The gauzy curtain covering the window next to the door flutters in a non-existent breeze. A single sliver of the noonday sun cuts across the floor, unnaturally gold and glittering. The light shifts, slowly rising from the floor and forming a humanoid shape. It solidifies into the body of a young man, with sun-kissed skin, short earthen brown hair, and eyes of molten gold. Dressed in a white suit with elaborate golden stitching and a golden circlet atop his head. Four sets of wings stretch from his back, adorned with red-gold feathers.

The man smiles, worry lining his eyes, “I’m surprised you did not notice me, is everything alright?”

There is only one being among the heavens that has four sets of wings. This is Sanctus, the High Seraphim, the angel of the Royal Sun. He played a rather large role in the original novel, for he was the “mentor” for Maria. A caring and patient teacher, who never once doubted Maria or her abilities. Most readers wanted him to be the one Maria ended up with in the end, but he was only ever a friend, never expressing romantic interest and even helping Maria win the heart of Solveig.

This was arguably the best person in the novel, and seeing that the stranger is him, Asterius relaxes slightly. But why is Cadeyrn so… scared? (And he knows its fear, because he can feel the slight tremors in the hand on his hip, can feel the racing heart pushed against his back.)

“The God Emperor is dead,” Cadeyrn announces, and there is weight to his words, a double meaning Asterius can’t see. “And you are trespassing into a god’s domain,” he continues, while gently pulling Asterius back half a step, as though backing away from a dangerous predator.

Sanctus watches them, tilting his head slightly with a soft smile, eyes pained, “Have I done something to incur your wrath demon prince?”

A shudder races down Asterius’s back, but it is not caused by his own fear. He turns slowly to face the demon curled around him, there’s still a weirdly hot weight in his bones, but it is pushed aside in favor of making sure Cadeyrn is alright. “Cadeyrn-,“

The demon cuts him off by backing them up another half-step, never taking his eyes off of the High Seraphim, “Heilous is dead,” Cadeyrn repeats, voice as sharp as a blade, “You have no more power here.”

He’s not sure if it's his own mind playing tricks on him, but it almost sounds like… like Cadeyrn is begging.

The High Seraphim sighs, “Please Cadeyrn,” and Asterius startles, no one ever calls Cadeyrn by his actual name, even Pluma tends to just use “you” or “demon”, another point to Sanctus for being the kindest person in Celestia. (Which makes Cadeyrn’s reaction to him being here all the more confusing). “I am merely here to catch up with my little Starling.”

‘Starling?’ Asterius questions, ‘is he... talking about me?’

And sure enough, Sanctus’s eyes shift to him, smile fond and warm, “Sorry I have not come to see you sooner, you must have been worried when I didn’t come right away after your father’s death.” And Sanctus sighs, shaking his head with a tight weary smile, “I’m afraid it took me longer than I thought to sort out that little mess you made.”

‘Little mess?’ Asterius thinks, glancing over at the System for clarification, but there’s no window. The System isn’t here. Panic starts to flood his veins, ‘What in the world is going on?’

Asterius tries to take a step forward, but Cadeyrn quickly pulls him back.

“Let me-,”

Cadeyrn growls, and Asterius can feel it in his own chest, even as he tries unsuccessfully to push his arm away, “I told you to leave Seraphim.”

Sanctus halts his next step. His wings ruffling along his back, a disappointed frown tugging down his kind smile, “I am not my master Cadeyrn,” the angel reasons softly, “you don’t need to fear me.”

Cadeyrn doesn’t respond back, just takes another step backwards, pulling Asterius along with him.

Sanctus frown drops even further, morphing into a look of regret, “You really want to do this?” Asterius startles, just as Cadeyrn’s grip gets tighter, something has shifted. Sanctus’s eyes flash a dull gold, and he holds out his hand, “Starling,” he calls and the weird warmth in his veins spikes hotter, almost painful, “come here.”

Without his consent, his body takes a jerky step forward. He panics, trying to wrestle control of his body back. The invasive warmth has spread to every inch of his skin, somehow he knows it is to blame for this. He manages to halt his next step but there are alarms ringing in his head, a looming sense of wrong, he had just defied his emperor-

“You’re going to fight me?” and there’s something in the tone, something dark and cruel. A promise of pain. And Asterius realizes a second too late just what’s happening, “Seems I need to remind you how to be my good little Starling again?”

“Wait-!” he fumbles, fear overriding his brain even as some strange godly instinct yells at him to stay, tell him to listen and obey this fragment of the Royal Sun. He bumps back into Cadeyrn and the demon slips his arm securely around Asterius’s waist.

“Really,” Sanctus sighs, shaking his head. The curtains rustle again and more sunlight spills into the room, “honestly I truly was hoping this would be a nice trip.” Sanctus shifts, and his wings spread out behind him, shimmering and glittering in the unnaturally bright sunlight, “I was even going to let you off lightly for your little stunt on the day of Shadowed Sun.”

He doesn’t know what’s happening, doesn’t know where the System went or what he’s supposed to do. This was supposed to be a cheesy wholesome romance novel. ‘What went wrong?’

And the angel starts walking forward. Cadeyrn pulls them back another step but comes to a sudden halt. Asterius looks up, sees the red gold wings have stretched so far they are behind them now, caging them in.

When he turns back around, Sanctus is in front of them, “But sadly it seems you’ve forgotten everything from our last lesson,” and he reaches up towards Asterius. He flinches back, breath caught in his throat as Sanctus gently brushes his cheek, almost lovingly tucking a stray piece of silvery white hair behind his pointed ear, “look at you all afraid,” he tisks, disappointment leaking from his tone, “you know I would never hurt you unless I had to.”

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It’s a lie, they all know it’s a lie. Asterius doesn’t know what to do, can feel Cadeyrn at his back, rumbling a low warning growl that’s being completely ignored by the angel. He blurts out the first thing he thinks, “Why are you here?”

Sanctus laughs and it sounds like chiming bells, something beautiful and holy, “Oh how you love to play your games,” he chuckles, brushing his thumb under Asterius’s eye, “but no matter how cute you act, you will still need to be punished for disobeying me.”

“Now,” and the angel’s hand slips off his face hovering in the air in front of them, smiling gently despite his words, “your arm little Starling?”

He fights against the knee-jerk reaction to listen. Struggles against the syrupy warm feeling that’s making his brain buzz. Sanctus’s eyes narrow, but Asterius holds his ground, tightening his hands into his robes.

“Honestly,” the High Seraphim sighs, shaking his head, “you should be grateful that your father is dead, he was always far crueler than me. Understand that I’m only doing this for your sake.”

A too-warm hand clamps around his wrist like a shackle, tugging his arm forward. He tries to yank himself free, but the grip is like steel. Cayden snarls at his back, shifting to-

“Careful their demon,” Stancus warns, “the little Starling here might be your master, but don’t forget who owns him. Step too far out of line-,” The grip turns painful, Asterius can’t help but flinch, the warm vines inside his blood growing a fraction hotter, “I might damage him by accident.”

“W-What do you want?” and he hates how it comes out as a breathless whine, hates how lost and helpless he feels. Asterius was a god, but he’s never felt smaller in his life. Pinned like a butterfly to a board just waiting for the final tack to end him.

“There we are,” Stancus coos, giving him a smile, not meant for a person, but a pet who finally got a trick right, repulsion and fear war in his heart, “you just needed to be reminded of your place. You’ll be good now won’t you my little Starling?”

For a second he thinks about continuing to resist, but a red window appears next to Sanctus. The text box is empty, but it's obvious to see its intent, he can’t fight back. Asterius forces himself to nod.

Sanctus gives him a soft pleased smile, rubbing small circles into the meat of his forearm, “My good little Starling,” he praises. “I know you pulled some strings,” he says, his thumb digging into his arm hard enough he knows it will bruise. “Honestly, I admire your effort. My Starling is so very clever,” He says fondly, golden eyes carefully watching his own hands trace lazy patterns on Asterius’s arm, “But your struggles are meaningless. Once that new god ascends who will be the one waiting to teach them? So pointless in the end, but how could I get mad at you little Starling?”

His skin crawls and he tries once more to pull back his hand. There’s a sizzling snap, he feels something tug in his chest, a dreadful hollow feeling where once there was a soft glittering light.

“I told you to behave,” Sanctus sighs, looking up at him with disappointment once more, “now look what you made me do. Another angel returned back to the dust.”

‘No. Is Pluma-?’ before he can even finish the thought there’s a hand settling over his eyes. He jerks up in fear, using his free hand to try and pull it off, he needs to see. The System still could help-

“Master,” and it's Cadeyrn, whispering into the shell of his ear feather soft. He stills, welcoming the cold chill Cadeyrn brings, easing the unnatural heat of the angel, “Please don’t look.”

And that is all the warning he gets. Before he feels something inside of him tear. He thinks he might be screaming, but he’s not sure. It feels as if someone is tearing his body open, tugging his still-beating heart out of his chest. Everything hurts. The Weave of Fate forcibly activated around him, but instead of the comforting chill, it is hot to the point of burning, roasting him from the inside out.

“Oh, Starling,” and Sanctus almost sounds genuinely remorseful. “I know it hurts, but I have to do this. You’ve been so good; I have been neglectful in your care. I’m so sorry. I’ll prune the troublesome threads that have gotten tangled with you, just bear with me for a little more.”

The angel tugs sharply on a string, and he forces down a scream, a shudder wracking its way through his body. There’s an empty void in his heart, a piece of him now missing. It makes him overly aware of the other strings tethered to him, he almost cries when he only feels 5 of them. He knows there should be more. On the day of Shadowed Sun most gods had dozens, some hundreds. He had never stopped to wonder why Asterius had so few.

“There we are,” and Sanctus runs his hands down Asterius’s arm, using his magic to mend the skin perfectly so there’s not even the slightest scar, but the ache still lingers. “Now you won’t need to worry about Solveig bothering you again.”

And now he understands the true horror of what’s happening. Sanctus is cutting the strings of Asterius’s own fate. Solveig probably wouldn’t even remember he had a second older brother.

“Oh,” and he tugs on another string, causing a shudder of pain to shake through him, “and I see that dreadful muse has tied herself to you as well.”

‘No! Wait!’ Solvieg he didn’t need, but not the only person he can actually call a friend-

Sanctus must feel his genuine distress because he is far crueler. Slowly he tightens his grip, pulling a little harder each second. Asterius feels like he’s burning alive, like a piece of his very soul is being ripped out of him. He gives into the pain, letting the tears slip from his eyes. He can’t do this, it’s too much. He’d rather just die than live through this-

“I’m here,” a soft voice whispers in his ear, as his head is gently turned to the side, his face pressed up against a coarse shirt and a tangle of curls.

It doesn’t stop the pain, but it does soothe his fear. If he focuses hard enough, Asterius can smell something crisp like the first snowfall, mixed with the heavy scent of earth, and something sharp like iron. It's Cadeyrn's smell, and it shouldn’t be comforting, but his heart betrays him.

Finally, the string snaps. His breath stutters as it is finally done, he feels so empty, like all his organs have been scooped out of his chest, leaving him a hollow discarded doll.

“Now you’re all better,” Sanctus assures, and even though he can’t see him, he can still feel him getting closer. He can’t stop the fearful shiver even if he wanted to.

“I think I’ve done enough to punish you for today. I know you are smart enough to not disobey again, or I will have to take even more extreme measures.” The hand around his wrist tightens, “Don’t make me be cruel to you.”

He nods quickly, even though he’s still tucked under Cadeyrn’s chin, and he has no idea what he’s really asking of him. He’ll agree to anything at this point.

There’s a pat on the top of his head, like he’s a dog being praised for going to the vet, “You do not need all these pointless people Starling, they will only distract you from what’s important. You only need to do what I say, just as you always have.” The angel’s other hand brushes past another string, he tugs gently but it still sends lances of pain down his body. “You will be good and listen?”

He nods again, but there’s another soft tug on one of the remaining strings, “Use your words Starling,” he chides, “promise me you will be good.”

Asterius doesn’t want to say anything, isn’t sure he can, but he forces out a strained, “Yes” anyway. His throat burns from the single word, raw from his screams. Thankfully this seems to be enough, and the hands retract. His right arm hurts, aches from where the strings were torn from his soul and flesh, but he doesn’t lower it. The High Seraphim might read that as disobeying, so he stays perfectly still.

"And happy Creation Day my Starling," Sanctus whispers, a kiss placed on the back of his hand, "and for being so good for me," and a box is tucked into his palm. A reward for his obedience. He shivers but stays silent. It will be okay, Sanctus doesn’t need to hurt him again, because ‘I’m being good.’

Disgust blooms in his gut. He can almost see Sanctus’s pleased smile in his mind. He’s doing exactly what this angel wants, he shouldn’t think like that, knows what a slippery sloop this will be, but the fear overpowers the common sense, ‘anything to live’.

There’s a ruffle of feathers, a brush of warm air, and-… he takes a deep stuttering breath, the warm syrup in his veins, the heavy heat lingering on his skin, the buzzing alarm of his instincts; all of the wrongs slowly bleed from him.

Sanctus is gone.