Page 24 of Court of Twisted Angels

I sink onto the edge of my bed, burying my face in my hands. The moonlight casts wing-like shadows on the wall as it spills from the side of the massive windows, making my heart stutter. Even now, years later, the sight of wings can send ice through my veins. Yet today I willingly stepped into Azrael's embrace, let his wings enfold me.

"What am I doing?" I whisper to the empty room.

And just like me, it has no answer.

14

AZRAEL

The wind whips through the ancient trees, their twisted branches creaking and groaning like souls trapped in eternal torment. My wings itch to unfold, to chase after her diminishing form as Kyrie steps into the darkness of the second trial.

Magic ripples across the barrier between arena and forest - an invisible wall that keeps spectators safe while contestants face their demons within. The air crackles with power, tasting of ozone and fear.

"Steady." I grind the word between my teeth, fingers digging into my palms. Blood wells beneath my nails, but I hold my position at the observation point. I'm not supposed to intervene. But after that fucking... I fight every instinct screaming to follow her.

The forest shifts and writhes, its very essence unstable. Trees melt into mist only to reform yards away. Paths appear and vanish like serpents in grass. Above, storm clouds gather and disperse in an endless dance, casting strange shadows across the arena floor.

I told Kyrie not to use the conduit unless absolutely necessary. She's not trained enough, despite our sessions all week, and I don't want others to see what she can do if we can help it. It will put a target on her back.

Kyrie's auburn hair catches the last rays of light before she disappears into the gloom. My enhanced vision tracks her determined stride, the set of her shoulders betraying none of the terror I know churns in her gut. She's different from the others - stronger, more focused. It makes watching her enter this hell all the more difficult.

"Little bird." The words escape before I can stop them.

My wings rustle, responding to my agitation. The urge to spread them, to tear through the barrier over the forest that keeps it separate from the arena and snatch her from danger, pounds through my blood like a war drum.

But I remain frozen, watching as the forest begins its cruel work. Already the illusions take shape - shadowy forms that dance at the edge of vision, whispers that carry on non-existent winds.

I've seen what this trial does to contestants. How it breaks them, twists their minds until they're nothing but hollow shells stumbling through their own nightmares.

The magical barrier ripples again, distorting my view of where Kyrie vanished. My jaw clenches so tight I taste copper. This is the price of my position, of the game we play. I can only watch as she faces her demons alone.

I shouldn't care. But now that I've had a taste of her, I'm so far past 'shouldn't' I can't even fucking find it.

I track Kyrie's progress. My fingers dance across its surface, weaving subtle alterations into the forest's magic. A deadly chasm begins to form in her path - with a twist of my wrist, I redirect its manifestation twenty paces to her left.

"Watch your step, little bird."

She pauses at a fork between two identical paths. The left leads to a grove of soul-stealing trees, their branches already reaching for her with hungry tendrils. I send a cold breeze down the right path, making the leaves whisper and dance. She takes the hint, turning away from certain death.

My breath catches as a shadow beast materializes behind her - all teeth and claws and murderous intent. Before it can strike, I layer an illusion of morning light across that section of forest. The creature hisses and retreats into the darkness where it belongs.

Sweat beads on my forehead. Each manipulation risks detection by the Praexa. If they catch me interfering... Well, honestly I'd love to see them try and stop me. I have no doubt that Kyrie could handle whatever they throw at her, but I can't stomach watching her have to.

Not when she has me.

Kyrie approaches a clearing filled with beautiful crystalline flowers. Their petals gleam with poisonous allure - one touch would stop her heart. I conjure the scent of decay, just strong enough to make her wrinkle her nose and change course.

"Good girl."

My wings strain as she heads down another path and vines come bursting from the ground. She stumbles, nearly falling into a patch of flesh-eating mist. With a subtle gesture, I shift the wind patterns, dispersing the deadly fog moments before it can touch her skin.

I start to hear some mutters around me, commenting on her uncanny luck. I keep my expression neutral, though my heart pounds with each near miss. Every intervention only draws more attention to her, attention I don't want, but I can't stop. Not when her life hangs by such a delicate thread.

She presses forward, that stubborn determination never wavering. I flex my fingers, preparing for the next necessarydeception. The forest has only begun its assault, and I'll be damned if I let it claim her.

As she turns a corner into a wide clearing, I watch as the forest weaves its cruelest illusion yet. The trees part like a curtain, revealing a weathered cottage that materializes from the mist. She stumbles to a stop and I know exactly what it is - it's pulling this scene directly from Kyrie's memories.

Eleanor Kael lies on a simple wooden bed, her skin ashen and drawn tight over bone. The magical projection captures every detail - the threadbare blanket, the empty medicine bottles, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on hollow cheeks.

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