Page 3 of Court of Twisted Angels

Mother's thin fingers find mine, squeezing with what little strength remains. "My brave, foolish girl."

But that's all that's said. So I kiss them each goodnight and go to pack, knowing it will be my last night here.

Dawn bleedsacross the horizon in shades of amber and rose as I shoulder my worn leather pack. The weight of my twin blades against my back is familiar, comforting.

Our entire settlement has gathered to see off those brave - or desperate - enough to enter the trials. The zarryns stamp their hooves against the packed earth, their silver coats gleaming in the early light. Steam rises from their nostrils in the cool morning air as they wait, harnessed to wooden transport carts, twin tails twitching with impatience.

Mother leans heavily against Father, wrapped in her thickest shawl despite the warming day. My younger siblings cling to her skirts - Mira with tears streaming down her face, Tam trying to look brave but failing to hide his trembling chin.

"Take this." Mother presses something into my palm - her healing crystal, its magic nearly depleted but still holding a faint warmth. "For luck."

I close my fingers around it, throat tight. "I'll bring back something stronger. I promise."

Father pulls me into a fierce embrace. "Remember your training. Trust your instincts." His voice roughens. "And come home to us."

The transport master calls for boarding. I climb into the nearest cart, wood creaking beneath my boots. Other contestants file in - some wearing determined expressions, others looking shell-shocked, as if they can't quite believe what they're doing. We all share the same desperate hope in our eyes.

The zarryns leap forward at the master's whistle, powerful muscles rippling beneath their silvery hides. Their hooves strikesparks against the stones as we begin our journey toward the gleaming spires of New Solas.

I watch my family grow smaller, keeping my eyes fixed on them until they blur into the crowd, then fade entirely into the distance. The healing crystal pulses against my palm, its weak magic mixing with my own fierce determination. Every step of the zarryns' steady gait carries me closer to either salvation or destruction.

Mother's life depends on which one I find in New Solas's golden arena.

2

AZRAEL

Istand before the cursed artifact in my study, its malevolent aura pulsing through the room like a twisted heartbeat. The crystalline structure floats inches above its obsidian pedestal, casting an eerie blue glow across the ancient tomes and scrolls lining the walls.

My fingers trace the edge of my desk, the polished mahogany smooth beneath my touch. Outside the arched windows, the twin moons cast their pale light across the grounds of the estate, illuminating the carefully tended gardens where healing herbs grow in abundance - useless against our family's affliction.

The artifact spins slowly, mocking me with each rotation. Its jagged edges catch the moonlight, refracting it into sharp daggers across the ceiling. What was meant to be our family's greatest triumph has become our destruction, turning our noble xaphan bloodline into a cautionary tale whispered in dark corners.

"Master Azrael." A servant materializes at the doorway, head bowed. "Your father's condition has worsened."

I clench my jaw, the muscles in my face tightening. "How bad?"

"The healers say his wings are beginning to fade. The feathers..." He hesitates. "They're turning to ash at the slightest touch."

Another symptom of our curse. Soon, like the others before him, father will be gone. The curse eats away at us, and it won't be long before our entire bloodline has succumbed to it, dragging our once great name down.

"I'll come see him soon."

The servant takes the dismissal and leaves. I spend a few more moments studying the artifact, knowing if I wait too much longer Castiel himself will come drag me to the council chambers.

Sighing, I turn away from the artifact, striding down the torch-lit corridors of our ancestral manor. My footsteps echo against marble floors as I make my way to the room where my most trusted circle awaits.

The heavy oak doors creak open to reveal five figures seated around an ancient table carved with celestial runes. Candlelight flickers across their faces - scholars and mages who've dedicated years to breaking our curse.

"The sacred gemstones." I press my palms against the table's smooth surface. "What have you discovered?"

Castiel, our chief archivist, unfurls a weathered scroll across the table. His silver wings twitch as he traces the intricate diagrams with a gnarled finger. "I've found ancient texts that speak of their power to cleanse cursed artifacts. They call them the Tears of Solas."

"And their location?" My wings flex involuntarily, sending shadows dancing across the walls.

"The trials." Gavreel, our spymaster, leans forward. His white hair gleams in the candlelight. "The Praexa have scattered them throughout the challenges. They mean to make sport of our desperate search."

"Explain." Ice creeps into my voice.

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