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Aisling silently left the small dwelling that Ogias had assigned them, her shoulders heavy and her eyes reddened by exhaustion. Sleep eluded her completely. Perhaps it was because of this underground life, without sky, without stars, where the markers between day and night dissolved. Or more likely, the thoughts, the visions, and the nightmares hammered relentlessly against the walls of her consciousness.
Before going to bed, she had meditated for a long time, as Muria had taught her, to calm the seed, to stop it from invading her body, from colonizing her nerves like a voracious ivy. Yet, barely had her eyelids closed than the visions had assailed her: muffled screams, torn bodies, battlefields drowned in blood, and that dull, endless groan, echoing from the depths of the Earth, as if the world itself were crying. She had seen lands stained by a blackish magma, burning, corrosive, devouring everything.
She had woken up with a start, breathless, her heart on the verge of explosion. It had only gotten worse since she knew that her dreams were not mere illusions. If only she had understood it in time… The memory of Ren’s face choked her, and tears immediately welled up in her eyes. Unable to stay locked inside, she had gotten up, leaving the room without a sound, leaving behind Idris and Fenja, asleep beside one another, their hands almost joined in an unconscious gesture.
The Horsemen, however, were nowhere to be found. War and Fury had taken separate paths. Strife had followed Ogias to discuss matters, accompanied by Uriel and Astaroth, the latter having handed him the egg. As for Death, he had vanished without a trace, as usual. Strangely, this disappearance seemed to reassure everyone, but for the young woman, it only triggered a painful echo of guilt.
She wandered through the sleepy village for a long while, her steps slow and drifting. She passed by the house still marked by the tragic childbirth of the previous day. A solitary candle flickered in the window like a watchman of sorrow.
Then, a light sound broke the silence, a discreet croak, perched above her. She looked up.
“Dust…”
The crow stared at her, motionless, before shaking its feathers and flying off. It went to land further away, on a desolate ledge, and turned its head toward her in a gesture of invitation. Aisling followed without a word.
The bird guided her to a quieter corner of the cave, a space the village had abandoned after an old collapse. There, in the dim light filtering through the rock cracks, she distinguished a familiar silhouette: Death, sitting on the flat edge of a half-collapsed roof, his back hunched, frozen like a statue of shadow.
She thanked Dust with a slight nod before carefully climbing to join him. She stopped a few steps behind him, uncertain.
“You should go back to sleep,” Death said without even turning his head, his voice deep and calm, blending with the darkness. “Dawn is still far away.”
“I can’t anymore,” she simply replied.
A slight grunt responded to her. She hesitated, then slowly came to sit beside him. Before them, the scattered lights of the underground village flickered faintly in the darkness, like the last embers of a dying fire. They sat there for a long time, saying nothing.
Then Aisling rummaged through her bag and pulled out the white mask with skeletal lines.
“I think this is yours,” she murmured.
Death finally turned his head slowly. He took the mask without a word, holding it between his hands. No emotion crossed his face, but his eyes seemed suddenly darker.
“Where did you find this?”
“In an underground river. Uriel and Astaroth think it’s a part of the Styx…”
She shivered for a moment, recalling the presence of something massive in the water, gigantic and powerful. Something she hoped never to encounter again in her life.
“The universe is really an ironic son of a bitch,” murmured Death after a long silence, his tone strangely flat.
She stared at him, serious, almost solemn.
“And… I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. “For what happened. I shouldn’t have… I didn’t believe…”
The words tangled in her throat. She wanted to continue, but nothing came out. Silence settled again, then Death took a deep breath, still focused on the mask.
“Sorry about Ren,” he murmured, almost inaudible.
She nodded slowly, biting her lip to hold back the tears. The pain inside her didn’t only come from the seed or its roots.
“Your people need you,” he said after a moment. “You never should have come here.”
“I know…” she sighed. “But we had no choice. Not after what we discovered.”
This time, he turned his gaze fully toward her. His face was closed, impassive, but his eyes had become piercing.
“Vulgrim exchanged information with Idris,” she continued, standing tall despite herself.
“I will never trust a single word that comes out of that demon’s mouth,” Death growled.
“In exchange for the soul of a succubus who had fun turning us into lab rats?”
He raised an eyebrow, a shadow of an ironic smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Hmmm. Except in this case, maybe.”
“Vulgrim knows who is behind the attack on Nimrach. And probably also behind the angels infiltrating the Twilight Realm.”
He didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze grew harder.
“Lilith,” he finally said.
Aisling shuddered.
“You… you knew?”
“I had my suspicions,” he answered gravely. “But they were confirmed when the infiltrating angels acted. There’s only one being old and powerful enough to control both fallen angels and corrupted demons. And among them… I would have really hoped it wasn’t her.”
Aisling recoiled slightly, as if struck.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with both anger and pain.
He looked at her, his expression as impassive as ever, an almost mocking eyebrow slightly raised. He wasn’t affected by her reaction. He was waiting for it, even.
“You couldn’t have done anything, little one. Not against her. And I won’t let you approach Lilith, even if a thousand worlds separated you from her.”
He fell silent for a second, then, before she could voice what was coming, added harshly,
“And no. Even if you had known earlier… it wouldn’t have changed anything. You couldn’t have saved Ren.”
Aisling swallowed a sob that rose in her throat like a burning nausea, forcing her gaze to remain fixed on the flickering lights of the underground village.
“What do we do now?” she asked in a tense voice. “Lilith may already know about our coalition. She might even know what we’re preparing… Samael could betray us as soon as we hand over his artifacts… And if the Ardent Council finds us…”
Death exhaled sharply, almost like a sigh.
“I understand why you can’t sleep…”
“Death, I’m serious! We’re… completely screwed and… ow!”
A sudden flash of pain coursed through her, brutal. She grabbed her arm, teeth clenched, as a burning pulse radiated under her skin. The roots. Again. They had started progressing again. Death reacted immediately, gently grabbing her wrist to examine the dark, swollen veins spreading under the surface of her flesh.
“I thought Muria could help you.”
“She did… I… I’m just…” She lowered her eyes, her voice trembling.
“Too many emotions.” His tone was calm, but firm. “Channel them.”
He held her wrist, the hollow of his palm solid and cold against her feverish skin. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe. Slowly. Regularly. She attempted to recall the gestures, the visualizations Muria had taught her, but this time, it took much more effort. When the roots finally seemed to freeze, then pull back slightly, she felt as though she had run herself to exhaustion.
It wasn’t until that moment that Death released her.
“You’re probably right,” he said calmly. “It’s highly likely our movement is compromised… which means it’s up to us to take over.”
He paused, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
“If Lilith just wanted to exterminate you, she would have done it already. It’s not destruction she’s after. It’s something else. And that ‘something’ deeply disturbs me.”
Aisling shivered.
“And you… what will you do?”
“First, put everyone’s eyes back in place…” he grumbled before she could speak. “War and Fury don’t agree on what to do with these Nephilims. Fury wants us to watch over them, War wants us to focus on the mission. Strife… is digesting the information. Then… find the last two Elements. Ogias knows the location of the Earth one. He and his people have been guarding it over the past century… well… in their own way.”
There was something in his voice when he mentioned Ogias. A more serious tone, almost… annoyed. Aisling turned to look at him.
“And you? What do you think of him? Of them?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“I’m still reserving my judgment.”
“You… you still plan on…”
She stopped herself as she met his gaze. Cold. Impenetrable.
“If they had shown even a fragment of what my people were… this place would be nothing but a field of ashes. And I think we would have done it… if we hadn’t witnessed that birth.”
There was a heavy silence. But even in these words, she sensed that there was more. A weight. A hesitation he wasn’t expressing. Perhaps even a doubt beginning to crack his certainties.
“Maybe the Nephilims are more a part of the Balance than you’ve been led to believe…” murmured Aisling.
“You weren’t there, little one. You didn’t see the worlds reduced to ashes. You didn’t feel the air saturated, walked the battlefields where nothing grew, not even hatred. Mountains of corpses, rivers of blood… Entire kingdoms swallowed by chaos. Believe me: we never were part of the Balance.”
Aisling looked at him long and hard. He wasn’t trying to convince her, just telling the truth as he had lived it. A truth so ancient it seemed petrified inside him.
“But you saw it yourself,” she pressed softly. “That Nephilim baby… It was born with a soul.”
Death turned his head slightly toward her, his expression still impassive.
“Yes… by stealing its mother’s. What kind of species can endure like that?”
A silence settled. Aisling remained still, studying his angular face, trying to read what was behind his pale eyes. But it was unreadable. Then, she leaned in a little, took a slow breath.
“On Nimrach, in the beautiful season, sea fish would swim up the rivers to the highest lakes, where they had been born. Every year, tirelessly, they returned to the place of their birth. But once the eggs were laid, both parents died. I never knew if it was from the effort or some natural cycle… But they all died. Ren said that their death wasn’t a tragic end, that it would nourish the next generation. That it was… in the natural order.”
Death didn’t move, but he listened intently.
“What I’m saying is that maybe… some rules you think are unchanging no longer are. Maybe the Balance is a shifting concept, not a fixed equation. And all that’s happened, the sacrifices, the losses, your people, mine, maybe all of it wasn’t in vain. Maybe those deaths were never meant to do anything but nourish a new life.”
She leaned closer to him, meeting his tired gaze, and offered a weary, almost timid smile. He exhaled softly through his nose.
“Maybe…”
He stayed thoughtful for a long moment, his gaze lost somewhere between the shadows and the flickering lights of the village. Then, he nodded to himself more than to her.
“We’ll see. Now that we’re all gathered here, we might as well go all the way. Together.” He made a bitter grin. “I love teamwork…”
Despite the sarcasm, he seemed calmer. Less troubled. He remained silent, his thoughts still in motion.
“And you?” Aisling asked, her voice softer than a whisper, as though she feared breaking the fragile tranquility of the moment. “What do you plan to do next?”
Death slowly turned his head toward her, his unreadable gaze resting on her face for a moment. Then he looked back at the horizon, where the village lay asleep.
“You mean after saving the world, giving humanity a future, dismantling a millennia-old conspiracy, and holding the Council and everyone still hiding in the shadows accountable?”
A slight breath escaped Aisling, a quiet, tired laugh.
“There’ll be a time when there’s no one left to fight, right?”
Death stayed silent for a moment, his impassive face betraying deeper reflection.
“There’s always someone to fight, somewhere…” he finally answered, before letting his words hang, unfinished. Then, in a lower, almost intimate tone:
“But someone has to finish your house on the hill…” He turned his head slightly, not looking at her. “And then… we haven’t finished our game of chess.”
She looked up at him, a faint smile softening her features. Death still gazed at the village, as if refusing to be too caught up in the moment. Aisling shook her head gently.
“I think… you shouldn’t stay alone for so long. It doesn’t suit you.”
He raised an eyebrow in her direction, then exhaled through his nose, a slight smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.
“You won’t stand my presence for more than two days.”
“Deal.”
Death let out a slight sound, a brief, almost inaudible laugh, before looking down at his hand.
“I need to put the sigil back on you.”
Aisling raised her hand without protest, familiar with the gesture.
“Maybe… this time, make it teleport to me, instead of the other way around?”
He raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Afraid I’ll miss you?”
He gently took her hand and traced the symbol with his fingertip. A pale glow briefly lit up beneath her skin. She closed her eyes for a moment, familiar with the sensation. Her gaze then drifted to the dark marks creeping up her hand.
“The roots are spreading far now…” she murmured, a shiver in her voice.
Death followed her gaze, grave. She forced herself to smile.
“Well… the only encounter we can’t miss is the one with Death, right?”
He nodded slowly.
“You won’t die.” he assured. “We’re almost there. And you’re not doing so badly with the channeling.”
A brief silence, then a whisper.
“This encounter can wait a little longer.”
And for a long moment, they remained there together, immersed in a shared silence, watching the flickering lights of the sleeping village.
Death and Aisling returned to the heart of the village shortly after, as the cave slowly began to awaken. Sleepy figures emerged gradually, and a timid bustle settled around the large central space where a communal meal was being prepared.
The atmosphere, though more relaxed than the previous day, still carried an air of suspicion. Many threw uncertain glances at the newcomers. Yet, some laughter, soft murmurs, and children running between the makeshift tables suggested a mood of gradual easing.
Fury, however, seemed perfectly at ease. She was seated in a circle with a group of young Nephilims, speaking passionately, using wide gestures and magnetic charisma. The young ones hung on her every word, captivated. She smiled often, her eyes shining, clearly enjoying the debate, which seemed to be about managing and defending their community. Once, she had done the same with the human settlers of Nimrach. This role of guide and strategist suited her like a second skin.
Fenja, for her part, had taken on the role of instructing a small group of children. She showed them how to handle her bow, correcting their posture patiently, encouraging them gently. Not far away, Strife was facing a very different challenge: a particularly rowdy young Nephilim had latched onto one of his arms, demanding that he lift him. Despite his feigned growls and exasperated look, Strife couldn’t quite hide a certain amusement.
Astaroth and Uriel, meanwhile, were having a serious discussion with a small group of both angels and demons, attempting what seemed to be coordination. The boundaries, for now, appeared tenuous. War, however, was nowhere to be found.
“It’s complicated for him,” Death reacted before she could open her mouth. “All this calls many things into question. He’ll come back.”
A familiar figure detached itself from the crowd. Ogias approached them, his gaze fixed on Death. The latter stopped, turned halfway toward Aisling, and gave her a slight nod.
“Go join the others. I need to speak with him alone.”
She nodded without arguing, walking away with measured steps, leaving them behind. She joined Idris, leaning against a wall, one arm crossed, the other holding a steaming cup. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes followed every movement of Fenja, a look of indefinable emotion in his gaze. Aisling smiled imperceptibly.
“I doubt goats and dogs will be enough for her…”
Idris jumped. Caught off guard, he immediately flushed, like an adolescent caught in the act. She flashed a smile, a light laugh slipping between her lips.
“It’s obvious, you know.”
“Since when?” he asked, turning his eyes away, as if hoping to hide the obvious.
“A long time now.” She watched him with a kindness tinged with gravity. “So, when are you going to tell her?”
He hesitated, nervously fiddling with a piece of leather at his belt.
“It’s not… it’s not the right time. Not with the mission, everything we have to handle…”
Aisling shook her head slightly, her gaze growing more serious. She placed a hand on his shoulder, deliberately ignoring the dark streaks now winding under the skin of his wrist.
“There will never be a perfect moment. Life is short, Idris. Too short.”
Before he could respond, a cheerful voice interrupted them.
“Need a hand, maybe?”
Strife was approaching them, looking feignedly overwhelmed, with the little Nephilim still perched on his shoulders, holding onto his hair and laughing joyfully. Idris burst out laughing, relieved by the interruption, and held out his arms to catch the little one, who squirmed happily.
But as soon as the child was in Idris’s arms, he suddenly changed appearance. In the blink of an eye, he took on the form of an entirely ordinary human child. Aisling and Idris were left speechless.
“How…?” Idris stammered.
Strife shrugged, stretching his freed arms with an exaggerated sigh.
“Oh, it’s just a little trick, nothing too complicated. The human mind has a hard time conceiving what a Nephilim looks like. So it fills in the blanks with what it knows. The illusion almost imposes itself naturally, and it’s easy for us to exploit it. We don’t have to put much effort into maintaining it, and it can fool almost everyone…”
And to illustrate his point, he changed his form as well. With a simple blink of the eyes, he returned to the human appearance he had worn on Nimrach.
“It’s fascinating…” murmured Idris, gently wrestling with the boy, now clinging to his neck. “Could a Nephilim decide to keep a human appearance for their whole life?”
“I don’t see why they would, but… in certain circumstances? Yes, probably. The illusion would hold, as long as they nourish it. It would disappear upon their death, I suppose.”
Aisling watched the child carefully. The latter, too focused on laughing and wriggling in Idris’s arms, slowly lost control of the illusion. Aisling blinked, and the boy returned to his true appearance, a small Nephilim with slate-colored skin, bright eyes, and overflowing energy.
When Aisling looked back at Strife, his amusement had faded, replaced by a sudden seriousness, his gaze fixed on Death and Ogias.
“Alright, kids… time to get back to it.”
“How is it not an egg?”
Astaroth’s question echoed in the silence of the circular hall nestled within the Tree. Everyone had gathered again, faces turned toward the mysterious object that had been brought with such care until now. War had returned among them, his face marked by conflicting emotions he no longer tried to hide. Uriel, still by his side, watched over him in silence, an intimate closeness becoming hard to ignore.
Ogias and Ama were presiding over their assembly. Before them, the relic stood, its oval, mineral form still resembling an egg, smooth and unmoving… until Ama approached it. Without a word, she tapped its surface with strange precision. A vibration passed through the thing, and suddenly, with a soft crack, the “egg” opened.
A compact, stocky form, vaguely ursine in shape, unfolded slowly. Made of rock and earth, it emitted a loud yawn before rolling onto its back with clumsy grace. Astaroth took a step back, stunned.
“It’s not an egg…” he admitted, watching the mineral creature stir its small, clawed paws.
“It’s… the Earth Elemental?” Aisling asked, bewildered.
Ogias nodded, his gaze darkening.
“Only a part of it…”
Fenja crouched down, allowing the stone cub to approach her hand and sniff it.
“Muria told us we had to return it to its mother…”
“Definitely not!” Ama exclaimed with a sharp urgency in her voice.
“But…”
“The Earth Elemental was, of all the Elementals, the one that suffered the most from the Apocalypse,” Ogias continued. “It is the most deeply connected to this realm. When our fathers and mothers took refuge beneath the surface, they found it. But it… it was no longer the same.”
“Something had contaminated it,” added Ama. “A black, shifting substance, almost alive. It seeped into it and rotted it from within.”
“Corruption?” War straightened, his face set.
“Impossible,” Death furrowed his brow, his gaze sharp. “The Corruption died with Absalom.”
“Whatever it was, this thing drove it mad,” Ama continued, impassive. “Since then, the Elemental attacks anything that approaches it. This is the only fragment we managed to save. A fragile spark of what it once was.”
Aisling felt her heart tighten.
“Is there a way… to heal it?”
The young Nephilim exchanged a brief but meaningful glance with his aunt before slowly bowing his head.
“Honestly? We don’t know. Every attempt to approach it ended in such heavy losses that we stopped trying. Since then, we just watch its den, making sure no angel, demon, or any other creature sets foot there. Because every time it awakens, it’s as if the whole world turns its eyes toward it… and it’s up to us to clean up, to erase all traces.”
He paused, his tone hardened by fatigue.
“It’s the only viable compromise. Going further would endanger the village and our own.”
Ama then spoke, her sharp gaze locking onto Aisling with newfound intensity.
“Still… if what they say about you is true, if you really awakened two Elementals…”
All eyes turned toward her, the air thick with expectation. Aisling felt a lump form in her throat. She swallowed hard.
“I guess… I don’t risk much by going to see for myself what it’s really like?”
Death nodded, leaning slightly toward her.
“If Muria was right, the link you have with the Seed could open a path. We’ll keep watch, anyway.”
A silence settled, broken by Idris’s voice, calm yet concerned.
“And after that? What will you do?”
Ogias took a heavy breath before responding, his gaze lost in the maze of an uncertain future.
“By our very nature, we are doomed to be hunted, exterminated. Whether by our own kind or others. The best we can hope for… is that once humanity has rebuilt its kingdom, they’ll offer us asylum.”
War stepped forward, his face hardening. He growled:
“You won’t even fight? What kind of resignation is this?”
Ogias didn’t look away. His voice remained calm but firm.
“You’ve chosen your path, Horseman. Survival for you meant fighting. For us, it’s the shadow. And now that the Ending War is approaching, our role is not to stoke the flames. It’s to prevent anyone from using us to reignite them.”
Aisling leaned forward slightly, her voice full of genuine concern.
“But we’ll need all the available forces. Even if Earth is restored, neither the Heavens nor the Hell will accept it without resistance. Lilith acts in the shadows. The Charred Council too. We’re far from finished.”
Ogias studied her for a long moment, then gently nodded, his tone carrying a sad kindness.
“More reason for us to stay where we are. We will offer you all the help we can. But not weapons. Not the fight.”
He signaled to two of his people.
“My men will show you where to prepare, and will guide you to the Elemental’s den. Good luck.”
The room gradually emptied of murmurs and tensions. Aisling left first, her heart heavy, her gaze averted. Strife walked beside her, silent for a few moments, before sighing and looking up at the sky:
“Well… we’ve gone from bloodthirsty monsters to pacifist cowards. At least now we’re sure of one thing: no need to exterminate them right away.”
He chuckled without conviction. No one laughed.