The hum of the engines vibrated through the cabin of the private jet as Hannah Beaumont settled into her plush business class seat. Marianna, nestled beside her, rested peacefully, her tiny head tucked against Hannah's arm. Across the aisle, the five nannies—Jophiel, Ariel, Seraphiel, Metatron, and Rachel—sat unnervingly still, their eyes reflecting something Hannah couldn't place—a watchfulness too sharp, too knowing.
The flight to Tokyo was supposed to be an escape. An escape from the suffocating media attention, the whispered gossip, the endless eyes prying into Marianna's life. But deep down, Hannah knew it was a temporary reprieve, a fragile barrier against something darker—something that no mother could shield her child from.
The cabin lights dimmed, bathing the space in a soft, artificial glow. The scent of coffee lingered, but the comfort was hollow. Every instinct in Hannah's body screamed a silent warning: Something is coming.
And then it did.
The plane shuddered violently—an unnatural jolt that sent Hannah's heart into her throat.
Across from her, Marianna sat eerily still, her small fingers entwined with Jophiel's. Her eyes—once full of innocent curiosity—had gone glassy, her body unnervingly still.
The pilot's voice crackled through the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. We're experiencing some—"
The transmission twisted into something wrong.
A guttural snarl, deep and wet, like something old and hungry. Whispers layered beneath it, speaking in a language no human throat could form. Hannah's stomach turned as icy dread gripped her spine. Around her, passengers froze in place, their fear as palpable as the chill crawling up her skin.
The lights flickered violently, casting shadows that slithered unnaturally across the cabin walls.
Then came the sound of wings—
A terrible beating, slow and heavy, dragging itself across the fuselage like death knocking at the door.
A cold wind rushed against the windows, the pressure so intense Hannah's ears popped painfully. She turned toward the nearest window, her breath catching—
Black feathers.
Long, jagged, and shimmering like oil in the dim light.
This isn't happening.
"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rising storm.
Her gaze snapped back to Marianna.
Her daughter's small frame had gone rigid, her eyes now glowing with a faint, golden light. Hannah's pulse quickened as panic clawed its way into her chest.
"Surround her!" Jophiel's voice cut through the terror like a blade.
The nannies moved swiftly—too swiftly for human reflexes—forming a tight circle around Marianna. Shadows pooled toward the child's radiant glow, clawing and whispering in voices too ancient to comprehend. The air thickened with malevolence, the scent of ozone and rot filling Hannah's nose.
A sudden pulse of gold erupted from Marianna's body.
Silence.
The plane stopped shuddering.
The whispers ceased.
Passengers remained slumped in their seats, eyes glassy and wide in unconscious terror.
But Hannah couldn't process their fear because, in the blink of an eye—
They were no longer on the plane.
The Hotel Room Revelation
The transition was instant.
One moment, Hannah was bracing herself against the terror of a plummeting plane.
The next, she was standing on unsteady legs in a lavish Tokyo hotel suite, the city's glittering skyline stretching endlessly beyond tall glass windows.
Her breath came in short gasps, her heart hammering violently in her chest.
What just happened?
Marianna lay on the bed, her glow dimming, her chest rising and falling with shallow, rhythmic breaths. The nannies stood around her, their faces grim and focused.
Before Hannah could find her voice, the air in the room shifted—warped.
And then they appeared.
Three beings stepped into the room, not through any door, but out of nothingness itself. The tallest was a man draped in robes that shimmered like liquid silver, his long hair falling like molten metal over his shoulders. His eyes weren't eyes at all but fathomless wells of light, as if they held entire galaxies.
Two women flanked him. One bore hair like midnight, eyes vast as the ocean's abyss. The other glowed softly, her golden hair catching the light as though each strand was spun from dawn's first rays.
Hannah's breath hitched. Her legs threatened to give way under the crushing weight of their presence.
"Who—what—what are you?" Her voice was a rasp, the fear thickening every word.
The silver-haired being spoke, his voice a low, terrifying melody that resonated inside her bones. "I am Raziel. These are Sariel and Elara. We are the Celestial Guides. We have come for Marianna."
A primal fear surged through Hannah's veins. "You can't take her. She's my daughter!"
Elara's voice was soft, but each word struck like a bell of finality. "We don't wish to take her. We wish to prepare her."
"Prepare her for what? She's just a child!"
Raziel raised his hand, and the air ripped. Shadows bloomed on the walls—things with too many eyes and hands that twitched in unnatural rhythms.
"Demons," Raziel's voice was grave, heavy. "They are drawn to her light. They will corrupt her unless she learns to defend herself."
Hannah's knees buckled under the weight of realization. "But the nannies—"
"We sent them," Sariel said. "But the darkness is patient. It seeps through love, through fear, through every crack in your resolve."
For the first time, Hannah's defiance broke. She collapsed onto the bed beside Marianna, clutching her daughter's small hand as if she could shield her from cosmic forces with sheer will.
"You can't have her," she whispered hoarsely.
Raziel's expression darkened. "If she remains untrained, the consequences will be worse than losing her, Hannah. You'll lose yourself—and the world will lose much more."
Elara's voice softened. "We will not take her from you. But she must be trained. We will shield your home against the shadows that seek her light. And whenever you leave, you must inform us—we will ensure her safety."
Before Hannah could process this unbearable truth, the five nannies stepped forward.
Their human forms shattered.
Wings unfurled—radiant, enormous, and terrifying in their majesty. Their eyes blazed with celestial fire, every movement rippling with raw, uncontainable power.
Hannah recoiled, nausea rising in her throat. How long had they been like this? Watching? Guarding?
She was 48, a woman who had fought every battle alone, clawed her way through corporate empires and relentless media storms.
But this?
This was too much.
The tears came unbidden as she sank into the bed, every breath a struggle against the crushing weight of cosmic truths she wasn't meant to understand.
"It's too much," she choked out, the horror strangling her voice.
A tiny hand curled around hers.
"It's okay, Mama," Marianna whispered, her voice a beacon in the dark.
The warmth of her daughter's touch grounded her—barely.
Raziel's voice was a shadow in her mind. "You are not alone anymore, Hannah."
But it didn't feel like comfort.
It felt like the beginning of a nightmare that would never let them go.
The battle for Marianna's soul had only just begun.
And Hannah was starting to realize that the real terror wasn't losing her daughter.
It was knowing she might never be able to save her.