_____ AZRAEL SERAPHANE _____

I still remember the day the transmission came.

The moment that shattered our world.

It shook our mother in a way I had never seen before.

Losing a husband — no, losing him — was a devastation beyond even the most advanced neural vocabulary.

I swore, right then, that I’d stand by her side. No matter what.

Even though Mi’kael and I were only thirteen — still children by many standards — in the Seraphane Clan, thirteen marked the Crossing.

The threshold between innocence and warriorhood.

But after what had happened… I questioned it.

Was this tradition truly necessary? Was it even human?

Grandfather told us the only thing recovered was Father’s Blaster.

A matte-black composite Gun — bloodied, fractured, and mute.

Forged in the solar crucible of Vel’Serah, the weapon had been crafted solely for him.

It was meant to be a symbol of hope. Of future.

Now it lay before us, soaked in dried blood.

Whose blood? Father’s… or his killer’s?

No one could say.

And somehow, not knowing was worse.

I looked at my mother.

Her gaze wasn’t pained — it was hollow. Empty in a way that terrified me more than war ever could.

Without thinking, I pulled her into an embrace.

“It’ll be alright, Mother,” I whispered. The words shook in my throat like glass.

“I’ll protect you. I’ll make them pay.”

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then, a small, bitter smile tugged at her lips.

“You silly child,” she murmured, voice thick with grief. “What could you possibly do?”

I had never seen my mother cry before.

The woman who helped lead the Seraphane through wars, through chaos, through the exile into Vel’Serah’s hidden haven…

Now breaking before our eyes.

I turned to Mi’kael.

He stood still — not stoic, just stunned. Like a circuit left open, sparking uselessly.

Then, as if the weight of truth finally short-circuited him, he broke.

Tears burst from his eyes as he collapsed into our mother’s arms.

“I can’t believe Dad is gone,” he sobbed.

The sound of it cut deeper than any blade.

Uncle Ravyn entered then.

Despite the scar over his left eye and steel-threaded cloak over his shoulders, he was always gentle.

A quiet man. Kind, and dependable.

As he approached, our mother wiped her tears— reassembling herself like armor reassembling over flesh. Vulnerability was a luxury she had long abandoned.

But Ravyn offered a knowing smile.

“Just for today.” He said, placing his hand on her shoulders, “You don’t have to be the Matron of Blades. Just a grieving wife.”

Mother let out a breath that almost became a laugh.

“I miss him already.” she whispered. “They said they couldn’t find his body. Just the gun… and a blood trail leading towards the mountain’s edge.”

Ravyn’s hand tightened briefly.

“We’ll find the truth.” He said, “I promise you.”

Not long after, Caelus— Grandfather’s Personal aide— stormed into the chamber, breathless, his coat trailing behind him like silk flame.

He bowed before us, ignoring Ravyn completely.

“Yo Caelus. Long time,” Ravyn greeted with a slap on the back.

Caelus recoiled as if he’d been grazed by something vile.

“Don’t speak to me, outcast.” He muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

Then, composing himself with mechanical grace, he turned to Mother.

“Apologies for the intrusion, Lady Tahlia. But urgent news awaits. The Elders request your presence — and the presence of the heirs.”

Mother rose instantly, gripping Mi’kael’s hand.

Her posture was steel, but I saw the tremor in her fingertips.

“Lead the way,” she said.

Before we exited, Ravyn drew her aside.

Something passed between them in hushed tones.

“Something feels wrong about this,” he whispered. “Stay alert.”

We followed Caelus through the winding light-path corridors of Vel'Serah’s inner sanctum.

Hologlyphs flickered on crystal-panel walls. Ethereal vines climbed alloy columns.

The harmony of technology and nature pulsed like a silent heart through the corridors — elegant but severe.

We arrived at the council chamber. The doors parted with a seismic hush.

The Elders sat arranged in semi-circular formation beneath radiant skylights. And in the center, at the highest tier, was Grandfather.

He raised a hand.

“Come, my daughter,” he said. “It seems we’ve found the one responsible.”

For just a moment, the brutal old warrior looked simply like a father mourning alongside his daughter.

We sat down. Mi’kael was trembling beside me — not in fear, but in fury.

Caelus stepped forward, pulling out a data tab.

“Honored Council. We have identified the traitors.”

He paused.

“The Mercenary unit previously under our employ. The same that included warriors of Seraphane. The prime suspect… is their Leader.”

A silence so dense it bent the air followed.

My stomach dropped.

Internal betrayal? In our clan?

I glanced at Mother. Her expression was unreadable, but her hands were clutched so tight the fabric of her robes distorted.

Even Mi’kael was deathly still. But the black fire burning in his gaze was unmistakable.

Grandfather leaned forward.

“Caelus and the Ashen Vanguard will purge them. As dictated by our laws — the heirs will accompany them.”

Mother jolted upright.

“They’re only thirteen! This is absurd—”

“They are Seraphane,” Grandfather interrupted. “And their blood demands fire.”

She looked at us — unsure whether to fight harder or fold.

I stepped forward and laid a hand gently on her arm.

“We’ll be fine, Mother. We’ll make you proud.”

Mi’kael nodded, voice low.

“I don’t want to kill anyone, but they need to pay for what they did to Dad.”

Mother relented. Slowly. Grudgingly.

“If anything happens to them...” she whispered.

“They’ll be protected,” Caelus said, bowing low. “I swear it on my life.”

______ MI'KAEL SERAPHANE _____

As we departed the chamber, excitement warred with dread inside me.

This was our first mission.

A rite that marked every Seraphane warrior.

Azrael clapped me on the back.

“Don’t get cold feet,” he said. “We have roles to play.”

That grounded me.

I looked back at Mother one last time — her gaze a silent prayer — and offered the calmest smile I could manage.

We were led to the Armory Nexus.

Within, the Hall of Blades hummed with raw potential. Weapons from ages past and tomorrow lined the walls — not relics, but memory.

The blacksmith greeted us with a deep bow.

“Welcome, young heirs. What will you wield?”

I chose a mono-edged katana — lightweight, sharp, lined with a monomolecular alloy that gave it an extra cutting edge. I could tell, it could cut through bones, flesh and even steel like a hot knife through butter.

It vibrated softly in my grip, as if it synced with my very soul.

It felt… right.

I dropped into Father’s stance — not even thinking. Just muscle memory and instinct.

“Chain straight. Guard high. Heart focused.”

His words echoed in my mind.

I began.

A series of clean, efficient slashes — each movement an ode to the man we lost.

When I finished, I looked at Azrael.

He stood with two mono-blades in his hands — one reversed, one forward.

“Mother’s style?” I asked.

He said nothing.

Only moved — a flash of silver and light and grace.

Even Caelus raised an eyebrow.

“Well then,” I muttered. “Point made.”

Caelus smiled faintly.

“If you’re ready, young heirs... the Ashen await.”

The Ashen Vanguard.

Seraphane’s finest. Legends clad in cloaks of woven nanoweave and alloy.

One stepped forward.

He had black waves of hair and a mirror earring to the one on Caelus’ left lobe.

“Ah, the heirs join us this time?” he said with a grin. “I’m Azem. You’ve met my stick-in-the-mud brother, I’m sure.”

Caelus sighed.

“Let’s move, Azem.”

He winked.

“Don’t worry, boys. We’ll keep you alive long enough to earn your scars.”

Caelus’ tone sharpened.

“Stay close.”

And so, under a pale digital sky, through the veiled outer gates of Vel’Serah…

We set off.

Toward our first battle.

Toward the truth.

Toward the unraveling of everything we believed