Chapter 4 - Fall

“Congratulations.”

Julius turned his head and came face to face with a beaming Lazar. He blinked, the words taking a second to process.

Around them, the lingering crowd of spectators took down colorful banners and bouquets. The ceremony itself had begun on the sky islands, but for the most crucial part, Julius had flown high up the realm to the Light’s palace alone. Those left behind on the islands waited for their new guardian to return, celebrating the completion of twelve with food and song.

Even now, flashes from the induction remained vivid, words and sights rising without warning to the front of his mind. All the other guardians had been there. They had hovered in a circle around the throne room, and though he’d seen them all before, they’d looked completely different backlit by the blinding light of the throne, their expressions frozen in rigid masks.

Julius’s hand absently clutched at the cool metal of the pendant hanging around his neck. Earlier the crystal in its center had burned so hot that he thought for sure it would ignite, but now it was once again smooth and cold. It felt heavy in his hands, and he released it again.

“Thank you.”

Lazar drifted closer, still in full uniform with his halberd on hand. Even though he knew he shouldn’t be, Julius was glad for it. He suspected it was the other seraph’s presence that prevented the crowd around them from closing in. He didn’t think he had enough energy left for congratulations and other false pleasantries.

Lazar’s gaze landed on the pendant, grey eyes curious. “Is that the guardian seal? Sir Angus gave it to you yesterday, didn’t he?”

Julius nodded and held it up again. “He said it was good luck to sleep with the gem before the ritual. Supposedly it helps attune it.” He made to hand the pendant to Lazar for a closer look, but the other seraph took a quick step back.

“Ah, no, it feels a bit blasphemous for a non-guardian to touch the seal.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You must be tired, or perhaps hungry? I can ask Otis to make something, or there’s still the leftovers from last night, if you’d prefer.”

It took a moment for Julius to respond. His eyes wandered past the dispersing crowd and over to the distant manor, the sky visible between its tall white pillars. Pale blue contained by marble borders.

“Lazar,” he suddenly said. “Are you—”

He stopped. Eleven figures flying between stained glass windows. An empty twelfth space. A distant light looming above them, at once familiar and yet utterly incomprehensible.

Julius shook his head and squeezed the pendant before releasing it again. It swung back and forth around his neck.

“I was going to ask if you’d like to finish our race from yesterday,” he said, voice light.

Lazar blinked. “I would love to,” he said. His brows furrowed. “Shouldn’t you rest? The induction must have been exhausting.”

“It’s fine. I’ll have plenty of time for rest later.” Julius stretched out his wings, ignoring the curious glances around them, and peered up at the sky that felt so different now.

“Let’s go.”

—

When he was young, Julius was terrified of flying. Not because he feared falling or because he disliked the sky—he didn’t think there was a seraph in Elysium who didn’t inherently love the feeling of the wind on their skin.

Rather, he was terrified of failure. His wings had grown slower than others in his age range, and the few times he’d tried to soar, they’d always shaken. He’d attempted to hide it, but his parents had noticed.

At first they thought his slow-growing feathers were a defect, and to a seraph, a problem with one’s wings was indicative of a problem with the soul. Every young seraph grew up hearing stories of those with featherless wings that grew as spindly bones, of forsaken souls who had no wings at all. There’d been a seraph like that over a century ago, it was said, a strong fighter whose prowess at combat was only matched by her utter lack of empathy.

Lord and Lady Andire’s fears, thankfully, turned out to be false, but it was true that Julius took longer learning to fly than usual. The exact opposite of Lazar.

Julius glanced ahead, where the seraph in question moved as though he were the wind itself. His own wings strained with the effort of keeping up with him.

Beneath them, the sky islands were nothing more than a smear of green, white, and brown. The two passed between fields of clouds before changing trajectory to rise through the cloud forest. Vines and flower buds sprouted from within soft white, hanging downwards in billowing curtains. They were close to blooming. Once they did, their petals would scatter and rain down onto the islands below, showering the realm in flowers.

Stories claimed that the petals eventually landed at the bottom of the realm, where a great sea of fallen flowers covered the surface. A few more adventurous seraphs had tried to find it when Julius was younger, and they were scolded terribly when they made it back on shaky, exhausted wings. They hadn’t found anything.

In truth, Julius suspected that there was no end to the realm. It stretched infinitely downwards with no end in sight. Nothing to contain it.

He pulled his eyes away from the cloud forest, instead glancing upwards, where the bright light obscured the upper parts of the realm. He didn’t flinch as he stared directly into that light, the race all but forgotten.

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He had thought it would be warm, but the air was cold. Cold enough to bite at his skin, cold enough that he wondered how the figure on the throne wasn’t freezing.

Julius slowed, and up ahead, Lazar was quick to do the same. Even when flying casually like this, he was always watching. His fingers tightened around his halberd, Julius noticed, and his head turned, instinctively scanning for trouble.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” The reply was automatic. Julius faced Lazar, a considering look on his face. “Now that I’m a guardian,” he said conversationally, “I have access to the palace. I can show you if you’d like.”

Lazar’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

The other seraph nodded, tugging absentmindedly on his pendant. “As my retainer, you would eventually need to work within the palace alongside me. It wouldn’t hurt to at least see it before it becomes necessary.”

Any uncertainty bled away at the mention of retainer duties, and Lazar nodded. He might’ve smiled, but Julius turned away before he could see it, already flying towards their destination without another word.

The upper regions of Elysium were forbidden to regular inhabitants. Here, the light intensified until the sky was pure white. The palace of the Light lay beyond that bright veil, and the throne of Elysium sat in its center. There, the power of the Cycle was the strongest, and there was where the Light communed with and acted out the Cycle’s orders, surrounded by and protected by the guardians.

Even reaching the place was a challenge for many. It took a strong flier to make it so high up without falling from exhaustion, and it took a stronger soul to bear the increasing weight of essence.

“It’s so bright,” Julius heard Lazar say. He sounded breathless, and when he looked over, the other seraph looked to be in awe. Julius looked away.

“I suppose so.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“No.” He paused, then added, “After the ritual was complete, I stopped noticing it.”

Lazar hummed thoughtfully, and the two continued in silence.

They soared higher and higher, continuing forward until a silhouette finally appeared within the light. Hanging far above the sky islands, the Light’s palace was constructed in the shape of a cylinder. The open bottom of the tower was its entrance, and its vertical structure formed a path up to the throne. Intricate carvings decorated the marble walls, and gold and silver lined the pillars and tall windows. Every few feet, a gap was left deliberately in the marble, allowing the light to stream through and illuminate the interior. It only made the space seem even more vast.

Lazar’s eyes widened, and he slowed his wings to a hover.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed. His armor clinked as he turned his head, absorbing all the details. “Are you sure I’m meant to be here?”

Around the open chamber, eleven silhouettes appeared from behind the pillars. A whispered chant fell across them like a wave.

“Yes,” Julius said. “You are.”

Lazar jerked around, his halberd already raised, but it was too late. His entire body froze before he could swing. A white glow wrapped around his limbs like thin threads, holding the seraph in place. Aris, Julius thought, and sure enough he could see the other guardian to his far left, their arm outstretched, palm glowing with magic.

Lazar’s wide eyes darted about, first taking in the pull of magic keeping him immobile, then the figures surrounding them. Metal pendants gleamed in the light, those crystal clear stones now glowing faintly. Julius didn’t pay the other guardians much attention, instead pulling out his own pendant.

Several different emotions crossed over Lazar’s face, and Julius found that he couldn’t read any of them. He didn’t bother to. The silver haired seraph tightened his grip on the halberd, his mouth moving in a rapid chant.

A sharp gust of wind whipped violently around them, and the glowing white threads wavered. Lazar’s arm jerked and pushed against the binds. His wings shook.

Julius just had time to see Aris jerk back in surprise before Angus flew forward with hard eyes.

Umber chains bloomed from the air just before the threads were entirely dissipated. They coiled around the seraph’s limbs, crisscrossing the white until their victim was locked under two layers of magic.

Everything seemed to still. No one spoke a word.

Around the palace, the guardians waited, watching.

Lazar didn’t move—couldn’t move. He remained bound in the center of the chamber, growing confusion visible on his face, and Julius remained just as still a few feet away from him. Above them, the light of the throne beamed down. Julius didn’t dare look up to see if the Light was present.

He saw Lazar’s mouth move, but he didn’t hear what he said. His senses seemed to be dulled, all of them redirected into a singular focus on his task. He raised his hand, the guardian’s seal resting in the center of his palm. It began to glow before he even started speaking, but it remained cold to the touch. He barely processed his own words as he spoke, his voice blurred and distant, as though he were underwater. And yet, as he continued, his hand did not shake.

“—I now request the Cycle pass judgement on this straying soul. May it find truth in my words. May it judge my actions righteous.”

His grip on the stone tightened, and it flared so bright that it rivaled the sky surrounding them. Lazar flinched and jerked back. The umber chains glowed brighter, binding him even more tightly even as they shook with exertion. A few guardians flew closer, muscles tensed. Julius kept going.

“Lazarus of Elysium. I, Julius Andire, the seventh guardian—”

Lazar was saying something, but Julius didn’t listen. His grey eyes were wide and he shook his head back and forth, gaze darting around the chamber, at the guardians, up above, and then back at him.

“—fulfilling my duty as protector and executor of the Light’s will—”

Lazar tried to reach a hand out, but it was too late.

“—I hereby sentence you to fall.”

Radiant light consumed everything around them. Yet Julius’s hand stayed steady around the pendant. He remained still even as the essence around them surged violently forward. He remained still through the scattering of white feathers, through the snapping and tearing of wings.

As the watchful gaze of the Light burned into him from above, Julius remained still even as he felt a familiar soul ripped apart.

He closed his eyes.

The last thing he saw was Lazar, a look of pure fear and betrayal carved across his features.

It was a look that was utterly foreign to him.