Hope is for the Weak

It had been silent for a while. Thoughts were racing, and Aurelia was a little unsure what was happening. Zariel had always refused to talk about his Mother. Aside from his drunken state during certain times of the year, where he would vanish for a month or weeks. Aurelia had been lost on how to broach the issue.

"Zariel," Aurelia said, her voice soft and gentle. "What do we do next."

A surge of darkness flickered in Zariels silver gaze as he turned to look at Aurelia, then the white lotus, hovering over the lake's surface. He took a deep breath, and determination swelled, and for a moment, even Aurelia could see a glimmer of hope shimmer.

Could she still be alive, he thought to himself, building up the idea. He'd heard of the stories of the Knights of Twilight. Living monsters, nomads who would walk the Exalted Wheel not to gain power or conqueror. Some called them heroes, others demons. It didn't really matter, as the Knights of Twilight were entities that no kingdom dared to challenge. Zariel released a smile, one rare but one that prickled Aurelia's, tiny heart.

Approaching the Lotus, with newfound hope, Zariel snatched Aurelia's small hands and swung her to face him with the White Lotus sandwich between the two of them.

Aurelia stared, with unmasked idle wonder, awaiting an explanation, but the young master did not meet her gaze.

Wrapped in the glow of the Astral Lotus, a silver wisp of Astral Qi spiraled over the delicate petals that seemed to hum with a lush song. The light attracted the Fallens eye for a moment but not more than the shimmer of something Aurelia didn't like within her Master.

Zariel had always warned her about the allure of hope. It was a false sense of comfort, the lie we tell ourselves when we are powerless to do anything. Her gaze hardened, and her mouth opened, closed, then open again.

"Stop it," Aurelia demanded, gathering the courage of an immortal god. "She is dead. You know better than I that hope is a falsehood that we do not strive for. That is why you are training me. To strive for greatness, an not hope for it." Her gaze chilled till a slit of hellish darkness sprung, devouring the golds in her eyes." Only the weak hope. Is that not your own words? The lesson you instilled into me."

The Silver Devils' expression dimmed, and images not of the world he lost, nor the mother that was stolen before his eyes, but the torment that tore at his bones, the rattles of his screams that made his stomach burn. He growled, tasting the coppery taste of iron in his mouth, carrying hints of brimstone.

Lifting his eye to meet Aurelia's cold, sinister ones, surprise did not cling to his heart or mind. He'd felt that devils touch upon her soul long ago, and now he was facing it.

A small thin smile of defeat reflected over his piercing features. The Lord did not need to ponder Aurelia's words to know she was correct. It was his own words, and even to this day, he believed in them.

"Indeed. Hope is for the weak." Zariel said. He closed his eyes, and as if some strange force had crowned him, anointed him, his serene eyes opened, carrying something that seemed dark, something that simply couldn't be formed in nature. It had to have been created, molded. A viciousness of depravity, of pure evil, seemed to sink deep into his tarnished soul. And at that moment, something clicked.

The Weave had called, and Zariel answered with Darkness. With Chaos.

—

Far beyond The Edge of Heavens End, that bordered each of the layers of the 33 Heavens, past the Myriad Gods that governed certain truths of Gods and Demons, to a realm whose existence seemed to span throughout creation, mirroring in each pantheon.

Lucifer Morningstar opened his eyes, and fear coiled, spreading like wildfire, dancing down his spine. His fist clenched, and his devilishly handsome features seemed to dim—something that had not happened since his fall, since the day of his defeat.

"Something has changed." He said, peering towards his brother, Mephisto, at the edge of the scarlet settee. Who, too, had felt a change in the air.

He arose, standing as tall as his elder brother, his lazy eye turning sharp and grim. " Zariel Snow," he knowingly said, and the implication sent shivers through the air. "They will be coming."

"You think the Angels will involve themselves. Aurelia is there. They must abide by Father's imperial rule." The Devil said, his hands poised behind his back to mask the fist he held.

"Gabrial," Mephisto reminded, and silence fell.

"That damn trickster is like you. Father will allow his involvement—"

"The only reason you cannot be involved is that Aurelia is on trial. Her very existence is already being called into question by Michael." Mephisto said. he stroked his chin and smiled. "You think they will kill the boy? The Weave is not something a mortal can have."

"It's not something even the Gods should have." Lucifer rebutted, studying the dangerous glint of curiosity in Mephisto." Or study."

"Well, they will all be heading to the Fourth Layer of the thirty-three heavens soon." The Trickster Fallen remarked. He laughed and narrowed his dangerously scarlet eyes that glowed. "I may need backup."

Lucifer frowned, "Like I could trust you, but my hands are tied; take Azazel and Lilith. Those two aren't doing shit."

"Isn't Lilith the mother? Is she even—"

Lucifer's lips curled up," Who told you she was the mother?"

Mephisto's smile deepened, and his laughter grew, " Good. Quite good, brother. It seems I got some investigating to do." He said and dissipated into nodes of darkness, leaving the Lord of Hell by himself.

He smiled. "I wonder how far that boy will get. Who would have thought that such a thing was possible? The Weave has divided itself into Order and Chaos—Yin and Yang, Good and Evil. Father, I don't know what your plan is, but it won't succeed. My little girl won't let it."

"Then shall we make a deal, Little Luci? My Little Dawnbreaker."

Lucifer stiffened.