Hazel relished the cold lash of nighttime wind against her face. It reminded her of her deep hatred for the seemingly endless tunnels that plagued her daily life.

She had found it easy during her first few months at the Academy to get disastrously lost in the maze of identical corridors; step after step after step leading nowhere until she couldn’t remember if she was above ground or below it, let alone what time it was. For her first week or two, it had been almost excusable, but as time wore on, her officers quickly realized she was not growing out of it, and she had faced discipline for months until she finally learned to navigate.

Perhaps it was luck, though more likely it was a simple matter of probability, that lead Hazel to stumble upon the flight range while she was lost. It was a massive mesh-enclosed dome that finally let her feel like she could breathe; she’d escape there at any chance she could. Those opportunities were painfully few and far between, but Hazel would take what she could. She considered herself fortunate that her free time had so far aligned with the times when the range was empty; she didn’t care to have more officers breathing down her neck.

She was deep in thought as she practiced a maneuver she had been trying to perfect for a couple of weeks now; it required her to be in the correct spot to catch a pocket of warmer air, and meticulous overcompensation for her lack of tail feathers. Unlike birds, Angels lacked any sort of rudder, and even with her wings being genetically predisposed for maneuverability, Hazel always seemed to run into trouble with sloppy turns.

With the wind whirling in her ears and her focus narrowed, she didn’t notice she had company until she was mid flip, and she nearly stalled upside-down trying to quickly right herself. Sloppy.

If not for the conspicuous streak of white on the dark floor, she may have missed it completely.

She glided down to a large tree, crouching on a branch that offered her ample canopy cover, and hoped the intruders did not see her. She still had nearly two hours left to herself, and as soon as these people were gone, she could return to practice.

As her heart rate quieted, Hazel could hear what her company was saying, and she dared inch just a little further to see what was happening. From the air, it had seemed like there were three figures, two of which had no wings, but the third figure Hazel was sure she must have miss-seen. Angels had any number of wing patterns and colors, but never such a pure white. In the moonlight, it had almost appeared gold.

Her suspicions only grew as more came into view; this intruder was an Angel, and that Angel had white wings.

“Twenty-nine-sixty-four, the next part of your entrance exam will be a flight test. Are you able to hover without... your advantages?” That first voice had the unmistakable intonations of an officer, though they sounded less like the thirdborn Angel officers Hazel was used to.

“Winter. No, I can’t.”

The second voice piqued Hazel’s interest. It was feminine and relatively young, and had such alien mannerisms. Hazel, thinking as hard as she could, could not remember hearing such an emotional voice since she had left the Night School.

“Then begin with speed. Fly a lap around the course at your top speed.”

“Isn’t that dangerous? Look at all the trees!”

“If you cannot perform safely, slow down,” the officer stated. So far, the third figure had been silent; Hazel thought they might serve as a precautionary measure, though she knew the people here well enough to know that that girl probably would be no match for an officer of any species, let alone two.

Stranger still was that Hazel took notice of the Angel’s accent; an accent that wasn’t recognizably Elvish or Drowic or even Dwarvish. She had a faint memory of a Siren having a similar accent, but that was also rather odd as Angels and Sirens had vastly different habitats; though it definitely wasn’t a Sirenic accent, that would have been exceptionally recognizable. More than likely, Hazel assumed, she had come from an island where the shoreline overlapped with Siren territory, though she had no clue which.

Now watching with rapt attention as the white-winged Angel stretched, Hazel noticed her wings were shaped quite similarly to her own. But, as she took off, Hazel immediately realized she was not flying normally; she was finding lift where Hazel knew there were no thermals, and taking longer glides without slowing than should have been possible. Not only that, but with them spread out so widely, it was blatantly obvious that her wings were undeniably white, and they shone with gold unlike any Angel Hazel had ever seen. As she approached Hazel’s perch on her lap, Hazel crouched lower to the tree and spread her wings over her body, careful to angle her feathers so that their blue sheen would not be pronounced, and so that her black-rimmed white primaries were as hidden as she could manage.

As far as she could tell, she went unnoticed by the strange Angel; but as she flew by, Hazel swore the air warmed around her. She tried not to scowl, or let her confusion show by other means, but she was confused, rather despite herself. It was cold; it had been distinctly cold all week, and Hazel would have certainly noticed and used any hot spots to her advantage while she was practicing.

Still watching closely as the strange girl —or woman, Hazel didn’t have enough information to determine her age— came into a somewhat messy landing, Hazel realized she must be a new recruit. She didn’t know why, as all evidence she did have would have her placed in the Night School; her tone was too volatile and her form too unpolished to warrant her being here, so Hazel assumed that the reason she was here was somehow related to the oddities in her flight. Oddities, ironically enough, were fairly rare in the Academy, so when more than one appeared in rapid succession they would likely be related.

Hazel watched for a while longer as the stranger was instructed to do a number of different maneuvers —a fair deal of which should have been impossible without updrafts that simply were not available that night— and took note that she was untrained; skilled, yes, but she clearly lacked the form and precision that the Academy had drilled into Hazel.

Soon enough, perhaps a half-hour in, the other two left the stranger to her own while they went to review her results, and Hazel was admittedly far too curious to see what the oddity would do next, so she waited.

Which, apparently, was nothing.

She stood there, waiting, and grooming out a couple of feathers, but otherwise, she did absolutely nothing.

Hazel had always hated her impatience but figured that an untrained Angel posed little threat to her, so she decided to leave her perch and investigate herself. She knew that she was fully capable of being quiet enough not to draw attention to herself if she were to study from a distance, but, as they often did, she knew that the high contrast coloration of her primary feathers would not allow her to go unseen. If the Angel looked up, she would undoubtedly notice.

Hazel decided it would be more apt to try a direct approach.

Gliding down from her perch, the stranger turned around, startled, the minute Hazel’s feet touched the ground. She made note that she would need to work more on her landings. She had begun to rely far too heavily on her silencing feathers, and moreover, she tended to forget to factor in the metal landing spurs on her boots.

The two eyed each other at a distance. Hazel wondered if she was as harmless as she looked, but knew that if she was, she probably wouldn’t be here.

She couldn’t have been much older than Hazel, but she had certainly been allowed more freedom. Her hair was an almost white blond that was cut in what looked like an intentionally messy manner just above her shoulders, and the end of her hair was dyed brilliant red. Hazel knew that if she were to stay here, that certainly would not. Nor would her build, she thought, the girl was lean but hardly toned enough to make her a threat in any capacity.

“Have you been here the whole time?” The stranger finally broke the silence, folding her arms. Hazel had never been particularly well versed in non-verbal communication, but she knew suspicion when she saw it.

She nodded slowly.

“Why?” Her wings had puffed considerably, a white smear on an otherwise black backdrop. Hazel felt herself scowling.

“You have white wings,” Hazel started, her voice a controlled balance of nonthreatening and uncaring.

“Hadn’t noticed.”

Hazel thought her tone was also exceptionally odd, but she had vague memories of that inflection, only enough to know she wasn’t serious.

“Are you really going to make me talk to you from all the way over here?” The Angel cocked her head to the side. Hazel was unsure if it was a challenge or an invitation, so while she did approach, she was cautious.

The closer she got, the more sure she was that this Angel was special. She doubted she was an albino; albino Angels’ wings were often nearly see-through and never as glossy as hers, and her eyes, while she couldn’t tell exactly what color they were at a distance, were clearly not red.

“You have a name? And I swear if you give me a god damn number,” her wings were still fluffed, but Hazel was hardly concerned about that. Her eyes, Hazel finally noticed, were an icy shade of lavender, and there was something in them that made her bristle. She had the conviction of a third- or secondborn, but also the terrible depth of a firstborn, and Hazel had always hated how firstborns looked at her like everything she tried to hide was carved into her skin.

“Hazel Sinclair.”

“Winter Montgomery. Now, you don’t look like you belong here either. I thought only thirdborn Angels made it here. You’re secondborn, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Hazel tried to relax her jaw, but she couldn’t stop herself from grinding her teeth. “What are you?”

“I’m pretty sure I was encouraged not to tell anyone that bit,” Winter looked Hazel over skeptically, before sighing deeply and adding, “but seeing as you’re probably the only person in this entire facility I might get along with, and I don’t care about all their damn rules, I’m an Archangel.” Hazel couldn’t help her eyes widening at that revelation.

“I thought Archangels were-“

“Yeah, well, very clearly not a myth.” Winter scoffed and quirked an eyebrow at Hazel, waiting a moment for her to explain herself. Hazel stared back, still processing the information, and now realizing Winter wanted her to speak. “Well? Why are you here?”

“The Angel Program.”

“Jesus Christ, really? But you’re not antisocial.”

“Correct,” Hazel sighed, beginning to think approaching the apparent Archangel had been a mistake. Before she could excuse herself, she heard the approaching steps of heavy boots clicking on the concrete. She stiffened her spine and refolded her wings, wiping her expression as the two officers approached. She now recognized one as the Angel Program’s director; a Djinn man with tanned skin and cold, soot-white eyes set into a handsome, sharp face.

“Cadet one-zero-one-three, how convenient,” the director began, looking between the two women with an impassive stare. “Cadet two-nine-six-four will be joining your squadron. Your officer recommended you to bring two-nine-six-four to an adequate baseline for her aerial training to begin. Until further notice, you will be spending the last hour of your aerial training with two-nine-six-four until she is able to pass the entry exam. Should you fall behind in your own training during this time, your free periods will be forfeited. Understood?“

“Yes, Director,” Hazel nodded once, curtly, before the director nodded and walked away.

“Twenty-nine-sixty-four, you will report to me after your training sessions with ten-thirteen effective tomorrow. Ten-thirteen will show you to your dorm and squadron.” The officer explained to Winter, who simply made a sour face in return and snapped her name under her breath. The officer then turned and left the two alone again.

“Doesn’t it bother you? It’s dehumanizing, them calling us by numbers.” Hazel made an indifferent humming noise. 

“How were you able to fly like you did during your exam?”

“I’m an Archangel, I thought I made that fairly clear.” Winter cocked an eyebrow again, and Hazel tried to rein in her frustration. She had the distinct impression that dealing with this woman would be trying on her already lacking patience.

“Until today, I only knew of Archangels in passing myths. I would think it is pertinent to separate fact from fantasy.”

“Alright, sure; Archangels can use magic. Which I reckon makes us too dangerous to be left without supervision. Aside from that and not being born in sets, we’re hardly any different from you Angels.” Hazel was unaccustomed to the sting in her voice, and frowned deeply. The Archangel, however, seemed not to direct her bite to Hazel, so she assumed perhaps it was unrelated to her.

“And your wings?”

“I guess,” her voice trailed with a heaving sigh that felt far too nuanced for Hazel to decipher. “My parents both had white wings, but aside from them, I’ve never met another Archangel.” The woman’s voice was still dripping with some sort of sentiment, so Hazel decided that pressing that line of conversation would have been unproductive. Hazel waited the moment it took for the newcomer to speak up again.

“So, why were you even here tonight? Seems far too coincidental that they happened to be looking for you specifically.” Hazel stiffened; Winter had a quirk to her lips and her statement lacked the bite of anger, so she could hardly understand how she was meant to respond.

“I was practicing,” she replied, opening her wings just a little for emphasis.

“Convenient,” Winter, Hazel thought, seemed almost amused by the sentiment, though Hazel couldn’t discern why. “You must be a pretty spectacular flier if they wanted you specifically.”

“I am. It would also be far less productive to have you tutored by a different type of flier. Though I have very little knowledge of your capabilities.”

“You mean magic?” The Archangel smiled broadly, and it made Hazel’s body unbearably tense; a feeling like nausea gnawed at her stomach. “Anything I like, really, though I’m honestly best with enchantments.” She rolled her shoulders and finally unfolded her arms, flexing her hands experimentally. Hazel could feel the air heat a few degrees around her. As best she tried to tell herself she was fully capable of handling whatever this situation could bring, she was admittedly a good deal scared by the sheer nonchalance that this girl used her magic with. She was obviously young, and obviously emotionally volatile, which could not have combined well with what could be immense power.