Zach's scream filled every corner of the palace. His voice echoed off the cold walls, as if the very building itself suffered alongside him.
I paced back and forth anxiously. I didn't want it to come to this. Resorting to aggression was always the last option, but now I had no other choice. I needed details. This sudden shift demanded only rational actions.
The angels and Dahlia were in the great hall. We guarded them from the corridors—it was easier to monitor the area from here.
"Do you sense any foreign energy?" I asked one of the dark-cloaked figures in a hushed tone.
"No, nothing for now."
"The sensors are in place. I've set up automated weapons in every bright and dark corner, every staircase landing, and behind every column," another answered, slightly nervous.
"Good." I kept pacing, restless. "Set up more. Arm yourselves with at least two weapons each. Our numbers are dwindling—without this kind of reinforcement, we wouldn't stand a chance.But this is a flimsy reassurance at best," I said, voice flat. "There are barely twenty of us left. We have a handful of weapons against the spirits, but not enough hands to wield them. And then there's our arrogant angel—who might use his powers… or might not. Or perhaps he'll just vanish, the way our dear ruler did."
I cast a cynical glance at the team, unreasonably bitter.
I didn't like taking my frustration out on others, but this planless plan was eating away at me. I stared out the window, searching for movement.
"But if even the ruler doesn't care about his own people, why are we still here?" one of them spoke up, his voice laced with justified doubt. "We've lost most of our team. We should be escaping, not defending someone who abandoned an entire city."
"We're not doing it for him!" I snapped, firm and unwavering. "We're doing it for our comrades, for the angels who deserve to be saved. Don't forget—it's not their fault they were left behind." I turned back to the speaker. "Any other questions?"
He lowered his gaze in silence and went back to setting up the traps.
I turned back to the window, my face cold and unreadable. I was firm, commanding, and too detached—like I wasn't even myself. But sometimes, certain situations reveal who we can become when necessity demands it. Or who we once were.
The screams grew louder again.
"Has he said anything?" I looked at the other figure.
"As you can hear—nothing. Despite all our efforts, he refuses to talk. Claims he's innocent. But we're not fools. We have a suspicion."
"There's something wrong with him," a girl stepped closer. Her voice was quiet, but uncertainty seeped through. "He's not the Zach we knew."
"That's not news." I sighed. "Maybe they trained him to say a few things, but this is just another one of Clarissa's circus tricks." I hesitated for a moment before finally saying it. "The real one is out there. Beyond the fog."
A voice shattered the frozen silence.
Chloe.
She had been sitting in the corner, silent until now. But suddenly, she cried out, struggling against her tears.
"That's not true!"
Her legs trembled, as if the very foundation of her world had collapsed with my words. It hurt to see her like this—so broken.
"He is the real Zach!" she sobbed. "Please, Avar, look at me! Don't be so cruel! Please, stop hurting him!"
Another scream tore through the air. Zach's agony seeped through the walls once more. Chloe grabbed my arm, her fingers clutching me desperately.
"Please, tell them to stop!"
I stared at her for long seconds.
"You have to understand—this is not the Zach you think he is. Clarissa is playing a filthy game with us. Think of the others—Dave, David, Emily, the lieutenants, the angels. This isn't a game."
The pain in Chloe's eyes deepened, but she had to understand the reality of the situation.
And then—
"Wait!" a voice broke the tense silence. "I'm starting to feel something!"
"Yes, my sensor is going off too!" another voice joined in.
My body tensed.
"Weapons ready! Combat positions!"
Through my earpiece, I gave commands.
"Nobody moves! No one stays in the courtyard—it's no longer safe! We defend the building!"
We were still twenty. I sent ten to the main hall.
Then I felt it.
A familiar sensation.
It was like an invisible, icy hand clamped around my chest. A suffocating, oppressive weight pressed down on me, as if black lead sheets were crushing my lungs. I looked out the window.
And I saw them.
The fog obscured their shapes, but their energy had already burned itself into my bones. It was eerie, almost otherworldly, as if the night itself had taken form.
The weapons hummed to life.
"Can I give the order to fire?" one of my comrades asked urgently.
"Yes. In fact, do it now!" I raised my voice.
The thought froze inside me.
The worst part of situations like this is that no matter how much you prepare, no matter how many defenses you build, no matter how hard you try to control it… Chaos is always stronger.
And now, it was.
The weapons fired blindly—into nothing.
The creatures were just shadows. They had no real bodies. We didn't know where to aim.
The energy weapons had no effect.
There were too many of them, and we couldn't see how many, or where they were.
Then the darkness moved.
In a single instant, the world twisted out of shape.
They came through the walls, like phantoms, like cold drafts. The ground trembled beneath their steps.
They came like starving beasts,
To devour the hunters.
The air changed. That bad feeling, which had only been swirling inside me until now, suddenly swept everything away. A single flash, and as if a knife had been plunged into my mind, it became clear, sharpened. I felt that they were already inside—I didn't need to see them to know.
I looked at the remaining dark-clad figures.
"Use your energy weapons as much as you can! A spinning kick won't help here."
I could feel them already there. My subconscious opened up. Sweating with rage, it cleared a path before me, and in the next moment, I stepped into the room. The doors slammed open with a great crash, and there stood Dahlia. A look of desperation was etched on her face—one I had never seen from her before. I felt that she was channeling all her strength into holding back the souls, as if maintaining an invisible barrier. The energies lined up along the edges of the room, trying to squeeze themselves into the bodies. The hope of rebirth drove them—the yearning for flesh and blood.
And then I saw Clarissa.
She stopped in front of me, glanced back curiously, then flashed a smile—one with a hint of menace.
"Oh, so the little human protector has arrived! This is even better than that ridiculous little bubble!" she mocked. "Oh, don't look at me like that! I could feel last time, too, that you don't like me. I'm not such a bad person."
She ran her fingers through Eli's golden-blonde hair as she crouched down beside her.
"What a pity that I won't be able to prove you wrong this time either, because once again, I'm about to do something nasty."
She was deliberately provoking me.
"Get away from them!" I hissed in anger.
I looked at Dahlia's face—I had never seen her like this before. Her entire being radiated supernatural power, her concentration so intense that the air around her practically vibrated. But even that wasn't enough. The soul captives lined up at the edge, creeping closer and closer. The woman was on the verge of breaking from the effort. It couldn't be any better outside either—I could constantly hear the shouts of the dark-clad figures, the blasts of energy weapons.
"We won't let your horde in!" I declared. "I have the box. I will return their souls to them."
Clarissa tilted her head slightly, then chuckled softly.
"And what if there's nowhere left to return them to?"
"I'm telling you one last time. Get out of here!"
The smile faded from her face.
"Fine. Enough with the politeness."
Her voice sliced through the space like an icy blade.
"No little human is going to talk to me like that! Is that clear? And just what do you think you'll fight me with? Your little smoke bombs? Your energy weapons? Or are you planning to kick me? Karate me to death?"
She laughed.
"Maybe."
And I lunged at her.
My bones tensed, my muscles coiled beneath my skin as my body moved with full force. My breathing quickened, adrenaline surged through my veins.
Clarissa's movements were fast—too fast for human eyes. But I saw them. It was as if I already knew where she would step, how she would attack, what strike would come next.
A punch—I blocked it.
A kick—I dodged it.
My fingers wrapped around hers, stopping her motion for a split second. Our eyes met. For the first time, surprise flickered in hers.
Then she attacked.
And I attacked with her.
I saw her hand move—I ducked underneath it and struck her stomach with full force. She stumbled—but only for a second. My hair tangled in her fingers, and as she yanked me back, I felt my neck strain.
Instinctively, my hand moved—I struck her shoulder. A joint cracked, and Clarissa hissed as she retreated.
The fight was brutal. Tearing, crushing, merciless. No graceful movements—only sheer power, fury, and raw violence.
And then I surged forward.
Like a raging storm.
Every muscle fiber in me burned. My blows quickened, became faster than hers. She could no longer keep up. Step by step, she retreated until finally—
BAM!
I took her down.
Clarissa crashed to the floor, panting as she looked up at me, her chest rising and falling wildly.
"Enough, you bitch!"
Her voice trembled in the air.
Her eyes burned.
And then she unleashed her true power.
The final transformation.
For a moment, the air stood still. Her wings slowly unfolded—they were gray. With a single motion, she struck. I was thrown back, and Dahlia collapsed to the ground—the barrier shattered.
I was stunned. I had seen angels. I had seen power. But I had never seen anything like this.
And then, disaster struck.
The souls crossed the boundary. They had won free passage.
They approached the bodies, and in mere moments, they could infiltrate them.
A relentless tingling coursed through my bloodstained fingers. Rage surged within me like a raging sea. And then it happened.
For the first time in my life, I met myself.
My blood ignited. The world widened, my senses sharpened. An ancient power erupted within me, like a buried seed drinking in water for the first time.
I had no wings, no angelic features, yet I was ablaze.
A single thought.
I swept the souls away.
My consciousness wounded them, filling their ether with pain.
Instinctively, I spoke.
"Go, you damned ones! Go, you uninvited! I never asked for cradles to be disturbed, for weeds to grow among flowers! Find your peace where the horizon is endless!"
"Go, you damned ones! Go, you uninvited!"
I heard Dahlia's sharp but quiet voice echoing my words.
The words, the sounds, reverberated through the ether. The souls wavered. Some disappeared, but they needed more incentive.
I looked at Clarissa.
She stood there, tense. In her eyes, fear.
At first, the strong woman stared back at me—the one who wanted to rule the world.
Then, for a fleeting moment, I saw a lost little girl.
But she quickly buried that part of herself once more.
She quickly hid her old self.
A sharp pain pierced my throat, as if she wanted to split it in half with a mere thought. My bones tensed like a guitar string, feeding the fury within me. It took only a moment, and I acted.
One of my hands pressed Clarissa's throat against the cold wall, while the other rose toward the box resting on the marble pedestal. My fingers moved on their own, as if guided by an ancient will. The words were not mine, yet they were born from me:
— Souls, return! Let your light fill this hall! Go home, feel the warmth of your bodies once more! Let the suffering of the present be nothing more than the past!
At my words, the energy stirred. The walls of the room trembled, the air vibrated with tension. A vortex seemed to form, tearing through the thinning veil that had separated the souls from their bodies. The soul captives vanished into nothingness with a single sweeping motion. There was no trace left of them—they chose to return to the darkness rather than be consumed by the golden fire.
Clarissa's face twisted with rage, but in her eyes, something else flickered—fear. She struggled to free herself from my grip, but my hand did not let go. The lid of the box trembled, then slowly opened, releasing a blinding light.
— You're a mongrel! Just like me! — Clarissa hissed. — A Nephilim! Don't help them! They will never understand you; they will hunt you down! You will be alone!
I felt her anger, I felt her desperation, but I did not care. I looked into her eyes, my voice quiet yet relentless:
— At least I don't try to cast them out of their own bodies. I am not a mongrel like you. Maybe that's why your mother abandoned you. Maybe that's why she doesn't want you to find her. Especially not like this—treating souls as if they were mere mannequins to try on. You are pathetic.
My words hit her like lashes of a whip. Her body jerked, her gaze wavered for a moment. But I had no time to watch. The energy in the room had gone wild, and the bodies that had lain motionless began to tremble.
The angelic souls had returned.
The angels lying on the ground slowly, shakily opened their eyes. Their skin was pale, almost translucent, but as their souls rejoined their bodies, color returned to them. And then I saw them…
Wings.
For a moment, I was mesmerized. White feathers, golden radiance, an aura of power reminiscent of sacred places. As their wings slowly unfolded, it was as if a lost world had been reborn before my eyes. I knew they were like this, but seeing them in their full form was different.
And then I noticed something.
Elis, John, and Clara were looking at me. But not as they had before. Their faces were not just filled with shock—but with fear. They could not see my wings, for I had none. But I felt different. More. Other. And they could see it too.
Something strange pressed against my ribs from within. Something pulsed through my veins that was not of this world. As if I were both boundless power and a deep void. Destruction and healing.
Clarissa was swallowed by the golden light. The angels surrounded her, and at their single command, she was rendered powerless.
It was over.
At least, that's what I thought.
The world blurred for a moment. It felt like falling into an abyss with nothing to stop me. My head buzzed, and the voices around me grew distant. I wanted to smile, but my lips refused to move.
— We have to get him out of here! — Clara's voice reached me like a distant echo.
Footsteps pounded against the floor. Strong hands grabbed me—a familiar touch, a familiar voice. Michael.
— Do we have a car? — I heard John ask.
— We do… — the answer came, as if filtered through water. — Get him out before the others wake up!
I sensed movement, running, tension.
For a moment, I regained consciousness. Elis was leaning over me, tears glistening in her eyes.
— Avarka… Avarka, wake up!
The world was slipping further away, but I felt it moving with me. A car. They were putting me inside.
Clara leaned forward, her fingers swiftly gliding over the dashboard.
— Michael, stay behind! — John commanded.
— You're an archangel! This wouldn't reflect well on you!
— I am a guardian archangel. — Michael's voice was calm but firm. — I protect those who deserve it. I will not leave you alone now.
The engine roared to life.
We sped off.
The world rushed past me as if it did not exist. My head was heavy, my thoughts chaotic. I knew two things for certain: I knew nothing. I had no idea what I was or what I wasn't.
And the other thing:
I was now being hunted.
As I slowly regained consciousness, I faintly heard Clara and the others conversing before losing awareness again. When I finally came to, bright sunlight filtered into the room. I sat up and looked around: the space was decorated in Italian style, blending traditional and modern elements. I found myself wearing a comfortable lemon-yellow dress. Approaching the window, I saw vast lemon trees, olive trees, and fertile lands; the typical Italian landscape filled me with joy.
I couldn't recall how I ended up here, but all other events were clear in my mind. Worried about the others, I quickly opened the room door and found myself at a stair landing. Looking down, I saw Clara and the others sitting in deliberation. I was relieved they were alive and appeared well. They had also changed clothes and freshened up. Although the scene seemed familiar, their conversation's topic was cause for concern.
"They will come for her, dear. Unfortunately, wherever we take her, they'll find her," John said.
"But it would be good if we tried to buy some time until we figure out what they want with her," Clara replied.
"I don't think that's even a question."
"Does it matter that she saved us? The council can't be that cruel," Elise said.
"Oh, but they can, dear. Why do you think we left? So far, Clarissa was the only registered Nephilim, who, however, committed wrongdoings. They didn't like Nephilim anyway, and now they don't look kindly upon Avar either," Clara replied.
"But are you sure she's a Nephilim?" Elise asked desperately.
"I want to know that too. Are you sure I am?" I asked as I reached them.
Everyone looked at me. Elise turned to me with eyes gleaming with happiness.
"Avar!" she exclaimed.
"Hello!" I said, quickly hurrying to them.
We embraced in a massive hug. It was good to see them, especially after seeing them all unconscious. They shone, radiating in their full glory. It was incredible to see them like this when they awoke, with their wings, in their complete selves.
"I'm so glad you're all okay," I said, holding Clara and Elise's hands. "You were beautiful when you woke up."
"So are you, Avar," Elise replied.
"I don't even know what I am anymore," I said, my gaze turning gray. I withdrew my hands from theirs and lowered my head. "I'm sorry that you'll have to be ashamed because of me. It would be better if I went back and surrendered myself immediately."
"Why would you do that?" John exclaimed. "You're not a criminal. You've done much more than that ruler ever has."
"Darling, you can't insult him. We all know the ruler is a divisive personality, but his influence and leadership skills are undeniable. He merely acted according to angelic rules. He doesn't destroy but creates. He protects, but not with violence, and this uprising was strongly pro-violence," Clara said.
John lowered his eyes, then looked kindly at his partner.
"Alright, dear, I understand. But you, darling," he looked at me, "although I consider you as my daughter, as a responsible angel, a being who has lived for millennia, I tell you that you have committed no crime."
"But for them, it's enough that she's a Nephilim," I heard Michael's voice, who was standing at the door.
"Michael!" I looked at him happily.
"Hello, little girl! My kung fu gang performed well this time too," he said with a smile.
I hugged him, and although I was angry with myself for getting them into trouble and couldn't be at peace with myself because I didn't even know who or what I was, they, my family, their love filled this void for me.
"Alright, listen!" Clara looked at us. "Whatever happens, dear," she took my hand, "it doesn't matter who you are or what you are. We'll find out. Unfortunately, I can't provide information at the moment; I have no idea. But you need to know that we won't hand you over to them."
It felt good to hear these words. I knew I had them.
"The protective magic is already in place," Michael spoke up.
"Please, don't," I looked at him. "You're an archangel, and I'm a fugitive. If you ally with a fugitive, who knows what they'll do to you?"
"Oh, come on, dear! You're not evil, just a being they can't tolerate because you're different. Probably, if they find you, they'll throw you back beyond the fog, more precisely beyond the border, because for them that's the appropriate reception for another being. Why would I allow that? I'm a protective archangel, and it's not just my title; it's my soul too."
I couldn't be grateful enough to him or the others.
While John and Michael strengthened the house's security, Clara and Elise prepared a soothing drink in the kitchen from medicinal herbs. Due to their angelic nature, they didn't resort to quackery or witchcraft; they simply used natural herbs, complemented by their own calming presence. Their beings' purity and peace permeated the environment, bringing tranquility to all of us.
As a protector, Michael erected an invisible shield around the house, similar to what Dahlia had previously employed. Although we knew we were in a secluded little village in Italy, we all felt that we couldn't hide from the angelic council forever. I felt this especially strongly, knowing that what resided within me was unnatural, and I struggled to come to terms with this thought.
"Do you think I'm evil?" I asked softly as I sipped my tea at the small kitchen table.
Clara looked at me, her gaze deeper than a simple answer.
The steam of the drink swirled gently in the air, and the faint light shimmered on the rim of the handcrafted, traditional Italian porcelain cups. My hand trembled for a moment as I set the cup down on the wooden table.
"Why do you think that?" she finally asked, her own cup making a soft sound as she placed it down.
"Because I'm not entirely an angel," I replied with a bitter smile.
Clara said nothing, just extended her hand.
"Give me your hand."
Instinctively, I obeyed. When her fingers wrapped around mine, I felt her warmth, her presence, the inexplicable calm she carried. For a moment, everything fell silent.
"Show me your sacred light," she said in a soft but firm voice. "Don't hide it. Don't cast it away."
And then it happened.
The light burst forth from within me with elemental force. It purified the air, surged through my body, filled my veins, and as if every dark thought I had ever harbored vanished in an instant. The small house was bathed in my radiance. Clara and Alice watched in astonishment, but I felt something was incomplete.
Because alongside the light, there was something else.
A hot, searing sensation that did not belong to this purity. A kind of thunderous rage, something boiling deep within, growing stronger, trying to break free.
Clara suddenly let go of my hand as if it had burned her.
"They have suppressed you," she said quietly. "This is not evil, only an inner barrier. There is anger in you, despair, and fear. Who knows how many lives you have lived? And how many lives have been stifled within you? Until now, not even a shadow of suspicion had formed in my mind—your power was hidden so well. This is no small thing, so don't be afraid if it doesn't surface with good feelings at first."
Elis watched silently, but I felt the support in her gaze.
"But now that a part of your full self has revealed itself, your memories will start returning, little by little," Clara continued. "All you need to do is keep your mind steady and accept them. But be careful—not all of them will be good memories."
Elis smiled.
"One thing is certain," she said. "You are not bad. You never were."
Then she grabbed my hand and suddenly sprang to her feet.
"Come on, girl, don't be so gloomy! Look!" She pointed toward the window.
The sun was just descending toward the horizon, painting the sky in golden and orange hues.
"Do you remember our childhood?" she asked softly. "When you came to us? We loved running together in the sunset."
And with that, she pulled me outside.
The cool evening breeze wrapped around us as we ran among the olive trees. The leaves rustled, the shadows stretched long across the ground. Our laughter filled the air.
I felt like a child again, far from battles, burdens, and everything that had weighed on me until now.
Then we lay down in the grass beneath the orange sky and closed our eyes. The warm rays of the setting sun gently caressed my face.
And then…
An image flashed in my mind.
Another sunset. Another time.
A distant era.
I sat beneath an olive tree, my dress ruffled, long, lemon-yellow with white lace trimmings. I wore a hat, like women did back then. It was not a sight of today.
And I was not alone.
A man sat beside me. I could not see his face, but as I held onto him, it felt as though I was touching the most certain point of my soul.
I turned toward him, and in his eyes, I saw the reflection of my own.
"I love to be loved," I whispered. "Because even the somber sunbeam kisses at times like this."
The man smiled.
"And I love to be a brooding storm cloud," he replied, "because when I am near you, I shine even brighter than the sun."
The vision vanished in an instant.
I opened my eyes, and unease spread through me.
But not because of the vision.
Something else was there.
A presence.
I sat up—and then I saw Michael running toward us.
I knew what this meant.
"They're coming," he said. His voice did not tremble, but the weight of his words was undeniable.
We both jumped to our feet.
We rushed inside the house, where Clara and John were already pacing nervously.
Tension crackled in the air of the living room.
Clara and John continued to pace nervously in front of the leather couch before finally sinking onto it. Elis and I followed their movement, as if the act itself could offer some protection against the storm of emotions raging inside us.
— We've set up all our defenses, — John spoke, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. — There's nothing more we can do. No matter how much we want to.
— How many could there be? — Clara asked, looking at Michael.
Michael's eyes drifted for a moment, as if he were trying to sense the answer in the distance.
— I don't know. I can't feel their numbers. Only their presence.
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, as if the air itself could be cut with a knife. No one spoke. No one looked at each other. Our thoughts locked us into our own internal worlds, where each of us wrestled with our own sins and fears.
I, myself, couldn't escape the anger that was directed at me.
That I had brought them to this point.
That they were in danger because of me.
That if I just stood up and walked to those who were looking for me, maybe it would all end.
I had to take responsibility for my actions, didn't I?
Even if I had done nothing wrong—if they deemed me a threat, I had no right to argue with them. Not even I knew for certain what truly lay within me.
Michael's quiet voice broke the silence:
— They're getting closer.
It was as if the entire room froze in a single breath.
But no one reacted. We didn't want to hear those words.
We didn't want to accept the reality.
Hiding, running—it was no longer an option. We just waited. We knew they were here, and we waited for them to step inside.
And then it happened.
At first, just knocking. On the front door.
John and Clara sprang to their feet immediately. Alice and I flinched. The sudden fear swept through me like an icy gust of wind. I shut my eyes, my fingers clenching the armrest of the single-seater leather chair. I felt the cold surface, the tension in the material under my grip. One thought pounded in my head:
Let's just get it over with.
The door opened.
Two men stepped in first. They wore dark clothing, their weapons held with military precision against their bodies. They greeted us politely, then stood in strict formation, as if awaiting an order. One on one side of the door, the other on the opposite.
And then… someone entered whom none of us expected.
Gabriel.
In his full angelic form, his celestial presence radiating all its terrifying majesty.
His wings—massive, covered in stunning, gleaming feathers—moved behind him with effortless grace, as if they were a natural part of the air itself. He wore a high-necked white turtleneck that fit elegantly to his body, giving him the impression of both a warrior and a ruler.
And yet… there was something different about him.
Grief.
They had lost not a few of their dark-clad fighters. That loss now lay in his eyes, in his expression, in his entire stance. His golden-blond hair, which always seemed to shine, now appeared dimmer. His aura was still powerful, but it vibrated differently somehow.
Suddenly, I didn't even know what I was supposed to feel.
Admiration? Fear? Attraction?
Or just sheer shock that he was truly standing before me?
— Do not be afraid, — he spoke softly. — I did not come with hostile intent. The Council is not with me.
— Excuse me, — Clara stepped forward, eyes narrowed. — Then why did you bring a small escort?
She glanced out the window. A whole convoy stood outside the building.
— No need for theatrics, — John spoke quietly but firmly. — Let's be direct. Where do you want to take her?
— Then we'll decide whether we'll let you, — Clara added, arms crossed.
A barely noticeable smile flickered across Gabriel's face.
— Would you challenge us to a fight?
Alice's lips almost trembled as she answered:
— We are secured.
At that moment, one of the dark-clad lieutenants stepped forward.
— I don't think it would be wise to threaten Rindanof's current ruler like this.
John's eyes widened.
— Ruler?
The other lieutenant stepped forward and spoke in a neutral tone:
— According to the Angelic Laws, Section 368, if a ruler is forced to step down or has other significant duties to attend to, they are entitled and required to appoint a successor. The appointed individual assumes full sovereign authority from the very first second of their designation.
— So he ran off? He always did like the depths of hell better anyway, — Alice commented cynically.
— Daughter, don't— her father spoke in warning.
But it was already too late.
Gabriel's face darkened.
— Let me clarify, — he looked icily at Alice. — He did not 'run off.' He stepped aside for a higher purpose. And he appointed me as his replacement.
His gaze sharpened.
— And as for the depths of hell—if you keep your insolence, they could function as your home just as well.
At his words, it felt as if the ground trembled beneath me.
Elis lowered his gaze.
And I began to think.
It is not the Council that will judge me.
But the current ruler himself.
My head spun. Too much information. Too many consequences.
But if this was the case…
Slowly, but firmly, I stood up and met Gabriel's gaze.
— Then let's get it over with. Take me where I need to go.
I extended my hands forward, as if surrendering already.
— Just leave my family alone.
For a moment, Gabriel looked at me in surprise, then shook his head slightly.
— You misunderstand, — he said softly.
Then he looked up toward the upper floor.
— Come with me, — he said.
He turned to the others.
— If you'll excuse us, I'd like to speak with her alone.
He didn't even ask me.
He only said one word.
— Follow.