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“Do you really think I just fell off a turnip truck?”
“With all due respect, Horseman, you and your siblings haven’t exactly demonstrated the sharpest intellects.”
“Just me… so, invalid argument.”
Aisling should have felt reassured seeing Strife regaining his composure and humor, bantering again with Naamah, but that slight improvement in his attitude did nothing to quiet the gnawing worry inside her. The unease remained.
The demoness had led them out of the laboratories and to another floor of the tower, but Aisling kept casting furtive glances at the vats she glimpsed through the glass panels. Soldiers? She had seen the devastation those creatures had caused at the tower’s entrance—and even Strife hadn’t hesitated to admit that only the Horsemen could have wrought such carnage. There was no doubt: the mutants were utterly formidable. And yet… why?
A shiver of disgust and dread rippled through her at the sight of those slowly forming bodies in their tanks, but her sharpest anxiety came from the unknown. A quick glance toward Idris only deepened her discomfort. He remained silent—more so than usual. His gaze drifted over the countless tanks, his expression closed off, almost blank, but Aisling could tell, in the split second he blinked, that his mind was racing behind that still façade.
“What do you make of all this?” Aisling leaned in slightly toward him, hoping to catch even a flicker of his attention.
She hoped her soft voice would coax a reaction, that he might finally break his silence.
“Hmmm… I’m thinking about it,” he replied, in a tone colder than she expected, as if he had switched into some mechanical analysis mode.
His words came out clipped and flat, like a door shutting. She didn’t press further. If this had anything to do with what he’d said after the mist episode, she knew he wouldn’t want to talk about it now. Idris sometimes withdrew into a sulky silence after moments of stress or anger—a reflex he still hadn’t fully overcome. He would come back to her when he’d calmed down, and for now, she didn’t want to force a conversation he clearly wasn’t ready to have.
She turned her attention back to Naamah and Strife walking ahead of them, who were still deep in discussion.
“I’m quite aware that all your alarms are going off right now, Horseman,” Naamah continued, unruffled, her voice calm and measured.
“No kidding? Mutant super-soldiers handed out by demons with no strings attached? Call me cautious, but yeah, that smells like fine print bullshit. And you mentioned hybrids—what the hell are these things anyway?! What did you make them from?!”
Naamah slowed her pace slightly, casting a sideways glance at him, then grimaced.
“Hmmmm… That might be the part you’ll like the least.”
“Aha! See? There it is! There’s the catch! Go on, hit me—”
“Demons…”
“Beg pardon?”
Strife slowly turned his head toward Idris and Aisling, searching their faces for confirmation that he’d heard correctly.
“You used your own kind to create… this?”
Naamah, far from flustered, offered a smile, though her eyes gleamed with a cold light.
“They are not my kind,” she corrected. “They are remnants of a past we are striving to leave behind. Former servants of the Destroyer, lackeys of opportunistic warlords… little more than parasites infecting a wound.”
She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing in a voice soft and laced with pity.
“This fate is nothing more than a just punishment for their crimes—one that allows them, in turn, to contribute to peace.”
With that, she led them to another level of the tower, where the oppressive atmosphere stood in stark contrast to the sterile laboratories below. Here, the air was more foul, tinged with the scent of metal, dried blood, and restrained suffering. The place resembled a prison far more than any research facility.
A little further ahead, an enormous barred gate marked the boundary between them and what lay beyond: a vast holding cell sprawling across multiple levels, dark and foreboding. It was heavily guarded by sentinels whose weaponry left no doubt—any attempt at escape would be swiftly and violently crushed.
Behind those bars, a multitude of demons—of all sizes and shapes—wandered through the confined space, some slumped in their cells, others chained directly to the walls. The more dangerous ones were bound by occult restraints that twisted their bodies in spasms of powerlessness. But what struck Aisling was not their savagery, nor their numbers—it was the lifeless look in most of their eyes.
A troubling apathy hung over them, as though they had already accepted their fate, as though every last spark of resistance—or even existence—had been extinguished. She felt a chill run down her spine.
“You, more than anyone, White Horseman, know the necessity of spilling your own blood to restore peace,” Naamah murmured then, placing a gentle hand on Strife’s shoulder.
The gesture, soft as it may have been, made the Horseman flinch, and his fingers clenched instinctively. The demoness seemed to understand the message, for she withdrew carefully, offering a conciliatory smile.
“I understand… still a little too soon.”
She stepped back gracefully and motioned for them to follow her toward a heavy door. Idris didn’t move right away, his gaze still fixed on the cells with a mixture of suspicion and revulsion. But Aisling hesitated for another reason.
A tremor passed through her when she felt a burning stare settle on her. She turned her head slightly and locked eyes with a blazing gaze, red as embers beneath ash.
A demon stood there, slightly apart from the other prisoners. He resembled neither the brutish warriors she had fought nor the scholars from the lower laboratories. The moment he caught her gaze, he subtly lowered his hand toward the ground.
Until then, Aisling hadn’t noticed the strange mist that covered the floor of the cells. It crept like a vaporous carpet, never rising above ankle-height, undulating gently like a living creature. Wherever the prisoners moved, the mist parted slightly, only to close in again once they passed.
Why did this demon want her to see that?
“Seedbearer?”
Naamah’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She flinched slightly before turning her head toward the demoness, who stood waiting by the door, Strife and Idris already beside her.
“I’m coming…” she murmured.
Her gaze drifted one last time toward the unknown prisoner. He hadn’t looked away. For a fleeting moment, a shiver of understanding seemed to pass between them, as if he were waiting for something from her.
She finally turned away and rejoined the others.
Naamah opened the door, and a gust of blinding light and sharp wind struck them at once. Aisling squinted against the brightness of the setting sun, its fiery colors clashing starkly with the thick, opaque fog that hung far below, stretching out like an endless sea of impenetrable clouds.
The call of the void clenched her stomach at once, and a stronger gust lashed her face. She instinctively backed against the tower wall, her body refusing to take a single step forward.
“Hold on tight…” Naamah warned softly. “Now’s not the time to fall.”
She gave them a gentle smile, as though the prospect of a fatal plunge was a trivial matter, then began ascending a spiral staircase that wound its way along the outside of the tower.
“Was this just for the view, or is there really no other way?” Strife grumbled as he walked cautiously behind the two young humans, making sure they didn’t misstep.
“The floors between us and the top serve as a prison… and I have no intention of leading our young friends through demons who have sworn to destroy Humanity.”
“How thoughtful,” Strife muttered, gently pushing Aisling forward to help her climb.
Idris, for his part, stubbornly insisted on doing it alone, his jaw clenched in concentration.
The ascent felt endless to Aisling. Her heart pounded in her chest, her throat was dry, and the cold air only made things worse.
“Naamah…” Aisling looked up toward the demoness to keep her eyes from the drop below. “That mist… what is it? Why is it coming from this tower?”
“That’s exactly what I want to show you. My other token of good faith…”
Aisling turned toward Strife, but he only gave a slow nod. They were too far in to turn back now anyway. At last, after what felt like an eternity, Naamah opened another door, leading them into the top of the tower.
“My quarters,” the demoness gestured vaguely toward a set of doors. “But if you’re looking for me, you’ll usually find me in the labs. Come… what I want to show you is up there.”
They reached the base of a metal ladder that led to a suspended platform. The cold metal rang slightly under their steps as they climbed one by one, finally emerging beneath a massive, partially open dome. Above them, night was slowly falling, washing the sky in a gradient of indigo and violet. The first stars had already pierced the darkness, twinkling like shards of silver.
Aisling stopped, lifting her gaze to the celestial expanse. She had never seen a sky like this on Earth. The place must have once been an observatory, built to study the cosmos with a precision far beyond anything she had heard of on Nimrach. But her awe was short-lived.
A pale, bone-white gleam drew her gaze away from the stars.
Something enormous lay on the platform, just a few meters from them. Aisling squinted, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Strife, meanwhile, stood frozen.
“Is that…?”
A bird. A massive bird of titanic proportions, curled in on itself.
Its enormous wings folded around its body like a protective cocoon, its head hidden within its feathers. The winged giant seemed to sleep, though Aisling could perceive no breath—but its immense presence filled the space, demanding silent reverence.
Strife remained motionless, his features tight, his fingers clenched around his weapons as though his instincts were screaming at him to raise them, though he couldn’t bring himself to do so. His gaze flicked between Naamah and the creature, suspicion and confusion mingling in his eyes.
“Where did you find it, demon?” he asked, his voice rough, nearly choked.
Naamah appeared neither offended nor intimidated. She inclined her head slightly, as if she understood his dismay.
“Tortured by a few demon lords too eager to gorge themselves on its power. They were the first to pay for their arrogance. Becoming test subjects for the Rephaim was their just reward.”
She let the silence stretch, her eyes drifting over the curled-up mass of the bird.
“Sadly, it’s remained in that state ever since.”
“What is it, Strife?” Idris asked, every muscle in his body taut.
He couldn’t decide whether he was standing before an invaluable discovery or an unknown peril. Strife seemed to search for the right words, then finally murmured, almost reluctantly:
“It’s the Essence of Air…”
Aisling felt her breath catch in her throat.
She thought back to the Fire—to the suffocating aura that had filled every fiber of her being, to the overwhelming force that burned everything in its path. Here, there was nothing. An absolute void. Not the faintest trace of energy, not a single vibration in the air, as if this being existed outside of reality itself.
“Is it…” she hesitated.
“It’s not dead,” Naamah replied, gently shaking her head. “At least, not if one can speak of death for something as abstract as Air.”
Her gaze softened as it settled on the massive bird, curled in on itself, trapped in an endless sleep.
“I couldn’t say what happened to it. And ever since we found it, it has been secreting this mist.”
She knelt beside the creature and gently lifted a portion of its wing. At once, a wisp of fog slipped out from the cocoon of feathers, drifting into the air before merging seamlessly with the atmosphere. The phenomenon was almost imperceptible, yet undeniably present—fluid, omnipresent, and elusive.
Naamah carefully replaced the wing, making sure not too much mist escaped.
“My best scientists have examined it from every angle, but they can’t determine the nature of its ailment. Perhaps…”
She rose slowly and turned her gaze to Aisling.
“Perhaps you could try?”
The young woman instinctively tensed. She looked toward Strife, unsure.
“I’m right behind you,” he murmured firmly.
Aisling took a deep breath and stepped forward cautiously, feeling the cold ground beneath her feet. The sheer scale of the bird was overwhelming. She couldn’t imagine what it would mean if it opened its eyes. But it remained still, locked in an unmoving slumber.
She knelt slowly, letting her gaze sweep across the white feathers with their pale, almost translucent sheen. With the Fire, the connection had been instant—fierce, burning with emotion and rage.
Here, it was the opposite. Nothing called to her. Nothing stirred within her. And yet, there had to be a way…
Hesitantly, she extended a trembling hand and placed it on the icy plumage. She expected something. A pulse, a breath, a flicker of energy. But there was only silence.
She felt her heart sink.
“I… I’m sorry, I…”
Naamah extended a hand to help her up, her kind smile softening the sting of failure.
“It’s all right, my dear,” she murmured soothingly. “It was worth a try.”
Aisling rejoined Strife and Idris, her expression heavy with disappointment. The failure weighed on her shoulders like an invisible burden.
“Without the Elemental, we won’t be able to restore Earth…” she murmured, her voice betraying her worry.
“For now, perhaps,” Naamah interjected calmly and evenly. “But maybe this is a sign that we need to address something more urgent first.”
“The End War…” Idris, who had remained silent until then, lifted his head, his expression focused, finally emerging from his silence.
“I think so too,” Naamah agreed. “The Rephaim are only waiting for a signal to awaken and fight. Those still in preparation will soon be ready for deployment.”
Idris slowly nodded, clearly convinced. But just as he opened his mouth to respond, Strife raised a hand to cut the conversation short.
“I doubt rushing in is the best idea,” he said sharply. “Especially when I still don’t see what you’re expecting in return, demon.”
Naamah took a moment before answering, carefully weighing her words.
“An agreement…”
“Why am I not surprised?” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“Nothing sinister, Horseman. I simply wish that, after Earth is reclaimed, the humans allow me and my researchers to remain here. Hell has nothing left to offer us. And after betraying our own to turn them into soldiers for Humanity, it’s likely our lives would be cut short if we returned.”
Strife crossed his arms, his piercing gaze never leaving hers.
“So you’re just trying to save your own skin, is that it?”
“Can you blame me for that?” she replied calmly. “You, of all people—don’t you understand what it is to…”
“Don’t go there, demon,” Strife cut her off, raising a finger, his voice dropping a tone. “Don’t compare us. We’re not the same.”
“Strife, seriously?” Idris suddenly burst out, throwing up his arms in frustration. “We finally have real help, and you want to throw it away?”
Aisling felt the tension spike.
“Up until now, it’s just been the Hellguard backing us!” the young man continued, visibly agitated. “You saw what those Rephaim are capable of! We’d be total idiots to—”
“Okaaay!” Strife raised his hands, cutting Idris off before he could finish. “This is a conversation for another time, kid.”
Aisling immediately understood he was trying to silence him while Naamah was still present. But Idris seemed at the end of his patience, as though something had been simmering inside him for hours. His face was tight with exasperation, and beneath his anger, she sensed a deep anxiety.
“We need to consider all our options,” he insisted, his voice more strained. “Our army won’t be enough to—”
“I said later!” Strife snapped, his tone harsh.
The young man clenched his jaw, fists tightening at his sides. But he said nothing more, merely turning his gaze away. Naamah, meanwhile, watched the scene unfold with a clear sense of discomfort.
“You must be exhausted,” she said at last, breaking the tension. “You’re welcome to set up camp here. No one will disturb you. I’ll be in the laboratories if you wish to discuss what comes next.”
She paused briefly before adding:
“The tower is a safe place. If your leaders wish to come see for themselves and judge whether my offer is worth accepting, they’ll be welcome.”
Her eyes swept over them one last time, then she slipped away silently.
Strife waited until he heard the door close behind her, then let out a loud sigh and ran a hand down his face. He turned his eyes to Idris.
“Kid… when exactly did you become a complete idiot?”
Idris was fuming, pacing back and forth with long, agitated strides. His face was tight with anger, his dark eyes gleaming with a feverish light.
“What a fucking joke…” he growled under his breath, his gaze lost in the void.
“Strife is right,” Aisling replied, arms crossed. “Naamah is a demon. And don’t you think it’s a little too convenient? Just when we most need an army, she hands us one all ready to go?”
Idris stopped dead and turned to her with a blazing stare. The rage he’d been holding in suddenly burst free, like a dam breaking.
“Are you kidding me, Aisling?” His voice cracked through the room, trembling with long-restrained fury.
He stepped toward her, his body taut like a drawn bow.
“You’re the one who kept saying we didn’t have enough allies to afford turning anyone down, remember? What were your exact words, huh?!”
His voice shifted, rising to a mocking pitch as he cruelly mimicked her:
“The universe isn’t black or white, Idris. Unfortunately, we can’t afford to keep our hands clean.”
Aisling flinched, caught off guard by the violence in his response. Idris had never spoken to her like that—not even as a child when he could be harsh at times. Was it really his desire to fight pushing him this far, or was there something else behind that uncontrolled fury
“Don’t twist my words, Idris…” she answered, her voice shakier than she would have liked.
“You know it’s more complicated than that. You really, really need to learn how to choose your battles better… That’s exactly why you’re still a soldier and not a leader!”
A bitter smirk curled Idris’s lips.
“Oh yeah?” He scoffed, shaking his head with disdain. “Rich, coming from you. Your recklessness is what started the End War. Little late to back out of the fight now, isn’t it?”
The words hit like a slap. Aisling felt as though he had just struck her.
“Okay, that’s enough, kid,” Strife stepped in sharply, moving between them with a firm gesture. He raised a hand, as if to calm both Idris and Aisling.
“You both need rest. We’re stuck here anyway, and there’s clearly more going on than meets the eye. So let’s at least take some time to think about Naamah’s offer before throwing ourselves headfirst into another war.”
“It’s not your decision to make, Strife,” Idris growled through clenched teeth, his fists trembling slightly. “This concerns humans, not you.”
Aisling felt her heart tighten. There was no anger in Idris’s voice now—only something deeper. A bitter resentment, a silent fracture. She knew him better than anyone… and what she saw in him at that moment terrified her.
He stepped back, then suddenly turned away.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly despite herself.
“Getting some air,” he threw over his shoulder, already heading toward the ladder. “I still can, can’t I?”
Aisling moved to follow, but Strife placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“Maybe it’s the proximity to the Elemental?” she tried to find an explanation. “That’s what happened to me with Fire, maybe it’s—”
“I doubt it. I think he’s just burning out. But trust him,” Strife said quietly, before sighing heavily beneath his helmet. “He just needs a break.”
But Aisling wasn’t so sure. She watched Idris disappear, her heart heavy with a worry she couldn’t shake.