In darkness shall the truth be found

In silence, far beneath the ground.

In the quiet, grey gloom of the Sanctuary, dim streamers of light slowly brightened to gold as the Winter mist drew away from Caer Sync.

The light fell on empty space, dust motes drifting in the deep silence.

Excelsior's Clock boomed, once, the echoes fading away into the stone.

The Dark Gate lay open, a gaping maw, the four segments of the grating lying flat against the sides of the Tower, pointing downwards, like teeth.

All was still, with no breath of wind.

But the blackness went down forever.

Somewhere, far in the depths, two Angels had been swallowed.

Mekka felt something slam into his head.

At first, he thought it was the wall, or some obstacle in his path, however unlikely a prospect that was. But then the blow came again, and he realised that Tek was punching him in the face.

We are plummeting to our deaths in the Pit, Mekka thought with incredulous anger, and he is attacking me??

Another blow sent lights sparkling into the darkness.

Mekka could see nothing. The blackness was absolute, as though he had gone completely blind. He had no way of knowing if he had. He wasn't even entirely sure that he was conscious–

The next burst of pain convinced him.

It also warned him that this state was not going to continue for much longer if Tek kept this up.

Swinging his own fist upwards, Mekka was rewarded with a crunch and a scream. He guessed that he had smashed the Syncwarden's glasses.

He felt disoriented. Due to the feel of wind rushing past, he presumed that they were still falling.

But falling into what?

Would they simply continue to tumble downwards like this until they eventually died? Or was there something worse–

Another blow glanced off his shoulder. Mekka lashed out again, but encountered only empty air. He kicked instead, and received another cry, but it sounded odd.

“You have doomed us both!” Mekka yelled, but his voice came out wrong: distorted and unintelligible.

He felt Tek latch onto his wing and claw at his clothing. He grappled with the other Angel, trying to shove him away.

Then somehow, Tek's hands found his throat, and locked around it.

Mekka tried to prise his fingers away, but Tek only squeezed harder, blocking off his windpipe. Mekka punched at him, feeling his fists impact, but the Angel did not let go. He struggled, kicking and ramming his knees into Tek, to no avail.

I am being murdered, Mekka thought desperately, by the father of the man who killed Aari!

A mixture of terror and anger washed through him, mingled with endless shades of pain.

No!!

His vision went purplish around the edges. He thought it was the approach of death; he could feel himself weakening, hear a buzz in his ears as his awareness retreated, but through the haze of agony, he realised that he could see.

Dimly, he could make out Tek's determined, murderous expression as he strangled the life out of Mekka. There was a deep, violet glow surrounding them, as though they had gone past mere darkness and into some other, unknowable realm…

Mekka's vision was fading back into a blackness that would soon turn to nothingness. Weakly, he scrabbled at Tek. He caught hold of the collar of the man's robe, as though to pull him closer.

He stared up into the other's eyes: darkly golden, reflecting the demonic purple glow.

With the last of his strength, he made a small movement with his wrist.

There was a ring of metal, and for a moment that hung in eternity, they were both very still.

Then Tek made a choking sound, and a dark line of blood leaked over his lips, spilling onto Mekka.

His grip loosened.

As Tek fell away, Mekka withdrew his spike and gasped, choking in his effort to get air back into his lungs.

His head swam, the purple glow whirling around him as his consciousness struggled back from the brink of oblivion.

A few moments later, still panting and wheezing, he realised that he was no longer falling.

He seemed to be suspended in the air, floating.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Tek's body fell away from him in slow motion, trailing a line of blood that drifted after him in wet globules.

Mekka stared at it, mesmerised.

Below Tek was an enormous pool of liquid, filling the entirety of the shaft like a black lake. It was from here that the purple glow emanated; silver and violet light shimmered across the surface.

Trigon, Mekka thought in awe. A lake of liquid trigon.

As Tek's body neared the surface, something strange happened.

It began to melt.

The trail of blood turned black, and an inky stain spread outwards from the wound Mekka had inflicted in his neck, dissolving his skin. Then his flesh turned black as well, and his bones and feathers, all of it liquefying into a shapeless trigonic puddle.

The puddle then broke up into large globs, which fell slowly downwards until they merged with the lake, sending ripples across its surface.

Mekka should have felt horrified, but instead, a strange thrill passed through him. This was what trigon was! It was the liquefied remains of dead Angels!

And silvertine, he thought, was the same thing. The only difference was that those Angels had gone gladly, and these poor souls had died wretched…

But I'm still alive!

He stared down at the dark lake in wonderment. No terrible force pulled him downwards to join generations of other Angels that had succumbed to the Pit. He floated in space, feeling weightless, unburdened. Feeling…

Alive.

He had killed an Angel, and he did not regret it. Something had ignited inside him with Tek's death… a fierce, burning sense of victory.

Everyone who has tried to throw me into this Pit has FAILED!

He almost felt like laughing.

And then he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye.

A small object floated a few yards away to his right, turning over and over in the middle of the shaft, glinting in the violet gloom.

Mekka moved towards it, finding no resistance, but his movements were slow, as though he were underwater.

Reaching out, his gloved hand closed around the hilt.

It was the trigonic dagger.

His dagger.

Looking down at it, he felt no fear; only a sense, once again, of rightness: as though the weapon had been made to fit perfectly in his hand. He remembered that he had tried to kill himself with it, but realised now that he had been too hasty. He had not yet accomplished what he had come to Arkana to accomplish. His life would end when he was ready, on his own terms, in his own way, and no one – NO ONE – was going to take it from him.

Lifting his head, he looked upwards, and saw darkness reaching out before him.

But there was light at the end of it.

Light.

And death.

He flew upwards.

The Pit let him go.

* * *

Li fled. Pushing through the stunned crowd that had formed a circle around the fountain, she raced amongst the jumble of abandoned market stalls until she found one with space to hide.

Crawling under the hanging canvas, she huddled in the darkness, her face burning with shame and excitement.

Everyone had indeed been looking at her.

The adults had been shocked. The kids had gawped. The worshippers looked outraged.

But the huge, golden gaze of the Seraph had been most terrifying of all.

She shivered, and gulped.

It wasn't long before people started wandering back into the market and resuming their usual business. The owner of the stall under which she hid returned, but instead of selling his fine fabrics, seemed more interested in gossiping with the customers about what had just happened.

Li heard a guard interrupt the conversation, asking if anyone had seen the Human, who had escaped.

No one had.

They went back to complaining about the lack of respect from kids these days…

Li tried to think what to do. She couldn't go home; her parents would lock her up, they would never allow her to go outside ever again. She had dared to disturb a Seraph!

She was going to be in trouble for the rest of her life!

Brushing away tears, she hunched in the too-warm shadows with the smell of cloth and dyes, until the stallholder finally decided to go and get something to eat. Peering out, Li scrambled from her hiding place and scurried around the backs of the stalls, and around a group of people watching some musicians, until she reached the edge of the fair.

A bright, open expanse of stone lay before her, ending in open air at the edge of the city. A few people wandered around here and there.

Swiftly, she took flight across the space, alighting on Hawk's platform.

Hawk was indeed gone. There was no sign of him.

Li looked around anxiously, wondering how he had escaped. She chewed her lip. Had he jumped off?

She went and knelt at the edge of the platform, staring down into the clouds. She hoped he wasn't down there clinging to a tree branch, or worse, splattered on the ground…

She was wondering if she should go and look, when a large, cold, dark shadow fell over her.

Li looked up.

Her eyes went wide.

Something huge passed overhead, momentarily blocking out the sun.

Something with scales, many teeth, and enormous wings that glowed red even through the Aegis.

A Dragon.

* * *

Ferrian paced across the silver tiles of Grath Ardan, smudging his fingers with charcoal as he fidgeted with it.

After awhile he stopped, and looked at the book in the centre of the chamber.

It was an incredible thing, that book. But so far it had proved – aside from a useful spell or two – largely disappointing. Most of the information he had learned since arriving here contained things that he could have figured out himself, eventually, if he had given them enough thought.

He closed his eyes. The conversation with the White Dragon still burned in his mind.

He had been responsible for the Winter all along. He had thought he was running from it, thought he had been afraid of it, when really it was people that he feared. People, and their prejudices and superstitions, and what they would do to him if they discovered he could use magic.

Everything that the Winter had done had been because he either wanted it to happen, or feared it would.

He had never consciously realised that this was so, but he could not deny the truth of it.

He opened his eyes. He knew what the Winter was, now, and where it had come from, and who had done this to him. And he understood that it was a part of him, whether he wanted it to be or not, whether he tried to control it or not.

The Winter would always be there.

He accepted that.

But there were still pieces of his life missing.

He stared at his reflection in the black wall. He was sure the Dragon had those answers, too. She must, if she had been with him all his life.

But she had not revealed them to him.

Why? Was it simply because he had failed to ask, or did she want him to discover the truth on his own? Or, he thought uneasily, was it something too horrible to know?

He had considered going back inside his mind and asking the Dragon, but was loath to inflict more emotion on her. The image of the Dragon weeping haunted him. He had not realised that she was so sad, and that part of that sorrow, that pain, was his, passed on to her...

He started pacing again. Besides… this felt more… personal.

Drawing level with the lectern, he stopped, staring at the great tome.

I came all this way for answers, he thought. I might as well know ALL of them…

The lack of a heartbeat made him feel calmer than he ought to as he stepped up to the book.

Gently, he touched the cover and it flipped open at once, rustling and finally settling on blank, ancient pages.

Ferrian stared down at the brownish parchment, wondering what secrets were buried there.

Perhaps, he thought uncertainly, there is nothing to be found...

And if there was… was it really something that he wanted to know? Or should know?

He hesitated for a long moment, simply staring down at the page.

There was a reason for everything that had happened in his life, and if the truth was written in here, he could not leave without knowing it.

If the Dragon wouldn't tell him, he might never get another chance.

Slowly, he lifted the charcoal and set it on the page.

Then, very carefully, as though it were the most powerful spell in the world, he wrote one word.

Ferrian.