The night after Seraphiel's disappearance bled into a silence that felt heavier than any battle.
The courtyard was a graveyard. Ash clung to the stones where corrupted soldiers had fallen. The barricades had been smashed into charred rubble. Survivors slumped against what remained of the walls, their breaths shallow, their eyes vacant.
Aelric sat with his back against a broken pillar, his pipe lying useless beside him. His corrupted arm still twitched, raw veins pulsing black, but for once he didn't notice the pain. He stared at the place where Seraphiel had vanished, as if sheer willpower could drag the angel back.
Elara stood nearby, Timer in her trembling hands. Its glow had dulled to a faint ember, but it hadn't gone out. She hadn't let it. She couldn't.
Kara paced restlessly, her blades sheathed but her jaw clenched. She was muttering under her breath, curses sharp enough to cut stone. Tomas sat on a fallen beam, trying to restring his bow, though his shaking hands betrayed the toll of the night.
No one spoke of victory.
---
Finally, it was Elara who broke the silence.
"We have to go after him."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried through the ruin like a spark in dry grass.
Kara stopped pacing. "Go after that?" She threw her arms wide toward the scorched battlefield. "Did you see what he turned into at the end? He's gone, Elara. Whatever part of him you think you saw—it's gone."
"No," Elara said sharply, eyes blazing. "It wasn't gone. I saw him. Just for a moment. He fought it. He smiled at me."
Tomas sighed, rubbing his temples. "Aye, lass, maybe he did. But sometimes a smile's a goodbye, not a promise."
Elara shook her head fiercely. "You don't understand. If he were truly gone, my Timer would have shattered. It still glows. He's still fighting."
Her words sent a ripple of unease through the group. Even Aelric stirred, dragging his gaze from the shadows.
"You think he can be pulled back," he muttered.
"I know he can," she answered.
---
Aelric let out a humorless laugh, though it came out closer to a growl. "And how do you propose we do that? We're half-dead. We've lost more than half our numbers. The Council hasn't even sent their full force yet. And you want to chase an angel into corruption itself?"
"Yes," Elara said simply.
Kara swore under her breath. "Gods, she's serious."
Elara turned, facing them all. Her voice trembled, but her conviction didn't. "Seraphiel isn't just some broken angel. He's proof. Proof that the corruption can be fought. That we're not doomed to hollow out and vanish. If we let him go now, if we accept that he's lost, then what does that say about us?"
Her words stung like salt on an open wound.
Aelric flexed his corrupted arm, feeling the whispers coil tighter in his skull. Elara's gaze pinned him like a blade.
She was right. And it terrified him.
---
Tomas broke the silence with a low grunt. "Suppose we do try to bring him back. Where in the blighted hells do we even start?"
That was the question no one wanted to ask.
The air was still, broken only by the crackle of a dying fire. Then, a faint shimmer of light glowed against the far wall. Not Elara's Timer, but something else—something sharp, fragmented.
A shard of crystal lay half-buried in the rubble.
Aelric was the first to move. He pulled it free, the edges humming in his grip. The shard pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
Elara gasped. "That's his. Seraphiel's."
The shard vibrated in Aelric's hand, whispering fragments of a voice. Not words, not fully—but enough to chill him.
"Chains… storm… not yet…"
The group stared at it in awe.
Kara finally exhaled. "Well. Looks like our 'where' just answered itself."
---
But the shard was unstable. Dark veins spiderwebbed through it, threatening to swallow the light.
Elara reached for it instinctively. Aelric jerked back. "Don't."
"I have to," she insisted. "My Timer resonates with his. Maybe it can stabilize it."
"You touch this, it'll rip through you in seconds," Aelric snapped.
Her chin lifted. "Then let it. Better me than no one."
The tension thickened, the group caught between fear and resolve. Tomas watched quietly, then nodded once. "Let the lass try. If it shatters, we'll know Seraphiel's truly gone. If it doesn't…" He shrugged. "We'll have our answer."
---
Elara placed her Timer beside the shard. The glow flickered, then surged as the two resonated. Light clashed with shadow, sparks flying in jagged arcs. The courtyard shook, a low hum filling the air.
Elara's face twisted in pain, but she didn't pull back. She whispered through gritted teeth: "You're not lost. Not yet."
The shard pulsed harder, light breaking through the cracks. For a heartbeat, a voice rang clear.
"Elara…"
Her eyes filled with tears. "Yes. I'm here."
Then the shard quieted, dimming back to its unstable glow.
But it hadn't shattered.
---
Aelric stared, breath caught in his throat. He hated hope. It was heavier than despair, because it demanded something of you. But now that fragile ember was back, burning in their hands.
Kara sheathed her blades with a sharp click. "Well, looks like we've got our next suicide mission. Saving a fallen angel. Wonderful."
Despite the sarcasm, her eyes softened.
Tomas tied his bowstring, grimacing at the pain in his ribs. "If we're doing this, we'll need supplies, maps, and answers. The shard's a compass, aye? Then we follow it."
Elara nodded, clutching both her Timer and the shard. "We'll find him. We'll bring him back."
---
Later, as the survivors prepared what little they had left, Aelric stood apart, staring at the horizon. His corrupted arm ached, veins crawling higher across his chest. The whispers hissed with mocking laughter.
"You think you can save him? You can't even save yourself."
He clenched his fist until black ichor dripped between his fingers.
"Shut up," he growled.
But in the back of his mind, he saw Seraphiel's smile.
And for the first time, he let himself believe Elara might be right.
---
The night ended not with despair, but with a fragile plan.
The shard glowed faintly, pointing toward the eastern ruins—the place where Seraphiel had vanished into shadow.
Their path was clear. Their chances were slim.
But for the survivors of the Clocktower, for Elara's unshakable heart, and for Aelric's refusal to bow to himself, there was no other choice.
The hunt for Seraphiel had begun.