They whispered that the Covenant had expired, but in the capital, the wine still flowed.
The distant rhythm of carriage wheels on cobblestones sounded like a ticking clock, each thud tightening the knot in my chest.
"Do you truly believe that old superstition?" a nobleman asked, his voice dripping with smooth arrogance. "The Angels would never strike us. We have seen their radiance; we have glimpsed their perfection. Such beauty cannot harbor malice."
A chorus of sycophantic laughter followed. But as the crowd dispersed, an old man—bent by years and wisdom—muttered into his beard: "The Demons were at least honest in their cruelty. The Angels... they are something else entirely."
Before he could finish his thought, a sudden, unnatural silence swallowed the street. The laughter died in throats. The wind itself seemed to stop breathing.
In the High Command, the heavy iron doors groaned open.
The guards snapped to attention. "Salute! Commander on deck!"
But the man who stumbled in was no officer. He was a soldier of the Third Division, or what was left of one. He didn't salute; he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air as if his lungs were filled with ash. His hands trembled as he held out a blood-soaked parchment.
The officers took the letter, their faces turning ashen as they read.
"Horrific... help us... I don't want to die... I have a family..."
The rest of the report was a descent into madness. The Third Division had been erased. Their commander was dead. Human bodies had been reduced to fragments, and the earth was nothing more than a mire of gore. The letter ended with a desperate, final order: Evacuate the border villages immediately. Retreat to Fortress Four.
The High Commander let out a thin, nervous laugh. "This is a prank. A cruel joke." But behind the smile, his eyes were fractured with terror. His only son was stationed at the border. "Send a hundred mages immediately! Find these 'pranksters' and bring them to me in chains!"
In the capital, the elite continued to revel. Then, the Great Bells began to toll—not for a festival, but for a funeral.
"The King is dead! The King is dead!" the handmaidens shrieked from the balconies.
Panic rippled through the streets like a plague. People whispered of the nightmares from fifty years ago, wondering if the cycle had begun anew. But when the Grand Vizier declared himself King within the hour, the people grew quiet. They weren't calmed; they were silenced by fear.
The mage unit reached the Third Division's camp within a day. They found only a charcoal landscape. The night was thick with the scent of charred meat and iron. Great pools of blood reflected the uncaring stars. As the mages used their water spells to douse the remaining fires, one rider turned back toward the capital. He rode as if the devil were at his heels, but no matter how fast he went, he knew he was already too late.
Arel..."
A soft, melodic voice drifted into my consciousness. "AREL!"
The sharp crack of a wooden stick against my skull jolted me awake. I sat up, rubbing my head, to find Arisa standing over me.
"Stop it, I'm already exhausted," I grumbled.
Arisa frowned, her eyes sharp but worried. "You never change. Come on, my mother is waiting. We need to get out of the forest before nightfall."
"Fine, Arisa. I'm coming," I sighed, hoisting the bundle of firewood onto my back. I took her hand, and we began the walk back to the village. But as we neared the clearing, the air changed. A strange, metallic scent filled my nostrils, and a low hum vibrated in my teeth. The horizon was glowing, but it wasn't the soft orange of a sunset. It was a violent, screaming red.
The village was an inferno.
"ARISA! MY MOTHER IS IN THERE!"
I dropped the wood and sprinted. When we reached our house, my heart stopped. The structure was a skeleton of flame, and inside, a shimmering, radiant figure stood amidst the heat. I froze. Arisa stood beside me, turned to stone by the sight.
"Arel! Arisa! Run! The Angels are here!"
It was my father, Uroth. "Father, why would they attack us? Mother is inside!"
All around us, the world had turned into a slaughterhouse. Radiant, winged beings—beings of pure light—were moving through the screams, killing with a terrifying, rhythmic grace. My father and I dived into the flames. My mother lay on the floor. One of those things—no, that Angel—had its foot pressed into the small of her back.
The moment it saw us, it didn't swing a sword. It simply released a burst of celestial fire. Before my eyes, my mother... she became a pillar of ash.
Uroth unleashed his flame magic in a desperate surge, but he was a candle flickering against a hurricane. "Arel, take Arisa and run! I'll recover your mother's remains and find you!"
Arisa let out a jagged sob. "You're lying! You're leaving us too!"
I saw my father smile one last time—a look of profound, agonizing love. Then Leron, my father's oldest friend, scooped us both up. He ran toward the mag-train, the only escape from the valley. The paths were choked with the dead. I looked at Arisa; she had her hand clamped over her mouth, trying to stifle her screams, but the tears were flowing uncontrollably. Seeing her like that hurt as much as the fire.
Leron shoved us into a crowded carriage. He didn't get on. He stayed to help the elderly, to buy us a few more seconds. A shadow fell over him—an Angel with a scythe of shimmering light. Leron tried to fight, but in a heartbeat, a hole was punched through his chest.
The train jolted forward. Those left behind were either running for their lives or making a final, futile stand. There was no sign of Morth. I screamed his name until my throat was raw. Arisa huddled beside me, her silence more haunting than any scream. When we finally reached the shadows of the Fourth Wall, the train's whistle blew—a mournful sound that felt like the funeral dirge for our entire world.
Arel for days, but a heavy stone sat in the pit of my stomach. It felt as if an invisible hand were squeezing my heart, whispering of a disaster I couldn't see.
"Father, please, let's go to the city," I said, my voice trembling.
My father, Lucius, didn't even look up. "Not now, Morth. I'm tired."
I turned to my mother, Anna, my eyes pleading. "Mother, tell him..."
She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Go on, Lucius. The boy is right. I could use the fresh air myself."
My father sighed, pushing himself up. "Fine, Anna. I understand... but you're coming with us."
As we walked toward the station, I couldn't put my dread into words. But I knew that getting behind the city walls was the only logical choice. The streets were thick with rumors: "The Covenant is over... The Heavens are returning..."
Shortly after we reached the safety of the city, the news began to pour in. News of a massacre that turned the night into a fever dream. Everyone spoke of the King's death, but my mind was miles away, back in the woods.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. The Covenant was real, and it was gone.
"My family is safe," I whispered to the shadows, "but what about them? Arel... Arisa... I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I left you there. But it seems the ink is already dry on this tragedy. This is how it was meant to begin."