The storm pressed against the cathedral walls like a living thing.
Each roll of thunder made the stained glass tremble, splintering moonlight across the cracked floor. Riven stood beneath it, his reflection fractured into a hundred versions of himself — each one watching, each one waiting.
Azael's words still rang in his head.
> The one who watched you burn.
He wanted to ask what that meant, but his throat had closed. His pulse pounded in his ears, heavy and off-beat, echoing with something older than his own heartbeat.
Azael moved closer. The air between them hummed; the rain outside softened, as though the storm itself held its breath. "You feel it now, don't you?" he murmured. "The space between what you are and what you were."
Riven forced a shaky breath. "All I feel is chaos."
"Chaos is memory clawing its way back."
Lightning flared. The murals along the walls seemed to shift, paint bleeding into motion — wings stretching, fire spiraling, a city falling into light. Riven stumbled, gripping a pew for balance. His vision blurred; the world flickered.
Heat.
Smoke.
A voice screaming his name.
Hands — Azael's hands — reaching through flame.
Then nothing.
He gasped and blinked back to the present. The cathedral re-formed around him, but the scent of smoke still lingered. Azael was suddenly in front of him, steadying him by the arm.
"What did you see?" Azael asked softly.
"Fire," Riven whispered. "And… you."
Azael's jaw tightened. "Then it's beginning."
He turned away, shadows pooling beneath his feet. The candles flared and dimmed with his movement, as though the room itself reacted to his presence. "Those flashes will come more often. The seal inside you is weakening."
Riven followed, heart hammering. "Seal?"
"Placed on you the night you fell," Azael said. "To keep you from tearing the worlds apart again."
Riven stared. "Again?"
Azael stopped. The faintest smile crossed his face — the kind that belonged to someone who'd seen centuries of loss. "You were light and darkness woven together. The heavens called you an error. I called you necessary."
He turned back to Riven, silver eyes glowing faintly. "They tried to erase you. I couldn't."
The distance between them vanished before Riven realized he'd moved. The hum returned, deeper this time, resonating in his bones. Azael was close enough that Riven could see the thin scar along his jaw — a scar that hadn't been there before the flash of memory.
Riven's voice dropped to a whisper. "You said you watched me burn. Why didn't you stop it?"
Azael met his gaze. "Because I was the one who lit the fire."
The words hit harder than any blow. Riven staggered back, but Azael caught him by the wrist. Energy rippled through the contact — light and shadow twisting together, neither winning.
"You remember anger," Azael said, "but not mercy. You gave both to me before you fell."
Riven's breath shook. "I don't—"
"Not yet," Azael said, gentler now. "But you will."
The mark beneath Riven's shirt seared again, glowing through the fabric. The entire cathedral responded — every candle bursting into pale gold flame. The murals came alive in full: a battlefield of winged beings, a tower collapsing, two figures standing at its heart — one wreathed in light, the other in shadow — hands clasped before the fire consumed them both.
Riven couldn't move. The memory wasn't just a vision now; it was inside him.
He heard himself speak in a voice not his own:
> "If the heavens fall, I'll fall with you."
Then the fire swallowed everything.
He snapped back to the present with a cry. The flames were gone, the candles extinguished, the storm outside silent for the first time. Azael still held his wrist, eyes wide — not with power this time, but with something dangerously close to fear.
"You shouldn't have remembered that yet," Azael said.
Riven pulled free, chest heaving. "Too late."
From somewhere beyond the cathedral walls came a low, grinding sound — stone against stone, like something massive waking beneath the earth. The air chilled.
Azael's gaze shot toward the door. "They felt the surge. We have to move."
Riven looked at him, still trembling, the echo of fire and a promise burning behind his eyes. "You're not running from them," he said quietly. "You're running from me."
Azael's lips parted — no denial, only silence. Then the cathedral doors shuddered under a heavy impact. Dust rained from the ceiling.
"Later," Azael said. He stepped forward, the space around him distorting, shadows coiling like living smoke. "Hold on to me."
Riven hesitated, then reached out. The moment their hands touched, the world broke open in a blaze of gold and black.
The storm outside screamed back to life.