Visions of War

Seraphine slept beneath the golden veils of Asphodel's Sanctuary of Light. The sacred chamber was meant for the wounded—but few ever lay there as long as she had. Her body, though powerful, refused to mend quickly. The damage Lioren inflicted had burrowed too deeply into her spirit.

She did not speak when visited.

She barely moved.

But her eyes burned open in the dark, staring at the high ceiling, haunted by a face she could not forget.

In another wing of Asphodel, Leya stood beside a large obsidian pool. Its surface was still, glassy. The Chamber of Reflection was old magic—older than most of the angels who still drew breath.

Nathaniel, tall and silent in his silver armor, knelt at its edge. His wings were folded tight behind him, his sword resting at his side.

"I am not one for visions," he said, voice steady. "I prefer certainty. Strategy. Discipline."

Leya stepped beside him. Her green-feathered wings folded behind her like silk, her gaze distant.

"Even certainty can blind you," she murmured. "And you're about to walk into the unknown."

He looked at her then, eyes sharp.

"You think I will fail?"

"No," she whispered, eyes locked on the still water. "I think you will win."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

"But the cost will be too high."

She stepped forward, her hand gliding just above the pool's surface. Runes shimmered into life beneath the water, glowing green like forest fire.

"I cannot show you every moment," she continued. "Only a glimpse. A single thread among thousands."

Nathaniel nodded once. "Then show me."

Leya's fingers touched the water.

A ripple. A shimmer. The light around them darkened as the vision began.

Nathaniel's breath caught.

He saw himself—wings spread wide, sword glowing, the angels behind him a shining army. Fire and death reigned below as Kur'thaal's ground buckled beneath the weight of war.

And before him—

Lioren.

Golden-haired. Bare-chested. His runes flaring like starlight.

Nathaniel struck. Their swords met.

And then—

Everything exploded.

Light.

Screams.

Ash.

Falling wings.

Nathaniel stood alone. Victorious.

But Asphodel burned.

The image shattered. The chamber returned to silence.

Leya's hand dropped away from the pool.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Nathaniel's voice was low. "What was that?"

"A future," she said quietly. "Not the future. But one that will come to pass… if nothing changes."

He stared at the water, his jaw tight. "What would you have me do? Stand aside? Let him become a god?"

Leya did not answer.

Because the truth was—she didn't know.

Queen Rishe waited for them in the Hall of Radiance. Clad in white and silver, her violet eyes as still as obsidian, she listened as Leya relayed the vision.

When it was done, the Queen rose.

"Prepare the soldiers."

Leya stepped forward. "My Queen—"

"I heard the vision."

"She said—"

"I heard her," Rishe repeated. "And I choose to act regardless."

Nathaniel stepped into the hall, Rafael at his side.

The younger angel smiled lazily, his turquoise wings flickering with erratic light. "Oh good. You haven't changed your mind."

Rishe studied the two of them.

Nathaniel was silence forged into flesh. Steady. Focused.

Rafael was unpredictability incarnate. Chaotic power hidden behind a child's smile.

"Take only those who are prepared to die," she said.

Nathaniel bowed his head. "Yes, my Queen."

"And Nathaniel?"

He looked up.

"Do not hesitate."

The gates of Asphodel cracked open with a sound like splitting crystal. Light poured into the dark as the veil between realms trembled, and the angels stood in formation beneath the arch.

The wind from Kur'thaal rushed in like a breath from a dying god.

The air turned heavier. Denser.

Rafael stretched his neck lazily. "Ugh. I forgot how terrible it smells over there."

Nathaniel did not answer. He stepped to the front of the formation.

The soldiers behind him—twenty in all—clutched their weapons tighter.

He gave no speech. No orders. He only drew his sword, which pulsed with divine light, and stepped through the portal.

Rafael followed a moment later, his smile fading.

And behind them, the soldiers crossed—

Leaving the last shred of heavenly safety behind.

Asphodel's vengeance had begun.