Page 23 of Claimed By Midnight

The late afternoon sun streams through the workshop's high windows, casting long shadows across the weapon-lined walls. Uriel is gone but he left Raven here to teach me more about weapons, ones he wants me to help forge. He says he'll teach me, but he can't seem to stay in the same room as me.

Or maybe I'm reading too much into it.

I trail my fingers along a row of curved blades, each one more wicked than the last. The metal gleams with an otherworldly sheen that speaks of xaphan craftsmanship.

"Don't touch that one." Raven's wings rustle as she moves beside me, her violet eyes narrowed. "That's a soul-render. One nick and it'll drain your life force dry."

I snatch my hand back. "How can you tell the difference?"

"See the blue tinge along the edge?" She picks up the blade, her movements fluid despite the slight hesitation in her left leg. "Regular blades don't catch the light like that. Here, this one's safer to handle."

She passes me a shorter blade with intricate etchings along its surface. The weight settles perfectly in my palm, like it was made for me.

"That's celestial silver. Won't kill you, but it'll still hurt like hell if you're not careful." A smirk plays across her angular features. "Found that one in the ruins of an old temple. Nearly lost my other leg getting it."

"Is that how...?" I gesture to her left side.

Her wings fold tighter against her back. "No. That was... different." She moves to a workbench, easing herself onto a stool. "Got cocky during a border skirmish. Thought I was invincible because I had magic on my side." Her laugh holds no humor. "Found out the hard way that magic doesn't stop a demon's blade."

I set down the dagger and join her. "But you survived."

"Barely. Spent six months learning to walk again." She runs a hand through her midnight hair. "The healers said I'd never fight again. Proved them wrong within a year."

"That's incredible."

"That's survival." She picks up a whetstone, testing its edge with her thumb. "When you're born with these—" she flexes her dove-gray wings, "—everyone expects perfection. Can't let a little thing like a mangled leg stop you."

The bitterness in her voice strikes a chord. I know what it's like to live under impossible expectations, to be seen as less than perfect. "Sometimes proving them wrong is the best revenge."

Her violet eyes lock onto mine, and something shifts in her expression. "You understand more than most humans would."

I shrug. "I think most people underestimate me."

She clears her throat. "Well, let's get started then."

I lean over the workbench,my honey-blonde curls falling forward as I trace the delicate runes with a sharpened thin-point blade that channels magic since I have none. The symbols pulse with a faint blue glow - a simple enchantment meant to sharpenblades. My fingers hover over the final marking, the one that would complete the circuit of power.

"You're getting better at this," Raven says, watching from her perch.

A familiar frustration bubbles up inside me. Always watching, always supervised. Never trusted to work magic alone, even though I can't actually cast any. I'm just the assistant, the human, the fragile one who needs protection.

And Uriel hasn't bothered to show up. I don't know why that bothers me so much, but it does. In fact, I'm growing more annoyed by the second, I realize I no longer want to be the perfect little rule following human he expects of me.

Maybe then he'll bother to show up if it's to yell at me.

I drag the blade across the surface, deliberately angling the line wrong. The satisfaction is instant - sharp and sweet like stolen wine. The runes flicker, struggling to connect, before fading to dull gray. Failure.

"Oops." I widen my eyes, the picture of innocence. "I must have drawn it wrong."

Raven limps over, her wings casting shadows across the failed enchantment. "The binding rune is off. See?" She points to my intentional mistake. "It needs to flow into the next symbol, not fight against it."

"I'll try again." But I won't. Not really. These small acts of rebellion are all I have - tiny cracks in the perfect facade they expect me to maintain.

I start fresh, moving over to begin against and trying to ignore the thrill coursing through my veins. Each ruined enchantment is a silent scream against the cage of expectations. They see me as gentle, empathetic Athena. Sweet little human who needs sheltering from the darkness.

But I've seen enough darkness to know it lives inside me too.

Raven's head tilts, those violet eyes narrowing as she studies my face. Her wings shift, casting new shadows across the workbench. "You did that on purpose."

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