Elara's POV
"You're insane," Morgana says flatly. "Completely, absolutely insane."
"Probably." I turn to Azrael. "Are you with me?"
Through our bond, I feel his answer before he speaks it. Fear, yes. But also trust. Absolute, complete trust.
"Always," he says.
Morgana throws her hands up. "Fine. Get yourselves killed. But don't blame me when you're both dead and Raphael is harvesting your corpses for power."
"We need a way out of your domain without Raphael seeing us leave," I say, my mind racing through the plan forming in my head. "Can you do that?"
"I can create a backdoor portal," Morgana admits. "But it'll only last thirty seconds before Raphael detects it. Where exactly are you planning to go?"
"To save my sister." I look at Azrael. "And to get answers from someone who might actually help us."
"Who?" Azrael asks.
"Commander Uriel."
The words hang in the air like a bomb waiting to explode.
"Your mentor?" Morgana's eyes go wide. "The one leading the siege? The one who wants to drag you back to Heaven in chains?"
"He loved me like a son once," Azrael says quietly. "He trained me. Believed in me. Maybe there's still a part of him that will listen."
"Or he'll kill you on sight," Morgana points out.
"Then we die trying." I squeeze Azrael's hand. "But I won't let Raphael murder my sister to get to me. I won't be the person who chooses safety over doing what's right."
Morgana stares at us for a long moment, then sighs. "You two are either going to save the world or destroy it spectacularly. I really can't tell which."
"Neither can we," Azrael admits.
"Alright." Morgana starts weaving magic between her hands, purple energy forming into a swirling portal. "I'll give you the backdoor. I'll also give you exactly five minutes before I tell Raphael you escaped. That should be enough time to reach Uriel before Raphael catches up."
"Why would you tell him we escaped?" I ask.
Morgana's smile is sharp. "Because if I don't, he'll know I helped you. And I quite like my domain intact, thank you." She pauses. "But those five minutes are my gift to you. Use them wisely."
The portal stabilizes, showing a glimpse of forest on the other side. Somewhere near the siege line.
"One more thing," Morgana says, suddenly serious. She touches both our foreheads, and knowledge floods into my mind—spells, techniques, ways to channel the silver light more effectively. "Everything I would have taught you in three days, compressed into thirty seconds. It'll give you splitting headaches, but you'll live. Probably."
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Don't thank me yet." Morgana steps back. "Now go. Save your sister. Convince Uriel. Fight Raphael. Do whatever impossible thing you're planning. And if you survive—" Her expression softens just slightly. "Come back and tell me how it went. I do enjoy a good story."
Azrael and I step toward the portal, hands still joined.
"Wait," Azrael says suddenly. He turns to Morgana. "The prophecy. You said we'd either save the realms or destroy them. Which one is it?"
Morgana's smile is mysterious. "That depends entirely on what you choose in the next hour. Prophecies aren't destiny, darling. They're possibilities. You get to decide which one comes true."
With that cryptic answer, we jump through the portal.
The transition is instant and disorienting. One moment we're in Morgana's domain, the next we're standing in a forest clearing. I can see the siege line ahead—hundreds of angels in formation, their weapons glowing, their wings creating a wall of white feathers and divine power.
And standing at the center, his back to us, is Commander Uriel.
"Now or never," Azrael whispers.
We step out of the tree line, hands raised to show we're not attacking.
"Uriel," Azrael calls out.
The Commander spins around, his sword instantly in his hand. Every angel in the battalion turns toward us, weapons raised. The killing intent in the air is suffocating.
Uriel's face goes through a dozen emotions in seconds—shock, rage, pain, something that might be relief.
"Azrael," he says, his voice rough. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. Surrender now. The Council might show mercy—"
"The Council is corrupt," Azrael interrupts. "Raphael is planning a coup. He's been harvesting fallen angels' power for centuries. And he cursed me because I discovered evidence of his crimes."
"That's a lie—"
"Is it?" I step forward. "Then why did Raphael personally curse Lyanna just now? Why use her as bait instead of just attacking us directly? What is he afraid of?"
Uriel's expression flickers with doubt.
"You trained me," Azrael continues, his voice breaking. "You know me, Uriel. You know I would never betray Heaven willingly. You know I followed every order, killed everyone you told me to kill, never questioned anything. When did I ever show signs of being a traitor?"
"When you ran instead of facing judgment—"
"After Raphael murdered my brother!" Azrael's shout echoes across the clearing. "After he killed Cael to punish me for asking questions! You were there, Uriel. You saw what they did to him. And you said nothing!"
Uriel's face goes pale. His sword lowers slightly.
"I couldn't protect him," Uriel whispers. "The Council's order was absolute—"
"The Council's order came from Raphael." Azrael's voice turns desperate. "He's been manipulating all of you. Using you as his personal army while he builds power to overthrow the other Archangels."
Behind Uriel, the siege line is getting restless. Angels whispering to each other. Weapons shifting uncertainly.
"Prove it," Uriel demands. "Give me proof, and I'll listen."
"The proof is standing right in front of you," I say quietly. "Azrael is half-demon. His mother was part demon, a secret his family hid for centuries. Raphael discovered it and used it as justification to brand him a traitor. But if Heaven really cared about bloodline purity, why did they let him serve as a Seraph for eighteen centuries? Why promote him, honor him, trust him with their most important missions?"
Uriel's eyes widen. He's putting the pieces together.
"Because Raphael only revealed the secret when it became convenient," Azrael finishes. "When I became a threat to his plans."
A terrible silence falls over the clearing.
Then reality tears open.
Raphael steps through, and the temperature drops twenty degrees. His power radiates outward in waves, making even the strongest angels fall to their knees.
"How touching," the Archangel says, his voice dripping with false warmth. "The mentor and student reunion. But I'm afraid our deadline has expired."
He holds up his hand. Suspended in a cage of golden light is Lyanna, her skin covered in black curse marks, her eyes wide with terror.
"Elara Thornwood," Raphael announces. "You have thirty seconds to surrender, or I crush your sister's heart."