Chapter VII: Amidst the Storm

Glomdoring didn't have to wait long for the first wave to happen. It took only
moments, interrupting the two Night covens as they gathered their magics,
before blades came crashing and nature became a battle field of thorn and
athame. Xenthos's brow was damp with sweat, his armor and expertise in combat
giving him a prowess that seemed almost impossible. He glared at a centaur,
having already deflected a blow that would have otherwise killed him, and
mentally contacted his troops as they, too, faught with everything they had.
Damned bastards can put up a fight. I'll give them that, he thought in
agitation. The first sweep had caught his troops off guard, never thinking that
Serenwilde forces would be daring to enter Ethereal Glomdoring. Or stupid
enough. Synl stood behind him, the Terror coven and he already calling forth
shadows from a black cauldron that stood in the center of their circle. The
first wave of Night magics were released, enveloping a few Moondancers who had
proved foolish enough to follow in the footsteps of their marauding troops.
Screams of pain weren't allowed to leave the moondancer's mouths, as shadow
upon shadow clung to them and filled their gaping mouths before they could
scream.

Xenthos dodged another blow from the centaur, rolling to the side. Stupid
horse. Should've watched your legs! Xenthos thought as he swept his blade
around in a circle above his head, before bringing himself up from where he
knelt on the ground and cutting the centaur's legs off with the sounds of
bone's crunching passing in the wake of his sword. The centaur cried out in
surprise, before a pack of barghests decended upon it and ripped the creature's
throat with their sharp teeth. A war-maddened grin grew on Xenthos' lips, before
he turned to greet the next wave of Serenwilders already tredging through the
entrance to Faethorn.

--==--

Shayle watched from afar the happenings of the battle, casting her senses
throughout the forest to track the wounds of Glomdoring soldiers. She moved
with the expertise of a graceful dancer, quickly tending to wounds that she
could sense. The defensive Night coven stood encircling her, conjuring up
protections to aid the defending troops. Fae stood ready, hiding behind tree or
standing out in the open, with war burning at their hearts. The air was
electrifying, as if it had been set ablaze in light and darkness that faught to
conquer the other. She couldn't help but grin herself, as she watched the
Glomdoring forces fight valiently and bravely beneath each wave that washed
over them.

"Call forth the Brumetower!" she barked, raising a hand into a fist and adding
her own power to the ritual. Thick, black shadows poured forth from a cauldron
nearby, each one encircling about the Shadowdancers in tendrils of hissing
voices. A final word was spoken by Shamarah, as he ended the ritual with a
flourish of up-thrown arms. Called forth, the shadows shot into the canopy of
the trees overhead before they elongated and sank into the ground. Before a
moment could pass, the shadows had hardened and created a sort of incorporeal
tower made entirely of hissing shadows that snapped at the air hungrily. You
want war? Then so shall you have it, Shayle said, glaring into the battle field
ahead. Something stirred to her right, and out from the undergrowth, a young
faeling man emerged with a blade that was whirling towards her throat. He
stopped dead in mid-swing, his eyes large and mouth agape with a warcry caught
in his throat. He collapsed onto the ground, an athame glistening in his back.
Synl dropped from a nearby tree and winked at Shayle, before dashing off
towards Xenthos. She shook her head, looking again to the dead faeling that had
come too close for her comfort, before she turned her attention back to the
coven nearby.

"Choke! Now!" she commanded, and they began to move slowly about the cauldron.
Faster and faster, they moved, until they were all in a complete dash. Shadows
rose again from the cauldron, rising up from its mouth like a nightmare given
life, and quickly shot off towards the battle ahead. Shayle moved to the side
and listened to the cries of horror that filled the night. It was a melody, a
twisting cacophony of voices screaming either in horror or in cries of war.
Overhead, murder upon murder of crows conquered the skies, enormous crows
dotting the dark night with the cries of the Blacktalon raising in racourous
chanting. She thought she spotted Pentu overhead, her hands holding a cudgel
that was spraying thorns down below at a group of frost hags and centaurs just
ahead. You should've stayed on your side of Faethorn, you pathetic fools,
Shayle thought to herself as she furled up her hands into her robes.

--==--

A figure stood in a tree close by to Shayle, its stark white eyes glistening
with madness. Contempt? Is that contempt I see in your eyes? Rage burned at it,
setting its limbs loose from the branch it held on and sending its body flying
in a blur of speed towards her. It landed in a flare of black robes,
unsheathing a dagger and putting it beneath Shayle's chin. She jumped, though
upon feeling the cold steel pressing into her and cutting into her skin, she
held deathly still.

"Oh, you pretty pretty Shayle," the figure whispered as he bent his mouth
towards her ear. He flung Shayle around, facing the Night Coven who were
gawking at their Queen and at the figure who now held her life by a simple
dagger. "If you move or try any of your magic on me, I swear, I'll slit her
damned throat!" He pulled the dagger deeper into her skin, letting a few
droplets of blood drip down it and onto her chest. They stopped moving towards
him, their fae glaring at him with hatred burning in their eyes.

"How does it feel, Shayle?" the figure whispered again into her ear. "How does
it feel to know that you're about to die? Or don't you feel anything at all,
you heartless bi***!" the voice was masculine but riddled with gurgling hisses
that made Shayle. "You have no idea how long I've waited; no idea how long I've
watched and planned for this moment! Your pretty pale skin beneath my dagger. I
used to dream about it, dream about licking my tongue over your ear, just so
you scream as my dagger tears away the last few seconds of your life. Oh, and
one more thing before I kill you! That war out there. See all those people
dying? Look over there. One of your own young shadowdancers are dead. Want to
know why they're fighting? Because I tricked them into thinking Glomdoring was
planning the same..."

The figure wasn't able to finish what he was saying before a mass of cold
flames erupted about Shayle in a single pillar of power.

--==--

Shayle could feel the dagger pressing into her neck, watching her shadowdancers
with something of shock and outrage burning in her intense stare. Though, as he
spoke more, she could feel something starting to turn inside of her. At the
thought of this war being all just because of one person's words, something
broke within her and exploded in a complete whirlwind of rage. She turned
slowly around to let her cold, expressionless face, save for the burning flames
that roared within her eyes, look down onto the robed figure.

"You want death, you pathetic bastard? Fine! Let me show you death!!" she
screamed as she balled up her fists and released them, a turrent of black
flames and shadows screeching out from her, causing those nearby to cover their
ears and drop to the ground beneath the intensity of Shayle's power. She rose
from the ground, hovering above the figure as the cold flames splashed onto
him. A shield rose up about him, created just in time as the flames and shadows
descended upon him in a hungry assault. The shield fell, and the figure rose
from the ground and glared at Shayle with as much intensity as she offered him.

"Your little tricks won't work on me, bi**!" he cried as he pointed his dagger
to the ground below Shayle, vines snapping up and quickly coiling about
Shayle's legs and feet. She smirked, letting the cold flames burn away the
encumbersome trick and returned her attention back to the robed figure before
her.

"Is that the best you can do? You little fool. Let me show you why they call
Mother Night merciless," she hissed, a burst of cold flames rising about her in
descending spiral that spilled onto the ground. Shadows rose up as the flames
fell, encompassing Shayle before she simply vanished within them. Both parted
to show she was no longer there, and the figure's white eyes looked about
menacingly as he sought her. A hand shot out from behind him and grabbed him by
the bottom of his mouth, pulling his head back and nearly snapping it out of
place. Shayle offered him a slight, cold smile before she placed a kiss upon
his lips. His eyes shot open, as he felt something pouring into his mouth and
down his throat, choking the air from his lungs. She continued the kiss,
drawing out his life from his body as her cold flames caught his body aflame.
The shadowdancers only watched, smiling or gaping in awe as they witnessed
their queen's power in action. Finally, she released the husk of a body and let
it slide to the ground with a thud. The only thing left of him was shell, skin
draping around bone. She pulled a finger to her mouth and wiped away the blood
that smeared it, turning towards the Night Coven who simply stared at her.
That, simple fool, is the true meaning of merciless, she thought again to
herself as the cold flames and shadows dissipitated from around her until they
were completely gone.

--==--

Shrouded in nearby shadows, Viravain watched as she channeled a minute amount
of her divine power into Shayle. As the battle came to an end, she placed a
hand on a barghest's head that had been sitting beside her, its eerie black
eyes giving off a faint green glow. She chuckled as the fool fell to his death,
shaking her head disdainly. When one insults the power of the Glomdoring Forest,
dear mortal, they insult me!, she thought as she continued to observe the war as
it unfolded. The husk of what was left of the robed figure was swallowed up by
the hungry earth, his defeat adding to the burning rage that rang through every
leaf, every branch, and every blade of grass that screamed for one thing.
Vengeance.
===============================

Chapter VIII: Where Three Meet

A pale and soft autumn breeze wove itself around the sleeping form of Druken,
his eyes closed and his chest rising and lowering as his breath caught crisply
on the chilly air. The eve had been a harsh one, filled with tempermental
Shadowdancers and newly arrived young to lead to their rightful places. Stress
lines and exhaustion had etched themselves into his dark features and across
his brow long before sleep had claimed him, Shayle even noting that he should
get some sleep or perform a Rite of Penumbra. Indeed, he chose sleep.

Down below, a large barghest watched Druken slumber, its intelligent eyes
seeming to consider him quietly. It looked behind it to catch the attentive
stare of a silver cat sitting placidly beneath a ravenwood tree, its pale blue
eyes staring off into the horizon. The cat turned its attention to the
barghest, its tailing swishing back and forth tempermentally. A moment of
silence strung hung over the two creatures, their preternatural eyes regarding
one another in a war of stares. Turning its head away, the bargest shifted to a
crouch, its black fur blending in with the shadows that danced across the
ground. It caught sight of Druken up in the nearby tree and, in a blur of
movement, its large fangs tore into the throat of the sleeping mortal. His eyes
shot open as he flailed against the barghest's muscular body, his screams of
agony and surprise lost to the blood that flowed into his lungs. The barghest
stood still, not moving as Druken fought for his life. Slowly, he lost
consciousness, his eyes rolling up into the back of their sockets. With one
final staggering breath, his face went pale and his body went limp.

Below, the silver cat watched the battle with a sparkle in its pale eyes. Its
tail gave one last swish before it rose from where it sat and bounded away into
the forest. Night came swiftly after the sun placed itself below the horizon,
marked only by an effeminate chuckle that rang along the leaves and canopy,
along with the mournful baying of a barghest against the moonless darkness that
overtook the Glomdoring Forest in an eternal battle for dominance and power.

------

Catarin stood at the brink of a circular pool, her quiet face turned down
towards the water that sparkled of its own accord. Overhead, the sun was
already setting, its light barely gracing the sky as it rested its chin on the
horizon. She dipped a hand into the water, gaining a lifted eyebrow from a man
dressed in deep blue robes nearby. He turned away, his attention on the stars
overhead that glistened faintly through the turbulent colors of the sunset.
Catarin gasped suddenly, a pain wracking her mind and sending her to her knees
in a bout of dizziness. The pain came again, stronger than before as it thrust
against her temples agonizingly. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her
will on the pain, seeking out what had caused it and why. Her breath slowed
beneath the waves of nausea that threatened to cause her to lose the contents
of her stomach. A flash of light burned through her mind, the vision of a man
lying dead on a large branch. Another flash came, consecutive to the last with
the face of the man contorted in breathless suffering. Her mind filled with
horror at the suffering the man had endured, enough that it caused his eyes to
look as if they had seen something too horrible for him to have explained if he
were alive. She steadied herself by placing a hand on the lip of the pool next
to her, gaining a worried look from the man nearby.

"Are you all right, paladin?" came his question, his wizened brow furrowed with
concern. She nodded and slowly got to her feet, keeping a hand on the lip of the
pool to keep herself from falling again.

"I believe so," she replied quietly, looking up to see Metea rushing to her
from the northern street that bordered the outcropping circle of water. She
waved her away and smiled, but Catarin knew that she could not fool her
daughter.

"What happened? I recieved word from my angel that you were in pain...," Metea
said, reaching out a hand and placing it against Catarin's forehead. Behind
her, an angel hovered with a look of benign peace etched across his face. She
smiled to the angel, quietly thanking it for its foresight and looked to Metea.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me," she whispered hoarsely, but a small band of
paladins quickly changed her mind. They all looked at the Pool of Stars as if
dumb struck. Catarin knew that look, a feeling of pressing need that struck at
any New Celestian who was within distance of the Pool of Stars. A shriek of
need struck through the air from a disembodied voice, and with it, the entire
area about the Pool of Stars was empty as the need was answered. Sitting atop
of a nearby roof, a silver cat watched and waited for the next events to
unfold, its tail swishing back and forth anxiously. Night was soon to set, and
with it, the memories that would come to haunt the shadows and the stars that
would announce their coming.
============================

Chapter IX: Honor Withdrawn

The setting sun spilled its light into the Tabernacle of Methrenton, as the
last bit of the day waned on an awkward hour. Metea watched the supplicants
coming to and fro, whispering their prayers for their private needs. She shook
her head quickly, trying to keep herself awake. It had been a day or so since
she had last slept, working against the sudden flood of Magnagorans that had
launched an assault on the Celestial plane. A shudder shook itself up her
shoulders, a visual of those they had recently buried and honored as heroes
coming to mind. Death is never easy. At least, they're finally at peace. A
cough brought her out of her own thoughts, the figure of Catarin standing close
by bringing her to an awareness that she had been there for the last few
minutes. Catarin smiled slightly, nodding her head towards Metea, but Metea did
not return it. She turned her back to her mother, as she tried to still the
anger that roared up inside of her. A hymn sung by a small group of children
washed through the tabernacle, quiet and sullen, causing Metea's mood to drown
itself miserably.

"Metea, don't be like this. You knew we had no other choice," Catarin said, a
hint of anger burning through her words. Metea turned and stared at her mother,
this woman who had served as a paladin for several years. The light caught on
her armor, golden and yet well-used enough to cause the light to reflect
hapharzardously about her.

"No other choice? We could have saved him!" Metea responded, placing her hands
on the pew behind her and grasping it tightly. Damn it all! You knew you
shouldn't have come here! You knew this is the only place I can think, and you
follow me still. Catarin sighed deeply, her hands brushing through her hair, as
she usually did when agitated beyond her ends.

"And tell me, Metea, what could we have done? That angel knew it was going to
die. It gave its life so that we could live to fight another day. You know what
that this is a great honor..."

"Honor? Honor?! What in the name of Nil and all of the Taint do you know about
honor, mother?" she spat out the last word and glared at Catarin, daring her to
say something. Catarin simply stood there, as if she had been struck dumb. Her
mouth opened and closed, her mind fighting to come up with something to say.
Metea watched and listened, using every ounce of her will to keep from striking
the woman who called her daughter. "Say it, Catarin. Say it, Mother. You know
nothing about honor! You know nothing of what it feels like to have an angel, a
friend, die right before your eyes and be powerless to help them! Don't you dare
tell me it is an honor, because you don't know a damned thing about what I feel
inside!"

Metea stormed passed Catarin, opening the Tabernacle door and slamming it
behind her. The choir of children and supplicants present hadn't noticed the
small outburst, the hymn continuing as if nothing had ever happened. Catarin
stood there, watching the closed door with a look of puzzlement etched on her
old and tired face. I know what it feels like, Metea. I just wish you could
understand that. Outside, an evening sunset graced the sky with a fold of
silver clouds and a horizon set ablaze with turbulent crimsons and soft pastel
purples. Night was quickly taking her throne amongst the balance, with the eyes
of a silver cat quietly watching Metea rise from the Pool of Stars on golden
wings. She gave one glance down to the Tabernacle of Methrenton, as if wanting
to turn around, but instead, she rushed into the heavens with the night as her
only ally and companion
===========================

Chapter X: These Uncommon Grounds

A scream shattered the first moment of the battle, tumultuous chaos rising in a
shatter of reality. Catarin pulled her blade from a screaming Nihilist,
silencing the wench with another twist of the metallic blade in her other hand
across the woman's throat. The battle had begun only a few moments prior when
Elohora herself gave a call to the Celestines and Paladins to come to the aid
of the Supernals. Behind Catarin, Raziela lay still on the ground with a few
cuts on her glowing skin. Finding the Nihilist woman she had just killed
advancing on the Supernal sent Catarin into an uncontrollable rage. Her heart
thudded against her chest, both her blades held up for three Geomancers who
turned towards her with a killing lust evident in their beady eyes.

"Get the light bitch!" one of them cried, raising a staff of rock towards her.
He stepped towards her, his eyes large. His breath caught in his lungs, a
peculiar look of hesitation screwing itself across his features. He opened and
closed his mouth before an ear splitting scream escaped moments before his body
simply exploded outwards, sending blood and organs across the ground. The other
two Geomancers looked at the ground and then to Catarin, believing she had
killed the man. They both raised their staffs and brought them down on the
ground hard, causing the earth around them to emit a shriek of rage. Catarin
readied herself, sweat pouring down her face.

"You will not have Raziela!" Catarin shouted, and as if qued, an arrow sped by
her face, only inches away from piercing her cheek, to strike one of the
Geomancers directly between his eyes. He fell to the ground, a quiet whimper
escaping his lips before the life faded from his limbs. Catarin glanced behind
her shoulder, finding Metea glaring at the last Geomancer standing before them.
Are you all right, Mother? came a mental voice within Catarin's mind, its
presence filling her entire body instantly. She knew that presence, knew well
the power of a healer quickly assessing wounds and internal damage. She thanked
the Light that her daughter was here and was safe. Aye. I'm all right. Did you
do that to that Geomancer? she asked, turning her attention quickly to the
Geomancer who stood before them, tendrils of smoke spiraling about his staff.

Metea didn't have time to answer, the Geomancer making a short motion with his
staff before a large boulder rose up from the ground at his feet and sent
itself speeding towards Metea. A quick move of her two blades cut the boulder
into several smaller pieces, cutting through the rock as if it were nothing
more than soft leather. She caught the sight of an explosion of light behind
her, before an archangel placed itself between the Geomancer and the two of
them. The angel smiled benignly to the man, who watched it with an expression
of awe written upon his face.

"Child of earth, hear my words. Depart from the ways of sin and free yourself
from turmoil. Accept the Light and all things shall be made peaceful both
within and without," the angel said quietly, her long blonde hair twisting
about her as if caught in an ethereal breeze. Catarin watched him closely, her
grip on her blades tightening in case he made the wrong decision; he did. His
face contorted into complete rage, but before he could react, the archangel
moved without being seen. She wrapped her arms and long, white wings about him.
He stood as if in shock, his mouth ajar. A preternatural silence wrapped about
the two, before his body fell limp within the angel's arms. A single tear fell
from the angel's beautiful face, its lips kissing the forehead of the Geomancer
before the two of them disappeared in a vortex of light.

Catarin watched the angel vanish, her breath catching in the chilled air. Damn.
I've seen that happen so many times, and yet, I never get used to it. She shook
her head quietly, sensing Metea approaching from behind.

"It is done, Mother. Methrenton and the others are safe," Metea said quietly,
patting Catarin's shoulder before she turned her attention to Raziela behind
them. Yes, but for how long? Catarin couldn't help but ask to herself, watching
her daughter tend to Raziela's wounds and awaken the slumbering Supernal. She
sheathed her blades, cursing the Magnagorans for a persistence that bordered on
fanaticism. She never understood them, never understood their desire to destroy
the Cosmic Supernals and all that they stood for. She oftentimes pitied them,
her blades finding their marks on some Magnagoran's throat. The doctrine of the
Light spoke of sympathy for the enemy; a type of sympathy that was given to
someone lost to the wage of war. However, this war wasn't seeing an end any
time soon. A spiral of light wound itself behind Metea, her archangel appearing
with a heart wrenching sadness apparent in her eyes.

"The mortal has found a proper burial, Metea," the archangel said quietly, her
hands clasped before her. Metea looked up to the angel and smiled thankfully,
raising a hand to take the angel's hand in her own.

"Thank you, my friend. I know it is hard, but he is at rest now," she assured
the angel, who could only smile in acceptance before she turned her head and
stared off towards the horizon. Catarin watched the two for a moment, unable to
comprehend the patience and the courage the two shared and showed. She always
found the angels of the Celestines almost eerie in the way they protected their
charges, always defending the Celestine at all costs. Raziela smiled and looked
down to Catarin, who turned her attention to regard the Supernal.

"You have served the Light well, my daughter," Raziela spoke, reaching a hand
out to brush gently against Catarin's forehead. A sense of euphoria and love
awoke within her, sensing the touch of the Supernal and her blessing. She
turned her smile to Metea, who stumbled as if struck by an immense force. Metea
gave a gasp, motes of light rising from the air about her. Catarin quickly
unsheathed her blades, placing herself before Raziela and gathered a defensive
stance. Chuckling softly, a man appeared from a vortex that ripped itself open
a few feet before the two women. He smirked, his face marred by several battle
scars that only added to the demeanor of the most feared man in Magnagora.

"Murphy...," Catarin hissed, spinning her blades around herself before bringing
them back to her sides.

"Please, you pathetic wench. Do you honestly think you can kill me? Step aside.
I'm not here for you," he waves his hand nonchalantly towards Catarin, as if
dismissing her. "I want her." He pointed the same hand towards Metea, who stood
next to Raziela.

"What business do you have with her?" Catarin asked, not moving from where she
stood. Murphy looked at her for a moment and canted his head to the side,
watching her with a look of amusement on his face.

"That last Geomancer you just killed was my son-in-law. An eye for an eye, as
they say," he said with a grin, shrugging his shoulders casually. "Now step
aside Catarin and give her to me."

"You'll have to get through me before I ever let you touch my daughter," she
hissed in response, tensing her body to the point that it hurt. Murphy turned
his attention again to her, a booming laugh echoing out from through the air.
He put a hand to his side, his laughter threatening to pull him down to his
knees. The laughter stopped abruptly, his head slowly rising to catch the stare
of Catarin.

"As you wish."

Murphy moved as if possessed, his hands grabbing a two handed blade from his
side and spinning it above his head. Catarin quickly stepped aside, pulling her
own blades up above her and bringing them down towards Murphy's throat. He
countered and brought his blade to sweep deftly at her knees. She jumped,
inches from having her knees cut clean from her legs. She looked down to
Murphy, gasping as she saw his fist coming towards her face. The impact jarred
her senses, sending her flying backwards and landing in a heap of unconscious
limbs. Metea looked from her mother to Murphy, who spat on the ground and wiped
the spittle from his mouth with the back of one hand.

"Now, my dear. I believe you and I have unfinished business to attend to," he
said courteously, grinning from ear to ear as he bowed mockingly. Metea grasped
a medallion that sat on her chest tightly, chanting a liturgy below her breath.
Murphy stepped towards her and screamed in shock, as Metea's spell found its
mark directly in the middle of his chest. He fell to the ground as the cosmic
fire burned at his black armor and cursed loudly. "Don't make this anymore
difficult than it needs to be, my dear. You're only prolonging the inevitable."
He rose to his feet and dusted off the remnants of the fire, frowning at a small
dent the original blast had left in his armor. "Now that will cost you an extra
moment of misery." Metea went to take a step back, keeping herself firmly
planted in-between Raziela and Murphy. Raziela placed a comforting hand on her
shoulder, causing to look up to the Supernal's face. She saw that the Supernal
was watching Murphy with something akin to sadness in her softly glowing eyes,
lines marring her face. Metea turned her attention back to Murphy, watching him
swing his two-handed blade about him. She closed her eyes and began chanting
another spell beneath her breath. Murphy approached her and placed a hand over
Raziela's hand that grasped Metea's shoulder just as her spell ended. She
opened her eyes slowly to catch Murphy's with her watch, catching him in mid
swing of his blade. The spell wound up about her in torrents of power, causing
the livid rage that burned in Murphy's eyes to catch with a start.

It wasn't strong enough to stop the blade, however. She closed her eyes again,
feeling Murphy's breath hot against her face. A sense of peace settled within
her, causing her fear to quiet itself and flee from her mind. The blade never
came, however. Metea opened her eyes again to find Murphy staring at her
dumbfoundedly, an odd expression on his face.

"You and I are not done," was all that he said before he sheathed his blade,
turned around, and walked off into the distance. A vortex opened and swallowed
him whole, leaving behind a small trace amount of Taint before it vanished
entirely. Confused, Metea watched him vanish. She looked up to Raziela, who was
staring down at the ground at her feet. She looked to where the Supernal was
staring, and to her utter shock and horror, saw the archangel she had called
friend and ally for so long lying quietly in a pool of blood. She screamed
defiantly, kneeling down quickly to pull the angel's head into her lap. Using
every ounce of her own power, she sent wave after wave of healing light into
the angel's body. Tears flooded her vision, as she continued to try and pull
the angel back from the grasp of death.

"Please, no. Oh gods, please no," she whimpered hoarsely, sending every inch of
her own power into the angel's body, as her tears dripped down her chin and onto
the angel's perfect face. The angel's eyes fluttered open, a soft smile
appearing on her face as she gazed up adoringly at Metea. She lifted a hand and
brushed a finger along Metea's cheek, tears streaming down the finger and down
the hand.

"Shhh. Do not weep, my beloved friend. It will all be all right," the angel
whispered softly, her gaze quiet and still. Metea grasped the hand with both of
hers, placing a kiss upon it. The angel smiled at her, though her eyes slowly
closed and her hand went limp in Metea's hold. One final sigh escaped passed
her lips before her head fell to the side and the life slipped from her in that
same breath. Metea gathered the angel to her, pulling her up to her chest and
rocked back and forth. She screamed in torment, her tears washing over the
angel's still face as she clutched the angel to her. At first, she did not
notice the hand of Raziela upon her shoulder nor did she notice Catarin get to
her feet and stand quietly a few feet away. The only thing she noticed was the
pain of loss that wracked at her senses, with the eternal horizon as the only
voice that spoke the name of the lost. She continued to weep far into the
night, the stars rising and the sun setting within its bed of somber memories.
No other tears were shed; no words of remorse were given; only the deathly
silence that hung in the night sky and the stars that sang quietly of the story
of love that would last far into the reaches of eternity and beyond the edge of
time.