The dust settled over the battlefield, leaving behind a scene of destruction. The air was filled with the smell of burnt earth and the faint, lingering stench of demon ash. The Archmen stood amidst the ruins, their black-and-gold armor catching the dim light. Briel, still grinning from the thrill of his fiery attack, wiped soot from his face. Zael, calm and thoughtful as always, let out a tired sigh as he folded his glowing wings.
Briel shot him a sideways glance, his grin slipping. "What?" he asked, his tone sharp.
Zael, still holding the woman in his arms, didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked at Hael, who stood a few steps away, his massive figure outlined against the smoldering horizon. Hael's face was hard to read, but the tension in his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw said enough.
"Hael?" Zael said softly, his voice tinged with concern.
Hael turned to face them, his cold, piercing eyes locking onto theirs. For a moment, he was silent, the weight of his thoughts hanging in the air. Then, in a voice as steady and unshakable as stone, he said, "We must return to Zion. The council needs to hear of this."
Briel's grin disappeared, replaced by a look of grim understanding. He nodded, his fiery sword flickering as he sheathed it at his side. Zael also gave a solemn nod, his wings folding neatly behind him.
The journey back to Zion was quiet. The Archmen moved with purpose, their steps long and deliberate, their minds already focused on the challenges ahead. As they neared the city, the golden beams of its protective shield came into view, towering high into the sky and forming an impenetrable barrier against the darkness. The light was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold, oppressive energy of the Demonic forces.
It was said that no evil could pass through Zion's shield—only those with repentant hearts and those untouched by Demonic corruption. At the center of the city stood the Faith Obelisk, a massive golden pillar that pulsed with divine energy. It was the source of the shield, the beacon of Yahweh's light that kept the darkness at bay.
As the Archmen passed through the shield, the city erupted in celebration. The streets were filled with people, their faces glowing with joy and relief. Crusaders embraced their families, laughter and tears mixing in the air. Children ran through the streets, their voices ringing out in song. The air was thick with the smell of fresh bread and blooming flowers, a testament to the life that thrived within Zion's walls.
But amidst the celebration, there was also mourning. The loss of loved ones weighed heavily on many, their grief a somber reminder of the cost of victory. Yet even in their sorrow, there was gratitude—gratitude for the sacrifice of those who had fought to keep the sun shining and life flourishing within Zion.
The Archmen, however, did not linger. They moved through the crowds with purpose, their expressions stoic and unyielding. They didn't stop to embrace family or friends, nor did they join in the celebrations. Their ties to the world had long been severed, their lives dedicated entirely to their mission and their call from Yahweh.
Briel, always restless, clenched his fists as they walked, his fiery eyes scanning the crowds but never settling. Zael, his wings now hidden beneath a flowing cloak, walked with quiet grace, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Hael led the way, his massive frame cutting through the throngs of people like a ship through water.
The hall was a breathtaking display of divine craftsmanship, its walls adorned with golden relics and chalices that glimmered in the soft light streaming through stained-glass windows. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the faint hum of prayer lingered like a sacred whisper. At the center of the room stood a massive round table, its surface etched with a twelve-pointed star, each point aligned with the seat of a council elder representing the twelve tribes of Zion. The elders, robed in white and gold, sat in solemn silence, their faces a mix of reverence and unease as the heavy oak doors creaked open.
Hael entered first, his black-and-gold armor gleaming, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the hall. His presence was commanding, his expression unreadable but intense. Behind him came Briel, his fiery broadsword sheathed but still radiating heat, and Zael, his silken hair flowing like liquid gold, his wings hidden beneath a shimmering cloak.
The Chamber of Prophets stood silent as a tomb, its vaulted ceilings carved with the stern faces of ancient saints, their hollow eyes watching the proceedings below. The air smelled of beeswax and aged parchment, thick with the weight of divine judgment. Twelve thrones of white oak formed a crescent around the central dais, each occupied by a figure draped in crimson robes, their faces shadowed beneath hoods that seemed to drink the torchlight.
At the head of the assembly sat Elder Reuben , his gnarled hands resting atop the sacred text of Deuteronomy Militant , the only man whose hood lay thrown back—revealing a face like cracked desert stone, his left eye milky with the scars of a battle fought before Zion's walls were raised.
"The Council greets the Archon Primus," the elders intoned as one, their voices weaving together like a funeral hymn. "First of the Archmen. Hand of Yahweh."
Hael stood motionless at the chamber's heart, his massive frame clad in the black-and-gold warplate of his station, the sigil of the Faith Helix burning crimson upon his breast. He did not bow.
"Archon," Reuben began, his voice a rasp of worn parchment, "you stand accused of defying sacred decree. You were commanded— sworn —never to engage with cursed relics. Yet you did."
Hael's fingers flexed around the haft of his axe. "I acted as I believed necessary to end the battle."
A murmur slithered through the council.
Elder Levi, his face a map of old rage, slammed his fist upon the table. "Necessary? You risked corruption! It is law not to come in contact he relics of the Fallen are forbidden for a reason!"
Hael's gaze never wavered. "This is not why I stand before you today."
Reuben steepled his fingers. "Then state your purpose."
The word fell like a headsman's axe:
"Golgotha."
The chamber erupted.
"Blasphemy!" roared Elder Simeon, his jowls trembling. "That land is lost! Its people are heretics, damned by their own defiance!"
Hael's voice cut through the din like steel through flesh. "It is the place of our Lord's triumph. And we have let it fester in darkness too long." He leaned forward, his shadow swallowing the table. "Something moves there. Something worse than zealots. Worse than demons."
Reuben's single good eye gleamed. "Explain."
Hael's gauntleted fist clenched atop the marble. "There are rumours … a church," he said, each word measured, "uncorrupted, still in Faith hidden in Golgotha's bowels. Its congregation moving and hiding in the city's tunnels."
A ripple of unease. Scrolls were adjusted. Robes rustled.
Elder Malachi, the youngest among them, leaned forward. "Proof?"
Hael grew silent measuring what he was about to say for a moment "The witch I fought told me"
The chamber stilled.
"Heresy!" Jotham bellowed, surging to his feet. "You consort with the enemy now?"
Hael's lip curled. "She sought me out. Spoke of a force massing in the ruins. A legion clad in—"
"Enough!" Reuben's voice cracked like a whip. "You would have us trust the word of a sorceress? A creature of lies?"
Hael's eyes burned. "The Witch fears what comes. That alone should give us pause."
Elder Miriam, her voice like a knife drawn slowly, spoke next. "And this... church ? Has anyone seen it? Held its missives?"
Silence.
Reuben exhaled, the sound like sand slipping through an hourglass. "Rumors. Whispers in the dark. We have sent scouts before—"
"They did not return," Hael interrupted. " your men were not Archmen."
The table shook as Jotham slammed his palms down. "You overreach, Primus! The Lord has not commanded this crusade!"
Hael stepped closer, his voice dropping to a growl. "Must we wait for a sign while the noose tightens? While Golgotha becomes a dagger at our throat?" He swept his gaze across the council. "Send me. Let me tear the truth from that city's heart."
Elder Simeon clutched his robes like a shroud. "We cannot spare the Archmen! Zion's walls must—"
"Then send me alone!" Hael's roar shook dust from the ceiling. "And an evangel to reignite the Helix there. Let us reclaim what was lost!"
"Madness!" Simeon shrieked. "To even speak of rebuilding a Helix without the Lord's direct word is treason!"
Reuben raised a hand. The room stilled. "There is a law," he said softly. "We must inquire of the Prophet. Seek Yahweh's will."
Hael's laugh was a bitter thing. "His will? His will was the salvation of all His children—not just those behind our walls!"
Reuben's eye hardened. "It. Is. The. Law."
The silence that followed was thicker than blood.
Hael straightened, his voice cold as the grave. "Then you condemn them. And when the storm comes—when Golgotha's hordes pound at our gates—remember this day."
Reuben's fist struck the table. "This protest is over. You are dismissed, Archon Primus."
For a heartbeat, Hael stood motionless—his face a mask of fury and something darker, something like grief. Then he turned on his heel, his cloak swirling like a storm cloud as he marched toward the doors.
Briel and Zael fell in behind him, their faces unreadable.
As the great oak doors thundered shut, Elder Malachi whispered what they all feared:
"He will go anyway."
Reuben's smile was thin. "No, he wont."
The heavy oak doors boomed shut behind them, the sound reverberating through the stone corridor like a funeral drum. Before the echoes faded, Hael's armored fist slammed against the wall, sending chips of marble skittering across the floor. "Damn their cowardice!" he roared, his breath coming in angry plumes of steam. "Let those dogs burn with their heresies!"Briel said
Zael's hand clamped on Briel's pauldron, his voice cutting like tempered steel. "They are lost sheep, brother, not dogs. The Shepherd's call reaches even to the darkest valleys." His golden eyes flicked to Hael. "something tells me you already knew the council would refuse. What now?"
Briel says that place is "That place runs with the devils bile,no one know a thing about it, how will you convince the council?"
Hael's armored fingers flexed at his sides, his gauntlets pulsing with restrained power. "The law stands," he rumbled, "but so does my oath." He turned, his black cloak swirling like a storm cloud. "I will have to find another way "
Briel's sword erupted in flames, the sudden heat warping the air. "Those heathen dogs are not worthy of such worry"
The world blurred. Stone shattered as Briel's armored form cratered the wall, Hael's fist twisted in his cape. Dust rained down as the Archon Primus leaned in, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper: "I warn you Brother, season your words, Do not test me again, Or I'll remind you why I stand first among the Archmen." The golden light in his eyes burned like molten judgment.
Zael's wings half-unfurled in alarm. "Hael!"
A new voice cracked like a whip through the corridor. "ENOUGH!"
Elder Reuben stood framed in the doorway, his aged face trembling with outrage. The twelve-pointed star of Zion gleamed at his breast. "Is this the conduct of Yahweh's chosen? The devil himself couldn't devise a better show of division!"
Hael released Briel with a shove that left his brother's armor groaning. For a heartbeat, the only sound was Briel's ragged breathing and the distant wail of mourning doves from the temple spires.
Then Hael knelt, his armor scraping against stone. "Forgive me, Elder." When he raised his head, his eyes held the terrible weight of prophecy. Reuben says "Briel may be hot spirited but he is not wrong, you cannot go alone to a place we know nothing about, our laws strictly…" Hael interrupts saying
"But tell me truly - when mothers weep over their butchered children, will our laws dry their tears, comfort them?"
The silence that followed was heavier than any armor.
Briel gathers himself as Reuben says "Leave us".
Reuben approaches Hael "Had enough of Briel already?" Hael takes a breath before asking what has the council decided? Reuben sighs "our position remains the same,we will not spare the archmen on this crusade".
"Elder, Something sinister grows , the more time and grace we allow this evil fester,I fear it might just consume them all"
The Elder responds "I hear you but there is little I can do"
But before Hael could protest Reuben interjects calming him down "I said little not nothing, I know better than to refuse you on something you are so head strong about,I will speak with the council and urge them to your concerns" He puts his hand on Hael's shoulders "Be patient my son", Hael nods , his palm hits his chest as he declares "For the glory of the resurrected one" Hael leaves,Reuben's eyes narrow as he watches him.
Night came fast with a cool air,Zael made his way to the infirmary, his luminous presence casting a soft glow in the dim corridors. Every person he passed—physicians, attendants, even armed guards—immediately knelt in reverence as he walked by, their heads bowed in recognition of his divine authority, every patient he passed received their healing instantly from cuts and bruises to severed limbs, all were healed . The infirmary doors parted silently before him, revealing the woman he'd carried from the battlefield, now resting peacefully on a clean cot.
As he approached, her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she simply stared at him—his radiant features, the faint golden light that seemed to emanate from him—before scrambling backward in shock. "Am I in heaven?" she gasped, her voice trembling. "Are you an angel?"
Zael smirked, the expression softening his usually serene face. "Fear not, woman," he said gently, stepping closer. "You are safe now."
She struggled to sit up, her hands gripping the sheets as she took in her surroundings—the pristine white walls, the scent of healing herbs in the air, the distant sound of singing from the streets outside. "Where... where are we?" she whispered.
Zael extended a hand. "See for yourself."
With unsteady legs, she rose and stumbled toward the arched windows. When she pushed open the shutters, her breath caught in her throat.
Zion sprawled before her in all its glory—gleaming marble streets lined with blooming flowers, crystal-clear fountains bubbling with fresh water, laughter and music drifting through the air as people moved about without fear. It was a paradise.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as her knees buckled. "This... this can't be real."
Zael caught her before she could fall, his grip firm yet gentle. Without a word, he lifted her into his arms and stepped onto the windowsill. Before she could protest, they were airborne, his wings carrying them effortlessly down to the streets below.
"Place your feet upon the ground," he murmured as they landed.
She hesitated, then let her bare toes touch the cobblestones. A warmth spread through her—a sense of peace she hadn't felt in years. Then, as if possessed by some wild joy, she sprinted toward the nearest fountain, climbing into its basin without hesitation. Water cascaded over her as she laughed, spinning, splashing, her tattered clothes soaked through.
Zael watched, his usual composed demeanor softened by a rare, genuine smile.
But then—her laughter turned to sobs. She sank to her knees in the fountain, her shoulders shaking.
Zael was at her side in an instant. "What troubles you?"
She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. "I dreamed of a place like this... for so long. But now that I'm here..." Her voice broke. "My family will never see it. They're gone. All of them."
Zael pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she wept. His wings curled around her like a shield.
The moment was shattered by the clank of armor. A group of guards approached, their expressions uneasy.
Zael didn't release her. "What is it?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with warning.
The lead guard swallowed hard as they all bow. "We greet you Archon—we've been ordered by the elders to confirm her recovery and... arrange for immediate deportation."
Zael rose slowly, his golden aura flaring like a sudden sunrise. The guards stumbled back, their faces paling.
"She is under my care." His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of divine command.
The guard opened his mouth. "But the elders—"
"That will be all." Zael's eyes burned with celestial fire. "Leave."
The guards fled.
When Zael turned back to the woman, his expression had transformed—all warmth again, as if the earlier fury had never been. He offered her a hand, helping her from the fountain.
"Now," he said lightly, as if discussing the weather, "shall we get you something to eat?"
Her tears still glistened, but a small, disbelieving smile tugged at her lips as she nodded.
And with that, the Archman led her into the heart of Zion, his wings casting a protective shadow over her as they walked.
That same night, Hael struggled while sleeping in his chambers,tossing and turning in his bed, his massive frame drenched in sweat. The nightmare came again—the same one that had haunted him for weeks. A child's hand slipping from his grasp, fingers desperately clinging before finally letting go. The face was blurred, but the crushing sense of loss was sharp as a blade. He jolted awake with a gasp, his chest heaving. Fear. An alien sensation for the Archon Primus. Sleep would not return tonight.
Hael dressed in simple garb and made his way through the empty streets at night,and a voice calls out to him , a familiar one, "Isnt it way past your bedtime"
He dressed in simple training garb and made his way to the training grounds. The moment he entered, the sparring Archmen froze mid-motion before bowing in unison. "Archon Primus," they murmured. Hael barely acknowledged them, his gaze locked on the center of the hall where Briel was dismantling two opponents with brutal efficiency. His movements were sharp, angry—each strike carrying the frustration of their earlier confrontation. One Archman hit the ground hard, and Briel planted a boot on his chest. "Weak," he spat.
Hael's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" He stepped forward, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Briel's glare could have melted steel. Without a word, he stalked to the weapon rack, snatched two staffs, and hurled one at Hael. "Bring it."
Hael caught the staff mid-air—and attacked.
The clash was instantaneous. Briel's first swing cracked through the air like a whip, the force behind it enough to shatter bone. Hael barely dodged, feeling the wind of the strike brush his cheek. "I see you're still angry at me," he panted.
Briel bared his teeth. "What gives you that crazy idea?"
The fight erupted in earnest. Briel was relentless, a storm of controlled fury. He drove Hael back with a barrage of strikes, each impact splintering the wood of Hael's staff. The Archmen watching murmured in awe—this was no training bout. This was raw, unfiltered combat between two titans.
Then came the breaking point. Briel's final strike landed dead center, snapping Hael's staff clean in two. Triumph flashed in his eyes as he lunged for the finishing blow—
—only for Hael to twist both halves of the broken staff in a blinding counter. The twin strikes hammered into Briel's temples, sending him staggering. The room gasped. The Archon Primus had never been bested in living memory.
Hael loomed over his dazed brother. "So long as your anger fuels you, you will always lose." Then, unexpectedly, he extended a hand. "That was a good fight."
Briel didn't take it, hauling himself up with a grudging scowl. "Water under the rocks, brother."
"Water under the bridge," Hael corrected.
Briel blinked, as if Hael had just spoken nonsense. "Whatever" he huffed, wiping sweat from his brow before leaving.
Zael emerged from corner of the sparring room, his presence cutting through the light of the room. Though the divine wings that once marked his station were not present , he still carried himself with the terrible grace of the Archon he was—every movement precise, every breath measured. His lips curled in a smile that held no warmth.
"Don't tell me a measly apology brought you here."
Hael's face might have been carved from the same stone as Zion's foundations for all it revealed. But his eyes—those burning coals set deep in their sockets—darkened like storm clouds before the tempest.
"I'm afraid not."
The words fell like a headsman's axe between them.
Zael's grin died.
Firelight danced along the ancient tapestries as Zael surged to his feet, his chair exploding backward in a crash of splintered oak.
"You are going to what ?"
The very stones trembled at his voice. The veins in his neck stood out like cables, his face flushed with the kind of fury that had once sundered battlefields.
"By the Light that forged us, Hael—have the years stripped you of sense as well as patience?"
Hael stood motionless—a monolith in human form. The flickering flames carved hollows beneath his eyes deep enough to bury secrets in. When he spoke, his voice was the grinding of continental plates.
"I came to you first, brother. There is no other soul in this cursed world I would trust with what comes next."
Zael's laugh was a sharp, broken thing. "Even if you survive the journey—even if by some miracle you reach that festering pit—how exactly do you plan to reignite a Faith Helix? The Council will never sanction an evangel!"
Then—
A realization struck him like a bolt from the heavens. His breath caught.
"Oh. Oh, you cunning ba…." His fingers curled into fists. "The girl. That's why you're here."
Hael didn't blink "Yes, the girl you saved all those years ago.Mary"
"She's young , Hael. Barely trained.lived all her life beyond walls"
"Then she will be the perfect guide," Hael rumbled. "Untainted by the doctrine. Her faith is pure precisely because it is untested."
Zael dragged a hand down his face, his fingers scraping against his chin. When he spoke again, his voice had gone dangerously quiet.
"It's suicide."
"I will let no harm come to her."
"You can't promise that!" Zael roared, suddenly in motion—a caged archon pacing the length of his prison. His boots scraping through the priceless Myrrian rug, "Even if I could get her to you—even if by some miracle you reached Golgotha—do you truly think the Council won't notice their Archon Primus vanishing like a thief in the night?"
He wheeled on Hael, his hands trembling not with fear, but with the effort of not wrapping them around his brother's throat.
"When they discover this treason, they'll make the Pits seem merciful!"
Hael's response was a whisper that carried the weight of mountains.
"I won't be going as Archon."
"You think a cloak will protect you?" Zael's laugh was a serrated thing. "That rag only makes you more vulnerable! At least in your armor, you'd die like a warrior!"
"I do not fear death or the danger beyond these walls," Hael said, his voice like grinding stone. "I fear standing idle while Golgotha's children scream for salvation that never comes."
Zael's fist connected with the marble table hard enough to spiderweb its surface. "No scout has returned from that hellscape in years , Hael. Not even their bones came back!"
The explosion that followed shook dust from the rafters.
Hael's fist impacted the table with the force of a siege engine, sending inkpots and scrolls flying in a shower of glass and parchment. When he spoke, his voice was raw with an anguish that startled even Zael.
"Then tell me, brother—what would you have me do? While the Council debates scripture and protocol, thousands die ! 'Where is God's grace?' they cry. 'Where are His Archmen?'" His hands found Zael's shoulders, gripping with the desperate strength of a drowning man. "I will not abandon them to the dark."
The silence that followed was thicker than blood, broken only by the crackle of dying embers.
Zael exhaled through clenched teeth. "Stubborn as stone. You haven't changed since you were a boy." He turned away, staring into the guttering flames. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.
"Is this an order from my Primus?"
Hael's response was softer than snowfall. "No. A request from your brother."
The fire popped. Somewhere in the depths of the fortress, a bell tolled the hour.
Zael closed his eyes.
"If it's my aid you need... you have it."
Hael's grip softened. "Thank you, brother."
As Hael turned to leave, Zael caught his arm with sudden urgency. "Call if you need us. No matter the hour. No matter the cost." His eyes searched Hael's face like a man reading omens in the stars. "This obsession with Golgotha... there's more you're not saying."
Hael froze at the threshold. For a single, suspended moment, the chamber held its breath.
Then—
The door closed with finality, leaving Zael alone with the creeping dread that his brother carried some terrible knowledge. That this might be their last farewell.
Outside, Hael strode down the torchlit corridor, his brother's unanswered question clinging to him like a burial shroud.
The visions were his alone to bear.