Chapter Thirty One…

**Trigger warning - the next few chapters contain upsetting scenes of violent death, murder, emotional trauma, child/infant death and references to torture**

Shaken by her brush with death, Elda got unsteadily to her feet, helped by Vel’s hand in hers. His burns were fading, already almost gone from his face and neck. His eyes watched her every move for any further signs of pain.

“Thank you for healing Syd and I,” she mumbled.

“I’m not going to leave you to burn.”

“I know,” she nodded, swallowing the nausea rising up her throat. “But fixing both of us hurt you.”

“I’ve had worse.” He turned her chin with his free hand, checking again that her injuries were truly gone. When he was satisfied he glanced at the darkened archway. “This place isn’t for me, varro. Whatever is up here is meant for Sypher.”

“How do you know?”

“Just a feeling. No more getting set on fire, alright?” His smile was teasing but his tone was gentle. Elda nodded, surprised by the softness her near-death experience brought out in him. “I’ll see you around.”

Sypher blinked, the fire dancing brightly in his eyes as control transferred back to him and his sharpened teeth retracted. He peered down at Elda, unharmed and shaken, and folded her into a tight hug, burying his face in her neck.

“I’m glad you’re okay, El,” he mumbled into her hair. She sighed and relaxed into him, breathing in the scent of vetiver and leather for a moment. Behind her Julian was fussing over Syd, showering her face with kisses and combing his fingers through her dark mane. She nosed at her healed flank like she still expected it to hurt.

“I nearly died.” Elda shuddered into Sypher’s shoulder. “She really wanted to kill me.”

“I think that’s my fault,” he admitted. “Cynthia was just trying to hurt me. The easiest way to cause me pain would be to kill my untrained Keeper.”

“What would happen if she succeeded?”

“I’d either be destroyed by the Spirits before I could lose control, or I’d succumb to Vel and he’d burn everything.”

“Do you think she’ll come back?” Elda asked, glancing at the doors that still stood wide open.

“Not likely. My demon beat her fairly heavily. She only survived because of that damn Wraith. If she came back now she’d be in no fit state to fight.” He frowned. “I don’t understand why she was here alone.”

“Perhaps we can help with that.” They turned at the sound of Irileth’s voice, finding her standing beside the archway in her physical form. She stood at her full, towering height, her glowing hair and misty skirts swishing around her in a breeze only she could feel. Beside her stood a much smaller figure - a young girl of eight or nine years old sporting a pair of beautiful amber butterfly wings.

"Cerilla?” Sypher asked, his brows creeping upwards. “I thought you were forbidden from visiting me?”

“I am,” the smaller Spirit nodded. “But I’m not forbidden from showing myself to your Keeper. I had to come to you, dear one.” She fluttered forwards on her strange wings and took both of his hands in hers. Elda blinked when he didn’t recoil from her touch.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have many things I must explain to you.” Her voice was light and airy, the youthful cadence of a small child, yet her wide brown eyes were ancient. Her brow creased into a pained frown. “I have missed you dearly but my visit isn’t a happy one. Sypher, who you are lies beyond that archway.”

“I’ve never been here before,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’d remember if I ever had anything to do with this place.” Dread coiled in Elda’s stomach when he straightened up and backed away from the Spirit, the corners of his mouth pulling downwards in denial.

“You have been here before. Walk through the arch. I will explain once you can see what waits there.” He looked over at the darkened tunnel and swallowed nervously.

“Why now? Why not bring me here when I was first created?” he asked, refusing to move.

“I was forbidden. I am only here with you now because Cynthia was here to take what I sent you for. You must fix what is broken.” Elda’s breath caught at the mention of her purpose. Sypher’s reluctance vanished, his expression turning stoic. The mask of a soldier slammed down over his fear. He squared his shoulders and nodded.

“As soon as we find what we’re looking for, I expect answers from you,” he warned. The smaller Spirit nodded. Julian and Gira exchanged nervous glances, watching Sypher pause in front of absolute darkness. He turned back to look at Elda.

“Let me come with you,” she pleaded. “We should face this together.” Silently, he held out his hand.

When his gloved fingers clasped hers, they stepped into the gloom and kept walking, their footsteps echoing over the trickling sounds of the gory red streams dripping from the rock. Sconces lined the walls, the enchanted stones in them somehow still providing light despite their vast age. The tunnel ahead was illuminated in the sickly yellow glow of fading magic. At the far end was a halo of daylight waiting to welcome them.

Elda kept her steps measured, keeping pace with Sypher as both of them emerged into the light, blinking fiercely while their eyes adjusted after the oppressive shadows of the passageway. When the brightness was bearable, both of them froze.

The peak had been hollowed out, its summit open to the sky. The sun beamed down on a vast basin, protected by the rocky walls at the edges of the mountain. Spread out before them was the decaying corpse of an entire civilisation, stuck in a macabre mix of beauty and death.

“Iliria,” Sypher whispered, his fingers tightening around Elda’s. “It’s real.”

The City of Angels was destroyed, its buildings scarred by the machinations of whatever powerful force had wiped out the entire race. More golden mosaics winked mockingly beneath their layer of dirt and dust.

Elda had grown up with tales of the day the Angels disappeared, tales she’d believed were pretend as she’d sat listening to her father with wide, eager eyes. She’d thought being an Angel would be a great adventure. Never had she been prepared for the stories to be true.

There were brown stains on the tiles and the buildings, faded and grainy, but very obviously blood. The moonstone clung to it, absorbing the death and destruction until it became a vital piece of the scenery. Bones were scattered through the streets, all of them bleached and pitted by years of exposure to the elements. Many of them were shattered, the breaks rounded by time until it was hard to tell which bones belonged to one another.

Sypher stepped over the fractured remnants of an entire civilisation, his only anchor to reality taking the form of Elda’s hand in his. Through the bond between them, she felt his usually tight control on his emotions slipping. Fear, loss and confusion mixed together with such force that it left both of them dazed.

The rest of their small group followed behind them, gawking at the wreckage they traipsed through. The only sound to break the mournful silence was the clip-clop of Syd’s hooves on the tiles as she picked her way through the bodies.

Iliria had been beautiful once. It was clear that the city had been created with great love and dedication, each tile in the enormous mosaic floor placed specifically to create an intricate picture that Elda knew could only be appreciated by those with the ability to fly. It saddened her to think such craftsmanship and creativity lay rotting at the top of a mountain, forgotten entirely by the rest of the world. The stumps of buildings bore the remnants of elegant carvings and markings, created to tell stories to anyone who passed them. Those stories had been violently destroyed, blasted apart by whatever chaos had swept through the city.

Elda reached out to touch one of the few intact carvings in reverence. Her finger brushed the graceful curve of a moonstone bird and a shock zapped its way up her arm. She recoiled from the sting, the screams from her premonition pounding her skull in a sudden cacophony. Sypher and the others heard them too, clapping their hands over their ears while they waited for the racket to fade. Syd whinnied and tossed her mane until Irileth wrapped her arms around the tulpar demon’s neck, covering her ear drums and dulling the noise.

“The mountain clings to the pain it witnessed here,” Cerilla said gravely, her and Irileth both unaffected by the volume. “The stones around us keep hold of the memories of what happened here. They hold in them the hope of a nation long lost, the desire for someone return one day to rediscover the glorious beings that were the Angels of Valerus. Moonstone is special in that it can be imbued with memories, emotions and stories, the same way a crystal can hold an enchantment.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Sypher warned them all. “Who knows what else they’ll try to show us.” They nodded, following him once more through the wreckage. Shards of glass still hung from crumbling window frames, reflecting the sunlight back at them until they came to an intersection.

Elda watched Sypher’s head turn, his fists clenching and unclenching. Something was tugging him forwards. She could feel whatever was guiding him humming through their bond along with the crippling fear it inspired in him. Her own heart pounded erratically, smashing harder against her ribs in a short staccato the further in they went. She tried valiantly to avoid the empty gazes of hundreds of eyeless skulls, careful not to disturb their resting places.

The Soul Forge stopped next to a broken pillar. Its remnants were scattered inside the husk of a building that looked like it used to be a home. He frowned, his eyes scanning the ruined dwelling like he was searching for something.

His foot nudged something and he froze, looking down at a skeleton sprawled at the pillar’s base. He let go of Elda’s hand as though he intended to touch it. The skull was small, the back of it shattered, and the wing bones were still arranged in a recognisable pattern. A tear tracked down Sypher’s cheek. He touched his gloved fingers to it and frowned, looking at it like he didn’t understand how it got there before his attention strayed back to the damaged skull.

“I know these bones,” he said softly. “How do I know them? What happened here?” His voice cracked, pain he couldn’t make sense of etched across his face. Elda sucked in a lungful of air, the weight of his grief making it hard to breathe. Cerilla simply bowed her head, unable to answer him.

“Keep going, Battle-born,” Irileth urged softly. “All will be made clear. We can’t tell you ourselves.”

Sypher glanced at Elda, his shoulders hunched, brows knitted in an uncertain frown. She forced herself to smile faintly and nod, retaking his hand and towing him down the street he’d been walking. Her mind strayed back to the image of Vel standing above the corpses of her parents, her home burning around her, and she squared her shoulders. She would be Sypher’s guide through whatever was waiting, no matter what it took from her.

The Soul Forge followed reluctantly, turning back to catch one more glimpse of the bones by the pillar. He allowed himself to be towed for a while, waiting until he felt the strange pull in his chest before taking the lead again.

His feet carried him to what had once been a park, the grass long since dead and gone. The large pond was empty, its bed littered with skeletons of large fish. In the centre was an ornate fountain, its base cracked, the statue of an Angel reaching for the skies missing one arm and both of its wings. Scorch marks stained the ground and the fountain. Part of its stone basin had been heated to such high temperatures that the stone had melted, sagging in on itself.

Sypher’s gaze lingered on the statue of the Angel for a moment, until the dried, burned husk of an ancient bush captured his attention. Something glinted dully inside it, several somethings - shards of what looked like metal scattered among more bones. He frowned, his throat bobbing when he tried to swallow his nerves. Elda fought the urge to stop him when he approached the skeleton and reached out, her heart thrumming so fast she was starting to get dizzy. The thought of him coming into contact with whoever had died in that bush made her palms sweat, a shudder rattling her spine.

The Soul Forge let go of her hand and she had to bite down on her protest, reminding herself that it was his life being laid bare. This was his past, his knowledge to learn. She looked to Irileth, who gave her a reassuring nod.

“This...” Sypher trailed off, kneeling before the loosely arranged skeleton and carefully pushing the bush aside. His breath was ragged, his fiery eyes widening. A tremor ran through him. “I know this body too. How?”

“Fix what is broken, Battle-born,” Irileth repeated softly. He frowned, too overwhelmed to think logically. Elda could see him teetering on the edge of losing it, his ability to think rationally disintegrating. She drew closer and saw that the scattered pieces of metal were the remains of a weapon. The hilt was still embedded in the broken rib cage, other parts still wedged in various bones or lying on the ground now the pierced organs were long gone. It was the remnants of a sword, but it looked like a piece was missing. Elda gasped.

"Your pendant. Sypher, the metal on your necklace,” she whispered, eyes wide. “It must have come from this!” He shook his head hard enough to send strands of pale white hair into his eyes. His hands trembled, a flurry of emotions blasting through the bond so suddenly that Elda had to grip his shoulder to steady both of them. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said hoarsely. “I know these people somehow, El. I don’t want to learn what I’ve lost.”

“You’re not alone.” Elda took both of his hands and squeezed them. “I’m with you. Let me help you.” He nodded once, watching her reach for the pieces and arrange them in the rough shape of a sword. They were rusted and crumbling, but they definitely fit together. Sypher set to work fusing the warped shards as best he could, his magic heating the metal carefully until all of them were rejoined. All but one. He took the pendant out of his collar, staring down at it resting on his shaking palm.

“Wait,” Julian cut in, his brow creased with concern. “Just wait a minute. What happens when you join that last piece? You look petrified, Sy. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Julian is right,” Gira agreed. “You’ve managed so long without knowing where you came from. All I see around you is pain and death, knowledge that you’re safer living without.” The Shifter turned his gaze on the Spirits, taking a pleading step towards them. “Surely this is something that can be avoided? He’s been through enough.”

“Sypher cannot become who he is supposed to be without it,” Cerilla answered firmly.

“Fine,” Sypher muttered, squaring his shoulders and slapping the last piece of the sword into place before anyone could stop him. He seared it with the strange magic he possessed as the Soul Forge, making the rusted weapon whole again for the first time in almost a thousand years.

Elda gasped and threw her arms up, shielding her eyes against a flash of light so bright it blinded her. A flurry of memories fluttered behind her eyelids quickly enough that she couldn’t make sense of them, the afterimage of a pair of dark, outstretched wings seared into her vision.

Sypher staggered to his feet when the light faded, one hand pressed to his temple as he stumbled back a step, the other clutching a strange, immaculate sword. He blinked, shaking his head to clear a fog, and then he looked down at the skeleton by his boot with an expression so empty that it made Elda feel sick.

“These bones,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “They’re mine.”