"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
Mihel grabbed Riche's arm and hauled him to his feet, brushing dirt from his own cloak.
"I got a letter from Cilluh Mentor," Mihel said. "He says he'll recommend me to the military. Top student privileges,apparently."
Riche nodded. "Yeah. Same here." He tilted his head. "So…..what are you thinking?"
Mihel walked a few steps before answering.
"For me, the Exousia makes the most sense. I'm not dependent on a Church for advancement." He hesitated. "But….. I don't want us to be separated."
The forest breathed around them as they began the walk back toward the village, leaves whispering under a passing breeze.
"Figures," Riche muttered. "And you think I should join the Holy Order?"
He scoffed. "The moment they find out I'm a Destined Angel, I'll be consumed. I don't want chains disguised as wings."
Mihel nodded slowly.
"Then we don't let them own us. We could go independent. Study how people truly advance and try to recreate it ourselves."
Riche shook his head. "No….Not yet. We're not strong enough."
He stopped walking and looked at Mihel. "Here's what I'm thinking. We join the military first. Get stronger. Learn. When we're powerful enough, we leave and walk our own path."
Mihel closed his eyes.
He imagined his parents' faces when he told them. His father's calm mask would hold, but Mihel knew the truth beneath it.
They were Healers. They loathed the hands that caused death, no matter the reason.
'I have to grow stronger,' he thought. 'And because of what I am, no Church will ever be perfect for me. The Exousia is my only path.'
He opened his eyes.
"Alright," Mihel said. "We go home and confirm it. We're joining the Exousia."
Riche nodded once.
"Hey, Mi," he added, a sudden softness in his voice. "We should have a family dinner. Both our families. At my place."
Mihel looked at him, surprised.
"It'll be a long time before we see our parents again," Riche said quietly.
Mihel smiled. "Yeah. I like that idea."
-----------------------------------------------------------
That night, at 7:15 astra, Mihel walked with his parents up the steep hill toward the Malant household.
The structure loomed above them like an ancient castle, its dark stone walls silhouetted against the fading sky.
Memories hit him—him and Riche running and playing as children, careless and free.
They reached the doorstep and his father tugged the rope for the bell.
Ding Ding Ding
The door swung open. Riche stood there in a casual brown shirt and a long coat.
"Welcome, Sir, Ma'am." He shook hands with both of Mihel's parents, then turned to Mihel, whose hands were buried in his jacket pockets.
He opened his palm; Mihel knocked it firmly.
Inside, Riche's mother, Velis, was preparing roasted boar with potatoes and fried vegetables.
"There's Tallow in the pot—grab a cup and go sit in the hall. I'll be there in a second,"
she called from the kitchen.
They chatted briefly about Revelation Day until Velis summoned everyone to the table.
"Everyone, let's lift our cups to the future of our children," she said.
They raised their drinks and drank the Tallow in one gulp, then settled to eat the meal.
Meria broke the silence. "Riche getting Angel was unexpected. I thought he'd be Destined for the Blade."
Velis nodded, still chewing. When she swallowed, she asked, "What about Mihel? I forgot to ask yesterday."
Nathene glanced at his son before replying quietly, "Velis… Mihel never received a Destiny. His Slate literally says Destiny Not Found."
Velis's eyes widened in surprise, then she grinned.
"Then your son is some kind of chosen one."
"Well," Mihel said, shrugging, "I'm not sure how good that is. I can't use any powers tied to Destiny. Even my blade… is limited."
Everyone laughed.
Riche cleared his throat loudly. "Ehm… well, Mihel and I have an announcement. We've decided to join the Exousia to grow stronger."
Mihel noticed, even briefly, the fallen expressions on his parents' faces.
Velis stood and raised her cup.
"Then a toast to that as well."
Mihel's parents raised their cups slowly, their hesitation evident to him.
After dinner, the adults stayed inside the living room, while Mihel and Riche stepped outside.
The night was cold, clouds dark and heavy, rain lurking at the edges.
Riche pointed to a ladder leading to the roof.
"The view from above is amazing."
They climbed up and settled on the tiles.
Below them, Wahum glowed like a beacon in the darkness. The Church of the Lady of Life shimmered faintly, a lone sentinel amidst shadowed streets.
"So… I guess this marks the end of our lives as children," Riche said. "Protected, comfortable… living under everyone else's care."
Mihel nodded.
"The world's huge," Riche continued. "I want to travel everywhere. And I need to find my father. My mother won't tell me anything about what happened to him."
Mihel closed his eyes, thinking back to yesterday.
"Riche… I experienced something unusual," he said.
Riche turned. "Yeah?"
Mihel nodded. "After we parted, I felt an immense weight of Destiny. A voice commanded me… 'Eyes forward, move.'"
Riche whistled. "Whoa… some high-Circle Destined already knows about you? That's dangerous. On the bright side, the military might offer some temporary protection."
"Yeah… but I'm worried. My parents don't want me joining the Exousia."
Riche frowned. "Why is that a problem—oh, is it because they're Healers?"
Mihel nodded.
Suddenly, a scream tore through the woods.
It was raw and jagged, the kind of sound a man makes when death has already found him.
Mihel and Riche froze, eyes wide, then scrambled down from the roof and plunged into the forest.
Branches clawed at them as they ran, breath tearing from their chests. The scream did not come again.
They searched in silence, hearts hammering, until the forest opened.
And they saw it.
A body.
The man lay twisted on the ground, blood soaking the leaves beneath him. His left shoulder was gone, not cut or torn, but bitten away, as if something enormous had taken a single, deliberate mouthful.
Mihel stepped closer, fighting the urge to retch. He could hear Riche breathing deeply beside him.
Pinned to the corpse was a scrap of paper, darkened with blood.
The message was written in Avraic, the letters sharp and unforgiving.
"Pay your dues in time."