Primarch Flavian hurried down the Cathedral’s long hallways as aides and guards and paladins and priests and prefects and deacons and prelates trailed behind him like a white-clothed flock of birds: anyone with the luck to be in Tanadelle at this auspicious moment, and with enough rank to be allowed to witness it.

As they approached the Cotemplatorium, the Prime Observer stood in front of its gigantic doors, golden key around his neck, fidgeting. He didn’t wait for a polite distance to hail Flavian. “Primarch! You are on time still, it has not yet begun.”

Though Flavian’s heart sighed in relief at the news, he forced himself to ignore the excited Observer until he’d gotten closer, and did not hasten his step. Once he’d stepped closer, he gave him the standard formal greeting of a superior to an inferior, to which the Observer hurriedly responded with the appropriately deferential bow. Good.

“Greetings, Observer Casirius,” Flavian began, without waiting for him to right himself, speaking loud enough to carry to the small army of hangers-on at his back. “Explain to me the current situation.”

“Your Holiness,” Casirius began, hurriedly recovering from his bow, “the signs are clear! Light streaks through the Confine, and the lid has begun to swing open! As soon as we saw this, we cut the Contemplatorium’s water, and shut all the doors to the higher walkways. The water will have completely drained away by now, and all the stragglers ushered out.”

“Good. We shall go and witness. Accompanying us,” he raised his voice to be better heard, “shall be only Hierarchs and their Exarchs. Any others will remain outside, and maintain themselves ready to serve.”

Flavian gave himself a moment to savor the elation of the chosen, and the disappointment of the others. Just a moment, though. “Now let us waste no more time. Prime Observer, open the Room of Contemplation.”

Upon receiving the order no other Observer had received in over a thousand years, Casirius steadied himself, and schooled his face into one of serious dignity. “Of course, Primarch,” he responded, and unfastened the chain at his neck. The key was a simple thing, almost comically small next to the full size of the doors, but when Casirius inserted it into a keyhole no bigger than a finger’s length, the door immediately reacted. Glowing lines sprang into luminescence from the keyhole, and webbed their way through the entire door, and as Casirius turned the tiny key, the sound of impossibly heavy bolts turning thudded through the hall. Then, with a simple push, the Observer pushed the doors in.

The Room beyond was large and cavernous, built in a large circle around the fountain at the center, though that fountain was now dry. Where water would have cascaded at all times, now only a sort of huge pedestal remained, ringed by high walkways, and holding the cylindrical Confine, now bright enough to illuminate the entire width of the gigantic room by itself. Flavian resisted the urge to tap his foot as the doors fully opened, and as soon as they were, he rushed forward, letting Casirius take care of shutting it once more. This was too important.

With as much dignity as he could muster while hurrying like mad, he ascended to the Confine. By the time he had reached the top of the long flight of stairs, the light was too bright to behold it directly, and he had to shield his eyes with the sleeve of his robe, as did all the men fortunate enough to have followed him in. Then, as one, they all arrayed themselves in a semi-circle around the Confine, and knelt, eyes to the ground.

Above them, as if waiting for their eyes to be averted, the Confine’s light increased, and even with eyes cast downwards, Flavian had to screw them shut as the searing light grew too painful to bear. Then, as it was increasing still further, the light pulsed and flashed, and suddenly dimmed.

“RAISE YOUR HEADS, AND WITNESS DIVINITY,” a powerful voice boomed from above them. Fflavian shivered, and with trembling fingers, he raised his head off the ground.

Above him stood a large man, entirely naked, taller than any human Flavian had ever seen, and beautiful. His face was youthful yet noble, and flowing blonde hair cascaded down to His muscular shoulders. His entire body was a carefully sculpted representation of athletic perfection, with proportions that would have made painters weep, and smooth, fair skin. Behind Him, two large wings unfurled, longer than a man’s height, and filled with snow-white feathers. After over seven centuries, this Age of Ascension was over, and a new Age of Light began.

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The Angel had awoken.

“O great Angel!” Flavian began. “Most Divine Emmissary of…”

“Silence.” the Angel’s voice was gentler, and Flavian immediately silenced himself with a strangled noise at the command.

Before him, the Angel took a step and, with a single push from His wings, crossed the gap between the Confine and the walkway the Hierarchs were kneeling on. He stopped in front of Flavian.

“Are you this Era’s Primarch?” he asked.

“Yes, O Most Holy One! I am Primarch Flavian Quintus, at Your eternal and grateful service in the Light!”

“Tell me, Flavian Quintus, what is the state of the Empire?”

Flavian shuddered as the Angel pronounced his name. “O, Divine Emissary, in the past seven hundred years, Your domain has grown, absorbing the countries of Kassad, Illunar, and Chasset, and the princedoms of Domover and Ungeln, and conquering much of the wild lands north of the Howling Mountains!”

“That is not much,” the Angel noted. “But no matter. This failing shall soon be rectified. How fare the lands under our administration?”

“The Empire is peaceful and prosperous, O Most Holy One!” The Primarch said, hurrying to improve the Angel’s mood. “The new territories have been well-assimilated, their pagan false faiths eradicated, and the children now studying in the Way of the Light! And there have been no major upsets of late. The last rebellion of any note was that of the Ulfvar people, some twenty years ago, but Your armies marched out to meet them and pacified them without difficulty!”

“Ah, yes, the Ulfvar. I recall them,” the Angel nodded. “A headstrong race, and far too proud for its own good. Tell me, what has become of them in the time since their rebellion?”

“They were eradicated, O Lord of the Righteous! Those that survived the Campaign were pacified to the last! Some will have perhaps evaded detection and survived to this day, but overall the Ulfvar are a dead people, and whatever remnants are left are doomed to waste away within a few generations.”

“That is Good,” the Angel said. “And it is something I should have done long ago, despite the mercy that stayed my hand then. But is it not natural for a Shepherd to wish to lead the lost to righteousness? A shame for the Ulfvar that they strayed off the path.”

“Of course, O merciful Angel!” Flavian said, basking in His approbation.

“But now, a dire topic,” the Angel said, face darkening. “What of demons? Have they been found?”

“You will be most pleased, oh Divine One! No invasions have occurred since last You walked the Earth! Your Inquisition constantly roams and patrols Your lands, Your eyes and ears throughout the Empire! Much darkness has been rooted out, and heretics captured and slain, but no demons have pierced through the veil!”

When the Angel heard the news, His face grew dark even as the light coming from Him flared into furious brightness. “FOOLISH OLD MAN!” the Angel roared. “DEMONS WALK AMONG YOU AND YOU DO NOT EVEN REALIZE IT! MY VERY COMING ANNOUNCES IT!”

Flavian cowered before the Angel’s wrath, and he turned to one of the men to his right. “Inquisitor! Explain yourself to the Angel!”

The Prime Inquisitor pressed his face to the ground as he struggled to get the words out quickly enough. “Oh Most Holy One! There have been no disturbances in Ether of the Heartland of the Empire in the last decade, despite our constant and tireless vigilance! And all of these disturbances have been tracked down to their mundane causes! Of late there has been only one anomaly, in the far North, near the Broken Bridge! But we have already dispatched one of our best Inquisitors to investigate it!”

The Angel’s light dimmed. “The Broken Bridge?” He repeated, with a thoughtful tone, as if trying to remember something.

“The Bridge of Harsim, Most Holy One!” Flavian provided. “It is one of the places our northward efforts have regained!”

“Ah, yes, I remember it. I knew the Bridge when it had not yet been broken. But there should not be a place there where they could cross, so how… Oh, of course. The Hill of the Hythrians. How very clever.”

“Most Holy One?” the Primarch began.

“You have failed me, but to fail is human, and there is still time enough to rectify your shortcomings. Send every inquisitor you can to the bridge of harsim, and pray you are not late. There, you will hunt the demons. They will appear as humans, and will speak the language of men, but they will be strangers, and none will know their origin, for they will have none of this world. Find them,” the Angel said, as He walked past the terrified Primarchs and leapt off the walkway, wings spreading to catch the air "and kill them.”