Not wishing to strain her freshly-mended wings, Ennanis walked to her appointment on foot.

Mount Casca had seven levels of elevation in total. Five out of seven laid below a thick layer of clouds, termed ‘the undercloud’ by angels. The kingdom of angels lived upon the sixth peak. It was an impressive sight: spanning tens of kilometres, it was a system of hundreds of ivory stone terraces sculpted into the mountainside, resembling from afar a very long white staircase that wound around the mountain.

Each terrace held aloft various buildings, some ancient, some more recently built. The mess hall that Ennanis had just emerged from was located in the southern face of Casca, which was the lowest elevation of the sixth peak. The kingdom was divided by cardinal directions, where the terraces rose in height gradually from south to west, then north and finally east. As Ennanis crossed the swaying wooden bridges that connected the stone platforms, the clatter of weapons could be heard from the sparring fields, as well as the pop-pow sounds of Soleki shots on the firing ranges. Clangs of metal and hissing smoke rose from the chimneys of the gold forges, while the doors to a gathering hall flung open to let a line of marching soldiers through.

Here on the south face, young soldiers in their teens worked hard to be promoted to higher levels. Ennanis, herself, had trained there once upon a time, beating around with wooden swords and learning to concentrate her Soleki into a beam. Now, she stepped aside as the platoon of cadets marched across one of the bridges, eyes fixed on their drill sergeant.

Despite appearances, the angel army was not really an army. As protectors of humankind, the angels operated more like a civil defence force. Angels started out as cadets and worked their way up by improving their Soleki skills and receiving promotions, eventually taking on larger and larger leadership roles. They could identified by their rank insignia, sporting different numbers of wings and lobes, and also by the colours of their vest ribbons.

When the number of connecting bridges began to dwindle, Ennanis knew she had reached the western face. Here were the training grounds of the paired-wing soldiers. As elite soldiers, angels here had fully-grown wings, so they flew from terrace to terrace as opposed to walking. Thus, to remain on foot, Ennanis had to take the longer path through the west barracks. These barracks were larger than the ones in the south face, and more nicely furnished.

Other than that, the west face was mostly deserted. At this time of the day, most of the elite were out either overseeing drills in the south face or carrying out human duties in the undercloud.

Past cadethood, every fully-fledged angel had a duty based on the division they were enlisted in. There were three main divisions an angel could be a part of. Number One: the Royal Division, whose Wardens served Emperor Prometheus. Number Two: the Knights Division, the default division, who acted as general protectors of humankind, policing the undercloud and preventing crime.

…Lastly, at the bottom, Number Three: the Graveyard Division. The aptly-named, ever-dreaded night shift of the angels.

If soldiers worked hard to one day be promoted into the Royal Division, they worked even harder to avoid getting sent to the Graveyard. It didn’t matter if you were a cadet or Brigadier—if you hadn’t been promoted in a good while, you could wake up and find an envelope from the Chief Marshal.

The other way to enter the Graveyard was by committing an unforgivable crime. Casca never executed anyone directly, so the Graveyard Division functioned as the closest thing they had to a death row. No one stayed alive there for long, after all… except, of course, the infamous heartless commander.

It was regrettable, that certain angels—a kind meant to bring peace—knew instead a life of war and death. But with the Beasts attacking Mount Casca for the last thousand years… someone had to be the bulwark.

The remaining two faces of the mountain did not boast much. The north face held simply storage units. The east face was a sprawling prison ground, only enterable by members of the Warden Division. Ennanis could hear the prisoners wailing from within. She moved quicker past it.

Finally, there were no more terraces ahead to climb. Left with no available walking paths, Ennanis heaved her wings, ignored the ache, and flew up the near-vertical incline of the mountain. At last, she landed on the summit of Mount Casca.

The sun burned atop the summit—the seventh, and final peak of the massive mountain. The massive sphere of light filled up the entire horizon from where Ennanis hovered, radiating scorching heat.

On the summit, there was but only a single building. It was small, not very grand. This was no doctors’ office. It was the oldest and most important building on Casca: the Command Centre. It sat squarely in front of the sun, the entrance half obscured by lapping flames.

Clenching her jaw, Ennanis gave her wings a big flap, propelling herself forward into the fire.

~~~

When she broke through the wall of flames, she was in the front lobby of the office. The walls, floor, everything inside hummed with heat.

Retrieving the letter from her breastpocket, Ennanis produced it to the clerk behind the counter. Already it was crumpled, not because Ennanis had placed it carelessly, but because it was starting to shrivel and char under the sun’s aura.

The clerk took the letter, raised an eyebrow at her. “Back so soon, Miss Zoleil?”

“It’s been eight years.”

“Not even a decade and you’re summoned here again,” the clerk sighed. She had the face of a woman in her thirties, but she could’ve very well been, and most likely was, hundreds of years old. “Well, I sincerely hope you do survive whatever punishment you’re getting—you’re just so young. Two hundred, was it?”

“Twenty-seven, actually.”

“Bah, close enough,” grunted the clerk. “You won’t look so different when you’re a hundred. Well, if you live till then.” She cocked her head, as if listening in on something, then waved her on. “Well, the Chief Marshal says you can head in now. Try not to cause trouble, now. The paperwork here gives me migraines.”

“...Thank you.”

The hallway through the command centre was long and twisting. The command centre was made up of many little rooms, packed with officers who industriously collated and analysed data collected by ground troops during the day, and communicated the Chief Marshal's orders to the commanders of each division via Soleki leylines.

Ennanis arrived at the last door.

She didn’t knock. She just stood outside. And, with a quiet ch-chnng, the door swung open.

And Ennanis stiffened on sight of the two standing behind the desk.

The first of them was a man who looked to be in his fifties, with closely-cropped, grey-speckled white hair that also stubbled his well-defined jaw. He had no wings, and looked human on all accounts. He wore clothes with a distinctly human cut, too, the sort a mortal aristocrat might don. Most distinctive, however, were his opalescent slit-eyes—glinting white irises against white sclera.

This was not the Chief Marshal, but Emperor Prometheus himself.

The Emperor wasn’t alone. Standing beside him was Epimethius, the Wing Marshal, second to the Chief. Unlike the Emperor, Epimetheius was an angel, more conventionally dressed in a Cascan toga and sash, with the back draped free to let through his feathery wings.

Ennanis bowed deeply to each of them, before straightening and standing at attention. “Your Excellency. Wing Marshal Epimethius.”

“You look shaken, Commander,” said the Emperor.

“I was expected to see the Chief Marshal, your Excellency.” Ennanis’ voice did not waver, but indeed her face was even more ashen than previously, her lips drawn tight together.

You see, Ennanis Zoleil had not always been a greybelt, or the Graveyard Commander. Once upon a time, she had been a respected prodigy, an exemplar warrior, the very best of the Knights—in fact, she had worked her way up into becoming a Royal Warden, for a while. The last time this angel had been in the Emperor's presence, that life had been taken away from her… and she had been sentenced to her grisly greybelt fate.

“The Chief Marshal has taken leave,” said the Emperor simply, “I see you in his place. Now, let us not tarry any longer. Report to me, Commander, the results of the battle a week ago.”

Ennanis shifted. She had been so worn out, she hadn’t gotten more than a passing look at the technical accounts of the battle, much less remembered it enough to recite. She glanced at the Wing Marshal, but Epimethius looked aside. She wasn’t getting any help from him.

“Epimethius, report for her,” the Emperor said. “How many of our troops did we lose that night?”

He saluted. “Upwards of five thousand, your Excellency.”

“Five thousand,” the Emperor rumbled. “That’s one third of your Division, Commander. Must I remind you that, while the Graveyard Division is dispensable, but we still need numbers to ensure the defence of Mount Casca?”

“I apologise, your Excellency.”

“No, I don’t think you’re very sorry at all,” stated the Emperor. He leaned forward, opalescent eyes pinning her. “Night after night, you concentrate the weakest troops on the rear, while taking the frontlines for yourself. My Wardens have been graciously closing an eye on your actions. This was on account of your history of success. But evidently, that record has been broken.”

“......” Ennanis remained silent.

“You think that you are protecting angel lives,” he went on. “But last week, by concentrating all the forces in one area instead of spreading them out, you condemned all of them to the Cockatrice's shot. You ended up getting far more people hurt than if you hadn’t tried to protect them.”

“This time was different.” Ennanis finally spoke up. “The Beasts were unusually powerful that night. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve protected them.”

“The circumstances had changed. And it was only a matter of time,” intoned the Emperor. “Something that you should have expected.”

Ennanis’ gold eyes met his gaze straight-on. “I will accept any punishment for my mistake.”

The Emperor lifted his chin, glaring down at her.

“In spite of everything, you still think yourself a hero—and you are willing to martyr yourself for that cause. Only that the truth is: for every greybelt that you staunchly defend, the Beasts gain another step towards the summit. And should they set claw on the top, there will be destruction like never known. Humans will be left without angels to guide them. The undercloud will sink into cold oblivion once more. Is that a cause you’d be content dying for?”

“...No, your Excellency.”

“I do not think you truly understand the gravity of your decisions,” boomed the Emperor. “Now… as for what to do with you…” He stroked his white-stubbled chin in thought. “For someone already in the Graveyard, the typical next punishment would be to send you to the sunprisons. However… maybe there is something else that can be done.”

Emperor Prometheus was powerful—there was no doubt about that. But his greatest power laid not in his mastery of Soleki, but in his foresight. For the thousands of years he had lived, his gaze could read any situation’s moving parts, deconstruct personality with a glance, and adjust current factors for the best outcome.

Ennanis, twenty-seven years old as she was, could not begin to fathom the scale at which Emperor Prometheus thought at as he made his decisions, how many years into the future those white eyes peered.

“Under my decree, that punishment shall be withheld,” Prometheus said finally. “Instead, I will give you an assignment.”

“And that is?”

“I will inform you of the details shortly,” the Emperor rumbled steadily. “For this assignment, you will be working alongside your former division, the Knights Division.”