They called our sanctuary Havenwood. Looking back, the name feels like a cruel jest, a shard of glass twisted in a wound that never quite healed. But for a time – a brief, shining time – it was true. Hidden deep within the Whisperwind Peaks, cradled by ancient pines and sharp granite faces that discouraged unwelcome guests, Havenwood was peace. A fragile peace, perhaps, built in the shadow of a world that hated us, but peace nonetheless.
We were mythics. Elves with eyes like twilight rivers, sturdy dwarves whose laughter echoed like tumbling stones, sprites who painted the dawn dew onto spiderwebs, and others – creatures whispered of in terrified human settlements, branded 'Fallen' or 'demonic' by the iron fist of the Ecclesiarchy. Here, we were just… neighbors. Survivors. A community woven from shared fear and a desperate hope for quiet existence.
And me? I was Azara. Daughter of a being whose name was spat like a curse in the world beyond – Asmodeus, a lord of Hell, they whispered, a creature of fire and cruel passion. But I knew nothing of Hell, cared nothing for its legacies. My fire manifested differently. It surged not with malice, but with the fierce loyalty I felt for my friends, the sharp sting of empathy for a wounded bird, the blaze of anger when I saw injustice. It was a warmth within me, sometimes comforting, sometimes volatile, a secret heat beneath my skin. I learned early to bank the flames, to appear less… infernal. To fit in.
Havenwood was birdsong in the mornings and the scent of pine resin baked warm by the sun. It was the shared meals in the longhouse, the clandestine lessons where Keeper Elara taught us the true history, the one not twisted by the Ecclesiarchy's 'Great Lie'. It was safety.
And it was Caelum.
I remember the day we met as clearly as I remember the scar the blessed bullet left on my shoulder. He was new, arrived with a handful of other refugees, their faces etched with the same weariness we all carried. But Caelum… Caelum shone. Not just his hair, spun gold that caught the light like a halo, or his eyes, the clear, startling blue of a summer sky after rain. It was an aura around him, an inherent kindness that seemed utterly alien to the fear I'd grown accustomed to. He was an angel, they said. One of the 'Fallen', according to the Priests. But there was nothing fallen about Caelum.
He found me by the Singing Falls, where the water tumbled over moss-slick rocks into a pool so clear you could count the pebbles on the bottom. I was tracing patterns in the damp earth, letting a tiny flicker of heat from my fingertip dry the mud into intricate swirls – a habit I indulged only when I thought no one was watching.
"What's that?"
I snatched my hand back, the heat vanishing instantly, leaving my skin feeling cold despite the midday warmth. Caelum stood there, curiosity bright in his sky-blue eyes. He wasn't supposed to be able to get so close without me sensing him. Angels, apparently, moved like whispers.
"Nothing," I mumbled, kicking dirt over the pattern. My cheeks felt hot, the familiar shame prickling at me. Showing my nature, even that small spark, felt dangerous.
He didn't press. Instead, he sat down on a smooth boulder, his gaze following the path of a dragonfly skimming the water. He had wings, folded neatly against his back – smaller than I'd imagined angel wings would be, feathered in shades of pearl and gold. Maybe he was young, like me.
"It's beautiful here," he said quietly. "We didn't have places like this, where I came from."
Something in his voice, a thread of old sadness, loosened the knot in my chest. "Where was that?"
He told me stories of hiding in shadowed city alleys, of constant flight, of losing his family to the Ecclesiarchy's 'Purifiers'. I told him about Havenwood, about the Keeper's lessons, about the way the moonlight silvered the peaks at night. We talked until the sun began to dip low, painting the sky in colours that almost matched my hidden fire. An understanding formed between us, unspoken, fragile. A demon girl who rejected her bloodline, an angel boy branded Fallen by the world. In Havenwood, maybe, just maybe, we could simply be Azara and Caelum.
That fragile peace lasted two seasons. Two seasons of shared secrets whispered by the falls, of Caelum teaching me how to track deer without sound, of me showing him the hidden places where the rarest wildflowers grew. Two seasons of a connection deepening, innocent and pure, a lifeline in a world poised to tear us apart.
Then came the screams.
It started at dawn. Not the gentle awakening of birdsong, but a high, piercing shriek that ripped through the morning quiet. Then another. An explosion rocked the valley, the sound echoing off the granite peaks like the roar of some monstrous beast. Smoke, thick and black, began to curl above the pines near the northern watchtower.
Panic erupted. Doors slammed open, figures spilling out into the pathways, faces pale with terror. The long-dormant fear that simmered beneath Havenwood's surface boiled over.
"Ecclesiarchy!" The cry went up, laced with disbelief and raw dread. "They found us!"
Chaos. Pure, unadulterated chaos. Shouts mingled with the unnatural clang of blessed steel on mythic flesh, the sharp crackle of spiritual energy unleashed. I saw Elara, the gentle Keeper, standing before her home, hands raised, trying to weave a protective ward, only to be engulfed in a searing white light fired from a strange, tube-like weapon wielded by a figure in gleaming plate armour. She simply… vanished.
My breath hitched. My blood ran cold, then hot with a surge of terrified fury. I looked wildly for Caelum. I found him near the edge of the central clearing, his face stark white, pulling a young sprite behind a stack of firewood as another blast of energy disintegrated the spot where they'd been standing. Our eyes met across the carnage. Fear, stark and absolute, reflected in his blue gaze.
"Azara! Run!" he yelled, his voice barely audible over the din.
Run. Yes. Run where? Havenwood was falling apart, our sanctuary burning. Figures in the terrifying white and gold of the Ecclesiarchy stormed through the village, their blessed weapons glowing with righteous fury. They moved with chilling efficiency, cutting down fleeing dwarves, caging panicked satyrs in shimmering nets of light, their faces grim masks of certainty. This wasn't a battle; it was an extermination. Zuriel's 'Great Lie' in action.
Caelum reached my side, grabbing my hand. His touch was cool, surprisingly steady. "The cliffs! There's a path down by the eastern ridge!"
We ran. Hand-in-hand, stumbling over debris, the screams of our friends echoing behind us. Smoke burned my lungs, tears blurring my vision. The fire within me raged, wanting to lash out, to incinerate the monsters tearing our home apart. But I clamped down on it, fear a more potent force. Using my power now would only paint a target on our backs.
We scrambled up the rocky incline leading towards the eastern cliffs, the sounds of the massacre slowly fading behind us, replaced by the whistling wind that always swept through these heights. Below, the Silver-Rill River snaked through the deep ravine, a dizzying drop away. Freedom felt impossibly close, yet terrifyingly far.
Then I saw him. Perched impossibly high on an opposing crag, almost invisible against the rock face. A lone figure. A long rifle, gleaming with tell-tale blessings, levelled in our direction. A sniper.
"Caelum, down!" I screamed, shoving him sideways.
Too late. A white-hot agony slammed into my left shoulder. It felt like being struck by lightning, a searing burn that went bone-deep, stealing my breath. My legs buckled. The world tilted crazily, the sky and the river below swapping places. I heard Caelum cry my name, a sound thick with horror.
Then, I was falling. Tumbling backwards over the precipice, the wind rushing past me like a physical blow. Below, the rocks and the churning river seemed to rush up with terrifying speed. This was it. The fall would kill me, if the blessed wound didn't.
Suddenly, something slammed into me from above. Arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me tight against a solid chest. A gasp of air beside my ear. Wings – desperate, frantic wings – beat against the unforgiving air. Golden feathers flashed in my fading vision. Caelum.
He hadn't stayed on the ledge. He hadn't tried to escape. He had jumped after me.
His wings weren't strong enough, not developed enough to carry us both, perhaps weakened by the shock or some unseen injury from my shove. I could feel the strain in them, the frantic, failing beats. He knew it too.
With a choked cry, he twisted in mid-air, enveloping me completely. His body became my shield, his wings wrapping around me like a desperate prayer as the ground surged towards us. He tucked my head against his chest, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ear.
"Azara…" His voice was a broken whisper, lost in the roar of the wind.
Then, impact. A shattering collision that drove the air from my lungs. Darkness swallowed me whole.
Pain. That was the first thing I knew when consciousness returned, fragmented and hazy. Sharp stone digging into my back, the throbbing fire in my shoulder, a dull ache spreading through my skull. The coppery tang of blood filled my senses – thick, overwhelming. I blinked, trying to clear my vision.
I lay at the bottom of the ravine, amidst shattered rocks and debris. Above, the cliff edge was a distant, jagged line against the now-grey sky. Something heavy lay across me. A wing. Caelum's wing, torn, blood-matted, feathers broken and bent at unnatural angles.
Panic seized me, cold and sharp. "Caelum?" I choked out, trying to push the heavy limb aside. My injured shoulder screamed in protest.
He lay beside me, sprawled on the unforgiving rock, utterly still. His eyes were closed, his face pale beneath streaks of dirt and blood. His chest… wasn't moving. More blood pooled beneath him, dark against the grey stone. His other wing was twisted beneath him, clearly shattered.
"No…" The word was a ragged sob. I pushed myself up, ignoring the blinding pain, crawling towards him. "Caelum, wake up! Please!" I shook his uninjured shoulder, my tears splashing onto his still face. He didn't respond. Didn't stir. Dust. He was dust, just like Havenwood was ashes. And it was my fault. The sniper, the fall… he'd shielded me.
The sound of booted feet crunching on loose scree sent a fresh wave of terror through me. I froze, looking up towards the narrow game trail that wound down the ravine side. Four figures in Ecclesiarchy armour were cautiously descending. Hope died within me. They'd come to finish the job.
Two soldiers reached the bottom first, their blessed swords drawn, eyes scanning the wreckage. They saw me huddled beside Caelum's body, and their expressions hardened. They advanced, weapons raised.
Suddenly, two sharp cracks echoed in the confined space. Not thunder. Gunshots. The two advancing soldiers crumpled, holes blasted through their gleaming breastplates, smoke curling from the wounds. They fell without a sound.
I stared, stunned, as the two soldiers behind them lowered smoking pistols. They weren't standard Ecclesiarchy issue; they looked modified, almost crude. These two exchanged a grim look, then cautiously approached Caelum and me. Their faces weren't filled with righteous fury, but with something else… weariness? Regret?
One, older, with a scar bisecting his eyebrow, knelt beside Caelum. He pressed two fingers against Caelum's neck, then slowly shook his head, his expression pained. He looked at the broken wings, the still form, then at me, huddled and bleeding.
"Spirits forgive us…" he whispered, the words barely audible. He actually made a warding sign, ancient and barely remembered, not one of the Church's rigid gestures.
The other soldier, younger, his face pale, was already ripping strips from his cloak. He knelt beside me, gently probing my shoulder wound. I flinched, expecting pain, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. "Blessed round," he murmured, his voice rough. "Nasty bite. And your head…" He carefully cleaned a bleeding gash on my temple with a waterskin.
"We have to get you out of here, child," the older soldier said, standing up. He looked back up the trail, then down at Caelum's body again. "We can't leave you for the Purifiers or… worse." He glanced meaningfully at the bodies of his comrades. "But him…" He gestured sadly at Caelum. "There's… there's nothing we can do. It's too late."
"No!" I cried, clutching at Caelum's tunic. "He's not… he can't be!" My voice broke. Guilt and grief were a physical weight crushing my chest.
The younger soldier gently tried to pull me away. "We must go. Now. Before others come."
They lifted me, carefully supporting my injured shoulder. I fought weakly, screaming Caelum's name, thrashing against their hold, my vision swimming. The last thing I saw before the darkness surged back was Caelum's still form lying amongst the rocks, one broken wing draped over the stones like a fallen banner, the coppery scent of his sacrifice filling the air.
They carried me away from the ruins of Havenwood, away from the boy who had saved my life, leaving him behind in the cold shadows of the ravine, presumed dead. Leaving me alone with the fire inside, now fueled by an agony and guilt so profound, I knew it would burn for an eternity.