Once Betrayed Never Forgotten

Chapter 93: Bleeding Days

Several days bleed into each other since we’ve arrived at the temple. Time here is a strange, fluid thing, marked not by the sun but by the rhythm of rituals and whispered prayers that echo through the stone corridors. I haven’t seen the Blood Scribe since our first meeting; she’s cloaked in her divinations, seeking pathways through hidden realms, tapping into secrets like a miner chiseling at the heart of a mountain.

My chamber is a cavernous space, breathtaking in its stark beauty. The walls are a tapestry of deep red granite, veined with threads of black that spiral like the night sky. The bed and furniture are carved from the same obsidian stone that forms the backbone of the mountain, adorned with cushions that are a riot of color–purple like a bruise under moonlight, red like freshly spilled blood, and gold like the last flickers of a dying day.

I’ve spent hours just staring at the bold, flame–blue draperies that frame my windows, their color so vivid it’s almost offensive in this otherwise dark room. They remind me of Pyra’s flames–wild, untamable, and mesmerizing in their dance.

And speaking of Pyra, I can’t help but notice the way she and Bloodbane have been gravitating toward each other. It’s subtle, the shift in their dynamics -a shared glance here, a low chuckle there, their voices mingling in the night air as they debate the nature of power and freedom. Bloodbane, ever the stoic, seems to have found a worthy opponent in Pyra’s fiery spirit. Despite the centuries–old blood feud between their kinds, respect blooms slowly between them, like a rose on a grave.

Today, as I wander through the echoing halls of the temple, I overhear them in one of the smaller antechambers. I pause by the heavy oak door, curious. Pyra’s voice is a warm flicker in the cool, stone room. Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

“You think our fates are written in the stars, then?” she challenges, her tone teasing but probing.

Bloodbane’s reply is thoughtful, a deep rumble that vibrates through the wood under my palm. “Not in the stars, perhaps, but in our very essence. Our blood, our fire–it speaks of our past, our battles, our pains. Yet, we choose how we wield it.”

press my ear closer, drawn to the earnestness in his voice.

“Choice is a luxury, Bloodbane. Not all of us get to choose our paths so freely,” Pyra counters softly, and I can almost hear the weight of her history in those words.

There’s a long silence, and then Bloodbane says something that catches me off guard, his words wrapped in a vulnerability I’ve never heard from him before. “Maybe not, but we can choose who we walk those paths with. And 1…” He trails off, the air thick with unsaid words

I step back, my heart thudding unexpectedly. Their words, their closeness, it stirs something akin to hope within me. Hope, and longing.

Later, as twilight descends like a curtain over the day, I find myself at the edge of the temple grounds, looking out over the scarlet peaks that guard this place like ancient sentinels.

The air is crisp, filled with the tang of salt and the distant roar of the wind through the mountain passes. I wrap my cloak tighter around myself, lost in thought.

Exhaustion tugs at my limbs as twilight fades into the deep blue of night. The conversations and revelations of the day whirl in my mind like a maelstrom, leaving me dizzy with thoughts and half–formed questions. Deciding it’s time to surrender to sleep, I tum back, retracing my steps through the temple’s hallowed corridors.

The air inside the temple is cool, heavy with the scent of ancient stone and the faint, lingering aroma of incense. My footsteps are soft thuds against the smooth stone floor, the sound echoing off the high arched ceilings. As I pass the room where I last heard Bloodbane and Pyra talking, curiosity nudges me to glance inside, expecting perhaps to see them still deep in discussion, or maybe something more…

But the scene before me halts me in my tracks.

The room is dimly lit by the flickering light of several candles, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. Both Bloodbane and Pyra are kneeling on the floor, their heads bowed in prayer before a magnificent golden statue of an angel. The sight strikes a chord of memory–the angel bears a striking resemblance to one of the six tapestries that hung in Tatiana’s tower.

The statue is a vision of celestial craftsmanship, wings unfurled, carved from pure red ruby with tips dipped in molten gold. The angel’s hair is crafted from bright blue stones–topaz or aquamarine–interlaced with rubies that catch the light, creating an illusion of living, breathing flames. Its eyes, two brilliant rubies, burn with an inner fire so intense it feels as though they could ignite the very air.

Speechless, I gasp, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Bloodbane and Pyratum towards me, their expressions serene yet tinged with the solemnity of their prayer.

Chapter 13 Deeping Daw

“Who is she?” I manage to whisper, my gate locked on the angelic Spare

“The crippal pardon of this work the Fire Angel Fontaine.” Pira responds, her voice soft yer carrying a weight that fills the men.

Remembe

tapestries in Tatiana’s stone tower. I probeer. Does every realm have its own guardian angel?”

“Yes” Bloodbare anvers, his voice echoing slightly in the stone chamber. The angel Verde guards–or guarded. I should say – the Earth Resim, the angel Odella the Watery Be is the Twilight Realm, Carla De Celestial Resim, Fontaine with her wings of fame guards the Fiery Ream, and the

1 pause, processing this new information

angel, and of a vampire dan?” I ask, a touch of humor in my whic

as enchanting and peritious as the night itself. To think–a devil named after an angel.

Pyra cock, her beautiful face mated by the candlelight. She begins to unravel the threads of a story that feels as old as time itself at the dawn of creation, when the cosmos was still young and malleable, the Creator formed six guardian angels to watch over the emerging resims. Each was immuert with powers reflecting the essence of the realm they were destined to protest. They were sculpted from the purest elements of their domains–earth, watts, twilight, celestial winds, fire, and ni

The angels, in shaped the realms, nurturing the first sparks of life and civilization. They walked among their charges, guiding and protecting. until their presence was no longer needed in the active threads of time.”

“Except for Verde,” she continues, her tone shitting “Verde is missing. She vanished centuries ago, leaving the Earth Realm relatively unprotected, its borders more malleable than the others, a crossroads of sorts. This is why your realm, Arianna, is a melting pot of influences from all the others.”

Her story paints a tapestry as vivid and complex as the ones hanging in Tatiana’s tower. I’m left in awe, the magnitude of this mythology wrapping around me like a cloak.

“As of now, the angels sleep. Hidden within their realms, preserved in stads until the day they are needed once more. Except for Verde, whose absence remios one of the great mysteries of our time

The weight of this knowledge presses down upon me, each piece a puzzle duing into the vast, sprawling igsaw of this universe. As I stand there, amidst the echoes of ancient legends, I feel a connection to something far greater than myself, a thread woven through the very fabric of existence.

“Thank you, Pyra, for explaining it,” 1 muur, my voice barely above a whisper, resonating with newfound reverence for the world and its hidden depths. “But there’s still something I wonder about is this whole thing, with the angels and the realms I mean, common knowledge? Why have I never heard about it before?

vally wondering about, what I really want to ask, is why didn’t Aleksandr tell me about all this. Does he even know about the angels? And what about my mother, relatively new to the supernatural world, and even her husband Konstantin–do they know? And if so, why am I the last one to

As if reading my thoughts, Pyra answers slowly, deep in thought

“Most consider the story of the guardian angels to be nothing more than a myth, fairy tales,” she says sadly. “It all happened so long ago, and the angels are long forgotten. In fact, it is only though the Blood Scribe that we priestesses know of their existence, and the role they played in the formation of the realms.”

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