In a well-lit room with marbled floors and walls, dozens of cocoons were laid in rows like pieces on a board. Solra was standing in front of them, leaning against a cane, with a dwarf nearby. Ivan and Mathias were waiting behind him, their arms folded across their chests, in case any of the newly hatched archlings wanted to test out their powers and rebel. The dwarf was reading off from a list as he paced around the room. “This cocoon belongs to Nino, the hobgoblin of greed. He entered his cocoon five days ago. Judging by previous hobgoblin spawning times, he’s due to hatch within the next three days,” the dwarf said and moved onto another cocoon. “This cocoon belongs to Tra-Tra, the troll of stupidity. She formed her cocoon just two days ago. I estimate she’ll take two more weeks to hatch. This is….”

A harpy popped her head into the room and peered around with wide eyes. She wet her lips with her tongue as she tiptoed inside and hid behind a cocoon near the entrance, covering her head with her wings. The feathers on her wingtips spread apart revealing her blue eyes. The dwarf’s voice continued to drone on as he got closer to the harpy’s position. “This is Gregory, the lizardman of gluttony. He entered his cocoon four”—flapping noises resounded throughout the room as an explosion of feathers engulfed the dwarf—“days ago!?”

“Stop!” Solra yelled as the harpy flew out of the room like a bolt of lightning, leaving behind a trail of white feathers. A screaming dwarf was attached to her lower body, her talons wrapped around his shoulders and underneath his armpits. Ivan and Mathias stood with their mouths gaping as the harpy rounded a corner, disappearing from sight. Solra shouted at the two frozen archlings, “What are you doing!? Chase!”

The archangel’s expression darkened as Ivan and Mathias scrambled out of the room. Was this part of Pyre’s plot to undermine his authority? Solra understood not everyone appreciated him as the leader of the army, but no one had ever openly rebelled like this. The harpies had been getting more and more unruly ever since Madison’s disappearance. Cory was the figurehead he planted inside their camp to placate them, but had she defected to Pyre’s side? It seemed like he needed to have a heart-to-heart talk with Pyre before things got too out of hand. If the army split into separate factions now, they wouldn’t be able to conquer the capital. Sariel still had those after all. Although Solra couldn’t get Dinah to admit they existed—even when he started bragging to her about his impending victory, she hadn’t said anything that hinted at them—he knew Sariel wouldn’t just roll over and surrender.

Cracking sounds echoed through the room as a hand burst out of a nearby cocoon. Solra sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. The first time Palan arrived at the rebel army, an arch-level troll had hatched along with two goblins. Unfortunately, Solra’s plans of recruiting them as bodyguards was ruined because they were the very embodiments of sloth, leaving him once again very defenseless. Well, as defenseless as an archangel could be.

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Solra chose not to activate his power as he crossed his arms and waited for the cocoon to break apart. Another slimy hand burst out, followed by a head. The cocoon disintegrated as a red dwarf rose to his feet, clenching and unclenching his hands. Though he had evolved, he was still only as tall as Solra’s stomach. “Hello,” Solra said and nodded at the dwarf.

The dwarf blinked a few times before squinting at Solra. “Commander,” he said and saluted.

“What sin or virtue do you have?” Solra asked. The only thing he paid attention to during the previous dwarf’s speech was the hatching times. Everything else was irrelevant.

The dwarf paused. It scanned the remaining cocoons around it before speaking again. “Patience,” he said.

“What’s your name?” Solra asked.

The dwarf walked out of the disintegrated cocoon which was covering his ankles. “Hasty,” the dwarf said. His head constantly swiveled back and forth as if he was looking for something.

“You’re a dwarf named Hasty, and your virtue is patience?” Solra asked. “That is way too confusing.”

The dwarf nodded. “My mom. She was named Smart,” the dwarf said. His eyes lit up as he located the wardrobe in the corner of the room. He rummaged through it, pulling out clothing that fit. “My dad. He was named Not Very.”

“Mn. From today forth, your new name is going to be Vern,” Solra said and clapped his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “How do you feel about being my new bodyguard, Vern?”

“Not happy,” the dwarf said and frowned. “Impossible task.”

Solra’s expression froze. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

The dwarf shook his head. “Don’t want to lie,” he said.

“Then don’t lie,” Solra said, his forehead creasing.

The dwarf’s frown deepened. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His gaze landed on the disintegrated cocoon. “I … will wait,” he said before walking over and covering himself with the dried powder. As a dwarf of patience, he couldn’t lie, but no one said he always had to answer.

Solra’s mouth fell open as the dwarf buried himself underneath the debris. “What exactly are you waiting for?” he asked. Dwarves weren’t very talkative which was usually a good thing, but sometimes, Solra just wanted to squeeze them and force words out of their short little bodies.

“For you to leave,” the dwarf said. The dust rustled, and Solra imagined it was the dwarf nodding in a matter-of-fact manner.

Solra’s eye twitched. Was this Pyre’s doing once again? How badly was his authority undermined? He snorted and stomped out of the room, dragging his cane behind him. The dwarf popped out of the dust, blinking powder out of his eyes. There was a trace of pity in his gaze as he watched Solra round a corner, but it disappeared when he stood up and dusted off his body.