Outside, one of the worst storms I’d experienced this year was raging. Lightning split through the darkness, and every other sound was drowned out by deafening thunder. Our estate swayed in the wind, and the hallways were freezing cold. Yet my eldest sister, Jelissa, didn’t seem to mind. She was thrilled that the highest gods had decided to turn our world into a lake.

She didn’t care that it had been raining for days and that the grass had vanished under layers of mud. She laughed and claimed it was just the prophet celebrating the crown prince’s birthday. Wrapped in a blanket, she sang and danced as though the celebration were happening right here in our room. Though she’d never seen Prince Reilan, she celebrated with divine enthusiasm.

My brother Ewordie and our youngest sister Oswin lay on the bed together, watching Jelissa. I had claimed the only chair in the room and was sitting at the table, clutching a pencil and an eraser, constantly turning around to sketch all of them.

“He’ll come. He’ll come for us, and then I’ll become the Queen of Noxalora. I’ll have lots of children, and you’ll all be my slaves,” Jelissa dreamed out loud once again. She always said that Prince Reilan would soon come to rescue us from this hell.

Oswin clearly believed her. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

To me, it was nothing more than an impossible dream. We were alone here. Out there, there was no one looking for us. Not a single person had ever thought, I wonder how they’re doing.

Father had done an excellent job ensuring that everyone forgot about us.

Dreaming was futile, so I forbade myself from doing it. But I didn’t force them to face reality. I didn’t want to take away the tiny pieces of happiness they managed to find in this wretched life.

We celebrated until Oswin fell asleep on the bed, and Ewordie carried her to her room. My brother didn’t return, leaving Jelissa and me alone. She approached me and gently touched my shoulder.

“Everything will be alright,” she whispered. Her green eyes still burned with sparks of hope—the kind I had lost a long time ago. “I’ll take care of everything, okay? Go to bed and rest.”

She leaned down, kissed the top of my head, and wished me goodnight before heading off to her room.

I was left alone, and I really did try to dream. But after three hours of tossing and turning in bed, I gave up.

I couldn’t sleep. The storm had reached its peak. Angels in the heavens were reveling, piercing the darkness with constant bursts of light. Everyone wanted to celebrate the prince’s birthday. This privilege wasn’t reserved for the living alone.

I got out of bed, rubbed my eyes, and turned toward the window. I peeked outside. There wasn’t much to see. Our estate stood in the middle of nowhere. Around us were only the forests of Terravorn, filled with monsters that wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.

A single dirt road led to our doorstep, though now it was more of a muddy path. From my room, I had a perfect view of anyone approaching the house. Most of the time, however, no one came. Who would visit us? Decent angels preferred to forget we existed, and from the others, I had to hide.

Sleep was no longer an option. Instead, I perched on the windowsill and grabbed a book. I read about an utterly unrealistic love—the kind I’d never experience myself. How could I? Here, locked away in this moldy estate, I was more likely to meet rats than someone capable of loving me.

My eyes were drawn to another flash of lightning. In its light, I saw a male figure land sharply on the driveway. The stranger folded his wings and placed something almost as large as himself onto the ground. Then he grabbed it by the edge and began dragging it toward the house.

My heart jumped as he got closer, and with my exceptional vision, I realized that the “something” was a body.

“Dalenau! Dalenau, come downstairs immediately!” a man’s voice rang out.

I moved to the door, carefully leaning against it and closing my eyes to let my other senses take over. Soon, I recognized my father’s voice.

I couldn’t stop myself. Once I confirmed that he was indeed on the first floor, I opened the door and stepped out, timing my movements with the sound of the thunder.

I walked across the dirty yellow carpets. This house was a haven for all kinds of pests, especially spiders. I’d already grown used to the cobwebs and rats. A bit of cleaning would have solved the problem, but my mother would throw hysterical fits if anything was moved.

That was the only thing she seemed capable of feeling—endless rage. Otherwise, she was hollow inside. She wandered the hallways, ignoring everything around her. She probably didn’t even remember our names anymore. Maybe she saw us as nothing more than ghosts haunting her.

All the family portraits had mysteriously disappeared. Only empty but valuable golden frames remained on the walls. They were proof that my family had once been wealthy.

I reached the staircase. With my fingers, I wiped a thick layer of dust off the banister and leaned over to get a better view of the floor below. Male voices continued to echo from the hall.

Another lightning bolt lit up the darkness, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. The lightning must have struck very close.

A shiver ran down my spine, and I started to tremble. I will not be afraid, I told myself firmly.

“This must be reported immediately. But I didn’t want to carry him all the way to the kingdom. I’ll leave him here with you, Dalenau,” the unfamiliar man’s voice said.

I couldn’t see them from where I was. I’d have to go further down the stairs to catch a glimpse. The problem was that they might see me too—and I didn’t want that. My heart was already pounding wildly. What if they heard it?

Still, I refused to turn around and go back to bed.

“Leave him here? And what do you expect me to do with him? Let him rot in this house? If no one comes for him, I’m not going to dirty my hands. He’s just a disgusting corpse. You should’ve thrown him into a ditch!” my father’s voice was as ruthless as ever. He didn’t care in the slightest that a dead body lay before him.

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“He’s one of the kings of Terravorn!” the stranger retorted sharply.

“He used to be, you mean. Now he can rule the worms. Corpses are useless to us.”

“That’s not true, Dalenau. Look at his wounds!”

“Got drunk, turned himself into a pancake when he tripped and fell off a roof?” my father guessed indifferently.

“Look closer. Here!” the stranger said, and then I heard the sound of movement. The men shifted, and so did I. I crept three steps lower and caught sight of them. They were kneeling over the corpse, their bodies partially obscuring it.

“These are deep wounds. But they’re clean, precise, wrapping around his entire body,” the man continued.

“Someone tied him up?” my father asked.

“With darkness,” he whispered. “These are wounds left by darkness. He was tortured.”

I shuddered and looked away.

I hated darkness. I always saw it as the reason behind everything bad that had happened to me. It didn’t belong in the hands of ordinary angels.

In the few books left in our half-empty library, I had read about the ruler of Noxalora: the dark angel Sarlan. A man of such immense power that he could consume our entire world. No one could rival him. For ages, he had sat on the throne, commanding obedience. Anyone who dared defy him paid with their life.

“The ruler is after us. He must have sent one of his twisted kids to deal with him. Looks like they had fun with him. Check his back!” the stranger’s voice continued as he examined the wounds.

My father moved to flip the body onto its stomach, fully exposing it.

I immediately shut my eyes. Even so, I knew I would dream about this—about the unnaturally twisted, bloody, and lifeless body lying in our hall.

“Interesting work!”

“They destroyed his wings. Sarlan sent a message. He’s making it clear that not even wings can protect us from death. He died from a fall. An angel killed by a fall… it’s unthinkable! That sort of thing only happens to the incomplete, not to us. The dark one has no limits, Dalenau.”

“Neither do we,” my father reminded him coldly.

I cracked my eyes open slightly. I needed the perfect moment—a flash of lightning or some other sound—to slip back unnoticed. If I moved now, I’d draw their attention. One mistake, and...

“Perhaps we’ve gone too far. They could destroy all of us without breaking a sweat. We’ve stopped being cautious, and this is the result. We need to change our tactics, or we’ll all end up like this.”

"Hopefully, you didn’t soil your pants!" my father mocked. "You know who our enemy is and what we’re fighting for. If you’re afraid of some little prince, how do you plan to face the ruler? You know we don’t tolerate cowardice."

"Do you hear yourself, Dalenau? Both princes are at least three times older than us! I’m not a coward, just cautious, because the truth is, as a corpse, I won’t be able to change the world!"

What was all of this supposed to mean?

I already knew my father was insane; all you had to do was look at him. But I didn’t think of him as suicidal. You couldn’t go against the dark angels and survive. Only complete lunatics would believe they could come out of such a confrontation alive.

"For the greater good, sometimes you have to die. And if they kill you, I swear I’ll toss your corpse into a nice ditch," my father growled.

"You’re insane!" the stranger snapped at him.

"But I’m complete. My mental state is none of your concern."

"I’ll return tomorrow with a higher-ranking member to deal with the body. Make sure nothing happens to it."

"It’s not like it’ll walk away on its own, is it? It’ll stay here until you come back, or until it crumbles to dust. Take your time," my father replied, stepping closer and patting the man on the shoulder.

The stranger recoiled in disgust and took a step back. Water still dripped from his soaked clothes, forming small puddles on the wooden floor. Suddenly, he turned back to my father, leaning in close. I saw his lips move, but the words he whispered remained a mystery to me.

At that moment, magic began swirling around them—at first, a soft, almost invisible mist, which thickened into a transparent shield. It blocked even the faintest sound from escaping.

The man’s eyes shifted directly to me. It was foolish to think he wouldn’t reveal me. His smirk said it all. Though he had just accused my father of madness, there was something utterly corrupt in his gaze.

Without a word, he turned and began to leave.

I stood up and took a step forward, trying to remain completely silent. A childish thought crossed my mind: If I can’t see him, he can’t see me.

It didn’t work.

It took him only a second to appear behind me. I had no chance to escape. My father simply summoned his wings, took flight, and landed in a way that blocked my path back to my room.

"So, Losiela? Are you going to summon your wings and fly away from me, my little angel? Or will you remain the same incomplete bastard? What’s it going to be?" he asked me in a cold voice.

I didn’t summon my wings. Maybe it could have spared me from the suffering, but I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t capable. I was incomplete—his greatest shame. The daughter of a man who fought only for the rights of complete angels, who hunted and ruthlessly killed the defective ones, was herself an angel without wings.

That was one of the reasons he hated me. My siblings he merely disliked, occasionally enjoying tormenting them, but with me, it was personal. I was the embodiment of his greatest failure.

“You don’t surprise me at all,” he said in an icy voice, gripping my shoulder tightly. His grasp was so strong I felt like my bones might snap. I couldn’t fight him. Without hesitation, he began dragging me down the stairs, ignoring my protests.

“Curious, are you? Why don’t you come closer?”

I couldn’t stop him. My father brutally threw me onto the floor, directly onto the bloody, darkness-ravaged corpse of the dead angel. For the first time, I felt what it was like for someone else’s blood to seep into my skin.

I screamed in shock. My cry echoed through the hall. I kicked my legs, pounded him with my fists, and tried to use magic. But everything shattered against his shield, leaving no trace. He forced me to remain on the cold, bloodied body.

“Do you like it?” he spat mockingly. “Do you like how the dark ones protect you like this? Take a good look, Losiela! Do you see what Sarlan’s bastards did just to protect defectives like you? Look at how they killed my friend for your sake!”

I couldn’t resist. I looked—and instantly regretted it.

His body was ruined. Every inch of his skin bore the marks of darkness that had mercilessly consumed him. It looked as though someone had bound him with impossibly sharp ropes that dug deeper and deeper into his flesh. The wounds were precise, almost surgically clean, yet all the more horrifying. The darkness had tortured him slowly, leaving him no hope of escape.

And yet, it wasn’t blood loss that killed him. The other man who brought him here was right—he died from a fall. The dark one had been exceptionally cruel. He bound him in such a way that when he tried to summon his wings during the fall, the ropes shredded them to pieces.

He deserved it. Why should I feel any guilt? The man beneath me would have killed me without hesitation if given the chance.

“Nothing in my life has ever disappointed me as much as you, Losiela. Get out of my sight, or I’ll show you what we do to scum like you!” my father roared, abruptly releasing my arm.

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

I pushed myself up from the cold, wet, and bloodied body of the man and got to my feet. My palms were filthy, covered in blood, trembling so badly I wouldn’t have been able to hold anything.

I walked past him and practically ran back toward the stairs.

Then I stopped abruptly.

From the second floor, my mother was staring down at me. She stood motionless, like a statue, her face pale as death in the dim night light.

Her face could have been mine. We had the same red, slightly curly hair and piercing green eyes. But hers were framed by a black ring—the mark of loyalty to Terravorn. My eyes were still clear.

She had been beautiful once—surely, back when she still took care of herself. Now her red hair was disheveled, and she smelled strange. Her face was dirty, her eyes unnaturally wide.

I didn’t speak to her. She stood three steps away from my door. I decided to pass by her quietly, not to wake her from her daze.

She seemed to be staring through me, as if I wasn’t even there.

I moved toward her slowly, careful not to make a single sound. She remained still. She didn’t tilt her head or even lift her chest to breathe. Was she even breathing? She was terrifying.

Just two more steps.

Suddenly, she turned her head and stared at my chest. “It’s your fault, Losiela,” she whispered in a hollow voice.

She wasn’t angry or sad—she simply wasn’t. Her empty eyes didn’t meet mine the way anyone else’s would. Even though she had spoken my name, she still didn’t see me.

I didn’t stop walking. I didn’t say a word. I passed by her and entered my room.