— — —
The Dawn of
the Archangel
A short story by A.K. Paige
For Ms. Greer
— — —
___ From every insult there emerges a layer of resilience; ___
we find strength in the echoes of our own courage.
— — —
"As the moon reaches the peak of the mountains, its silvery glow is blocked by the blackness night calls, and thus starts the 7-year war."
- The Tale of the Winged Child; Arcanium Obscurus, Myth Archives.
— — —
The Chief of the Urielian Tribe tried to fight to protect his people, the rival tribe massacring his own. They had stolen his child, and now they’d killed over half of his tribe.
"What I would not give to bless my Chieftan with divine power, or even make him a God altogether." The Goddess Celenia sighed from high above the battle.
Warren, The God of War, grunted, "You must not speak so illy of the Son of War himself.”
— — —
"The Tale of the Winged Child whispered a truth: those deemed different by birth are often the ones destined to soar beyond the narrow confines of acceptance, writing their own celestial journey amidst the winds of adversity."
- The Book of Angels; Arcanium Obscurus, Myth Archives.
— — —
His hands wavered. The Golmori, a wooden pestle-like object, slipping from his fingers and dropping to the floor. He cried out, jumping out of the way of the Golmori, dancing around on the cold cobbles of the shed’s floor.
The Golmori came to a rolling stop between his feet, and his frightened hopping to avoid touching it ceased as well. He stared down at it for a long while, eventually bending to pick it up. The darkness in the shed was something he’d become accustomed to now, so finding the Golmori was easy.
There was a loud tap at the door, and a short hunchbacked woman slowly opened the latches on the outside. “Good morning, Atrivon,” the woman said, smiling sweetly at him.
“Good morning, Ghana,” Atrivon said, pulling his useless wings tighter to his back at the sight of the blinding light outside the shed. “I didn’t mean to drop the Golmori, it was an accident.”
Ghana shook her head, taking a slow, calculated step into the shed, conjuring a flame in the half-burnt candle that was mounted to the wall. “Do not fret, Atrivon, I will not punish you for a mistake so easily made,” she paused, a sad smile tugging at her face. “You’re safe with me.”
Atrivon’s gaze softened, and his wings relaxed slightly.
Ghana stared at Atrivon for a moment, watching his wings with the smallest hint of curiosity glimmering in her large eyes. “How is the pain from the mites?” She asked, moving to sit in the only nice chair in the shed.
Atrivon shrugged at her question, his wings itching irritably as they had been for the past 11 years since he had first noticed it. “Still pretty awful,” He admitted, looking over his shoulders to the wings that now reached the floor. Atrivon looked at her curiously, his ragged shirt feeling tight around his wings which had grown since her last visit.
Ghana nodded solemnly, looking at his wings with an expression of sadness. “I’ve been trying to get the chief to let you go, I’m under the impression that your wings may be able to heal if you were…” She paused, raising a feeble hand to her aged mouth. Ghana looked suddenly uncomfortable about what she was about to say before she sighed, shaking her head. “You have been here since before my youngest grand-daughter was born, before your eyes were even open, and most of the town is ignorant to your existence inside the walls of the Arielian Tribe,” She said, gesturing to the door. “You were taken from the Urielian Tribe towards the end of the seven-year war twenty years ago, I’ve told you that story, yes?”
Atrivon paused, his blue eyes searching hers, “It was twenty years ago? I’m twenty?” He asked, looking down at his small, weak body.
Ghana shook her head once more, a sad frown resting on her lips, “Jugar, he’s the one who…” she trailed off, pulling the basket closer to herself, her dress creasing oddly at her movement. “Let’s go on an adventure.”
— — —
"Angels are, in essence, a mystery… Time dances differently for these celestial beings, their age measured not by years but by the weight of wisdom, each passing millennium a mere whisper in the expanse of eternity."
- The Book of Angels; Arcanium Obscurus, Myth Archives.
— — —
The town outside the confines of his captivity was large and unusual, the people that dwelled there even more so. Burly men with large beards entwined in intricate patterns walked down the cobbled streets. Some carried barrels, some carried weapons, and some carried women who didn’t look particularly happy to be awake so early. Despite the glares cast his way and the laughter from some of the children, Atrivon marvelled at how handsomely the people were dressed.
“Why is everyone here so. . .” Atrivon struggled to find a word that matched what he was currently seeing. He looked down at his own clothes. “Colorful?” He frowned at Ghana.
She looked around, seeming to notice all of the people for the first time. “Everyone in Ariel benefits from the people of Uriel,” She said simply, casting a bit of magic aside to gather a bushel of spring onions from a street-side cart.
Atrivon nodded, though he was exceedingly confused now. “Why are they laughing and pointing?”
Ghana looked at Atrivon with an expression of pity. “We’re not exactly the most normal pair to be walking down the street, you know,” She replied, gesturing at his wings. “A mage and an angel. Quite the opposite of normal if you’d ask me.”
Atrivon smiled as Ghana giggled at her own words. “Are there no others like me?” He asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd of wealthily dressed strangers.
Ghana didn’t immediately answer this time, looking toward a back alley. “I must show you something before I continue to answer your question, Atrivon.”
Curiosity filled him and he obliged her, following closely behind as they went into the back alley she’d pointed out with her gaze.
They’d walked for quite a while when the alley finally ended and they rounded to a large red and white circus tent. “What’s this?” He asked, his wings tightening nervously to his back at the smell that wafted from the tent.
“The ‘Market’,” Ghana admitted, pulling Atrivon into the tent that smelled of iron. “This is where the Arielian Tribe keeps the creatures that are like you.”
Atrivon’s eyes widened as the realisation hit him, his gaze falling to a cage that contained a large dark mass. “I don’t like this place Ghana,” he whispered, glancing toward her, then back to the cage.
He moved closer to the cage when Ghana didn’t answer him, kneeling down to face the dark mass inside.
Slowly, a large wolf-like skull pulled itself out of the shadows in the cage. The rest of the creature's body was black, matted, blood-stained fur. Its large ears were pinned back and its lengthy tongue slipped out of its mouth and wrapped around a bar of the cage.
Atrivon stayed still, his wings locked against his back.
“Don’t let Lupo get attached, he’s escaped before,” Ghana warned, her voice lower than normal.
— — —
“In the pages of the Book of Monsters, there lies the haunting chronicle of Lupo. A 7-foot terror, a lupine shadow with a skull for a visage and a violet tongue that weaves tales of dread. When the Hunt beckons, this beast forsakes its lupine guise, revealing a bloodthirsty incarnation—standing tall on two legs, adorned with protruding ribs and glowing yellow orbs. Its appetite not for flesh, but for the essence of life itself, sustained by an unholy pact of magic traded for unwavering allegiance.”
- The Tale of the Winged Child; Arcanium Obscurus, Myth Archives.
— — —
The wolf skull made contact with the bar of the cage its tongue had wrapped around, a small ‘cliiinng. . .’ resonating as hard bone met metal.
‘You smell different,’ a deep voice said, its sound not seeming to reach Ghana.
“Different?” Atrivon asked in a whisper, he blinked at the creature.
The skull moved slowly to one side, its head tilting curiously. ‘You don’t smell like lust. . . or fear.’ It spoke without moving, not even its jaw opened.
Atrivon didn’t answer, instead studying the skull curiously. The sockets of Lupo’s eyes seemed to stare him down. A clawed hand reached from the cage, it was sharp but covered in more matted fur, his tongue followed his hand. Lupo’s fingers were long and skinny, boney to match its skull.
“What do I smell like?” Atrivon said, staring into Lupo’s eye sockets.
‘Angel,’ Lupo stated simply, his deep voice but a whisper. ‘Get me out.’
Lupo’s hand reached Atrivon’s, the coldness tickling his wrist. His tongue ceased its venture and snaked its way back into the skull.
Atrivon held the hand of Lupo, feeling something powerful leave his body and enter Lupo’s.
Ghana appeared suddenly, swatting Lupo’s hand back into the cage, “You may not touch him.”
Lupo did not respond, his skull turning slowly to study Ghana. A faint yellow light glowed luminously in his sockets, tiny orbs watching her.
“What did you take from him, demon,” Ghana warned, her eyes not meeting his. “What did you steal?”
‘The Angel had a spell that was cast on his wings, I fed on that magic,’ Lupo replied, his voice much louder now.
— — —
“In the darkness, Lupo moves with a speed that mocks the wind itself, a blur of terror that slashes through the night. Its transformation heralds a relentless sprint, a blur of sinew and shadow that defies mortal comprehension.”
- The Book of Monsters; Arcanium Obscurus, Myth Archives.
— — —
Atrivon’s gaze was still fixed between the bars of the cage, his wings feeling limp. He watched as Lupo stood on two very tall legs, watched as he ripped the bars from the cage and stared Ghana down. ‘Someone hexed the Angel, witch.’
“What have you done!” Ghana yelped, her voice seemingly amplified beyond the volume it normally reached. “That was not excess magic!”
Lupo growled, stepping out of his now broken cage and onto the cold floor of the tent. He pushed Ghana aside and grabbed Atrivon, bounding toward the door. It was then that Atrivon broke from his trance and noticed what had happened.
Before he could say anything of meaning though, Lupo spoke. ‘Do not speak, I already thirst for the magic in your blood. Speaking will make my hunger grow.’
“What do you mean?” Atrivon said, then he quickly covered his mouth.
‘Every time you speak I become more aware of your power, and I wouldn’t want to sap it. Not here.’ Lupo continued his running, making it past the tree line and into the forest so fast Atrivon couldn’t even see the buildings they passed.
— — —
They continued to run further into the woods, Lupo’s swift steps on the forest floor light and almost inaudible.
Atrivon had been holding onto Lupo’s fur for dear life for most of the escape, and Lupo had held him tightly in one arm, using the other to move branches out of the way.
“Where are you taking us?” Atrivon asked, his wings tucked securely against Lupo so the wind drag wouldn’t tear them away.
‘To where instinct takes me,’ Lupo grunted, allowing for his eyes to glance at Atrivon. His tongue snaked out of his mouth to run along Atrivon’s jaw, pulling a small sip of magic from him.
He felt himself grow ever so slightly weary, but a question still tugged at his mind. “Where is that?”
‘Up.’
He didn’t reply, simply because he didn’t know exactly where ‘up’ was, but he knew it was somewhere up the mountain that skirted the Arielian Tribe’s border.
— — —
They continued their ascent, their pace never slowing. Atrivon came to the conclusion that Lupo needed energy to continuously run like he had been for almost 30 minutes now, which was why he kept glancing down and licking Atrivon.
He, however, grew ever more tired with every bit of magic Lupo borrowed from him. This didn’t seem like much of a problem, because he could just fall asleep and wake up refreshed. And so he did.
His eyelids grew heavy and the beating of his heart slowed, but just before he could slip into the sweet comforting darkness of sleep, Lupo spoke.
‘What is your name, Angel?’ He asked, glancing down at Atrivon once more.
It took Atrivon a moment to register what was just asked. He yawned, “Atrivon. What’s your name?”
‘Ruin.’ He replied, licking Atrivon’s face once more. ‘You mustn’t fall asleep, Atrivon. It is dangerous to sleep after so much magic has been drained from your blood. Especially if you’re a magical being.’
“Why is it dangerous?” Atrivon asked, his eyes falling to Ruin’s cracked rib cage.
‘I am slowly draining your life force,’ Ruin replied, grunting as he used a tree to make a sharp turn. ‘Magic is part of every creature that lives. Each one has a set amount they are born with, and when that magic runs out, they die.’
Atrivon was silent for a moment, his wings shivering in the cold as they neared the top of the mountain.
‘If you fall asleep, it’s very likely that you’d not return to the waking world. But I will help you when we are done running,’ Ruin said, his voice softening as the tree line neared, their exit getting closer by the second.
“I’ll stay awake,” Atrivon said, the determination in his voice making Ruin’s body rattle.
— — —
“Atop the summit where heavens kiss the earth, lies a mystical salt lake—an azure mirror reflecting the whispers of ages, its waters blessed by celestial tears, a sanctuary cradled in the embrace of the mountain's lofty crown.”
-The Tale of the Winged Child; Arcanium Obscurus, Myth Archives.
— — —
Ruin stopped his ascent, and he gently bent to let Atrivon stand in the soft grass at the top of the mountain.
Atrivon looked around at the peak of the mountain. They had been running through snow, but the peak seemed to be locked in spring. “Is this where you think we should stop?”
‘I don’t feel like I’m being called anywhere, so I assume this is the right place,’ Ruin answered, nodding his skull in the direction of the lake, ‘You should wash up. I will go hunt for something we both can eat.’
Atrivon looked at Ruin, and paused before asking his question. “When will you be back?”
‘I won’t be long, and when I’m back I’ll show you how to take magic from the trees and the ground to replenish your own,’ Ruin responded, noticing Atrivon staring at him.
Ruin bent to Atrivon’s height and nuzzled the snout of his skull into Atrivon’s neck, a small dog-like chuff of air leaving him.
“I’ve never had a bath,” Atrivon admitted, feeling a bit self conscious about how he might smell.
‘I know,’ Ruin stated simply, moving to pick Atrivon up again.
Ruin carried Atrivon bridal style toward the lake, stepping into it and moving to much deeper waters to the point that his legs were completely submerged.
‘That means you also don’t know how to swim, so I will teach you what I know,’ Ruin said, his arms holding Atrivon tightly so as not to drop him.
“Are you sure?” Atrivon asked, his eyes widening. “I know you’re hungry, it’s okay for this to wait. . .”
‘You are more hungry than I,’ Ruin said, remarking on Atrivon’s frail build.
Atrivon didn’t disagree with him, thinking that he was right after all. He was starving.
“How do I swim?” He asked, squirming after a moment of too-long silence.
‘Don’t panic and I’ll show you,’ Ruin said, lowering Atrivon into the water. ‘Spread your wings.’
— — —
After a while, Atrivon was under the water with his eyes open, staring at Ruin’s skull. Ruin had told him to use his wings as a way to push through the water.
In the beginning, his wings would just float awkwardly in the water, but after a moment of trying to flap them, he managed to push unsteadily through it.
Atrivon was having so much fun swimming that it took a minute before he realised he needed air, and he frantically tried to push himself to the surface. His wings weren’t helping him to move now and he ended up only sinking deeper into the water. In a heartbeat, however, Ruin noticed that Atrivon was panicking and wouldn’t make it to the top, and he swam over to him.
Ruin pressed the snout of his skull to Atrivon’s lips and blew air into his mouth, allowing Atrivon a moment to take the breath and make his way to the surface.
They broke through the water, Atrivon coughing heavily, his lungs burning. He pushed through the water and latched onto Ruin’s rib cage. Ruin slowly wrapped his arms around Atrivon, keeping them afloat with powerful paddling with his legs. This kept him above the water and allowed Atrivon to rest for a moment.
‘Are you okay, Atrivon?’ Ruin asked, his skull dripping salt water from the lake.
It took a moment before Atrivon replied, still catching his breath, he calmed himself. “That was just scary.”
‘I will go hunt if you can swim to shore yourself,’ Ruin said, motioning to the shoreline.
They had managed to swim to the middle of the lake and were now floating dead-center.
Atrivon nodded, slowly pushing himself off of Ruin, and back into the open water.
“Thank you for saving me,” He said, swimming to Ruin’s side, then past him.
Ruin didn’t respond, instead swimming swiftly to shore, looking back at Atrivon, and bounding into the forest to hunt.
— — —
Atrivon reached the shore, pulling himself onto the warm sand. He laid there for a while, letting the water drip from his skin. The heat from the sand made the mites that had nested in his wings run toward the salt water for something cooler.
He remembered Ghana had said something about salt water being deadly to the mites. He giggled at the thought of the mites trying to survive while he was swimming, only to be thwarted by hot sand.
He felt so relaxed, stretched out on the shore. The soft sound of water lapping on the beach soothed him. The warm sand against his sore wings made the tense muscles in his back relax. The smell of the forest calmed his mind.
He was content with his first day out of the shed.
Slowly, the sun began to set, and Atrivon watched as it drifted toward the horizon, the pinks and blues of the sky making the white sand of the shore take on a cotton-candy sheen. The water reflected the sky beautifully. It seemed that even the stars came out to wish him good night. He felt so relaxed, and he felt everything around him, even the faintest of breezes that rustled his hair. He felt his body become stronger. Felt something enter his body and replenish the magical energy that had been taken by Ruin.
It took a moment before it was dark enough for Atrivon to notice a fuzzy glow was still about. He looked up, and a hazy white ring was floating almost lazily above his head. Small rays came from the sides of the ring, making it look like the sun.
There was a rustling from behind Atrivon, causing him to turn. Ruin stepped from the forest with some sort of animal in hand, ‘I see you’ve already figured out how to take magic from the world around you. Your halo is hazy. Not too bright. I like it.’
Atrivon sat silently for a moment. “A halo. . . that’s what it is. I thought the sun came to sleep on my head.”
‘The sun?’ Ruin asked, putting the animal on the ground and moving to sit with Atrivon.
“I watched the sun go to sleep a while ago. It painted the sky with all sorts of pretty colors,” Atrivon said, explaining the setting sun as well as he could.
Ruin was silent, before he looked toward the moon, his body morphing slowly back into its wolven form. ‘You watched the sun set,’ he said, pulling that long matted tail around to his side.
“What’s that?” Atrivon asked, following Ruin’s gaze to the moon that was slowly rising above the horizon, its purple dwarf twin following in its wake.
‘When the sun rises into the sky in the morning, all the creatures come out, and when the sun falls below the horizon it is called sunset. That is when every being under it goes back to sleep,’ Ruin explained.
Atrivon listened intently, his new halo the only light that kept the two from being washed in darkness. “Oh,” He paused. “What about the colors?”
‘Every time the sun sets, it releases a new wave of magic into the world. It was a gift for the Gods and Goddesses from the Sun itself,’ Ruin said in response, laying his skull in Atrivon’s lap.
“Does the moon send the Gods gifts as well?” Atrivon asked, watching the moon as it broke the horizon.
‘The Moon absorbs any extra magic that the Gods don’t take, and when it’s full, it calls its magic forth to make a dwarf,’ Ruin replied, pinning his ears back as Atrivon petted his skull as if he was a cat.
“How do you know so much about the world?” Atrivon asked, breaking his gaze away from the moon in favor of watching its reflection on the water.
‘I have been around for longer than the dwarf moon itself. Before its time, I was a wolf, but when I died, my magic wasn’t completely diminished, so my soul inhabited a Lupo.’ Ruin answered, closing his eyes. The glowing yellow orbs in his eyes extinguished.
“Is that what happens to creatures when they still have magic in their body after they die? Does that mean there are Lupo out there who aren’t like you?” Atrivon asked, his voice taking a concerned hitch.
‘There are some of my kind who are nothing more than mere savages that live to kill. They are called “Lupus”, I am called “Lupo”.’ Ruin said, explaining the difference between Lupus and Lupo in kind. ‘Lupo means, “Tamed Beast.” Lupus means, “Savage Beast.” But you must remember that we are all Lupine, or wolf-like.’
Atrivon’s conversation with Ruin about the world and its beings lasted so long that Atrivon fell asleep in the middle of it, his exhaustion outweighing his curiosity. He felt Ruin move to press against his side before he too went to sleep.
— — —
Atrivon woke with a start, shooting up into a sitting position. He was scared for a moment because he’d forgotten where he’d fallen asleep. Ruin woke shortly after and calmed himdown, but not before pointing out that Atrivon now looked much older than he had the day prior.
Atrivon’s body had seemingly caught up with his age overnight. It was toned and muscular, and he was much taller than he had been, his wings were larger too and his lungs were able to take in much more air.
‘This is interesting,’ Ruin had remarked, sniffing Atrivon’s body like it was something out of place.
“I feel stronger,” Atrivon said, flexing his arms testingly.
‘You look stronger,’ Ruin confirmed, nuzzling his snout into Atrivon’s neck once more. ‘If I had to guess, I’d say that your body grew because your knowledge of the world grew.’
Atrivon nodded slowly, standing and walking to look at his reflection in the lake. He watched as a large crane took off, and noticed how it flapped its wings so gracefully to fly.
He flapped his wings like the crane and was surprised at how much stronger they felt. He continued to flap them and slowly lifted off the ground. Ruin watched from the shore line as Atrivon flew unsteadily in place a few feet from the water.
Ruin shifted into a 7-foot horror and reached out to Atrivon, his large clawed hand lacing with Atrivon’s. ‘You’re beautiful, Atrivon,’ Ruin said, the bone of his lower jaw hanging slightly open as he stared at the angel flying in front of him.
Atrivon was silent, slowly lowering himself into the water. Ruin took small steps closer to Atrivon, his own feet entering the water.
They were both quiet, staring into each other's eyes before Ruin moved to nuzzle his snout against the top of Atrivon’s head.
Suddenly there was the sound of a twig snapping in the forest line, and Ruin turned swiftly to the sound of the steps. Atrivon peeked around from behind Ruin to see a gorgeous woman stepping slowly from the forest.
The woman had the lightest of blonde hair, so light it was almost white like Atrivon’s. Her eyes were white and lacking irises or pupils, but she seemed to be able to see perfectly well.
Ruin noticed this at the same time Atrivon did and he knelt into a bow, his eyes still staring the woman down.
— — —
“In the sacred passages of the Book of Gods, the radiant Goddess Celenia graces the Heavens with her ethereal presence—pearly locks cascading like celestial rivers, eyes bereft of iris or pupil. Her beauty, a symphony woven from the stars, veils a gentle spirit, a serene countenance that calms storms and kindles hope in even the darkest of hearts.”
-The Tale of the Winged Child; Arcanium Obscurus, Myth Archives.
— — —
‘Goddess Celenia,’ Ruin said, dipping his head to respect the Goddess that was walking from the forest.
Atrivon remained standing, but he opened his wings almost instinctively. Almost as if to show himself to the Goddess before him. He dipped his head as well, but did not kneel.
“Angel,” Celenia said, sounding almost surprised.
Her voice was beautiful, soft and charming. Atrivon took a few steps toward her, allowing his wings to fold back and rest against his back again.
“Who are you?” Atrivon asked, feeling a soft sense of familiarity about Celenia.
The Goddess watched him almost calculatingly for a moment before she answered, “I am the Goddess Celenia, the Godmother of the Urielian Tribe.”
‘She’s your mother, Atrivon,’ Ruin said, moving to stand next to him, his form towering both over Celenia and the angel. ‘Where are you calling me here?’ Ruin asked, turning his attention to Celenia.
She nodded, keeping her gaze on Atrivon. Atrivon stared back, his body feeling weak.
“My mother?” He asked quietly.
Celenia nodded once more, “I am she.”
— — —
“In the annals of Urielian lore, Atrivon emerges as the celestial scion, born of the luminous Goddess Celenia—a beacon of divine lineage, his ethereal wings adorned with the grace of his mother, weaving tales of valor and celestial legacy amidst the realms of mortals.”
-The Book of the Gods; Arcanium Obscurus, Myth Archives.
— — —
“You’re my mother?” Atrivon asked, following closely behind as The Goddess Celenia gracefully dodged trees and undergrowth.
Celenia urged him to follow, not answering the questions he’d been asking for almost a minute now as she led him through the forest.
“You never came to help me escape?” Atrivon said, using his wings to propel himself over a large uprooted branch.
Ruin followed silently behind them both, catching Atrivon whenever he stumbled on the growth under them.
“Come,” Celenia beckoned, taking a sharp left turn past a thick tree.
Atrivon almost missed the turn, but Ruin nudged him in the right direction. “B- Ugh. . .” Atrivon tripped over a small root. “But where have you been this whole time?”
Celenia suddenly walked out of the tree line and onto a bluff that dropped down steeply into a valley. Instead of stopping or turning again, she simply walked out over the edge.
But she didn’t fall.
She flew.
The Goddess Celenia turned to face the two as she floated beautifully beyond the cliff face, her feet standing on an invisible surface that held her up steadily.
Ruin and Atrivon both stopped and stared at her.
‘I believe this is the part where I stop following and watch from afar,’ Ruin said, nuzzling the back of Atrivon’s shoulder with the snout of his skull.
Atrivon turned to face Ruin, “Are you sure?”
‘I don’t have wings like you, my Angel,’ Ruin says, nudging Atrivon slightly away. ‘I will wait here for your return.’
Atrivon’s breath became shaky and he nodded. Turning toward the cliff, Atrivon unfurls his wings, and follows his mother into the sky.
— — —
“You never came to help me,” Atrivon said, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
Celenia nodded, allowing Atrivon to confess all the pain and hurt he’d felt during his 20 some years of being hidden away in a shed.
“You just watched from above? Like nothing was happening?” He asked, he felt like his body was vibrating with rage.
Celenia looked to her right, watching as the God of War, Warren, floated towards them, his celestial body matching Atrivon’s in every way despite their skin tones differing greatly and Warren not having wings.
“You would’ve just let me die?” Atrivon asked, his voice breaking slightly.
“You wouldn’t have died, calm yourself Angel,” Warren said, his blank white eyes staring into Atrivon’s.
“Calm yourself. . .” Atrivon mocked. “How can I calm myself when I’ve found out that my mother just let me rot in a shed for 20 years?” Atrivon asked, watching as neither of the gods thought of an answer. “I would have died, and nobody would have cared.”
“You would not have died, Atrivon. Fate watched over you, and she made sure you would stay alive long enough for Wolven to send Lupo a divine message.” Warren said, pulling Celenia closer to himself to comfort her.
Atrivon struggled to come up with a response to this, they had cared. He was still upset that they hadn’t come for him however. “So you watched from the sidelines, you cared but did nothing? While I was tortured in a place where I never got to see the sun?”
Celenia let out a small sob, reaching out for Atrivon’s face.
He did not reject her touch, instead leaned into it, finding small comfort in a mother showing him even an ounce of care.
“We did try to take you back, but the Lost God Ariel rejected our presence in his tribe,” Celenia admitted, her cold hands moving to touch Atrivon’s hair which was almost glowing with anger. “He had said that there was no Angel within his tribe, and that neither of the tribes had one for their aide.”
Atrivon grimaced at this and shrunk away from her touch, “An Angel for their aide?” He asked, watching as a disgusted look crossed Warren's face.
“The Urielian Tribe and the Arielian Tribe believe in different gods, even though they are all real, they choose to believe in separate ones,” Warren explained. “The reason the Arielian Tribe has no angel is because they do not believe in Celenia.”
“But they stole me?” Atrivon asked, moving his hands to rest on his hips. His wings were beginning to ache from flying so long.
“We’re thinking they were unaware that you were an angel and thought you were just a harpy or some type of mutant,” Celenia elaborated. “I was there when your halo showed itself, it was not there when you were in the Arielian Tribe.”
Slowly, Atrivon began to lose altitude as he thought about the whole ordeal. He only noticed it when he began to fall and Warren had tried to catch him. His wings had given out, and he began to plummet toward the ground.
“Atrivon!” Warren and Celenia exclaimed, both beginning to kneel on the invisible floor that only they could make contact with. He closed his eyes tightly, expecting the spine-shattering crash onto earth.
Suddenly, instead of tumbling downward, Atrivon was hurdling sideward, and then the immediate absence of movement. He slowly opened his eyes to see a dark rib cage, and the feel of long arms wrapped tightly around him. They’d landed on the opposite cliff. Looking up, he saw Ruin staring down at him, his bright yellow eyes digging deep into Atrivon’s blues.
They were silent for a moment, and Atrivon’s jaw clenched.
‘Are you okay?’ Ruin asked, breaking the silence. He was still holding Atrivon tightly against his chest.
Atrivon blinked, pulling himself out of his own mind. He pulled Ruin’s head lower and moved to stand on his toes. He planted a kiss against the top of his head between his eyes.
Ruin was silent for a moment, slowly standing back to his full height, his lower jaw hanging open.
“I think I’m okay, just a bit shaken,” Atrivon replied, trying to gently push away from Ruin.
‘Good,’ Ruin didn’t let Atrivon move very far away before he pulled him closer once more, nuzzling his skull into the crook of Atrivon’s neck as they’d both grown accustomed to. ‘I was worried you’d be killed.’
“You were?”
‘Yes.’
Atrivon was silent and moved back once more, looking over Ruin’s shoulder at the gods that were slowly making their way to the cliff they’d landed on.
— — —
“Atrivon, are you alright, my son?” Celenia asked, reaching up to touch Atrivon’s face.
Before she could reach him however, Ruin grabbed her wrist.
Warren did not move to intervene, instead he leaned lazily against a nearby tree to watch.
“What are you doing, Lupo, unhand me,” Celenia said, pulling her arm away from Ruin.
The yellow of Ruin’s eyes had extinguished, leaving him with black sockets. ‘You did not try to save him,’ Ruin’s voice was but a whisper, and it was deeper than usual, a growl lingered in his throat.
“Whatever do you mean?” Celenia asked, glaring at Ruin with her white eyes, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear.
Ruin’s arms rose to grab onto Celenia’s shoulders. He pushed her back and pinned her to a tree. ‘You did nothing to save Atrivon.’
“You are mistaken. . .” Celenia replied, grimacing as Ruin’s mouth began to open, his sharp teeth coated with thick black saliva.
‘You have no reason to expect him to accept you. You did nothing,’ Ruin’s long tongue slithered its way out of his mouth, moving to attempt to snake its way toward Celenia’s face.
“Lupus,” Celenia said, almost panicked. Her voice was a higher pitch than normal, the dreamy tonnage now gone. “Unhand me, demon.”
‘I am not Lupus. . .’ Ruin’s voice trailed off when Atrivon grabbed his arm, pulling it off Celenia. He hesitated, his tongue freezing in place.
“That’s enough Ruin. She doesn’t deserve it,” Atrivon said, pulling Ruin away from Celenia.
Ruin’s tongue moved back into his mouth which stayed open. His sockets remained empty. ‘She would have let you fall.’
“But you wouldn’t have,” Atrivon said, pulling Ruin to his knees and hugging him. This pulled Ruin’s head over his shoulder. “Close your mouth, your saliva is sticky and I don’t want it on my wings.”
Ruin obliged, closing his mouth.
“What was that?” Atrivon asked after a moment. He had pulled away from Ruin, who’s eyes had begun to glow again.
“Ruin was consumed,” Warren said, finally pushing off of the tree to join the three.
Atrivon raised an eyebrow in question and Ruin gazed at Warren curiously.
“By what?” Atrivon asked.
‘Rage,’ Ruin said simply.
“What does that mean?” Atrivon asked, glancing at Ruin.
Warren smirked, looking at Ruin. “I don’t exactly know, because I’ve never seen it before,” He looked to be searching Ruin’s eyes for something. “What was that, Lupo?”
Ruin was silent for a moment before he answered, ‘I don’t remember.’
“His rage made him go savage,” Celenia said, the crude description sounding harsh from her mouth.
Ruin didn’t respond, remaining silent.
“Your rage was so mighty that you turned to Lupus for a moment?” Warren asked.
‘I think I was just blinded with anger,’ Ruin said flatly.
Before anyone else could speak, a whisper startled all of them.
— — —
“Celenia?” The Chief of the Urielian Tribe called out, though it seemed he couldn’t see any of the four. “My Goddess, are you here?”
“Warren, lower the window,” Celenia said, pushing Ruin aside to step toward the Chief.
“But you’re my wife, not his,” Warren argued, crossing his arms.
Celenia glared at him and had Warren had irises, he would’ve rolled them. He lowered the window, and stepped deeper into the forest.
Ruin quickly hopped up into the leaves of the trees, not wanting the Chief to see him.
“Celenia,” The Chief said, bowing deeply as he saw her. When he looked up, however, he noticed Atrivon.
The Chief was shorter than Atrivon, and his strong build was smaller. All the same, he was a threatening sight to see.
Instead of looking worried, the Chief stood and walked closer to Atrivon. He stopped a few steps away from him and glanced back at Celenia.
Celenia smiled beautifully at him, and nodded.
“My son. . .” The Chief said, looking back up at Atrivon with a look of relief in his eyes. “You’ve come home.”
Atrivon felt his chest grow heavy as he realised he was staring into the face of his father.
A dark skinned man with the lightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. His eyes matched Atrivon’s own, and this made them both feel heavy with the weight of words they never thought they’d say.
“Father,” Atrivon mumbled, pulling the chief into a tight hug.
“You’re so much older than when I last saw you. I so wish I could have seen you grow. . .” The chief said, his voice breaking.
“You are nothing like they said you were,” Atrivon said, his wings feeling limp. “Ghana said you were a thousand times more violent and rash than Jugar was.”
Atrivon felt a burning on the left side of his chest. Pulling away from the chief, he looked down to watch a black mark etch its way from his left pectoral, up his left shoulder, and down his arm.
The mark of his tribe.
The three were silent as they revelled in each other's presence. Atrivon hugged his father once more, and his mother moved to join them.
“Welcome home, son,” the chief said, accepting Atrivon into the tribe with a smile.
— — —
“In the end of The Tale of the Winged Child, it is said that the Angel lived to serve happily in the Urielian Tribe. A footnote in The Book of Monsters states that a certain Lupo obtained eternal life and lived out his days with an Angel. Celenia’s page in the Book of the Gods ends with ‘the return of her son.’ And The Dawn of the Archangel ends with a heavily debated quote from the God of Discord, Ethos.”
-A Brief History of Anglican Gracious; Arcanium Obscurus, Myth Archives
“I was under the impression that that twerp would die in the Arielian Tribe.
That’s what I would have done anyway.”
-The God of Discord, Ethos.
- The Dawn of the Archangel -
