Page 9 of Court of Twisted Angels

I know he's manipulating me. Using my desperate need for any advantage to serve his own agenda. But if I'm going to survive these trials - if I'm going to save my mother - I need every edge I can get.

"Lead the way then."

Azrael's footsteps echo through winding stone corridors, his wings occasionally brushing against the crystalline sconces that line the walls. Blue flames dance within them, casting shifting shadows across the ancient murals depicting past trials. I keep a careful distance from him, noting every doorway and intersection we pass, but he seems to creep closer as we walk.

"The meditation chambers allow candidates to attune themselves to different magical frequencies." His voice bounces off the walls as we descend a spiral staircase. "Though most humans lack the sensitivity to properly utilize them."

The air grows thicker with magic, making my skin tingle. "And I suppose xaphan master them instantly?"

"Naturally." He glances back, those ice-blue eyes glinting. "Though I sense you might prove... different."

My scar pulses at his words. The last xaphan who noticed me - who presumably thought I was different - left me bleeding in an alley. Yet something about Azrael's presence draws me in like his the only fire on a cold winter night. I'm out of options as I'm suckered in, just to stay alive.

We enter a circular chamber lined with floating orbs of light. Each pulses with a different elemental energy - fire, water, air, earth. The magic here is so dense it feels like walking through syrup.

"Most candidates rush straight to offensive magic." Azrael gestures to a crimson orb crackling with flames. "They forget that survival often requires..." His wing brushes my shoulder as he moves past, sending shivers down my spine. But this time…not from disgust. "...a more delicate touch."

I step toward a pale blue orb swirling with air magic, trying to ignore how my heart races at his proximity. "Is that what you're doing? Taking a delicate touch with the human candidate?"

His laugh is low and dangerous. "I assure you, my intentions are anything but delicate."

The honesty in his voice makes me turn. He stands closer than I expected, those perfect features cast in shadows and light. I should be terrified. Should be running. Instead, I find myself studying the way his wings shift with each breath, how his power seems to reach for me like a warm caress.

"Then what are your intentions?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes narrow, something ancient and predatory stirring in their depths. "That depends entirely on whether you survive the initiation."

The reminder of the upcoming trial pulls me back to reality. "I should rest before tomorrow." I step away from him, as if the distance will help me think clearer. "The initiation won't wait for tired candidates."

Azrael inclines his head, those perfect wings shifting like fresh snow. "Indeed. Though few sleep well the night before." His eyes lock with mine one final time before he turns, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

The walk back to my waiting chamber feels longer without his presence. Torchlight flickers across the stone walls, and occasional bursts of laughter or sobbing echo from other rooms. There seem to be four waiting rooms, stuffed full of humans and not enough beds.

The heavy wooden door creaks as I push it open and slip inside. I climb to my top bed, ignoring the others, and collapsing on my stomach so I can stare out the window across from me.

The xaphan city sprawls below like a jeweled tapestry. Crystalline spires rise into the violet sky, their surfaces reflecting the light of two moons. Magic-fueled lanterns float between buildings, carried by currents of enchanted wind. The air ripples with protective wards, their patterns visible as shimmering veils of gold and silver.

In the western quarter, where human settlements crouch in the shadow of xaphan grandeur, smoke rises from countless chimneys. It makes me think of my family, probably gathered around our tiny hearth. Mom in her sickbed, Dad trying to hide his worry, the twins pestering him with questions about when I'll return.

If I return.

A group of xaphan glide past my window, their wings catching the moonlight. Their laughter drifts through the glass, carefree and cruel. To them, tomorrow is just another show - humans dancing for their entertainment, dying for their amusement.

The scar on my neck throbs in time with the pulse of the city's magical barriers. Everything I hate is here in this glittering prison of a city, yet it's also the only place that holds hope for Mother's cure.

The moons climb higher, casting triple shadows across my small room. I should try to sleep, but my mind keeps returning to ice-blue eyes and wings white as fresh snow.

6

AZRAEL

The massive columns cast long shadows across the empty corridor as I make my way through the eastern side of the arena - well, the tunnels below it. My footsteps echo against the stone floor, thoughts of auburn hair and defiant green eyes still lingering in my mind.

A flash of white wings appears around the corner. Theron stands before me, his pristine feathers marking him as one of New Solas' elite - just as mine do. His lips curl into a sneer.

"Well, if it isn't the disgraced heir himself." He adjusts the ornate sword at his hip. "Still chasing after trinkets to save your pathetic bloodline?"

Ice forms in my veins. "Careful, Theron. Even tainted blood runs hot when provoked." As I have proven. But clearly, he's itching for another fight, and so am I.

---