They Betrayed You

The wind whipped past Zenith's ears, drowning out everything else. The thoughts whirling in his head. The Levia churning within his core. And a distant voice screaming his name, raw with a hurt he had never heard from it before.

Zenith clenched his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the howling wind.

As they drew near the towering window, Cyrias flapped all six wings in concert. The sound thrummed through the air like a muffled drumbeat, bringing with it a rush of golden Levia, and they soared several dozen meters higher. The same Levia swelled inside the window, so bright Zenith had to look away.

That didn't stop the Levia from flooding his body, of course. He had felt this golden Levia before, but always dim and distant, at a remove. Never had it been this intense, like the full force of the sun at high noon. 

As it poured through his core, Zenith couldn't help but remember when Oliver Enson had tried to overwhelm him. But his Levia was a mere gasp compared to Cyrias', and everything about the circumstances was different. 

After all, Zenith had chosen this. 

Indeed, when the light finally dimmed, everything was the same. He still had his mind, his sense of self. All that differed was the lack of a soft dawn glow at the edge of his own stark light.

Regret might have fluttered in some distant part of his being, but it was easy to ignore. Not when Cyrias' Levia amplified his own so perfectly.

With another flap of his wings, Cyrias propelled them through the now-open window. Once inside, he folded his wings and drifted to a graceful landing.

As Zenith's feet touched the floor, the weightless sensation of flight vanished. He almost missed it, but he shoved aside the childish desire and focused on his new surroundings. 

It was a cavernous space floored in gleaming marble. Encircled by curving windows, Zenith felt less like he was aboard a craft and more like he was floating in the middle of the sky. Almost as if he had entered a wizard's arena.

Furthering the impression were the faint golden designs shimmering in the white marble. Lines, circles, arcane symbols. Diagrams, he realized with a thrill.

Unbidden, an image tumbled into his mind. His liege on her knees atop a sapphire-blue diagram, face creased in concentration. And then how he'd seen her last, the shock and fury strangling her voice.

'Are you seriously going to believe this seraphim you met five minutes ago over me? And you call yourself a knight? Come back this instant!'

Zenith clenched his teeth, fighting back an unpleasant jolt in his core. Prince Darian – no longer his liege, he reminded himself – had no right to decide what qualified him as a knight. Not when she had already proven herself unworthy. 

Yet as he pushed aside his memories of her, a new voice came climbing out. 'Zenith, please! You don't know what you're – '

Zenith ground his back teeth harder, curling his hands into fists so tight his armor began to creak. He did know. Theo was the one who didn't understand, who never had understood. As he had made clear just that morning, mocking and insulting the very idea of duty.

It wasn't even the first time he had done so, yet Zenith had always let it slide because – why? Some misplaced personal fondness for Theo? That only proved Theo right, didn't it? 

Well, no more. He would never let anything stand in the way of his duty again.

"So." Cyrias' warm voice bloomed in the air, startling Zenith. He snapped his head up, blinking when he saw the seraphim standing a few yards in front of him. Somehow, he hadn't noticed Cyrias had let go of him, perhaps because his power still tingled on Zenith's palm like static electricity.

Cyrias tilted his head, regarding Zenith with a smile. Zenith wished he could say he found that smile familiar, that it sparked even the faintest memory – but in truth, there was nothing.

Well, it didn't matter. Not as long as his Levia pulsed through the air, filtering into Zenith's core with every breath he took.

"So?" Cyrias said again. "What do you think?"

"I...," Zenith began, though he had no idea what Cyrias was asking about. The decision he had made? Or his new surroundings? "It's an impressive craft. I have never seen one like it before."

When Cyrias laughed, Zenith's stomach sank. But the smile on his creator's face didn't hold a hint of mocking. "You think so? I'm glad. But this isn't anything so droll as a craft. I like to consider it my traveling workshop."

"I see," Zenith said, though this illuminated very little. "Does it have a name?"

Why was he engaging in such a mundane conversation? But again, Cyrias didn't seem bothered. "Come to think of it, no. Funny, isn't it? I've had this base for so long you'd think I'd have come up with something by now, but it's never really crossed my mind."

Stretching his arms, he began ambling away. His wings swayed with every step, mirroring his graceful motions in a way that gave Zenith the faintest, most curious sense of envy. 

Annoyed with himself, Zenith shook his head to clear it. He had far more important matters to occupy his mind. Taking a deep breath, he sank to one knee with a clatter of armor that echoed across the chamber.

Hand pressed to his chest, he lowered his head. "Wait, please," he said. "Before anything else, I must swear my loyalty to you."

Yes, this was what he needed. If he remained a masterless knight for too long, doubt and regret might have a chance to create cracks in his resolve. But if Cyrias infused him with his full power, all lingering attachments would vanish and he would know he had made the correct choice.

"Hm?" A shadow fell over him, along with a drift of warm golden Levia. Still, Zenith did not look up. "What's this about?"

Zenith had not exactly anticipated this reaction. Swallowing, he said to the floor, "I...am a knight. A knight must serve a worthy liege. So please, allow me to – "

An airy laugh chimed like a bell, cutting off his words. Unable to stop himself, he snapped his head up. Cyrias was smiling, warm and indulgent, but Zenith's confusion only grew when he started clapping. The applause echoed across the chamber, each peal making Zenith's chest knot tighter.

"An admirable spirit. That's my first knight indeed. Unfortunately, I can't accept your loyalty."

"What?" Zenith burst out before he could stop himself. Still. If that was the case, had he done this all for nothing?

"Now, now, don't make that face," Cyrias said. "I'm only saying that I can't be your liege. I'm hardly royalty of any sort, just a wandering tinkerer."

"But you are still a seraphim," Zenith insisted.

"That I may be," Cyrias said, idly flicking a lock of hair. "Still, there are levels among us. I may not be liege material, but I know someone who is. As a matter of fact, I was going to introduce you."

Another seraphim? Zenith had never expected to see even one seraphim in the course of his lifetime, and now he was about to meet a second one?

His wonder must have shown on his face, because Cyrias laughed again. "That's right. So let's go, shall we?"

Before he could stop himself, Zenith nodded. His eyes sparkling, Cyrias sank to a crouch in front of him and reached out a hand. Zenith froze, barely daring to breathe, as the seraphim stroked a gentle arc down his cheek.

His touch was light and playful, yet thrummed with Levia. Against his will, Zenith remembered another hand on his face – so much smaller, but clinging to him like it never wanted to let go. 

It took all of his willpower not to flinch away, but Cyrias must have noticed anyway. His hand retreated, and he regarded Zenith with a pensive look. "Something the matter?" 

"N-nothing," Zenith forced out. "I merely wish to meet my new liege."

"Someone's eager, hm?" Though calm as ever, Cyrias' tone held a strange undercurrent Zenith couldn't quite read.

Not that it mattered. Nodding again, he said, "Yes. Please. No matter what, I have already betrayed one liege and crew. I don't...want to remain a traitor any longer."

The confession burned as it came out, but he saw no other choice than perfect honesty. Not when Cyrias had already seen through every last defense of his.

The next thing he knew, that gentle touch brushed his cheek again. He froze, but Cyrias didn't stop stroking, his fingers even curving to cup Zenith's chin. When he tilted Zenith's face up, Zenith had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Oh, Sir Zenith. Remember this: you didn't betray them. They betrayed you."

Yes. That was the truth. Zenith let the words settle inside his soul, wishing they didn't taste so bitter.

"But I see your point. No time to waste, hm?" The hand patted his cheek, once, twice, before sliding down and wrapping around his wrist. Zenith let Cyrias take his hand, then help him to his feet. His creator's touch, so warm and intimate, brought a tender ache to his chest. Yet why couldn't he stop remembering how Theo's hand felt in his instead?

He bit his lip, hating himself for his weakness. All of this would end, he resolved to himself, once he swore his service to a new liege.

It had to.