A Cold That Whispered of Heaven

As the demon he had been assigned to destroy fled into the forest's gloomy embrace, Soren watched her go. "Then I am damned to death by the sin of my birth," she said, her words piercing the silence like a sword and remaining in his thoughts. They also claim that the gods are lenient.

Soren's fist dug into the blood-stained woodland floor as he clamped his eyes shut. The harsh cadence of the ground's pulse underneath him mirrored the storm raging inside his soul. She was his enemy and a monster; every lesson he had learned made it clear that she should be killed. However, why? Just the fact that she was born?

He initially couldn't identify the nature of the sound that ripped from his throat. Then, different from the blood that had almost blinded him minutes earlier, came the hot, stinging tears that were streaming from his eyes. How could he doubt his masters, the people who created him? What right did he have to spare a woman whose eyes were filled with the bright light of heaven?

In a fury he hardly noticed, his fingers raked through leaves and trash as they clawed at the soil in search of answers. Ultimately, he had given up, as she had. He had failed to administer the deadly blow, just like her. Had he saved her life before, or after that? He was plagued by doubt.

"What prevents her from being damned?" As he struggled with his faltering beliefs, his voice was raspy and full of uncertainty and hopelessness. "She is an infernal creature. What prevents her from being damned?

He froze, his senses heightening at the sound of approaching footsteps. A smooth, soft hand settled on his arm as someone crouched next to him. The near-vampire Gramor's sweet voice asked, "How can a demon love an angel?" "After seeing the truth in her eyes, how can you deny that she does?"

The words buried deep, their weight a haunting reminder of the night she had kissed him, despite Soren's determined attempt to shake his head. Love. Could such a thing be felt by a demon? Could an angel?

Overwhelmed by the rush of feelings he had experienced since coming into contact with people, he squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. His heart was now pierced like glass fragments by questions that had before only poked it—gifts from the gods he worshipped, maybe. He felt a brittle wonder: if a demon from hell could have a soul...

"Is it really that hard to believe?" Gramor's firm and determined voice broke through once more, preventing Soren from sinking into his doubts. He paused, then softly said, "After all, she is more human than demon. Her mother was human, and her father was half-demon. Her blood cries out to your light with the same ferocity as that of any mortal.

Soren's face twisted into a near-feral sneer as he bared his teeth and looked up into the near-vampire's unblinking eyes. "So the gods are wrong? Or are you lying?

Gramor thought over the subject for a long time before he said it out loud in a doubtful tone. They would have needed to tell you what they were doing if they were either. Were they sent by God? He asked, "Do you really remember anything of them at all?" after a moment of stillness.

When Soren realized the harsh reality that the gods had not informed him anything, despair took hold of his heart. He had just figured... "So why—"

firmly interrupting, "They have their reasons," Gramor held out a hand to the angel. Soren shook his head after rigidly staring at the motion. He didn't want the near-vampire's help, and he wasn't prepared to rise. Gramor saw this and pulled his hand away with a shrug. "For mortals like us, speculating on their intentions is pointless." After a brief pause, he said, "Even for angels."

Soren was at a loss for words. Finally, he pushed out the question that had been bothering him. "Do they really want her dead so badly, just for being born?"

Gramor took a methodical step back this time, cocking his head to look up at a sky that seemed to be crying blood in unison with the ground below. Finally, he answered, "Not her death, no." "Angel, you were never supposed to kill her. You were probably intended to die at her claws. As the words took hold, Soren felt a chill, but Gramor persisted. "Even if it meant losing your life, your goal was to make her realize that the attacks would never stop—to make her give up."

Soren's throat was coated with an unpleasant, bitter flavor. His voice was raspy with fear as he screamed, "And you know this for certain?"

A small, longing smile tugged at Gramor's lips as he turned to face him. "No," he said, "I don't." But as he went on, his tone became determined. "However, I am aware that she is the heir to a lineage that is too important to heaven and hell for them to allow her to die just yet."

Elyra walked with an unsteady gait, a startling sway with every step, yet she persisted in spite of her broken bones. Amara followed despite not knowing where her cousin was bound since she didn't want to leave Elyra to face her fate on her own, whether or not she had left her to live alone.

As though it were working together to block her way and expel her from a world in which she had no place, the forest had become denser, nearly oppressive. Clumps of dirt threatened to trip her at every step, while branches tugged at her clothing and scraped her flesh. It was simpler to blame the forest than to acknowledge that her senses were dulled by fear—easier than facing the prospect of losing yet another of her loved ones.

Despite being on the verge of death, Elyra moved through the thick trees with an eerie elegance, seemingly unaware of her cousin's struggle. Her gaze never left the sky, as though seeking a kind protector or a heaven beyond their reach, yet her movements revealed a certainty—she was walking along a route ingrained in her memory.

"Elyra!" In an attempt to rouse her cousin from her reverie, Amara called in a tremulous voice. A faint sound of recognition came from the half-demon. "You must get some rest, Elyra. He isn't pursuing us. More for her own comfort than Elyra's, she contrived a tiny smile. "I believe it is over." She held on to their shaky hope even though the words sounded empty.

Elyra answered, "I don't care," in a voice that was uncannily quiet, almost tranquil, although her eyes were always fixed on the sky. "I no longer feel scared." Even though she was tired, her comments had a gentle honesty about them. "Amara, I'm heading to the river. Would you like to attend?

Amara's throat constricted for a second, but she forced a grin and nodded. Since Elyra seldom ever looked at her, she was unaware, therefore Amara spoke out loud for her own benefit. She accelerated to catch up and responded, "Yes, I'd like that." She extended her arm and gripped Elyra's hand, but she couldn't tell whose it was because it was slick with blood.

After that, they walked in quiet. Amara suspected that Elyra had become withdrawn, as people tend to do when they are overburdened. The healer had described shock as either a sign of impending death or a state of denial that numbed the intellect.

Amara felt a slight sense of comfort as the river came into view, hoping that Elyra would get perspective now that she was close to her destination. But rather than slowing, Elyra stopped suddenly. "I don't think the blood will wash away, Amara," she said in a voice as delicate as a child's, just a few paces from the water's edge.

And with that, she collapsed, as previously, overcome by her own frailty. Before she curled inward and bowed her head to the ground as tears started to pour, she let out a quiet, broken giggle.

Amara crouched next to her, putting her arms around Elyra in an awkward but sincere attempt to console her. Elyra was surprised when she leaned into the embrace and accepted it without protest. She sat up, bringing Amara to her chest and kissing her softly in the hair as though she were the one who needed comfort. She kissed her hair once more and whispered, "I'm okay, Amara," her voice trembling through her tears. "I really am." "I guess you think I'm acting foolish," she said softly, holding her close. When I got the chance, I ought to have killed him.

Amara softly retorted, "You've never killed anyone," as she used both hands to sweep Elyra's hair back from her tear-streaked face. "Why would an angel be your first choice?" To her amazement, Elyra nodded and laughed softly, but she said nothing. Amara pondered whether to ask further questions. "You know that he has also fallen in love with you," she whispered thoughtfully. If only he had allowed himself the opportunity to get to know you well.

Elyra's features briefly flashed with pain, but she nodded as her lips curled into something that wasn't quite a grin. She concurred, "I'm actually a very lovable hell-spawn." She seemed steadier when her eyes opened after closing for a moment—too quickly, Amara thought.

It was only then that Elyra appeared to realize how damaged she was, flinching as she recognized the burns and wounds that marred her body. She had been so preoccupied with someone else that she had failed to notice her own suffering. Despite everything, she whispered, "He is a warrior," with a hint of adoration in her voice. "He would have been an excellent demon." She paused, then looked at Amara before continuing, "Don't tell him I said that." It was a straightforward joke, as though the tempest had passed and they could now be friends.

Amara grimaced at the bloody mess they both were and vowed, "I won't." Can we now clean up the river? Isn't that the reason we arrived?

Elyra sighed, nodded, and stood up, dragging her cousin along. They avoided discussing what would happen when the angel recovered his vigor for the time being since Elyra recovered quickly.

However, Amara felt a shiver run down her spine as they turned to face the lake. A person stood on the riverbank, observing them with the detached eyes of a death harbinger, his face a mask of icy indifference. Whether or not he had been spared her fury, no mercy softened his eyes.

Father Malachi screamed, "Demon," the word slipping from his lips like a curse, his voice shaking with unadulterated contempt. "I was aware that your family was doomed. You all ought to have burned. He had something in his hand, some sort of weapon, pathetic in its insufficiency. His intention was obvious, yet it was ridiculous that he believed it could touch Elyra. "I'll damn you and the rest of your accursed lineage to hell." You two.

Until his last words, Elyra looked at him with cold disinterest, not impressed by his presence or his threats. Amara's whole body trembled when he ventured to show her his evil intent. She felt as though she may shatter as the demonic change rushed through her with such ferocity. Her eyes blazed with a demonic fire more terrifying than anything Amara had ever seen, her lips curving back in a snarling rage, every fang exposed with deadly intent.

As the snarl turned into a savage smile, Elyra muttered, "You," with a lethal vow in her voice. "I will not hesitate to kill."