Maria’s not sure how much time passes, but it hasn’t been long, because she still trying to force her thoughts to slow and the cuts on her hands still ache, when Sanctus’s voice cuts through her concentration.

“Oh,” Sanctus softly hums, obviously surprised, he doesn’t sound alarmed or worried, just caught off guard.

Maria ponders trying to refocus again, when the High Seraphim continues, “It would seem we have guests.”

That completely shatters any possible dregs of concentration she still had. Resolved, she opens her eyes, blinking the spots out of her vision and focusing past the flutter of petals and curling smoke of the candles to follow Sanctus’s gaze.

Standing at the edge of the stone gazebo is a familiar dark figure. Dressed in simple working clothes, with dirt-stained boots and a long woolen overcoat. Tousled black hair messily tied up with a black dragon hairpin, his wariness apparent even in his otherworldly red-slitted eyes.

“Cadeyrn!” she says, more surprised than in any true greeting. The demon still stiffly nods in her direction as he pushes something behind him, puffing out his chest to appear bigger. Maria’s heart pangs at the gesture, the distrust is plain to see, she had hoped after their midnight chat they had become something close to friends, but Vae’s party had thrown everything she thought she knew to the wind.

Maria sighs, glancing behind Cadeyrn sure she’s about to see the familiar icy midnight blue eyes of the Fateweaver, but instead she’s met with bright blue eyes set into a suntanned face with white curly hair. A child, about 10, and a boy at first glance. Ears tipped with feathers, a lion’s tail twisting into knots behind him, and six white dove wings ruffling at his back.

Maria hasn’t seen anyone like him before, hasn’t really seen anyone who appeared under the age of 15 (with Ilona being the youngest Celestial she had seen until this boy, but she was at least a teenager). The six wings are a dead giveaway of what he is, a seraphim. Unlike the four pairs of large golden-red hawk wings of the High Seraphim standing next to her, this boy’s wings are small and almost look fluffy to the touch. The strangest thing about the boy though is how he’s looking at her, as though the poor kid had just seen a ghost.

“Pardon our intrusion, Goddess of Spring,” Cadeyrn bows, reaching a hand down and forcing the boy at his side to bow as well, “a careless mistake on our part. We shall leave immediately-,”

“You can stay!”

Cadeyrn tenses at the yell, the little angel flinching as Sanctus’s gaze turns to her, obviously curious at her sudden declaration. She had been hoping to get Cadeyrn alone again. Maria knew the demon was hiding things from her, that there was far more to the story she had been told. If there was anyone who might be able to help her unravel the mystery of why she was sent to Mordin it would be him. He followed Asterius like a second shadow, responding to the god’s will even when he didn’t verbally give a command, though that also begged the question…

“Where is the Fateweaver?”

Cadeyrn stiffens, and the little boy’s wings puff up like a startled chicken, “My master is at home,” the demon quickly says, eyes shifting to ever so slightly glance at Sanctus before snapping back to her, “we were merely running an errand in his name.”

And sure enough, now that she’s looking she can see a leather bag slung over Cadeyrn’s shoulder and a wicker basket splashed with paint stains in the little seraphim’s arms.

“So, if you will excuse us-,”

“The future empress of the heavens has asked you to join us,” Sanctus cuts in, “there is plenty of space here for all of us present. Stay," he encourages, smiling wide as he gestures around them, "I know your master will not mind your absence.”

The fluffy seraphim shifts uneasily, shifting his weight foot to foot, as Cadeyrn keeps his eyes glued to the floor, “We really must-,”

Sanctus sighs, “If it is that much of an issue then I will just explain it to the Fateweaver personally-,”

“No!” the little angel protests dashing out from behind Cadeyrn, eyes frightened and body tense, “you don’t have to-,”

“Pluma!” Cadeyrn growls, wrenching the angel back and behind him, dipping into another deep bow, and forcing the little angel to bow with him. Something uncomfortable curls up Maria’s spine at the obvious fear radiating off the boy, and the forced tense nature of Cadeyrn’s bow, “apologies High Seraphim," the demon says quickly, tone even and clipped, "I assure you, you will not need to get our master involved.”

Maria heart aches, it almost sounds like he’s begging them not to tell Asterius, she can only imagine what horrible things happen behind closed doors for that to be his reaction. She feels herself hate the God of Stars just a little more, a feat she didn’t think possible.

“Well if you are that worried-,” because the last thing Maria wants is to be responsible for someone else pains, even indirectly, “we can speak another time.”

Cadeyrn looks up but his eyes do not find her’s, instead they focus on Sanctus, careful and guarded as if he’s waiting for something. Maria shifts her gaze between the two, confused by the obvious conversation happening without any words.

After a few seconds Sanctus smiles, wide and gentle, “The choice is yours Cadeyrn,” he says voice slow and laced with warmth, “I have no power over you here.”

Something twists on Cadeyrn’s face, a grimace of some strong emotion, before he’s bending into a bow again and striding to one of the pillars, crossing his arms and leaning against it, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the moss clinging to the cracks in the stone under his feet. The little angel – Pluma – Cadeyrn had called him, shifts his gaze around between all of them, before with a soft swooshing sound, his body twists and compresses. Between one blink and the next, he becomes a small cat-sized griffin, dropping his basket on the ground and leaping up onto Cadeyrn’s shoulder. Cadeyrn doesn’t even flinch, so it must be something the little angel does often. But now that she’s thinking about it… didn’t Cadeyrn say “our master?” meaning…

“Is that-,” Maria cuts herself off, quickly rephrasing her question, “Are you the Fateweaver’s seraphim?”

The griffin’s feathers ruffle, but he nods his beak sharply, “My master is the Lord of Stars and the Guider of Fate.”

She had assumed that, but to hear it is another thing. She never imagined Asterius would want such a small, cute looking angel. But people change, and the Fateweaver was one of the longest-lived gods in the heavens. It's not impossible to think that once he had a fondness for such things.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

An awkward silence fills the area. Maria shifts uncomfortably, unsure if she should keep talking or try in vain to keep summoning her own angel. She knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate correctly, not with the two tense followers of the stars watching her every move.

Thankfully before she makes a fool of herself there’s a loud “Squawk!”

And a red-gold hawk swoops down from the sky. Sanctus raises his arm, and with two beats of its wings, the bird latches onto his arm, bowing its head and offering up a scroll tucked into its beak. The High Seraphim takes the message, quickly unraveling it. His face quickly sours, large wings stretching impossibly wide behind him, feathers glinting like swords in the evening light.

“I’m afraid will have to cut this meeting short,” he says curtly, focusing all his attention on Maria, “Lady Maria will have to depart for now-,”

“I want to keep trying,” she buts in, trying to not glance at Cadeyrn. She really, really wants to talk with him about everything and she never knows when she might be back in this ring! It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to explore everything! Not to mention her luck of catching Cadeyrn without the Fateweaver!

Sanctus frowns, clearly more than displeased, “Maria-,”

“I’ll be back before sundown,” she haggles, “and if I’m not you have every right to drag me around wherever for a week. No complaints.”

Sanctus frowns harder, mouth open to say something to refute her, when another red-gold hawk swoops into the gazebo. Sanctus’s face turns into something sharp and angry before he schools it back into a careful mask of calm, whatever is happening it is definitely not good.

“Sundown,” he reminds, as with a brisk walk he exists the gazebo, the two hawks flying after him.

----------------------------------------

Just to make sure she's not a lair, she tries one more to summon her seraphim, though it's a bit hard with the voices echoing around her.

“What is she doing?” Pluma whispers in a voice far too loud to really be called a whisper. Maria feels her brow twitch, trying to re-focus back on the buzzing energy-

“No idea.”

“Should we ask her?”

Maria sighs, giving up, she was just fooling herself thinking she could do this with them watching away.

“I’m trying to summon my seraphim.”

Cadeyrn raises an eyebrow and Pluma tilts his head in confusion.

“Your seraphim?” Pluma echoes, voice tinted in disbelief.

“Yes,” she agrees, a bit confused as to why the little seraphim doesn’t know, maybe that knowledge was a High Seraphim exclusive thing? Should she not have said that?

“Interesting,” is all Cadeyrn says, but there’s a certain tone in his voice, like he knows something she doesn’t.

She takes the bait willingly, “Well?”

“Well, what?” he asks tilting his head at her in question, black dragon hairpin glittering in the red evening light, it almost looks alive with the light of the Blood Sun shifting across it, “what does the future empress of the heavens wish me to say?”

“You know something.”

He hums, glancing down at the complex array she’s standing in, “I know that whatever it is you are doing it is far more ritualistic than it needs to be.”

“This is what Santucs said had to be done.”

“I’m sure it is,” he agrees, re-crossing his arms and offering no further comment.

Maria should drop it, she really should, but now she’s curious, “And what exactly-,” she says already dreading asking but it's too late to stop herself, “should I do instead?”

Cadeyrn smiles, smug but not mean, it reminds Maria vividly of Vae’s own smirk, insults in the place of compliments, “You’re thinking too much, and focusing far too heavily on the far fair, you don’t need a circle and you definitely don’t need candles,” he says with a huffing laugh, Pluma snorts in agreement at his shoulder. Maria wants to refute him, positive that Sanctus knew what he was doing, but Cadeyrn speaks with the relaxed ease of someone who was so confident it was fact. “You just need to focus on what you need, your angel will take shape based on that.”

She frowns, that certainly sounder easier, but – “But what about the Song of Creation?”

“What about it?”

“Don’t you need it for the ritual?”

He frowns at her word choice, “Stop calling it a ritual and stop worrying about irrelevant factors. Just focus on what you need, the Primordial Creation will do the rest.”

Hmm.. well… 'It wouldn’t hurt to try?'

She takes a careful step outside the circle, looking up at Cadeyrn’s amused yet oddly proud smile. Mostly to humor him, she closes her arms, holding her hands in the almost prayer pose that Sanctus had instructed her to do earlier.

‘What I need?’ she thinks, the question echoing around her head, she’s not completely sure what Cadeyrn means by that, as far as she knows she doesn’t NEED anything. Maybe a few wants, like to be out of this stuffy dress or see her moms again. Something tugs in her chest, something more than just an emotion. It feels like it’s a part of her and yet separate, the feeling is foreign and strange, but not unwelcome. She focuses in on it, trying to grab onto whatever is shifting inside of her.

The magic or whatever it is bursts like a balloon when she applies the slightest force on the connection.

Cadeyrn sighs, “Relax,” he huffs, “your angel isn’t something you can force, it’s a gentle thing, stop being so violent with it.”

She feels her eye twitch, but she stamps down the annoyance, Cadeyrn was trying to help, at least she was pretty sure he was. She could at least try it his way.

“How do you even know how to do this?” she asks peaking her eyes open to watch his face twist with something like regret, the silver chain tattoos on his arms flashing. Oh, she shouldn’t have said that. “I didn’t mean anything by that I just-“

Cadeyrn cuts in before she can finish her apology, “I’ve seen a seraphim summoning before.”

“But isn’t Asterius older than you?” she asks, the question out before she can think better of it, “wouldn’t he have already had his seraphim?”

There’s something dark to Cadeyrn’s expression, a warning and a pain in equal measure. The little angel perched on his shoulder squishes himself even closer to the demon, letting out a soft chirping whine, that has Maria's heart bleeding at the pained sound, see really shouldn't have said that. “Accidents happen.”

Taking the hint, she stops trying to keep the conversation going, instead focusing on trying to summon her own angel, but it’s hard with the worry coiling in her bones, she didn’t know angels could die. But before she came here, she didn’t know gods could die either-.

She shakes her head free of the thoughts; she can worry about that later. ‘What I need,’ she repeats in her head, flashing images of the smiling faces of all the friends she had to leave behind in the mortal world. The sound of her mom’s laughter and her mama’s gentle voice in prayer echoing in her ears. A brush of something lighter than feathers, a familiar presence she could sense more than feel, an entity both gentle and caring that had always been there right over her shoulder-

Something shifts, unraveling and yet winding tighter at the same time. Like a flower taking root in her bones that is also blossoming into her blood. She gasps, breath ripped from her lungs as she feels another essence, another creature knitting itself to her soul. Something she didn’t even know was missing finding its place next to her.

“Master,” a soft voice like the rustling of dew-covered grass floats up into her ears.

Her eyes shift downwards. Startled to find something caught in the palms of her cupped hands. Humanoid in basic shape, made of woven together vines, with eyes of fluffy dandelion seeds, hair a blooming crown of a daffodil, and dress of yellow roses. Three pairs of green wings sprout from her back, and at first glance they appear to be made of leaves and yellow rose petals, but a closer look reveals them to be dark green feathers (the yellow roses are in fact just yellow rose petals tucking in between the feathers).

The little figure bows low, a perfect mimicry of the dancer doll she had adored so long ago.

“I am Narcissus,” she greets, her long skirt of yellow roses shifting and fluttering in the breeze as her wings flair and widen behind her, “Your Seraphim of Spring.”