The sky bore the hue of a bruise a dusk tinted by the smoke of a world unwilling to cease its burning. Cassiathon Abysswalker stood at the brink of the Broken Shelf gazing upon the ruins of a city whose name had lost all significance. The atmosphere carried the flavor of ash and ozone.
"It's time to step inside Cass."
The tone was comforting sharply opposing the bleakness around. Tania Pendragon remained in the entrance of their refuge a stronghold of shadowy rock and ancient sorcery hewn into the mountain itself. Her hair, hued like winter wheat was pulled back yet tendrils slipped free outlining a visage marked by furrows of concern and steadfast affection.
"I can still detect the scent of the flames " Cassiathon remarked, without looking back. His hands, encased in leather gloves held tightly to the coarse stone battlement. "Despite all this time."
"Ghost flames cause ghost aches " Tania responded, stepping up to his side. She refrained from touching him understanding his temper. "Obsessing over spirits won't nourish us. Your father will return shortly. He'll expect you to have rehearsed."
Cassiathon's jaw clenched. Father. The designation remained strange despite ten years passing. He recalled the originals—the researchers with anxious gazes, within the clinical corridors of Project Phoenix. He recalled the shrieking machinery, the flare of energy their features melting into radiance and quiet.. Then the emptiness.. Then… Him.
An abrupt intense coldness enveloped the shelf not from air. From spirit. The shadows in the yard, beneath thickened merging together. Out of them a form appeared. Towering unnaturally tall, clad in garments that looked crafted from lost darkness. His visage was severe striking in the manner of a marble sculpture—detached and frigid. In one bony hand he clutched a aged scythe. Nestled, in the bend of his arm he held a tiny whimpering mass of darkness that took shape as a fading shadow-cat its being tenderly supported.
The Messenger of Death had come back.
Tania gave a challenging grin. "You're ahead of schedule."
"The harvesting, in the plague was… effective " the Angel remarked, his tone a gentle murmur resembling far-off shifting tectonic plates. His jet-black eyes moved toward Cassiathon. "You appear restless."
"I'm restless " Cassiathon grumbled.
"Control is the difference between a function and a catastrophe." The Angel handed the fading shadow-cat's essence to Tania, who accepted it with a gentle touch, her mortal hands glowing with a soft, stabilizing light. The creature sighed and dissolved into peaceful motes. "The courtyard. Now."