Dove Caught in a Burning Bush Ch. 07

The Septematrium had always been an ominous, somber place to Promethiel ever since he was a new soul.

It was a massive room below the palace that could very well pass as a cavern if not for the uniformity of the gold flecked, dark stone walls. Sharp angles made up the carved pillars and the stairs leading up to a platform with a long table at its center. The basalt floor was made of the same stone, seeming to stretch on forever at the edges in the dim light as the beginning and end of floor and wall seemed to blend together.

He hadn't seen much of it until he began to serve as the Archangel king of Edenara, only having been there a small handful of times to shadow his father during low security discussions for his training as heir. Now that his curiosity had been long sated, he could now add another descriptor to the list; irksome with bad lighting and even worse company.

When Promethiel stepped off the spiraling stairway that led down to the Septematrium and set foot into the stony chamber, his eyes swept over the seven gathered angels before landing solely upon Iorifrei.

The head of the Council looked him up and down, his bearded face betraying no emotion whatsoever. "We have received word from Morassiel that you seek our counsel on the matter of the Seal. What are your intentions?"

Promethiel kept his posture straight but carefully relaxed, knowing well that he stood before a pack of very old, very clever wolves. He needed to speak with certainty, clarity and give them no doubt of his abilities as king.

"That is correct, Councilwing Iorifrei," he replied, stepping forward to place his hands on the smooth stone table. "The Seal has weakened over the millennia and is now at the point where we have to consider replacing it sooner rather than later. This will require a mass sacrifice the likes of which we have not seen in recent history, another Martyrcost transfiguration."

There was silence and impassive stares, this was knowledge that they all knew very well, but Promethiel could see the silent warning in Iorifrei's eyes. Oh, yes, this wasn't the first time the two of them had spoken together on this. But he wasn't going to play nice this time, there was too much progress made to hide behind a smile and nod.

He pushed on ahead.

"I am proposing that we seek other means of protection from the demons, something that does not involve sending thousands of my loyal subjects to their deaths in a never ending cycle," he said firmly, staring at each council member in turn. The king made sure that they met eyes, truly met eyes, before turning to the next. "The Seal has served us well for a long time, but it cannot keep being recreated without weakening us further."

Immediately there was a buzz of hushed voices, and Promethiel could feel the attention of all seven angels close in upon him.

"You know very well that to become part of a Seal is not death, Promethiel, but an eternal state of peace and contentment," Iorifrei spoke in a low voice, his orange eyes meeting the Archangel's without flinching under their intensity. "It is an exquisite and holy transfiguration, born out of love and sacrifice, offered freely by the angels who give themselves to it."

Promethiel spoke before anyone else could interject, letting his tongue form syllables like the rasp of a knife's edge against a whetstone. "I understand, Councilwing Iorifrei. But if I may be blunt, that is near the same exact thing that had been relayed to humans for a very long time before Heaven's fall. And we still don't know where their souls go now."

Iorifrei's face would have been handsome as his jaw tensed and made the light catch along the dark skin of his cheekbone in a dramatic fashion, if not for how much Promethiel wanted to bite it off.

"We have already considered this multiple times in the past, and have found no such alternate solution that was actionable without mass suffering. The Seal is our only option for the time being, Your Grace," Daltien cut in, her wings folded tight to her back as she glanced between the king and council head.

"Have you considered finding where the bulk of these demons are coming from? Going beyond the few other angelic kingdoms we know of?" Promethiel retorted, feeling his teeth wanting to go sharp in a sneer. "If we can wipe out enough demonic strongholds in close proximity, we can rekindle their fear of us. If we are ruthless and swift with our retaliation--"

"You speak of the creation of another Seal as if it is sending your angels to death, and then turn around and suggest a war with the demons?" Iorifrei asked, lifting a hand to gesture above them to the chamber ceiling. "Such a thing would bring trouble down on all of our heads, Promethiel. We have discussed this many times even before your creation, and have come to the conclusion that martyrcosting is the most reliable way to ensure Edenara's safety. Do not insult the love of those who underwent transfiguration for us all."

Iorifrei was one of the oldest angels left in the kingdom, his life spanning into the millions, but Promethiel didn't let that intimidate him. He was filled with a room of ancients, but he was also the one with the most power here. The archangel had enough experience being a menace that he knew the tells of someone who was agitated, and while Iorifrei was skilled at hiding his emotions, he could never hide them from the trained eye of a master heckler. He'd prodded a nerve, everyone present knew it.

"But for how long?" Promethiel shot back, letting a zealous and practiced sincerity enter his tone. "How many seals and cycles will you allow to pass before there are only several hundred of us left? What of the families irrevocably separated?"

The Seal had indeed been there long before his birth; a ring of holy stone that ran along the periphery of Edenara, not even particularly tall, but emanating a divine energy that repelled demons and similar beings whose energy would be kept back by the opposing poles of celestial magnetism.

Its cobbled surface was not created from the overlapping of stones, but if one looked closer they would see the true horror.

Calcified wings, hands, torsos and faces all interlocked together in an amalgamation of petrified divinity. Thousands of beings becoming one, losing themselves at the individual level to become part of a greater, less eternal whole. If one touched the wall, an energy could be felt, like a static cling that could be felt in the veins. It was an echo of the angelic lives that built it, the altruistic will that made the Seal possible.

Promethiel made a point not to ever touch it.

"We cannot simply blindfold ourselves and tell each other that the night is only long, that dawn will come even as the sun has already risen above to burn us alive on the sand that we have buried our heads in!" Promethiel insisted, stalking along the edge of the table until he could look directly into Iorifrei's eyes as he spoke.

"It is not a matter of blind faith, Promethiel," Iorifrei replied bluntly. "Your ancestors have gone through this before, and it was done in the name of protecting Edenara. You are not even in your second millennia of life, and yet you seek to act as if you are the wisest of them all."

"Then perhaps it is time that you learn a new type of wisdom," Promethiel countered, leaning forward on the table. "I do not wish to see Edenara die out of complacency. We must be willing to sacrifice for our kingdom, But not like this."

Something sharp whistled between them, ivory and thin, but it was enough to cause both angels to shift back to avoid being hit as the feather glanced off the stone wall behind them with a sharp crack like metal striking stone. As it floated softly down, both angels turned to the source to find a thoroughly irritated looking Grimirath.

"My apologies for sending a feather in your direction, Your Grace." Grimirath's antlered head bowed low before lifting once more to look between Promethiel and Iorifrei. "My intention was never to harm, but to get you and Councilwing Iorifrei to cease your bickering long enough to let others weigh in."

Promethiel nodded sharply, forcing his feathers flat as he watched Iorifrei with dampened resignation. "I understand, Councilwing Grimirath, you are forgiven, thank you for your concern and prudence."

"The topic is not a light one, it is understandable that the conversation might become spirited," Grimirath said, sitting back down with a look to Iorifrei in plainly evident admonishment. "We must properly discuss all points of view before coming to a decision, whether we agree with them or not."

"Very well," Iorifrei said, relaxing his jaw and settling back into his chair. "I let my frustration get the better of me. I offer my apologies to you, Your Majesty, and to my fellow council members." There was a murmur of acceptance from the other angels, and Promethiel returned to his seat as well.

"Since I have the floor, I shall speak," Grimirath went on, hands clasping together in thought. "The others will each be bringing their own opinion to the table, but I will say we are not blind to what is happening in Edenara. It is clear that the Seal is near its breaking point and we cannot simply ignore the increase in demonic activity. We can all also agree that we are looking at the possible creation of a second seal at any time now," Grimirath said, glancing around the room. "That is why I propose that we begin gathering volunteers for martyrcosting. His Majesty's suggestion is not without merit, but we need to be prepared with some certainty when Edenara's seal breaks."

More of the Council lent their voices in agreement; Daltien, Elasiare, Nieriam, Zirthil and Belloziel. Some more sympathetic than others as they spoke of their pride in those that had gone on to create this ultimate protective barrier from the lawless, shattered wilds outside. How it saved far more than it absorbed.

"We have been discussing this for millenia, Your Grace," Iorifrei said quietly. "We all have friends and family that make that very Seal that is now crumbling. We know the price better than you could ever imagine."

Promethiel felt ice in the pit of his stomach, his guts clenching at the familiarity of this conversation. One that he'd had with his parents since he was young enough to be naive but old enough to know the gravity of Edenara's very existence. This wasn't honor, it wasn't a gift or an act of love. It was mass suicide of the soul.

The icy pit in his stomach melted away, boiling now.

Promethiel felt warmth in his throat as fire threatened to spill over, swallowing to keep the angry flames from billowing with his next long exhale. They were so determined to do this, do keep doing this. They didn't care about the cost, they only cared about preserving Edenara in the same self destructive way they always had.

He doubted that any of them would be first in line to feed the Seal when it came time to make the sacrifice.

"Prophetess Crucifel would be the one to lead the way in the next Martyrcost, as our kingdom's spiritual leader," Zirthil said, drawing Promethiel's attention sharply onto the pale eyed angel. "I think that you should rejoice and be proud of your sister, she is going to do something amazing when the time comes, Your Majesty."

Promethiel thought back to what he'd said to Crucifel the previous night, about how he'd told their mother when he was younger that he would someday marry her.

It hadn't just been the obvious fact that they were siblings, formed from the same cloud of stardust that their parents took from their own bodies. That had been a fair part of the lecture, that and sin, sin, sin. But the final and sharpest point made to him was that he must not make the mistake of thinking that she was meant to last.

Crucifel was born to be a sacrifice.

"This meeting is adjourned," Promethiel said quietly, tightening every muscle that he could to keep his body from shaking. He could feel himself coming apart at the seams, fire rising high in his throat to glow as if he'd swallowed a mouthful of hot coals. Zirthil, with his kindly expression, was so very close to death right now.

He would eat his fucking heart right there on the table in front of them all, then slaughter every single one of them like the swine they were. But he didn't.

"Your Majesty, I promise you that this is for the best--" Zirthil made the mistake of reaching for him.

Promethiel's wings drew up, blazing bright as he spat a jet of flame to keep him at bay. His golden eyes were wild, glowing bright as he stared at Zirthil with absolute malice while hissing softly through a mouth full of flames, "if I so much as hear a single breath, a single word or whisper of any of you coming near Crucifel with this scheme without my approval, I promise you that what ensues afterward will be of such agony that you will pray for the Seal to take you before I do."

Zirthil, startled by the display, backed away as Promethiel watched him carefully. The rest of the Council were equally disquieted, standing with their wings raised as if ready to lunge forward and pull the unfortunate Councilwing away from the king. They hadn't seen him like this before. Arguing and bickering with Iorifrei, yes, but never threatening a member of the Council.

"This is ridiculous, we cannot just wait for the Seal to break. You do your sister a disservice by forbidding us from seeking her guidance, she was born for this, Promethiel!" Iorifrei argued, his feathers fluffing up in agitation.

"Enough!" Promethiel snarled, his voice echoing through the cavernous space.

Eyes had begun to peel open across his body, spreading up his ribs to his arms and neck before splitting open in burning golden glares upon his face. Those eyes flared as bright as the flesh of his jaws, skin glowing red with inner fire.

"Be. Silent. This meeting is adjourned, we will reconvene when I do not want to set this entire room ablaze."

With that, he turned and exploded up the stairs of the Septematrium with a flap of his wings, leaving Zirthil, Iorifrei and the others gaping after him in shock.

To say that Promethiel was angry was an understatement. Fury burned painfully within his body and heart as he blazed his way through the halls like a great beast.

He'd known they would bring Crucifel into this eventually. Her position within the kingdom meant that such spiritual matters would reach her without a doubt, but the casual way in which Zirthil pinned her as a rallying point for the next Martyrcost made him see deep, pure, hellish red.

The Archangel flung the main palace doors open, feeling his body shift even more in his wrathful state.

Gone was his ethereal beauty and grace, all six wings clustering closer to his center as the eyes covering his ever shifting flesh grew larger and more menacing, casting glares in all directions as they encircled him. This primordial form of himself was not the attractive and palatable body that all angels originally had used for easing mortals, it was a form for smiting and judgment. Wheels, eyes, wings and fire writhing together in a swirling mass of ill omen.

Promethiel spread his conjoined wings wide, letting them crackle and spit fiery sparks as he took flight. Eyes like liquid gold stared out from between his feathers, guiding him along as Promethiel soared across the sky like a flaming harbinger of old. He would go high into the mountains and vent his ire, breaking rocks and smashing trees, burning and screaming.

Only once he had burned through his anger would he return to the palace.

When Promethiel returned to his bedchambers, the sun had been set for several hours.

His body was returned to its usual domestic form, no longer a thing of fiery shapes and hateful eyes. Even if he still simmered with that same heat, there was no longer a need to burn everything around him.

Only the moon was bright enough to guide him as he approached his bed, fully prepared to unceremoniously fall upon it and drift away into a fitful slumber. But the king stilled when his fingers were just mere centimeters away from gripping the silken sheets. His heart began to beat rapidly, this time it wasn't stirred by a divine fury, but one of pure, torturous relief.

"Crucifel," Promethiel breathed the name, tasting it on his tongue as if it were some fine, honeyed wine.

She lay nestled beneath his blankets, her face peaceful in sleep. He wanted to wake her, to draw her from the comfort of her slumber with kiss after kiss pressed to her throat and then take her with wild abandon. Instead, he brushed her long, white bangs aside and kissed her brow before pulling his robes off and carefully settling next to his sister. Her body was warm against his, sweet sunlight instead of a wildfire, a faint perfume of rose, apple and basil still lingering on her skin.

Promethiel closed his eyes, easing into the comfort of her presence as he held Crucifel beneath the blankets. The invitation given to her that morning had been forgotten in the chaos of the evening, and in truth, he hadn't expected her to actually come to begin with. But to know that not only had Crucifel come, but also had stayed and waited for him?

It was almost too much to bear.

Promethiel tried not to wake her, but he couldn't resist placing another kiss on her temple, letting his lips linger on her skin with a sigh. And as much as he wanted to let her sleep, the guilt he felt when she stirred was minimal.

"Promethiel?" Crucifel asked quietly, her voice hazy with sleep as she flinched awake.

"I'm here," he purred, rubbing his face into her ivory hair, feeling his heart swell with the contact. His sweet, lovely, pure Crucifel was here. His entire world was contained in this room.

"What time is it?" Crucifel mumbled, relaxing again now that she knew it was only him. Her wings shifted under the blankets with a yawn, brushing his lightly. "It's pitch black in here."

"Far past evening, I'm sorry to make you wait so long, Dear," Promethiel whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Though, I admit, I didn't expect you to actually come."

She hummed in acknowledgment, breath tickling his cheek. "I nearly didn't," she admitted, running her fingers through his hair. "I'm still not certain I should have, this is...not exactly appropriate, is it?"

"Damn propriety, all that matters is that you're here now." Promethiel nuzzled his nose to hers, feeling himself grinning like a fool. "You are my entire heart, they can all burn if they would dare think otherwise."

Crucifel blinked, sitting up and looking more awake now. Damn it all. "What are you talking about, did something happen?"

The Archangel inwardly cursed himself, he wasn't ready to admit that he'd threatened a member of the Council, nearly clashed with Iorifrei and likely burned a trail through the palace hallways all in one day. It could wait until morning, when he was better rested. So he smiled and kissed her jaw. "Nothing more than usual, me and Iorifrei butted heads again today, that's why I was late," he confessed, partially.

A sigh escaped her, and the princess shook her head at him. "I wish you wouldn't provoke him like you do, Promethiel, he may be hard-headed but you can trust him to have the kingdom's best interest at heart."

But not hers. That was why he had to chip away at Crucifel like the wretch she claimed him to be. It was crass, cruel and venomous but he'd poison them both with sin before he let them have her soul.

To slide her gently, tenderly, into those first, nearly undetectable stages of becoming fallen was a fine art that he was having to perfect on the fly. But if he succeeded, she would become incompatible with the act of martyrcosting and the seal would reject her tainted soul. That was fine, she didn't need to be wholly holy for him to worship her.