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The transition from the Upper Realm to Earth wasn’t a graceful glide; it was a violent, soul-shredding descent.
My lungs burned with the cold of the void as I plummeted, the aether of Heaven tearing at my skin like invisible claws. My long, dark curls whipped around my face, stinging my eyes, but the physical pain was a dull hum compared to the weight of the betrayal anchored in my chest.
I was falling. And I was dying.
Images flashed through my mind, flickering like a dying candle. I saw Magnus. My peer. My rival. The man I had trained with until our blades were notched and our knuckles bled. He had always been the golden standard—nearly seven feet of ethereal perfection with hair the color of sunlight and eyes like the deepest reaches of the ocean.
But he had changed.
I remembered him standing in my family’s garden the day before he vanished, shortly after the Council chose me, and not him, as the Ambassador for our peers. Something in his gaze had been fractured. The warmth was gone, replaced by a hollow, predatory stillness.
You don't understand the burden of being chosen, Ara, he had whispered that day, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on stone. They want to keep us in the light until we’re blinded by it.
I hadn’t understood then.
I understood now.
The coronation had turned into a slaughterhouse. One moment, I was draped in the silks of my station; the next, the sky bled black as the Fallen tore through the veil. I remembered the clash of steel, the scent of copper. I had fought alongside the Council, my frame weaving through the chaos, but there were too many of them.
Run, Ara! My father’s roar echoed in my ears. I had turned, desperate to find him and my mother in the throng, and that was when the cold steel found me. The blade struck true, piercing my center.
The world went gray. My life felt like water pouring from a cracked vase—heavy, draining, impossible to catch. But the adrenaline, sharp and metallic, forced my legs to move. I ran for the edge of our world, the white marble of the plaza slick with blood.
I reached the precipice, the Great Divide. A hand, massive and familiar, clamped onto my shoulder, spinning me around.
Trust me, Magnus hissed, his fingers bruising my skin. His blue eyes were wild, frantic. You need to come with me now.
Magnus, what have you done? I tried to scream, but only a crimson mist left my lips.
Frantically, I searched his large form for something, anything, I could use against him. It was then that I spotted it, a knife secured in his belt.
You need to trust me, Ara, His eyes were swirling with a black inky substance, Everything will be alright.
Biting my lip, I nodded, letting my body go slack for a moment to feign submission.
Magnus smiled, the gesture a strange mix of evil and relief, as his hold lessened slightly. His eyes were crazed, vibrant blue swirling with black in a dangerous dance.
We will be greater than they could ever be. He whispered, moving both of his hands to cup the sides of my face.
I knew I was running out of time. In a moment of courage, I removed the knife from his belt and plunged it into his right eye. He cried out in agony, releasing me as his hands reached up to shield his face.
I expected him to go down. I expected to see the life begin to drain from him. But instead, all I saw was a black tar-like substance begin leaking from the wound through his fingers.
I took a few steps backward, utterly shocked at what I was seeing. He wasn’t dead. But what was he?
The shock of the moment had caused me to forget that I was at the edge of our realm, and only seconds later, I began to fall backwards.
The sensation of my feet leaving solid ground was the most terrifying moment of my existence. My stomach lurched into my throat as gravity became my absolute master.
ARA! Magnus’s voice trailed after me, straining with an emotion I couldn't name, growing fainter and thinner as I breached the atmosphere.
The transition was a blur of fire and ice. The aether parted, and suddenly, the golden sky of my home was replaced by the bruised purple of a winter twilight.
Below, the world of Earth rushed up to meet me—a jagged landscape of towering pines and a blanket of unforgiving white.
I hit the snow-covered earth with a force that should have shattered every bone in my body. The impact sent a spray of powder into the air, burying me in a freezing grave.
I gasped, my fingers clawing at the ice.
Retract. I have to retract them, I thought, trying to pull my wings back into the safety of my spirit.
But as I moved the left one, a searing, white-hot agony flared in my shoulder. It felt like my wing had been folded back toward my spine. I screamed, but the sound was muffled by the falling flakes.
The world began to dim at the edges. The snow was soft, almost kind, as it started to settle over my dark hair and the gaping wound in my chest.
I began to hear the sound of footsteps in the distance. The crunch of boots on frozen crust. Voices muffled as if underwater.
"Over here!"
It was a grounded voice, rich and steady, with a thick accent. As the owner of the voice came closer, a strange sensation washed over me.
Warmth.
Hands slid beneath my knees and my back.
“Stay with me,” the voice pleaded, right against my ear. I felt a rough coat against my cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Something warm was pressed to my lips. A liquid trickled down my throat, sparking a tiny, dying ember of heat in my gut.
I tried to open my eyes, to see the face of the creature who was trying to save a falling star, but the darkness was too heavy.
I let go.
And the world went silent.
