We are all born of darkness.
Each of us carries a cardinal sin buried deep within our souls.
[Nicholas lifted his blade. Or maybe it was Nicholas. Even he could no longer tell.]
Seven. A sacred number. Seven chances to glimpse the future. Seven strokes of luck. Seven blessings. Seven sins.
And perhaps the greatest sin of all is the belief that one can rise above sin itself.
His sword moved like a stream, fluid, instinctive, precise. I barely deflected it, the air singing with its passage.
I leapt back as his blade brushed past my neck, landing hard against the surface of the water.
It cracked beneath us, shards suspended like frozen lightning.
He came again, arcing downward in a deadly, elegant curve. I ducked and spun, dragging my sword upward to sever his arm.
He bent back with unnatural ease and kicked me in the chest.
I rolled, breath caught in my throat, evading blow after blow until, finally, a pause.
He ran toward me. I stood tall and met him, every motion synchronized as if we were shadows cast from the same body.
[Nicholas would come to understand his role, not as a hero, not as a king, but as a fool.]
We danced across the fractured ocean, slipping like fish in air. Not for victory, but for understanding.
Our swords clashed, parried, struck, missed.
Each impact echoed with the weight of eternity, every strike a question, every miss an answer we could not name.
I began to laugh.
And he began to cry.
It was absurd. Profound. Truth.
[Nicholas was crying.]
The tears blurred the world, mine or his, perhaps they were shared.
As we fought, the ocean fractured beneath our feet, a mirror reflecting the fracture in our souls. I swung like a man who knew he would lose, desperate, wild, foolish.
And that was what made me smile. Or was it grief?
[Nicholas began to laugh.]
I swung until the blood on my blade dried, until my sword lodged deep in his chest. He did not scream. He only smiled.
"You are consumed," he said, quiet, almost kind. "And yet we are the same. What a disgusting tale."
Then, pulled from the marrow of my soul, the name burst from my lips. A cry. A truth. A command.
"Sotergramma."
The sea collapsed beneath me. Two hands gripped me and dragged me back.
[Nicholas had claimed a hollow victory. Though cursed with blood, he gained the power of the realms above. From that moment forward, he stood among those who touched the Cradle of Swords.]
Reddish-silver hair streaked past my vision as I was pulled into her lap. Mirabel.
Relief softened her features. "Nick, you were drowning."
I blinked, dazed, soaked and shivering. The sword hummed in my hands, wrapped in white cloth. I chuckled faintly.
"I see. Mirabel, it seems we really do have a problem on our hands."
Her head tilted, puzzled. I smiled. "Trust me, my love. The future really does seem dark."
She helped me to my feet, her gaze flickering to the glowing altar behind us.
"Come now. Let's get out of here."
Slipping her fingers around my arm, she led me through the castle's winding halls, guiding me with a quiet strength. Finally, we reached a spare bathroom.
She helped dry me off, scolding me for weakness, for recklessness, her words sharp and loud, but I barely registered them.
My mind drifted. The walls seemed to close in, the air pressing on my skin.
Then the pressure came, a sudden weight behind my eyes, the floor tilting. Her voice faded, swallowed by darkness curling like smoke around my vision.
Then nothing.
No color. No sound. No pain. Just the void, a suffocating stillness pressing against my chest and bleeding through my limbs. A silence only death could rival.
And yet, through that nothingness, came a light. Annoyingly bright. Annoyingly gold.
Of course. Them.
Mirabel did not yet understand my hatred for the Golden Authority. I had told her only what was necessary to convince her of my war.
Malachi should have arrived by now. But thanks to my many shortcomings, I remained a sick man, riddled with curses I could not yet name.
"My king, can you hear my voice?" A man's voice echoed through the golden light.
My eyes opened.
A deeply unpleasant sight met me.
Lush brown hair, bronze eyes, pale skin, a pristine doctor's coat. Gabriel. The Golden Authority's prized physician.
"Ah, there you are, my king. Back in the land of the living."
His smile carried joy, relief, and something vile lurking beneath. It made me want to scream.
In theory, he was not a bad person. He had helped me escape the Golden Authority. But I had always hated his smile.
I sat up slowly, blinking. The silver-haired maid stood nearby, watching me with a mixture of pity and irritation.
I had been changed into something else. Clothes replaced. Head throbbing. A curse. Divine punishment for claiming this sword.
[Nicholas had blood so deeply etched into his soul that the world itself seemed to reject him. Heaven's law is balance: what ascends must fall, what is chosen must suffer. He was now a contradiction given flesh.]
I ran a hand through my hair. "Damn this stupid…"
I groaned, glancing at Gabriel. "Say… are you an angel sent from the sky?"
His eyes twitched. The smile stayed, but something cracked beneath it.
"Well, I suppose one could call me an angel, though truly, I am more of a demon."
The silver-haired maid gave a sideways glance but remained silent.
[Nicholas was a reject. Given the chance to thrive, he would destroy. An anomaly against the eternal order, proof that not even Heaven's design was perfect.]
"No, I mean it literally, Gabriel. I take you as one of the golden angels. Is it true?"
He stepped back, caught off guard. "W-well, of course… I am merely a doctor."
The maid smiled faintly.
"Nah. My eyes… they see through illusions, lies, and irregularities. This world has many."
Gabriel sighed, shimmering as the tone of his skin shifted darker, peeling back the glamour.
"Truly, I am amazed at such a guess. Tell me… how much do you really know?"
The silver-haired maid stepped forward, gently taking my arm. Pale, sharp eyes mirrored my own.
"Little brother, I must ask. Letting him live… is it wise?"
[Nicholas was a bad person, forgetting the name of his cherished sister and revealing such a secret so easily. Almost as if he were someone else, someone Heaven itself refused to claim.]
Gabriel chuckled. "No, it is quite alright. Upon my death, I shall return to the pearly gates. But you…"
Wings unfurled from his back, brown as a hawk's. He gave a grand bow.
"I have been meaning to tell you. That illness of yours… it is quite dark."
A pillar of golden light enveloped him. His form vanished, carried off in radiance.
He left like that, out of sheer spite. Not that I needed his help anymore.
[There are many beings sent down by the deities above, each a fragment of Heaven's will, all fighting for dominion over this fractured plane. Angels, saints, aberrations, all soldiers in wars mortals cannot name.]
Heaven is so much grander than this plane that even reaching it requires them to abandon a large majority of themselves.
Effectively making Heaven's soldiers less true.
Gabriel was one of their soldiers. The silver-haired girl… my sister… she was a soldier too.
I turned to her with a smile. "I am sorry, sister. Could you tell me your name once more?"
She let go of my arm, sighing with disappointment and acceptance.
"You know… remembering my name might prevent my eventual betrayal."
She turned and walked away.
And I, finally, felt a flicker of guilt.
In truth, when escaping the Golden Authority, I had remembered her name. It was the only reason she helped me.
[Nicholas was… evil like that, using his siblings as pawns. Perhaps that, too, was Heaven's design: to create a man so flawed that even love became a weapon.]