Chapter 11: Chapter 10 : Even if I forgoten…

[Excerpt from “Angels: The Forgotten Race” — Fragment XII]

Location: Sealed Archive, 4th Layer, Western Wing of the Grand Library of Saint Cyeris

Clearance Level: Ecclesia Black

The Angels were not always like this.

Not forged as they are now—soulless, obedient, efficient.

They wept once.

They bled for mortals.

They disobeyed—not out of pride, but love.

It was love that broke the cycle.

It was grief that threatened the gates of Heaven.

So the High Priests took action.

They severed the spirit from the code.

They burned names, erased songs, caged memory in steel.

“Emotion is the enemy of order,” the scroll reads.

And so, the Angels forgot.

And the world was quiet again.

—Page recovered during the excavation of the buried vaults beneath Saint Cyeris.

Damage extensive. Translation incomplete. Access restricted.

I A V A I

There was warmth under my cheek. A steady rhythm. Soft fabric.

My fingers curled, and I realized I was nestled in someone’s lap.

The world felt... muted.

Not dark. Not cold. Just... off.

Like I was one step behind everything else.

I blinked and looked up.

“Good morning, Moonpetal,” my mother whispered. Her voice was syrup-sweet, trembling just a little. Her hand moved gently through my hair, again and again. A little too slow. A little too careful.

“Moon...petal?” I echoed, groggy.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You always bloom at night, don’t you?” she said, brushing a lock of hair from my cheek. “My little flower of the dark.”

“Ah... right,” I said, trying to match her smile. “Because I... grow best when everything’s broken and quiet? I guess?”

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My head bumped into her chin when I tried to sit up straighter.

“Ouuch,” I mumbled, and rubbed my forehead.

She laughed softly, and so did I.

But it was the kind of laughter that slips out of habit—not joy.

That’s when I looked around.

Wooden walls. A dim slit of light above. Chains near the corners. The creaking of wheels and muffled footsteps outside.

We were in the back of a carriage.

In a locked cell.

“Where... are they taking us, Mom?”

Her arms closed around me again. Too tight. Like she was afraid I’d slip through her fingers if she didn’t hold on.

“To the demon realm,” she said after a pause. “To the Demon King’s castle.”

Her voice hesitated—just for a heartbeat. Like she’d bitten into a memory she hadn’t meant to taste.

“Why?” I asked.

She stiffened.

“Because... I used to work for him.”

“What kind of work?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes didn’t meet mine. Instead, she stared at the wall—at nothing in particular. Like it might whisper the answer for her.

“I... took care of the bad people.”

That was a line meant for children. It might’ve worked, too.

On someone else.

But I know what people mean when they say that.

“You killed them,” I said. It came out sharper than I meant. Honest. Ugly.

She flinched.

And then she wrapped me in her arms again, tighter than before. Her breathing was uneven, her hands threading into my hair like she was trying to make sure I was still real.

I tried to fix it. To shift away from the subject, even if I didn’t really want to.

“Ar-Are we going to see the Demon King?”

“Yes.”

“What’s he like?”

She paused again. One breath. Two.

“He... is very strong. But you don’t need to worry. He won’t do anything bad to us. I’m sure of it. I’m sure...”

But her hands stopped moving. The rhythm of her fingers tangled. Slowed.

She didn’t sound sure at all.

We went quiet after that.

Just the hum of wheels. The distant chatter of guards. And her heartbeat beneath my ear.

That’s when the feeling started.

A heaviness.

Not in my chest, but in my limbs. My skin.

Like something had crawled under it and curled up there, unwanted.

I felt sore. Not bruised—but like my body had held tension too long, and now it was hollowed out.

My lower half... felt wrong. Not painful. Not injured.

Just wrong. Dirty, almost.

I don’t know why.

And that’s what scared me. I didn’t know why.

There’s something I’m not remembering.

Something I must have forgotten.

And still, my mother’s arms wouldn’t leave me. She held me too tight. Kissed my forehead too often. Whispered nothing into my hair.

It felt good. But it also felt like she was the one who was afraid.

“…Mom?”

“Yes, Moonpetal?”

“Am I... a human? Or a demon?”

Her breath caught.

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers stopped completely. Just resting there. Still and cold.

Then, after what felt like minutes, she finally said—

“…That depends on what you think a demon is.”

She looked down at me. Her eyes glassy.

“Some people think demons are evil by nature. Some think they’re just different. Some worship them. Some slaughter them.”

She touched my cheek gently, as if I might flinch.

“I’ve done terrible things, Moonpetal. But I’ve also loved deeply. I’ve run away. I’ve sacrificed. I’ve fought for you.”

Her voice cracked.

“So am I a demon? I don’t know.”

She leaned in, forehead against mine.

“But no matter what I am... you are my daughter. I am sure of that.”

I didn’t say anything.

I just curled tighter into her chest.

And hoped that whatever I forgot… stayed forgotten.