Xorn should have been protecting Manor Saffron. He’d felt the shift of power when the child came into this world. There would never be another creature like that one, of that Xorn was sure. Yet he knew that Valeria would make sure the child would be safe. There were other futures he needed to maintain.

Nethara caught his eye as she delved in and out of billowing shadow. The magic emanating from the onyx tower made his head ache with cold and overlapping whispers. The Dark wasn’t meant to be used like this. Fused together into a spire that pierced the clouds.

“Nethara!” he called, but she was too focused to hear him. She spun and weaved, capturing fresh suffering that sped through the Ether.

His people were dying. Their cries echoed in his head and thundered fresh pain into his heart. Dark came from suffering, and it was cleansed by blood.

What was left was the magic that swirled around him now. Nethara sang, her voice a beautiful, eerie song on the winds, and called it to her. It swirled like a vortex as she danced. Her wings lashed and the rimmed talons glinted, fully extended, but not out of aggression. She’d become a creature so attuned to the Dark that this seemed like where she belonged.

Xorn grimaced as he latched onto one of the jagged shards and began to climb. He’d seen her do this once before. He’d been so mesmerized by her beauty and power. But she wasn’t capable of keeping this up for long. Her Light would struggle to the surface, burn her mind and her soul. She’d go mad if he didn’t stop her.

He didn’t try to call her name as she danced. Instead he climbed until he couldn’t see the ground anymore. His hands bled as he gripped and pulled himself up. But the blood wouldn’t be wasted. The onyx stones glistened with quiet power as it drank and his black blood disappeared into its mirrored surface.

He paused when he felt that he’d reached high enough. His blood thundered in his ears and for the first time, he was afraid. But he had to do this. He had to get to Nethara, even if this is what it took.

He waited for her to come around, whispering and weaving through the shadows, almost too fast to notice, before he let go, and fell.

* * *

Xorn had Fallen once before. It had been a stomach-lurching event that had changed him on the inside in the infinite time of his Fall. It was a phenomenon few understood among his people. Celestia lingered high in the clouds and it was a place meant for angels to feel close to the Divine. It was meant to be peaceful and a place to surround themselves with Light until they were saturated with the Divine’s love.

But Celestia had stopped being a place of love a long time ago. It was now a brilliance that burned, an agony that scourged, and no matter what the Seraphim said, the Divine’s presence couldn’t be felt there anymore.

What little connection he’d had to the Divine had been ripped away during the Fall. He’d embraced Darkness, that void that promised solace and a place to indulge his pain instead of letting it eat away at him bit by bit over the long span of eternity. He’d always felt that the Dark held the answers angelkind needed to evolve, to change and alter a path destined for something far worse than separation from the Divine.

He still held that conviction, but this time his Fall was for a new cause. He closed his eyes and threw his head back as his midnight hair whipped around his face. Shadows and magic screamed around him, as if enraged that he would disturb Nethara’s dance. But that was why he Fell. Even before he’d known her, she’d always been the breath of life and truth that he’d always searched for.

The slam hit him hard. Hard enough that he thought he'd broken every bone in his body. That had been the price of his Fall from Celestial. The physical pain was enough to transform him into a powerful demon. So many kept their wings long enough to glide to the ground. But not Xorn. He'd given up everything.

But this time it wasn't the ground that had slammed into him. Steady beats of wings and the tight, feminine grip around his stomach told him that Nethara had caught him. She'd nursed him back to health when he'd Fallen from Celestia. No matter how much Darkness she drank in, how close to madness she became, she wouldn't let him go through that again.

“Damn you, Xorn,” she hissed into his ear.

Goosebumps spread across his skin to hear the way she said his name. She'd loved him once, and no matter how far they'd grown apart, perhaps she loved him still.

She glided on the drafts of warm air currents until they reached the broken surface. The onyx spire spread roots of malice like a tree taking over the world. But Nethara had been the one feeding it and now it hummed, hungry and discontent to have been interrupted.

Nethara let him go when his feet tripped over the ground. She glowered and hissed, but her eyes burned with ruby desire.

“You're still in there,” Xorn said with a grin. “My heart is still in there, somewhere.”

A moment of silence and memory wrapped around them. Nethara approached and opened her mouth to speak.

He imagined that she would open her heart up to him like she used to do. Tell him that they were destined for an eternity together and that she'd always stand by his side. But a violent wind kicked up and the most beautiful angel of all landed in a sweeping glide of sensual power.

Mehmet, he was the first angel to Fall and the origin of the Dark that consumed the world. He'd been the first to break his connection with the Divine, to openly deny them a place in his immortal soul.

Xorn glowered as the angel placed a hand on his beloved. His fingers squeezed her shoulder and she retracted the talons around her wings out of reflex. She looked up to him with such adoration that Xorn wondered if he'd imagined her love for him.

“Progress has been interrupted,” he said with a scowl. “I told you to dance.” His gaze pinned Xorn with terrifying power. “And I told you to retrieve the child.”

Xorn was Fallen, and not just any Fallen. He was a master of Dark magic and had earned the title of general. Mehmet had found the strongest among demonkind and chosen who would own land, who would lead, and who would follow. Xorn had the greatest allocation, but he wasn't a fool. All of the wealth and power the generals accumulated still belonged to Mehmet himself.

He'd taken orders from Mehmet from time to time. It had been a relief when the angel had gone into slumber, but now his heart twisted to see he was back. He glanced at Nethara and desperately wished he could read her soul. What would have driven her to awaken the mad angel? Perhaps it was her own madness that communed with him, and now that he was awake, Xorn was in danger.

“You're making a mistake,” Xorn said.

Mehmet’s lips curved. “Is that so?” He wrapped an arm around Nethara’s waist and pulled her close. She leaned onto his torso and continue to adore him with her gaze.

Xorn ignored the provocation. If he had any hope of maintaining his plans, he needed to convince this powerful, insane creature to do the right thing. The fact that Mehmet had rejected the Divine for different reasons for Xorn made that seem a daunting task. Xorn had Fallen because the Light has become twisted and wrong. But Mehmet, he Fell for ambition. He wanted to build an army and dominate the angels that had tried to dominate him.

“If you build a spire to penetrate the city, angelkind will die. They won't succumb to Darkness. You must be patient. You must wait until they discover their Light only harms them. Only then will you have the army I’ve promised you.”

Mehmet sighed and released Nethara. “Yes, yes. You've always been the mastermind of my generals. I don't doubt your cunning, wise Xorn.” His wings flared and the ground trembled. “But I don't have your endless patience. Not when angels have broken the truce.” He frowned. “Belial is dead. I've never lost one of my generals to death. I don't intend to lose any more.”

Shadows swirled in the air and Xorn shivered. He knew what those shadows were. He glanced up at the tower he’d stopped Nethara from feeding such power. This wasn’t power that should be used. This Darkness was the remnants of the dead from battles on the horizon.

“I’m not a hypocrite,” Mehmet insisted when Xorn didn’t answer. “I just know the difference between sin, and what must be done.”

Xorn didn’t see the world the same way Mehmet did, and perhaps that was just a result of imbalance. The beautiful angel clearly had Light infused to his soul. He’d Fallen but he’d retained so much of the power that came with being the first angel to have ever been Created. The Divine had done something special with their firstborn. Xorn wondered now if they regretted it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Xorn said and forced his shoulders to unwind from the knots that had rolled across his neck. Mehmet knew him even to the depths of his soul he tried to hide. The angel knew his desires, which made his next move all the more dangerous. Xorn leaned in and showed he had no fear. He’d lived in the face of death for countless centuries. Every day as after his Fall had been agony and even death couldn’t scare him. But his glance found Nethara. Even though she barely paid attention to him with Mehmet around, he couldn’t deny the love he had for her, no matter how hard he tried. “I won’t let you doom those of us who can’t live in a world without Light, not yet. We need more time.”

Nethara found his gaze then, her ruby eyes widening with realization. “Xorn?” she said his name, her voice sounding tiny and far away.

Mehmet was unpredictable. He could have chosen to slay Xorn for such outright obstinance. Yet the angel fluttered his wings, sending motes of dust and magic drifting harmlessly to the ground as he laughed. The low, throaty sound thrummed with power that came naturally to the ancient creature. Xorn almost would have preferred a bout of rage.

Mehmet never laughed.