They dressed me like a cow for slaughter.
The servant girls who come for me are ghosts. They don't speak. They don't meet my eyes. Their hands tremble as they wash the dried blood from my skin and force my weak limbs into a thin, white dress. It's rough cloth. A sacrifice's gown. It feels like sandpaper against my bruised skin.
My hand, my right hand, is still a mess of blisters. They wrap it again in clean bandages, hiding the feather. But i can feel it. A secret, angry heat against my palm. A constant, pulsing reminder. i'm here. he's here. we're not done.
They lead me from the room. The hallways of the manor are cold and long. Lined with portraits of dead people with my face. My family. The Ravaryns. Their painted eyes follow me with silent contempt.
He's waiting for me at the bottom of the grand staircase. Duke Ravaryn. My father.
He's tall. Imposing. Dressed in black silks that drink the light. He looks like a shadow wearing a man's skin. He doesn't look at me. He looks at a point on the wall just over my head.
"You are a disappointment, Eve," he says. His voice is flat. Dead. Like he's discussing the weather. "Even in this. You were supposed to be asleep. The sedatives should have held until the pyre was lit."
Sedatives. So that's why my body feels so heavy. So wrong. They were going to burn me alive in my sleep.
The rage that flashes through me is so hot it's almost blinding. It's a clean, familiar feeling. A weapon. i hold onto it.
"Sorry to ruin the party," i say, my voice a rasp.
He finally looks at me. His eyes are chips of ice. There's no love there. No hate. Just… nothing. Like looking at a ledger. i am a debt to be paid. A problem to be erased.
"See that you are quiet on the dais," he says, his voice a silken threat. "The nobles are here for a cleansing, not a spectacle. Do not shame our name further."
He turns and walks away, his black cloak sweeping behind him. He doesn't look back.
The shame he talks about… it's a hot flush on my cheeks. i'm an assassin. A ghost. i work in the shadows. And now i'm being led onto a stage to be publicly humiliated and then burned alive.
The procession outside is a nightmare. A long walk through a courtyard packed with people. Nobles. Hundreds of them, in their jewels and silks. Their faces are a blur of pity, disgust, and morbid curiosity. They want to see the cursed girl burn. They want to see the monster die.
i can feel their stares like physical things. Little needles prickling my skin. My hands are shaking. My heart is a frantic bird trying to beat its way out of my chest. i want to run. i want to kill them all.
But i just keep walking. One foot in front of the other. The assassin's discipline. The only thing i have left.
The dais is in the center of the courtyard. A round platform of white marble. In the middle, a thick wooden stake, wrapped in chains. My new throne.
Two priests in heavy, grey robes meet me at the steps. They grab my arms, their grips hard and impersonal. They smell like old incense and fear. They lead me to the stake, chain my hands to it. The metal is cold and heavy.
One of them starts chanting. A low, droning prayer in a language i don't know. The crowd falls silent.
The other priest walks around the dais, lighting pyres of wood with a long torch. The smoke is thick and acrid. It stings my eyes.
The Duke, my father, stands at the edge of the crowd, watching with that same dead expression. He's not watching his daughter. He's watching a political problem being solved.
The heat from the pyres starts to build. A warm promise of the agony to come.
The whispers in my head start again. The system. My parasite.
…they think this will cleanse you… it hums. …they think fire can burn away sin…
…how little they know about fire…
The priest finishes his prayer. He looks at the crowd, his voice booming.
"By the holy fire, we cleanse this bloodline! We cast out the shadow! We offer this vessel of sin to the heavens as penance!"
He throws his torch onto the wood at the base of my stake.
The flames catch. They roar to life. Orange and red and hungry. The heat hits me like a physical blow. My skin prickles. The silk of my dress starts to feel hot.
This is it. The fear is a cold, hard knot in my stomach. i'm going to burn.
But underneath the fear… there's something else. The feather in my hand is pulsing. A hot, angry beat. Thump. Thump. Thump. A rhythm of defiance.
The system whispers a new choice.
The holy fire seeks to purge you. What will you do?
A) Scream. (They expect this.)
B) Pray for a mercy you will not receive. (Pathetic.)
C) Call his name.
Call his name.
Azeriel.
The angel who ran.
It's insane. It's a gamble with no odds. But it's the only move i have.
The flames lick at my feet. The pain is sharp. Searing.
i close my eyes. And i scream his name. Not with my voice. With my soul. i take all my rage, all my pain, all my defiance, and i push it into the bond. Into the feather.
AZERIEL!
The world explodes in a flash of gold.
He's there. Standing between me and the flames. He didn't crash down this time. He just… appeared. Ripped from wherever he was, summoned by the ritual. His wings of fire are smaller now. Dimmer. He looks… tired. And furious.
The crowd gasps. The priests stumble back, their faces white with shock.
My father's dead eyes are wide for the first time.
Azeriel looks at me. His golden eyes are a storm of conflict. He sees the chains. The fire. The smile on my face.
"What have you done?" he snarls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
"Me?" i say, my voice loud enough for the front rows to hear. i give him a slow, deliberate smile. A performance. "I was just thinking about you. Did you miss me?"
The system sings in my head.
[+200 SIN POINTS ACQUIRED]
REASON: Public flirtation with a divine entity during a holy ritual.
Azeriel flinches, as if i'd struck him. He takes a step toward me, his hand reaching for the hilt of his screaming sword.
But the fire… it does something strange. The holy fire of the pyre, the fire meant to destroy me, it seems to… bow to him. It splits, flowing around him, around me. It doesn't burn me anymore. It feels… warm. Like a blanket.
The flames rise higher and higher, but they don't touch me. They swirl around the dais, a vortex of golden light. And in the center of the storm, it's just me and him.
The chains on my wrists melt away.
i am free.
i take a step forward, right through the wall of fire. It doesn't hurt. It feels like power.
The crowd is in chaos. Shouting. Screaming. Pointing.
The priests are on their knees, praying. My father… my father looks like he's seen a ghost.
i stop in front of the angel. He's staring at me, his face a mask of horrified disbelief.
"What is happening?" he whispers, his voice raw.
"A cleansing," i say, my voice a purr. i reach out my bandaged hand, the one with his feather hidden inside, and touch his perfect, golden armor. "Just like they planned."
The girl they brought here to burn… she's gone.
And in her place… something new is rising from the ashes.