AZRAEL SERAPHANE

Mother hadn't moved for three hours.

The tea beside her had gone cold.

The transmission ended long ago.

Yet her eyes never left the empty screen.

As though staring hard enough might bring him back.

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.

The moment an Heir stopped being sheltered by the Clan and started carrying its burdens.

Most children dreamed of their thirteenth year.

Among the Seraphane, it was celebrated with feasts beneath crystal canopies, attended by Commanders, Elders, and Branch Families from across Vel'Serah.

I used to dream about it too.

Father was supposed to stand beside us when that day came.

Now, the thought of it made me sick.

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.

Father would joke that he'd be buried with it one day.

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 couldn't stop staring at it.

Father never went anywhere without that gun.

Somehow seeing it here felt impossible.

I looked at my mother.

And she looked straight through me.

Not at me.

Through me.

Like something important had already left her.

I didn't know what to say.

So I did the only thing I could. 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.

That frightened me more than the transmission ever could.

I turned to Mi’kael.

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

His lip trembled.

He tried to stop it.

He couldn't.

Tears burst from his eyes...

“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 closed her eyes.

For a second she looked exhausted.

“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.”

For a while, nobody spoke and the room felt smaller than before.

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 across crystal-panel walls, displaying old victories, family lineages, and declarations from the ruling houses of the Seraphane.

Ethereal vines curled around alloy columns, their pale leaves glowing beneath artificial skylights.

That was Vel'Serah.

A city built upon contradictions.

Nature woven into machinery.

Ancient traditions preserved through impossible technology.

The hidden sanctuary our ancestors had built after abandoning our old home.

The jewel of the Seraphane.

I'd walked these halls countless times before.

Yet they felt different now.

Smaller.

Quieter.

Like the city itself was holding its breath.

As we passed one of the training courtyards, a memory surfaced before I could stop it.

Mi'kael and I couldn't have been older than six.

Father had dragged us from one of Vel'Serah's thermal springs after training, insisting we'd catch our deaths if we stayed in the water any longer.

Naturally, we'd run.

The springs overlooked the lower districts of the city. I still remembered the view.

Terraced gardens illuminated by floating lantern drones.

Crystal-rooted trees stretching above rooftops.

Suspended railways threading between towers of alloy and stone.

At the time, I'd thought Vel'Serah was the entire world.

Maybe part of me still wanted to.

Half-dressed and screaming with laughter, we'd bolt through the corridors while Father chased after us with towels draped over his shoulders.

Mother had laughed so hard she nearly dropped the datapad she was reading.

At the time, I'd been convinced we were faster than him.

We weren't.

Father caught both of us before we even reached the next courtyard.

The memory faded as quickly as it came.

The corridor remained.

Empty.

I lowered my gaze.

Further ahead stood another training chamber.

Mi'kael noticed it too.

I could tell by the way his shoulders tensed.

Father used to spar with us there.

Every week.

Every loss only made us more determined.

One day, we'd told ourselves.

One day we'd beat him.

One day we'd stand beside him as equals.

I used to imagine what that victory would feel like.

Now I never would.

The realization settled heavily in my chest.

Not because Father was gone.

But because there were things I'd wanted to do with him that would now remain unfinished forever.

The city hadn't changed.

The vines still climbed the walls.

The lights still shimmered across polished alloy.

Yet every corner seemed to carry a ghost.

And no matter where I looked, I kept finding him.

Before I even realised it, we arrived at the council chamber.

The doors parting with a seismic hush.

The Elders sat arranged in semi-circular formation beneath radiant skylights.

Representatives from the oldest bloodlines of the Seraphane.

And in the center, seated above them all, was Grandfather.

Valekar Seraphane.

Head of the Clan.

The man whose decisions shaped the lives of millions.

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 a data tab from beneath his cloak.

"Honored Council. We have identified the traitors."

The chamber grew still.

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

For a moment, I thought I had misheard him.

A Seraphane?

No.

That wasn't possible.

The entire foundation of our Clan rested upon loyalty.

That was the first lesson every Seraphane child learned.

Not strength.

Not combat.

Loyalty.

One warrior's failure belonged to all of us.

One warrior's honor belonged to all of us.

That was who we were.

That was what we had always been taught.

My stomach twisted.

I looked toward Mother.

Her face remained unreadable, but her fingers had tightened around her robes.

Even Mi'kael had gone still.

The fury in his eyes remained.

But now there was something else.

Disbelief.

Grandfather leaned forward.

"Caelus and the Ashen Vanguard will purge them. As dictated by our laws, the heirs will accompany them."

Mother rose from her seat immediately.

"They're only thirteen! This is absurd—"

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

The chamber fell silent.

Part of me wanted her to keep arguing.

Part of me wanted her to win.

But another part...

Another part felt something else.

Pride.

This was the Crossing.

The rite every Seraphane warrior endured.

The moment we stopped being children.

I hated myself for wanting it.

Yet I couldn't deny it.

I stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Mother's arm.

"We'll be fine, Mother."

The words sounded far more confident than I felt.

"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.

Every Seraphane passed through these halls eventually.

Some came seeking their first weapon.

Others returned to honor the dead.

The Hall of Blades wasn't merely an armory.

It was memory.

Every weapon carried a story.

Every story carried a name.

And every name carried a legacy.

The blacksmith greeted us with a deep bow.

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

I chose a mono-edged katana.

Lightweight.

Balanced.

Its monomolecular edge shimmered beneath the armory lights.

Although the weapon wasn't the most expensive.

Nor the most advanced.

It reminded me of the blades Father used to train with.

That alone was enough.

The moment it settled into my hand, something inside me stilled.

I should have hated it.

Father was dead.

We were marching toward the people responsible.

Nothing about this should have felt right.

Yet it did.

My fingers tightened around the hilt.

Without thinking, I slipped into Father's stance.

"Chain straight."

"Guard high."

"Heart focused."

His voice echoed through my memory with such clarity that for a moment I almost expected to see him standing beside me.

The realization hit a second later.

And somehow, that hurt more.

I swung.

One strike.

Then another.

Clean.

Precise.

Every movement was one he had taught me.

Every motion felt like a desperate attempt to hold onto something already gone.

When I finished, I looked at Azrael.

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

Mother's Style.

People always said that he took after her.

Looking at him, I couldn't agree more.

Azrael 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.

Every child in Vel'Serah knew their names.

They were the ones who returned from impossible battles.

The heroes of fables and bedtime stories alike.

My favourite was always the tale of the Black Reaper.

Father used to laugh whenever I brought him up.

"One day, I'll be stronger than him," I'd tell him.

And he'd always the say the same thing.

"You?"

"The next Black Reaper?"

"You'll have to grow a few feet first."

Yet every child dreamed of becoming their hero.

And I still do.

One of the Ashen 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