozing out my pores. I'd once again gotten lost in my thoughts and found myself longing for what could not be.

"Don't tell me the Dragon of Nessus is so big and bad that he can't handle seeing a family dinner," a mellow voice chimed from my side. I had not seen or even heard her approach; although I resisted the instinct to jump away, I still found myself startled at the presence of the fiery-haired elf beside me. I had not spoken with her before, but I recognized the Arisen's lieutenant based on her reputation alone. She was widely-known amongst Hell's upper echelons as…

"The Whisper, I presume?" I asked, taking the opportunity to dodge her pointed accusation and reassume my feigned nonchalance. The elf's eyes flashed with a spark of gold as she bit the inside of her lip in annoyance. "Karelia, actually, if you mind," she said with a slight nod forward and a measured tone. "Hard to break old habits, to be honest, but I'm really not that woman anymore."

I pounced on the weakness she displayed, eager to take my mind off my past. "Oh? You're not Karelia Galanodel, the mortal dog on Ra Siva's leash? A bit before my time, sure, but the stories I've heard paint a delectably dark picture of your contributions to the fires of Hell." I hissed his name through gritted teeth, smirking with a vile glee as my attack hit home. A glee that melted away as her face fell and her eyes turned a solemn blue.

"No. Not anymore." She repeated, quieter this time as she crossed her arms and turned away enough to signal the end of our conversation.

It's not time for the fight, I thought to myself. We've put aside our differences enough to get to this point, there's no sense in throwing it away now for petty jabs. I'd gotten quite adept at rationalizing my jaunts into kindness and thoughtful actions; I had to, or else I'd lose what little of myself remained in the endless battles and machinations of Hell and beyond.

"Val Noren," I said to her, turning away from the eclectic mortal family we had been observing and positioning myself at one of the hall's grand windows overlooking Coreniel. A few moments later she joined me, leaning against the pillar opposite me as she addressed me.

"Your name?" she asked. I nodded. "Hmm… unusual for a devil…" she chuffed, shrugging as she casually studied the land beneath us. "Val, I suspect, referencing Valkorath, armorer to Apergia the Obliterator. Said the be the devil who first found and wielded Furus, before delivering it to his master. And Noren… most might assume it references Kaer Noren on Golarion, the seat of House Thrune. But… you, I expect, instead refer to the Fields of Noren, where the ancient Fire Lords were first betrayed and struck down by the armies of Heaven. A great warrior who delivers bloody victory to his superiors; this name suits you I think."

I could not help but raise my eyebrows. "I am… impressed. Few among your kind would ever be familiar enough with the history of Baator to understand my name."

She smirked at me with such force that I nearly felt it like a blow to my chest. "Oh, sure. But that's all bullshit. See, unlike most of your infernal cohorts, I'm quite familiar with olde empyrean. 'Val Noren' means 'honor even in death.' You're fallen, aren't you?"

My muscles froze with fear, and before I could say or do anything to give myself away any further than I already had, I looked away. The sudden tenderness of her voice suggested that perhaps she felt she had overstepped, just as I had scarcely a minute before. "I… Old habits, sorry. Your secrets are your own to carry, not mine to pry out like gems."

We stood in silence for another few minutes, broken only by the laughter and harmless yelps from the meal taking place on the other side of the hall. After a particularly uproarious cry caused me to wince again, she spake again. "You never did answer my first question. Does it really disgust you so much, mortals enjoying themselves?"

I regarded her for a moment; her tone was casual, her brow raised and her eyes soft. She was striking up a conversation, not interrogating me. I looked back over the golden fields and white sands as I answered her honestly. "No, it doesn't disgust me. It… It… reminds me. Of better times. Times of which I have nothing to hold but memories."

She finished my thought for me. "You're envious. I understand the… isolation that Hell forces on you." I observed her for a few moments before nodding. She did understand, I realized. Much as I still remembered my service to the hosts of heaven, so too did she remember centuries as an archdevil's warhound. Before I could stop it, I found myself speaking the thoughts I'd kept locked away inside to perhaps the only person who might have understood them.

"I've been here before. I lived here, in fact. I was an outrider knight, one of four in my cohort. I used to soar up and down the rivers with my captain until we were too exhausted even to make it back to the hall. Watching the suns rise laying in the warm sand. Shit… I remember when there was only one sun. And after it all, after all my service, I ended up in a pool of my own blood as my same captain condemned me to oblivion because I wouldn't take a side in this thrice-damned war."

Karelia chuckled mirthlessly. "Like the Gray Blade himself, struck down for the price of loyalty and faith." I looked her in her eyes, my face clearly betraying the pain I tried in vain to hide. Her eyes went wide as the realization struck her. "No… you can't be-"

"Not just struck down, Karelia. Cast down, fallen all the way to the Dark Prince's doorstep."

We sat in silence another few moments as she absorbed the meaning of my words. A part of me was (quite vainly) proud that my name persisted; that even in nearly a thousand years of war across the cosmos, there were those who remembered the once-proud silhouette the burnt black bones on my back previously cast. It felt like a lifetime ago… It was a lifetime ago.

Eventually, she took a tentative step forward, then another, and put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry," she offered quietly, and despite the infernal fire burning through my veins I knew she meant it. She turned and stepped away, leaving me to my vigil, before stopping and delivering one small consolation. "You know… if there's anything I'm certain of after living the lives I have… it's that your choices matter. And you always have a choice, even- no, especially when it feels like you don't."

I stood alone, tracing the path of the crystal blue water as it weaved its way through the white sands of Coreniel. I thought about the warmth of the sand under my skin, the rush of the soft air through each feather in my wings, the gentle tickling of the golden fields of halcien on the palms of my hands as I walked through them. I had always made a point to cherish my time in Coreniel, because I knew each journey beyond Celestia's shadow could be my last. Every memory might have been the only one I had to cling onto, and so cling I did. And in the end it was those same white sands that were stained with my blood, the same river that drank my lifeblood as it left my body and emptied my soul.

I turned and regarded the strange mortal family, saying their goodbyes at Karelia's gentle insistence that the time had come. A booming which rattled the chandeliers indicated that the Arisen, Aisavr, had arrived and our final plans were to be shared. The young elven mortal was braiding Dawncaller's thick white beard, her eyes glistening with a flood that she wouldn't let fall as he cradled her head with his one massive hand. The sight was so absurd and yet so… genuine, I suppose, that I couldn't help but feel… something.

Karelia turned my direction and began a gesture to call me over, but her eyes quickly looked past me in confusion. I followed her gaze behind me, quickly scanning the fields beneath me before the sight caught my eye. The dark star, once an unassuming circle near the center of the pearl sun, had grown considerably, and continued to as we watched. Cries of fear rang out across Coreniel (and all of Heaven, I expect) as the dark star grew and grew, from a point to a hole until nothing could be seen of the pearl but a scarce ring of light. That, too, in moments disappeared, and all of Heaven was draped in the cool twilight glow of the dark star, the ring surrounding and cutting through it like a pair of pale haloes now clearly visible for the first time as it ruled the sky alone.

Karelia joined me in the window, taking in the silent haunting sight. Dawncaller joined us soon after, and the Arisen a few moments later. Eventually, I broke the silence. "Do we know what this means?" I asked, hardly expecting an answer. The Arisen shook his head. "A thousand battles are being fought across hundreds of worlds and planes every moment; this could be… anything, anywhere. Or it could be nothing. Without the old gods, we'll likely never know."

The mortal spoke up. "I've never believed in portents or omens, and I don't plan to start now. We can't unmake the shadows this war has cast, but we can bring the light and stop any more from being made."

As Dawncaller explained his… "theory," many pieces began to fall into place. Although the war of all worlds had long since spread beyond Celestia, it was true that the first blow was struck at the gloam queen by her aggrieved consort, and to this day they each lead their armies at each other with little regard for others. If the consort truly was possessed by a dark force… there was a chance, however small, that burning out that corruption could bring an end to the wars. And that slim chance was worth sacrificing for.

Early in the twilight of the next morning, as what would come to be known as the final battle of the Second War raged around us, our hope for that slim chance was dwindling ever further. Despite our best efforts, we could make no headway against our destined foe. The dark consort was an unparalleled duelist even before the First War, and now bolstered by whatever unknown presence had orchestrated a war across the universe, she was impossible to beat fairly, or even unfairly.

As the horizon began to bleed with the hints of what might be sunlight, the old one-armed warrior met my gaze as the weight of his life bore down upon him. The rage of a life of battle melted away from his face as he looked to me and said three words. "Make it count."

He leapt at the dark consort, a warrior goddess with the profane blessing of old sinister magic, and with the fury of a life well-lived and well-loved he stood his ground long enough for the rest of us to gather our strength. The consort shattered the scarlet-metal shield that had been crafted especially for his riven arm, and still he fought. The consort pierced the amethyst barrier which warded him from arcane energies, and still he fought. The consort crushed the fractured amulet which had carried him across time and space, through every defeat and to every victory, and still he fought. The mortal warrior grappled with the goddess, wrapping his arm around her throat and twisting her legs until he brought her to her knees. And as the first light of dawn shone upon her breast, we struck along with it. My spear, Karelia's rapier, and Aisavr's lance, all pierced through the consort, through the dark presence, and through the hero's heart, carried by sunlight.

Most remember that day as the day the Second War ended, the day that the dark presence's hold on the universe was lifted and the twisted consort was finally laid to rest. On some days, when the wound doesn't throb so much and I can look backwards fondly on my journey, I remember it as the day I realized I could be more than the devil's war hound, that I could forsake Hell's claim on me just as Heaven once had.

But most days, when I think back on that mourning light, I remember delivering the ashes of an old man to his grieving daughter, the flood finally flowing freely from her eyes. I remember gathering the shards of a once-legendary shield and returning it to its maker, his weathered green hands shaking as he accepted them. I remember watching the disheveled noble, sitting and idly flipping a coin between his fingers as he stared down at an old vault key, speechless for what must have been the first time in his life. And I remember the promise I made to the man who called down a new dawn onto the universe, one that he would not live to see: "Make it count."