Epilogue
Against the force of the wind, the dry trees hummed restlessly, as if they feared what was to come. They bent over the frozen ground while, on all sides, the horizon rumbled with thunder.
In the heart of Yonser, facing Lake Anabel, a gaunt woman stood wearing a black vrokiu. While the city's inhabitants hid from the lightning storm, her sunken blue eyes were fixed on the spectacle that lit up the night in silver.
She had awakened in the dead of night and, guided by a melodious voice she believed came from the goddess of Death—the one to whom all Yonserians were devoted—crossed the city and prostrated herself before the lake, which bore the same name as the goddess.
A bolt of lightning exploded to her left and struck the white wall. The boom sent a car-sized block of ice breaking loose, rolling until it crashed against the city's guardhouse. Humans and fae ran for their lives. Yet the woman didn't even flinch. She believed the goddess would protect her.
Another silver bolt split a tree to her right, and the thunderclap that followed made the frozen city tremble.
Her skin prickled, her face tilted even higher toward the heavens, and she knew the next one would be hers.
It was the goddess's will. The girl, whose name was Aylui, believed she had been heard, for she had prayed for two years to join her sister and her stillborn baby.
She felt no fear. On the contrary, every cell in her body vibrated with anticipation.
She raised her hands to the universe, feeling numb.
As if conjured by magic, a lightning bolt appeared on the horizon.
Its veins branched out, expanding through the darkness as if to swallow the world.
In a moment of blinding light, the thread at its tip stretched with eerie precision, lightly touching the fae's hand.
Monstrous silver energy engulfed the world as her body collapsed onto the ground.
Gradually, the wind's force diminished and the lightning ceased.
For an hour, there was only the pumping of a fragile heart fading beneath the storm.
Silence.
The heart stopped for ten minutes.
Then another lightning bolt exploded in the sky, striking her square in the chest. When the organ began to beat again, it no longer belonged to the girl.
Her chest expanded. The smell of burned fabric flooded her senses as the divinity settled inside the fragile receptacle.
Around her lay a circle of scorched earth, bordered by steaming snow that filled the air with hot vapor.
Oriel opened his eyes to the world, and in his irises, remnants of the lightning's silver luminosity still lingered—the lightning that had sent him to the earthly plane.
He raised his pale hands before his face.
He was disappointed to note how easily this body's consciousness had surrendered.
The despicable mortal hadn't shown a single thread of resistance to his presence, and faced with such cowardice, disgust churned in his stomach.
He could feel the weak consciousness hiding in the depths of the subconscious, so terrified that the archangel didn't even bother to lock it away.
He stood up amid the scorched ground, adjusting limbs that felt too light for his liking.
He took a step forward, testing the coordination between his angelic soul and this material body.
It was so cold he could barely move without trembling.
Another step, more confident than the last, brought him closer to the lake's edge, which reflected the dance of lightning in the night sky above.
Drawn to the lake's natural mirror, he stepped his bare feet into the water and gritted his teeth against the ice.
The reflection showed a naked, skeletal, almost translucent female body.
Trembling, he laughed at his own misfortune.
Then he grabbed the breasts, lifting them suggestively before the reflection.
“How wonderful!” The voice that came from his lips was so sweet it gave him chills. He looked up at the night sky and mocked, “Thanks, Mom.”
At that moment, a larger, more thunderous bolt cut through Yonser's skies and illuminated the glassy surface of the lake.
The archangel observed his reflection in the water and noticed a silver halo in his blue eyes, marking his divine presence in that body.
A smile cut across his mouth as he stepped back out of the lake, mocking his own misfortune.
“I hope they're at least bigger than Angel's.”
He surveyed the frozen territory. Now his body trembled so much he could barely stand.
Damn this shitty city, he thought. It had been so long since he'd descended to the earthly cesspool that he'd forgotten what cold felt like.
He needed to find clothes, or the receptacle would die of hypothermia.
But when his feet hit the pavement, he heard a man's voice cut through the wind:
“Hey, girl?”
Following the sound, he saw a fae as pale as the body he inhabited. The stranger walked decisively toward him, perhaps even furiously.
“What are you doing in the city center after curfew?” The man's eyes blazed with hatred as they traveled over the archangel's feminine body. “And why are you naked?”
The disgust dripping from the stranger's voice made Oriel narrow his eyes.
The man emanated an aura of power and domination, as if the archangel were submissive to him.
Oriel observed his black garments, trying to decipher him.
He wore a black tunic with red embroidery.
He was bald, his skin covered with tattoos of keys.
A disciple of Death. That much was clear.
“Are you mute, whore?”
“Stupid mortal.” Oriel straightened his posture, feeling each rib jut beneath the delicate skin. “Address me that way again, and you'll be the one who loses the ability to speak.”
The man drew a club from his waist.
“You filthy thing, who do you think…”
The sentence was cut short when the archangel, in a flash of movement, grabbed the man's tongue.
Then he gripped the man's head with his free hand to steady him, leaned in close, and stared into his eyes while pushing his fingers deeper into his mouth.
Fulfilling his promise, he pulled the tongue with such force that he tore out half the organ.
The faerics fell to his knees as blood gushed down his chin. His eyes widened in mute terror. Oriel grabbed the Death disciple's head with both hands and leaned in, staring into his violet eyes. When he spoke again, a cruel smile spread across his lips—one he had honed over millennia of existence:
“Didn't your bitch of a goddess teach you?” Kneeling and trembling, the man pissed himself. Then Oriel concluded, his voice dripping with disdain: “That this is how you revere a divinity?”
With a twist of his hands, the archangel broke the stranger's neck.