The tunnels beneath Aerath were old—older than the city, older than the angels' rule. Forgotten by the faithful, ignored by the holy guards, they snaked beneath the marble streets like buried scars. Kael had only heard whispers of these places in dusty monastery scrolls—half-truths, dismissed as superstition.
But now, with every step echoing through the dark, he realized how little he truly knew of the world.
His breath came in ragged gasps. His white robes were stained with dirt and blood, his sandals torn. The glowing glyph on his arm—a mark from one of the Inquisitors' spells—still burned, a reminder that they were close behind. If they caught him, there would be no trial. No mercy. Only fire.
He stumbled against a damp wall and slid to the ground, the cold seeping into his bones. The silence here was thick, almost alive.
"How did it come to this?" he thought bitterly. Yesterday, he had been preparing for the Festival of Ascension. Today, he was Aerath's most wanted heretic.
And yet… beneath the fear, something stirred. Not despair, but something else.
Rage.
Footsteps.
Soft, deliberate, echoing from deeper in the tunnel.
Kael froze. He reached for the ceremonial dagger strapped to his belt—more a symbol than a weapon—but it was gone. Taken during the scuffle. He was defenseless.
The footsteps stopped.
Then came the voice. Feminine. Low. Smooth as falling ash.
"You bleed holy light, priest. But I wonder—does it burn you yet?"
A figure emerged from the shadows, eyes glowing faintly red. A girl—or at least, something shaped like one—stood a few paces away. Her skin was pale gray, marbled with faint glowing lines like embers beneath stone. Two black horns curled back from her head, and her hair flowed like smoke. Her clothes were tattered, her boots worn, but her stance was poised. Powerful.
Riven.
Kael scrambled back, heart racing. "Stay away!"
The girl tilted her head. "That's gratitude for you. I watched you flee from the hounds. You would've died if I hadn't scattered their tracking wards."
"You're a demon!"
She grinned, revealing sharp canines. "Guilty."
Kael gritted his teeth. "Then kill me. That's what your kind does, right?"
Riven stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
Then she sat down across from him and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed behind her head.
"…I think you have me confused with someone else."
Kael stared, stunned. "What are you doing?"
"Resting," she said. "You look like you need it too."
"I—what—? Why?"
"Because I remember what it's like to run from people who claim to be divine. And because I don't kill every human I meet." She looked at him, more serious now. "Especially not one who bleeds like you."
He blinked. "What does that mean?"
Instead of answering, Riven reached into a satchel and tossed him a small vial filled with dark blue liquid. "Drink. It'll stop the burning. That glyph they used is holy fire—it'll eat into your blood if you don't purge it."
Kael hesitated, eyeing the vial suspiciously.
"You can trust me," Riven said.
"I really can't."
"That's fair," she smirked.
Still… his arm burned like it was dipped in acid. And his vision was blurring.
He drank.
The relief was immediate. Cold and sharp, like plunging into a mountain spring. The pain vanished, replaced by a strange stillness.
Kael looked at her. "What is that stuff?"
"Demon brew. Made from blackroot and void-fern. Illegal in three realms. Effective in all of them."
"…Thanks."
Riven nodded. "Don't mention it."
Silence settled again. Not awkward, but heavy—like both of them knew it wouldn't last long.
Kael broke it first. "Why are you helping me?"
Riven's glowing eyes dimmed slightly. "Because I saw your face. The way you looked when the vision hit you. You saw something real. Something old."
He swallowed. "You mean… the fire? The angels? What they did?"
She nodded.
"Then it's true," he whispered. "They weren't protecting anyone. They were… slaughtering us."
"Not us," Riven said softly. "Them. Your kind."
Kael looked down. "I don't understand. I was taught that demons started the war. That you attacked first."
She chuckled bitterly. "Of course they told you that. Do you think the ones who won would tell the truth?"
Kael closed his eyes. "I don't know what to believe anymore."
Riven stood and offered him her hand.
"Then come with me. Let's find the truth together."
Somewhere far above, on a rooftop under the moonlight, a figure clad in silver-white armor watched the crypt entrance. His wings were spread, his helm bearing a single obsidian eye.
Inquisitor Dareth, captain of the Seraph Guard, whispered into a crystal shard.
"The heretic has made contact with a demon. Authorization to engage?"
Seraphiel's voice responded, calm and cold: "Negative. Let them run."
Dareth blinked. "Sir?"
"Let them dig deeper," Seraphiel said. "The truth will destroy him better than any blade."