The lights within Burns’ Coffeehouse were dim. This made sense, as the staff were away—whether in the hospital with Philos or vanished like Vylet. Inside, Pal Burns sat at the seat by the window, sipping his cappuccino and humming to himself. Worry had filled his mind for a while, but when he felt that presence walk the streets, his worries somehow...melted away.

The presence he felt...there was no mistaking it.

Revolution walked the streets today.

“It’s been a while, Drew,” a deep voice said, followed by the sound of a door closing. “You should know better than to leave the door unlocked, if you’re really going to close the shop for a day.”

“The name’s ‘Pal’ now. And I knew you’d come here,” the old man laughed softly. He turned to see Sir Smith walking toward him. “Tell me, Angel, what name do you go by these days?”

“Sir Smith.”

“Ooh!” Pal jeered. “That one sounds prestigious.”

Sir Smith scowled. “You’re as irritating as I remember.”

“Well, if you’ve come for my Starblood, I hate to disappoint you but my magic is as old and weak as I am.”

“Whether your magic was weak or not is of no consequence to me, Drew.” The Angel sat across from the other man. In the darkness of the shop, the angelic halo lit the dimness. “Even if you still had power, your body is too old to wield it.”

“Hey,” Pal laughed and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m not ancient...yet.”

Sir Smith said nothing.

“You know who they’re trying to save, don’t you?” Pal said, breaking the still silence.

“I think I do.”

“Then you know who and what she is, don’t you?”

Sir Smith raised his hand, opened it, then closed it.

“I am very old, Drew. Time changes us, undoes us, outlives us. We make our choices and live with our consequences. We live our lives.” He exhaled deeply. “But we cannot control to whom we are born. It is irrelevant. Our hearts define us. No more. No less.”

“You’ve changed, Sir Smith.” Pal smirked. “I think the new name has gone to your head!”

The Angel frowned. “You’re an old fool...Pal.”

 

The garden was odd. Trees with blue, transparent leaves seemed to leave a sparkling, dust-like mist on the ground below them. Darkness prevailed, the only light to illuminate the strange flora was the small beams from the two crescent moons that seemed to orbit this unique place at a rather quickened speed. But it wasn’t unique to the being that dwelt within the ethereal trees.

No. To him, everything seemed just as it should.

The figure moved like a ghost through the forest, floating slightly off the ground, his stark red eyes set forward. Through his spectral skin, tiny stars seemed to swirl among his violet body. He floated onward, his eyes set upon the giant tree in the center of the garden, a marvelous plant so large that it seemed to extend into the garden’s pitch-black, star-speckled sky. The small being knew he would never tire, so he instead moved onward toward the tree. Life was strange without his strength, and the Starbreather found himself thinking about the events that happened two thousand years ago. Of course, it was obvious that Azazel had bested him, turned the Angels away in their greed and pride, but...

He thought of one in particular...

He thought of the one that now knew the way...

He wondered if Sir Smith had found Vespira’s beloved bloodline.

The thought of Vespira brought a smile to his face, his jagged teeth showing brilliantly even in the faintness of the moonbeams. She was the only hope—or rather, her offspring were. He wondered what they were like. The feeling had come to him recently, and the Starbreather knew that if Smith was successful in awakening their abilities, the Starbreather would be able to link them to his divine power...

Which wasn’t much these days, what with the Aeons sealed away. Lost in thought, he found himself at the roots of the marvelous Yggdrasil.

Oh Azazel... the thought ran through his mind.  Why did you fall away? Why did you do such a horrible thing?

He levitated to the top of one of the gargantuan roots and sat.

Oh Yggdrasil...why must your world die so?