“It’s perfect,” he whispered, planting a kiss to my forehead.
He stepped back, and I frowned at his linen shirt and plain pants. He bore no leathers because he had not officially completed the Undertaking, but I chose not to raise the conversation.
As we approached the Rapture chamber doors, Malakai bent to whisper in my ear, “I have to say…while you look every bit the powerful Revered Mystique in those new leathers, I’m more excited to see how they come off later.” His breath was a soft caress down my neck.
I winked at him in response. The shiver his words caused faded as we came to a halt in front of Tolek, dressed finely in his own sleeveless leathers with his hair combed back yet slightly ruffled, like he couldn’t leave it perfect.
“Jezebel and Cypherion have gathered the masses within,” he told us. Those chocolate eyes swept up and down my body, taking in the freshly crafted leathers and lingering on every inch of the exposed skin around them. Not in a leering manner, but in astonishment. Quickly, though, the look vanished from his face. “Shall I tell them you’re ready?”
Malakai watched the shift in his friend’s expression, and the narrowing of his eyes nearly unsteadied me, but I did not have time to address it now.
“Yes,” I responded, and Tolek disappeared through the double doors.
I ran my hand over my leathers once more, ensuring that everything was in place. This was my first impression as acting Revered. This moment—what happened behind those doors—would decide my fate and the fate of my people. If my rule was supported, or if we would fight for allies.
Malakai sensed my hesitation and lifted my fingers from where they scratched at the dark scar the Curse had left me. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. He brought my hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “You are the most powerful warrior of our generation, Ophelia. But more than that, you are fierce, kind, and loyal. Your heart burns with the hope of the Mystique Warriors. They will see that and they will honor it.”
I swallowed my fear, shook my hair behind my shoulders, and lifted my chin. Though talk of curses and glory echoed through my mind like a haunting vow, I remained determined. Malakai’s words were true, and I felt the strength within me to prove that.
“Let the trials begin,” I muttered.
With Angelborn across my back, Starfire at my hip, and Malakai’s grip firm within my own, a wealth of unanswered promises burned through my veins. I pushed open the double doors of the Rapture chamber to claim my fate.
Epilogue
Damien
“The girl has started on the path,” I muttered the words into the cold air as eight sets of eyes, including my own, traced her movements through the ancient piece of Angelglass. A crack running down the center cut a jagged line directly between her and the boy as they stood with hands locked, whispering to each other.
“Now that she is fully ascended, the progress should be quicker.” My words rang with a hopeful promise of chances long lost.
We watched through the glass as she entered the council chamber, missing shards adding dark spots to the scene. The marble doors sealed firmly behind her. As the last sliver of light disappeared, the air within our room felt heavier. We could not interfere in the affairs of the warriors, only guide. My attempts recently had been too blatant, the punishment I received for them still ringing through my blood. The taste of the poison on my tongue.
“Good,” he responded as he turned his back on the glass. “I am tired of waiting, Damien.” He prowled the circular stone room like a captive beast, and I supposed in a way he was.
Everything we planned, though, was not only for him. I looked around at the others who lined the walls, and thought that the cause ran deeper—millennia in the making, awaiting this moment. And it all rode on the slim shoulders of the golden-haired girl. The Chosen Child.
“We will soon reclaim what was taken from us,” I promised. “That and more.”
Around the room, six voices echoed my sentiment. Though they clung to the shadows, their dull light pierced the darkness. Many were afraid to approach our master as I did, but I knew he could not achieve his plan without us. Without me, in particular.
He needed the girl, and I was his key to her.
“You have done well, Damien.” Pride swelled within my gold-tinted body, easing the remnants of recent failure. The ancient beast within him woke with each word, its head rising and muscles tensing, no longer dormant as it had been rendered for so long. “She has been delivered to this pivotal moment, but we have seen this achievement before.”
“And fell from this point, as well.” Bant’s whisper was a growl from the shadows, but our master tensed at the reminder of the history. I did not dare to look at the Angel behind me.
A ghost of white light trailed after our master as he unfroze and continued his prowl around the circular room. A flash of that light lashed out, striking Bant. The Angel yelped.
Then our master whispered, his voice tired from the effort, “Yes, Bant. Thank you for the reminder; though, I advise that you in particular keep your mouth shut.”
It was an order. Neither Bant nor anyone else dared speak again, the air growing heavier still. I imagined that had we needed to breathe, it would have been impossible to draw breath.
“This will restore everything that was once lost to us,” our master finally muttered. His back was still to the room but those white tendrils pulsed and twisted around him in a dance of edgy glee. “It rests within her, but she will never willingly relinquish it to us. She must be led blindly, for she cannot learn what lives inside of her yet.”
He turned toward us, the power trapped within him sending that unique, bright essence swirling around his figure, lifting the strands of his long silver hair so that it flowed behind him as if caught on a gentle wind.
His milky eyes narrowed against golden skin, dark brows lowered, and he decreed, “It will be either our salvation or our undoing—the Curse of Ophelia.”
