______AZRAEL SERAPHANE_____

I heard it before I saw it.

A single, violent crack — too loud for a twig. Too sharp for wind.

It echoed like judgment in the silence, followed by... nothing.

No scream. No splash. No sound of struggle from below.

Just stillness.

Complete. Crushing.

Like the world itself had exhaled and stopped.

I stood at the edge of the courtyard, the wind tugging at my coat. Beneath me, the cliff fell away into blackness, veiled in data-fog and drifting mist. Bioluminescent vines pulsed dimly far below, but they revealed no trace of him.

My heart was pounding.

Was it just a branch that broke?

Or was that the sound of him hitting something far below?

I strained my ears, hoping for any sign.

A cough. A groan. Even a curse.

But there was nothing.

Just the pulse of wind.

And my own breath, shaky and uneven.

Was he gone?

My knees felt weak, my balance off.

I should’ve reached for him.

Should’ve stopped our grandfather before it went too far.

I could’ve done something—anything—

But I didn’t.

I hesitated.

I remembered his eyes as he fell.

Mi’kael didn’t fall like someone broken.

He fell like someone betrayed.

My hands curled into fists.

The memory of our clash replayed in my head — the screams, the steel, the weight of our choices crashing down. I told myself it was the only way. That stopping him was mercy. That this was fate.

But standing here now, watching the place where he vanished, none of that felt like the truth.

I tried to step forward—

But my body wouldn’t listen.

I stood frozen. Hollow.

And in that emptiness, a question burned like acid:

What if he survived?

No one else would believe it. But I would.

Because he’s Mi’kael.

And he never goes down easy.

_____VALEKAR SERAPHANE_____

The snap echoed like finality.

But finality was a lie.

I stood at the cliff’s edge, the cold wind coiling through the folds of my cloak. The ravine below swallowed everything — sound, light, even doubt.

No cry. No impact.

Only silence, and that single sharp fracture still replaying in my head.

He was gone.

He should’ve been.

And yet... something twisted in my gut.

Mi’kael had always been the unexpected variable. Not just Azrael’s brother — his mirror. Reckless, clever, too stubborn to die the way we expected.

I saw the hesitation in Azrael.

The falter in his sword-hand.

The humanity.

And I stepped in. Because I had to. Because this wasn't about brothers. It was about containment. About survival.

Still... my mind circled back.

What if the boy lived?

If Mi’kael had grabbed onto something—

If some root or platform caught him—

He wouldn’t stay down. He’d wait. Adapt. Return.

That couldn’t be allowed.

I turned sharply, my boots grinding against the slick, black stone. The air shimmered faintly with trace particles from the recent clash — ash, blood, residual ion from the shattered lanterns.

“Activate a sector-wide sweep,” I ordered. My voice was low, clipped. “Every drone, every eye. I want him found.”

Guards nearby bowed and scattered, activating their comm-keys. Tracker lights blinked to life along the outer courtyard walls. The hunt had already begun.

Still, as I looked out into the dark…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that the fall wasn’t the end.

Just a pause.

The eye of the storm.

Mi’kael wouldn’t go quietly.

And the next time we crossed paths—

There would be no hesitation.

_____RAVYN SERAPHANE_____

The night before her death, I received the letter.

I had been expecting it.

Just not like this.

The paper was damp, the ink slightly smudged — but her message burned through every mark, clear as fire: a final plea from a mother who had seen the storm coming long before the rest of us.

"If things go wrong, protect Mi’kael. Do whatever it takes. Save him from what’s coming."

I read it over and over, feeling each word anchor deeper into my chest like a blade turned inward. Tahlia had always known the weight of legacy, of bloodlines and buried knives. She had loved her sons fiercely — especially Mi’kael, who reminded her too much of herself.

She had suspected what the Seraphane would do. She always saw farther than the rest of us.

But knowing doesn’t stop death.

When it came, it was swift. Efficient. Unnatural.

Now the duty was mine.

I wandered the outer cliffs near the edge of Vel’Serah — farther from the courtyard’s dead acoustics, close enough that the river’s echo carried clean across the stone.

I would find him.

I would save him.

Whatever it took.

The wind howled between the blackwood trees lining the cliffs, and somewhere below, the old river screamed against stone. The air felt brittle — every shift of the wind hit the cliff face differently. Sound traveled where it didn’t reach the courtyard.

And then I heard it.

A sharp crack.

Like bone.

Then a splash — violent, raw.

My body moved before thought. I sprinted toward the sound, blood pounding in my ears, lungs burning from the cold.

I reached the edge and looked down — and there, shattered against the riverbank’s jagged shelf of stone and moss, lay Mi’kael.

A tangle of soaked limbs, torn fabric, and pain.

His chest rose — barely.

His breath came in broken bursts.

But he was alive.

For a moment, I thought it was some phantom of regret, conjured by grief and failure. But no — the boy was real. Broken. Hurt. But alive.

I dropped beside him, fingers pressing to his neck. His pulse was weak, but present — and that was enough.

That was everything.

He must’ve struck a stabilizing branch on the way down, slowed just enough not to die outright. The cliff hadn’t finished what the family started.

I lifted him gently, cradling him against my chest. His weight — God, he was heavy — even for someone with my training.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured.

There was no time for hesitation.

The Seraphane would be sweeping the area soon — maybe already. Drones, informants, trackers tied to Valekar’s hand. I couldn’t take him to any known sanctuary on Terra Prime — not even the old safehouses. They’d all been compromised.

No…

We were leaving.

I moved fast, cutting through the rock crests toward a forgotten hangar — buried under vines and abandoned mining modules from before the Exile.

I checked this path every night; old habits from the war never die, and neither does the paranoia that made me hide a ship here in the first place.

Inside the vessel, I secured Mi’kael in the auto-med bay. The machine hummed to life, scanning his vitals, administering stabilizers. Its tech was outdated by Terra Prime standards, but it still worked — good enough to keep him alive.

He didn’t stir.

Didn’t open his eyes.

Just breathed.

That was enough.

I moved to the pilot seat, igniting the thrusters. My hands flew across the controls. Coordinates locked: Vitarus.

A world Tahlia once marked as a contingency — hidden, unindexed, and far beyond the Seraphane’s usual search routes.

Wild, green, hidden from the central grid. A place they wouldn’t think to search. A place with no dynasties, no thrones. Only life.

The exit path was narrow — a maintenance gate buried in the orbital debris zone, long erased from official ports. No scans. No registration.

No questions.

As we ascended into black, the lights of Terra Prime faded behind us — the steel world I had once called home swallowed by clouds and distance.

I glanced back at Mi’kael, pale beneath the scanner’s glow.

“I won’t fail you,” I whispered.

“I failed her. But not you.”

The ship jumped to light speed, and we left it all behind.

For now.