Darken and Phoenix stood there, watching the Seraphim file out of the Skyshadow. Neither of them could say anything--there weren't the words for it yet. Her hands found his and they held each other.

Finally, Phoenix could bear the silence no longer.

"You OK?" she asked him.

"Define OK," Darken said after a time. "I don't know, I really don't. I should feel great--Lanicrus is gone, Vertigo is gone, Kirone's captured, but I don't. Matter of fact I feel worse--like Lanicrus was just a distraction."

"I think it's stress," Phoenix said, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"I hope so, shiroibara-chan," he said, smiling a bit. "That'd be good. I've got plans, and none of them involve battles for destiny. Someone else can pick up the slack--I'm done."

"You mean it?"

"Yes," Darken said. "None of my dreams involve being ruler of anything, or being some warrior of destiny," He turned around, wrapped his wings around her and gathered her into his arms. "Want to know what I dream about?"

Phoenix nodded. Darken found himself held rapt by her deep violet eyes.

"I dream of going back to Deianyra with you--building us a house next to a river--I've already picked the place out--a place where no one can find us."

"Mmm," Phoenix said, nuzzling against his chest. "As long as its got a nice soft bed."

Darken smiled a little crooked. "I've already stuffed the mattress, angel."

"With what?"

Darken blushed. "Well . . .occasionally, I . . .molt . . ."

Phoenix put a finger to his lips. "AH-AH! Too much information!"

They fell into each other's arms again, laughing. Around them, things continued.

* * *

The next few days were a blur. Matariel's funeral was attended by most of the major rules in the Seven Spheres. No one stopped to consider what they would do now that there were actually six spheres.

The question of succession, however, became a matter of many debates. The lines of succession called for the prince to ascend to the throne, unless he was too you. It had been widely assumed that Sachiel would ascend.

That is, until Sandalphon challenged him, on the grounds that, despite his experience, he was still two years below the age of ascension.

The Council of Armisael agreed. Now, they reasoned was not really the time for change, so in the interests of order, they appointed Sandalphon as Regent. His first act was to re-build the palace. But in an odd affectation, he failed to raze the remnants of the Skyshadow; instead the new royal palace was dominated by two towers--one light, one dark.

The angels who saw it found it oppressive, sad, a constant reminder of the war with Kirone and Lanicrus. They also wondered where the icons of Phoenix were. Where the old palace had been a symbol of the best of the Angel race--their art and culture, their spirituality, this one seemed to evoke a feeling of darkness inside.

* * *

Later, in Deianyra, Liandra and Darken stood in the temple of the Fennec. They had buried Kael quietly, both of them eager to forget the recent funeral of Matariel. Everyone had dissolved since the funeral--he hadn't seen Sachiel or Leiliel in a week's time. Ever since the controversy over his succession he had just gone. No word from either of them.

"So," Liandra said. "You're gone for good this time?"

Darken sighed. "Yes," he said. "I'm going to go build my house. It's time for me to start thinking about my life rather than my destiny, I think."

"You really think it's over?" Liandra said.

"Why not?" Darken said, gathering his things. "Lanicrus is destroyed, I did it myself. Kirone's arrested; she'll probably be executed. And somehow I don't think Vertigo's coming back either."

"I was surprised you didn't go to see Kirone," Liandra said.

"I might be tempted to kill her," Darken said. "I already wanted her dead for what she did to Maryna, this certainly doesn't raise her standing in my eyes."

"So what about this place?" Liandra said. Her fairies perched on her shoulders, chatting silently with one another. "Who'll take care of it?"

"You will."

"Me? But--"

"Liandra," Darken said, kissing the top of her head. "You're my sister. I owe you something, and this is it. The temple, the things Kael left here, they're yours now."

"And you?"

"I'm off to my happy ending," Darken said, smiling finally. "I have a beautiful fiancée to attend to."

"Am I invited to the wedding?"

"Of course, silly," Darken said, giggling. He smiled inside, realizing that that was exactly would Phoenix would have said in that situation. His heart felt lighter now, free of the burdens of the past.

"Who knows?" he said, swooping up into the sky. "Play your cards right, you might be a bride's maid."

Liandra watched him go, waving a little as he disappeared from her fairies sight. Then she looked around her. All this was hers. The concept seemed a bit odd to her, but she would try to be worthy of Darken's trust. After all, given the secrets which were hidden in this temple, not just anyone should be it's caretaker.

She stopped for a second and stamped her foot.

"Damn," she said. "I meant to ask him . . .just what the hell is a bride's maid?"

* * *

At his Gravity Pagoda, Sandalphon sat alone, his thoughts silent for once, his blood cool, like the night air. He was king, as he had wanted to be for so long, but he knew his work was only just beginning. For his people to assume their proper destiny they would have to be pushed into their new role in the Spheres. And it could not wait.

His hand went to his sword as he heard a familiar rustle in his chamber.

He smiled when he saw the familiar distortion.

"Yrouel," he said. He saw the red-and-black clad angel standing before him. The tension in his muscles attested to his rage.

"You have ruined me, Sandalphon," Yrouel said, scythe-swords at the ready.

"On the contrary," Sandalphon replied. " I have saved every Angel on the Spheres. Now begins out climb to supremacy."

"You as much as killed our king!"

"He died by Lanicrus' hands," Sandalphon said. "We tried to intercept it, but we were too late."

"You didn't TRY!" Yrouel exclaimed. "You should never have sent me after the rest of the ancient books. I've read them, and I know what you're planning. You did it as much for what the books could tell you as to keep me from my king's side. You WANTED him dead. TRAITOR!"

Sandalphon could take no more of this. He stood up and drew his sword. "To accuse the King of treason is a mortal insult, and such effrontery can only be settled in combat."

Yrouel brought his swords to the ready. "You're using Bardiel's sword," he said. "Is there no grave you won't rob from?" Sandalphon put his hand out.

"Not here," he said. "The roof."

They took the stairway to the roof, each man never letting his focus leave the other. Reaching the roof, they took their stances and charged at one another. Sandalphon met Yrouel's sword thrust with one of his own, but missed the other blade as it sliced lightly past his face, drawing blood.

He retaliated by charging lighting through his sword. It traveled through the blade and Yrouel dropped one of his. Now they were even.

Yrouel was a master of his blades, but Sandalphon was his equal in nearly every combat art. A lifetime of soldiering allowed him to parry and strike with kicks to Yrouel's legs with contemptuous ease, slowly but surely bringing him to his knees.

Finally, with the butt of his sword, he crushed the bones in Yrouel's sword-hand. The other sword clattered to the floor, and Sandalphon kicked it aside. His own sword was leveled at Yrouel's throat.

"I should give you the chance to yield," Sandalphon said. He pressed a release on his sword. The blade split in half, revealing a crystal that seemed to seethe with some sort of inner power. "But you were correct, you know too much, and I can't let you live.

"But I cannot forgive your accusations," he said, pressing the blade up against Yrouel's voicebox. "I am no traitor. I am the instrument by which my people will claim their destiny as rulers of these Spheres. Every mongrel race--Dragons, Krakens, Vampires, all will bow before us."

"How . . .can you say that?" Yrouel said. Lightning was arcing off of the jewel, stinging his body. "You can't even do it yourself . . .can you?"

Sandalphon laughed. In the darkness, something green seemed to shimmer behind him. A black robed figure appeared behind Sandalphon. Then another. Then another. One moved beside him, and looked down on Yrouel with glowing green eyes. His pale white face--like a skull's--showed no emotion.

Oh God, Yrouel thought, "I was right."

"Yes you were," Sandalphon said. "I have brought them from the realm of darkness, begun the plan to raise their god from his imprisonment, and in return, the Angels will reign supreme."

"You're insane," Yrouel said. The fear he felt was suffusing all of him. He steeled himself, tried not to surrender to the terror. "You will damn all of our people by turning from Phoenix."

Sandalphon had heard enough. A bolt of lightning burst from his blade, killing Yrouel where he stood. The blade closed itself, and he looked at the robed figures before him.

"Why did you choose to show yourselves here and now?" Sandalphon asked. "Why not just speak in my mind, like you had been doing?"

"The time for that is done," the robed figure said. "Now we can move openly in your world. You have opened the way for us."

"And so long as you never forget that," Sandalphon cautioned. "We'll work together fine. What do you want?"

"We require the Fallen," the robed figure replied.

"Kirone?" Sandalphon asked. "Why?"

* * *

Later . . .

"Father," Sachiel said, putting his hand to the giant alabaster headstone. "You always taught me to do what I thought was right. You also always taught me to respect the laws that govern and guide us.

"Something's wrong, father," Sachiel said. "Something is very wrong here, and I have to do what I can to stop it. But that means disobeying your laws. The laws we lived by and upheld.

"This is so easy for Darken," Sachiel said. "He can make his own rules, he's not beholden to anyone. But I have honor to uphold. Honor for my people, Honor for our family, honor for you, Father."

He looked behind him, at Leiliel. She stood there, head bowed, not saying a word. She knew he had to do this, despite the insanity of it. And she knew that she had to stand with him. They were together in all things--love, honor, and destiny.

"But honor is like the hawk," Sachiel said. His hands reached for a long curved blade--a scythe sword. It was wrapped in a red-and-black uniform.

"Sometimes the hawk must go hooded."

* * *

Kirone looked at the blank wall on the other side of her cell and was almost . . .happy. She found it relaxing, amazingly enough, being in prison. The business with the Skyshadow and mounting assault after assault was so much busy work, so many details, that it occurred to her that she hadn't savored the details nearly as much as she should have.

The only thing that interrupted this blessed quiet was the sound of footsteps--lots of them, not just the guards bringing her food. She tried to look around the corner, to see who it was, but couldn't.

She was quite shocked to see Sandalphon, flanked by two of his red-clad Royal Guardsmen. He motioned for them to leave, and stood there, regarding her for a very long time.

"Lady Kirone," he said.

"Sandalphon," she said. "If you're coming to arrest me again, I think it's a case of double jeopardy."

"No," he said. "I'm not here to arrest you. I'm here to free you--should you wish it."

Kirone laughed heartily. "What makes you think I can't leave whenever I want? This cell isn't proof against my magic. One unlocking spell and I could be gone."

Sandalphon smiled. "True," he said. "But where would you go? Your army is either dead or in our prisons. Your ship is wrecked beyond any hope of recovery. And your homeworld has been destroyed as well."

Kirone looked at him. "It's true," he said. "The Sphere of Ladon has been eradicated, almost as if it never was. Now only nether space occupies it."

"You can't be serious."

"I have no reason to lie," he replied coolly. She loved to play the game, he thought, but that had shut her up. "So, where to go? Nowhere. What to do? You have two choices as I see it."

"Which are?"

"Stay here and stand trial for your crimes," Sandalphon said. "And while it will be a fair one, have no illusions about the outcome--you ARE guilty. You will die in public spectacle, and it will most likely be horrible, slow, and agonizing."

"What's my second choice?"

"You can assist me," he said. "I need someone who is well versed in the ways of sorcery to help me."

"Help you with what?" Kirone asked.

"Leading my people to their destiny, whether they desire to be led or not," Sandalphon said. "I already have allies, of a sort--" He gestured behind him, and the robed figures appeared again.

Kirone almost fainted in fear. "Blood of my ancestors," she breathed. "The Seketha? You've allied yourselves with THEM?"

"Yes," Sandalphon said, as though it happened every day. "As I understand it, even the Vampires respect their power."

That was an understatement, Kirone thought. The Vampires FEARED the Seketha, and the dark god they served. What madness was this? An Angel allied with these dark beings?

"How would I be able to be free?" Kirone asked, deciding this was a subject for another time. "I don't think your peasantry will allow me to roam free."

"No, I rather doubt they will," Sandalphon said, smiling cruelly.

"I really don't have a choice do I?" Kirone asked him. "I can stay and die, or help you and the Seketha."

"That's the best part of it," Sandalphon said. "No matter what, the Angels will have their revenge on you, the most hated of our enemies. You either die as slowly as I can make you die, or you serve me, broken at my feet, never to be a queen."

She lunged through the bars, trying to grab his throat with her talons, but one of the Seketha stood between them and opened his hand. The long bony fingers seemed to reach into her, crushing her heart. She recoiled in pain.

"Ok," she said, gasping. "I . . .I'll do it. All I need to know is . . .what do I get out of this?"

"What do you want?"

"My freedom," she said. "And Darken Blackangel."

"Your freedom is granted," Sandalphon said, unlocking the door. "As for Darken, consider him my gift to you."

Sandalphon turned and walked out of the room. The Seketha moved in on her silently. She felt one grab at her and then--blackness engulfed her.

* * *

And she was somewhere else. Total darkness. But she was not alone.

"Kirone," a voice called. It was a sweet voice--honeyed, reassuring, like the voice of a lover, but also, unmistakably dark somehow.

"Who--?" Kirone asked. Then she saw him. He was beautiful. He stood before her, garbed in black and green, like the Seketha had been. His long green hair billowed out. His wings were formed of shreds of darkness. Inside them Kirone could see starts twinkling, along with red eyes. The brilliant green bird on his chest symbolized him as part of their sect. Or was he--?

"You know me," he said. "You have always known me. I am Garuda Azazel. I am the true god of these worlds."

"You're helping Sandalphon?"

"He will help us. I am serving you," He said, gathering her into his arms. It was comfortable, but she could help but feel cold. Afraid. "I will raise your people up to supremacy. And Sandalphon, nor Darken, nor anyone, will be able to help them."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because," Garuda said, pulling her closer to him. "You are the daughter of my heart, and I love you."

Before Kirone knew what was happening, he kissed her, deeply, forcefully. She felt something happening to her, nothing she could entirely comprehend, but it rippled through her, past her, to the worlds beyond.

She opened her eyes. She was back in her cell. The door was open wide. She stood up, balancing herself on a wing--

Wait, she thought.

Wings?

She got to her feet, looking over herself. She was dressed differently, in a purple tunic, in the style the Angels wore. She walked out of the cell and caught a glimpse of herself in a reflective piece of crystal paneling.

Her eyes grew wide with horror when she realized what had happened. The wings, the clothes--none of it had truly told the tale. Until now.

Kirone, finding herself wearing the face of the only person she had ever killed with her own hands, did the only thing she could.

She screamed.