"Queen Aemonie," the large red dragon said to her. Her wrapped his wings around him, and bowed. "I bring you greeting from King Atlan of Cynon."

"Rise, Ambassador Cradha," the elegant white-skinned woman on the throne said. They were in one of the many chambers on Ananta, deep within its watery depths. She was not used to receiving visitors, especially this early in the morning.

"I must admit," Aemonie began, twisting a lock of her green hair around her finger. She raised a scrap of parchment. "When I read this epistle, I was rather stunned. Our people have had very little contact, at least as far as our histories go. To receive a request of an audience--well, we were very curious."

"I should imagine so," Cradha said. "But this matter concerns all our races, I think. Have you yet been visited by Lord Protector Miral?"

"Of the Angels?" Aemonie asked, cocking her eyebrow. "No . . .should we have?"

"King Atlan had a meeting with her just five days ago," He said. The cultured tone of his voice belied his craggy, reptilian features. "She suggested an alliance between them."

"A strange thing to propose," Aemonie replied. "The Angels and Dragons have been in a near-constant state of war."

"The King was quite shocked himself," Cradha said. "Especially when he heard her proposal. They want free traffic through all the Spheres. They want to use those ships of theirs to patrol our skies. But what was even more shocking was their desire for one of our holiest relics."

Cradha held out his hand. In his rough pal was a small pyramid-like shard of crystal, with a disk at its base.

Aemonie was shocked. "My lord," she said. "How could you . . ."

She snapped her fingers to the guards at the door. "Bring it."

"I can't believe this," she said. "How could you have that? We thought we had the only one ourselves."

Darken awoke the next day and found Gailion, Tralesta, and Tigerhawk arrayed around a table. That was new, he thought. I never knew there to be a table here. Kael couldn't sit under one, and I always ate alone.

His barely awake brain tried to suss out the picture of peculiar domesticity he was finding before him. They sat there, eating what looked to be some sort of soup. Soup being served by Liandra, whom Darken knew for a fact couldn't cook.

"If I asked," Darken began. Everyone's head snapped around to look at him. "Would I believe the answer?"

"What do you mean?" Liandra asked, handing him a bowl. "I had to learn to cook somewhere. Kael taught me."

Darken took a small bit of soup onto the spoon protruding from it. His eyes watered only a little. "I . . .can tell. It's very good. If I couldn't breathe fire before . . .I certainly can now."

"If we're all done with the comedy," Gailion said, finishing his. "We've got a lot to do, and very little time to do it in."

"Okay," Darken said, eating with deliberateness. "If what you say is true, then what can we do about it?"

"First, we need to go to Kael's room," he said. "There's information there that's necessary to our quest."

"It won't help," Darken said. "Kael's room was cleaned out by Vertigo and Lanicrus. All his books are on Nycheladra, for all we know."

"Not that room, Darken," Gailion said. "Apparently, you didn't know this temple extends several feet underground."

"No," he replied. "And Kael wasn't exactly forthcoming with it."

"We prayed it wouldn't be necessary, honestly," Gailion said. "In that room is they key to some of the greatest power in the Spheres."

"You make it sound so desperate," Darken said, pushing the bowl away.

"It is," Tralesta said, breaking in. "Why do you think Gailion had me observing the Seketha so closely?"

"Didn't the Angels wake them up?" Darken asked. "If that's the case, why don't you have someone there?"

Gailion looked away for a second. "Because," he said simply.

"Why?"

"Master," Tralesta said, sensing a propitious time to interrupt. "Won't we need more than just the four of us?"

"Yes," Gailion said. He seemed a bit distracted. "But that can wait. Our enemies are powerful, and they move unseen. But right now we need power of a higher order--we need knowledge."

Darken watched Gailion curiously. Why had Gailion--his master, a man who was almost imperturbable--flinched like he had hit a nerve when he mentioned the Angels?

Come to think of it, he hadn't seemed much happier when Sandalphon's name came up.

Sandalphon felt at this moment like he wanted to leave the whole plan behind. It wasn't necessarily because he was afraid, or because he resented the control of the Seketha.

It was more because Kirone was being insufferable.

"Kirone," he said, pointing at the Seketha. "No one cares that you have gained the ability to change back and forth between forms. It is certainly a matter of supreme indifference to me. And to them, as well."

"Them?" Kirone said. She extended a hand to him. The Seketha bowed to her. "They work for me now."

"Be that as it may," Sandalphon said wearily. "We have a battle plan to devise."

"I take that to mean your diplomatic solution, as you so euphemistically put it," Kirone began, smiling. "It's not working, is it?"

"It was never meant to, really." Sandalphon said. "It was meant as a smokescreen, until the Metalhawk project was ready."

Kirone grimaced. "Oh," she said. "That."

"Yes," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the Seketha, standing very close to Kirone now. "And from what my commandants at the Dark Tower say, a force of 100 is ready for deployment. I think it's time to take, rather than to ask."

"How to go about it, though," Kirone mused. "If we move without provocation, the races would align against us. We might be able to defeat them all, but if it's possible, we should try our best to alleviate undue pressure, until we release the gods."

"I already have a scapegoat in mind," Sandalphon said. "The techno-pirates."

"Ohhhhhh," Kirone smiled. "The people who rid you of Sachiel?"

"Yes," he replied, his eyes never leaving the Seketha. "That will work as an initial reason, but then we move to our real target."

"Which is?"

"Achromurcra," he said. "The Machine Sphere controls the gates, handles the flow of information among all the worlds. We take over it, and we can perpetuate the confusion."

Kirone was aghast. "Have you lost your mind?" Kirone asked. "That's an entire Sphere, and a well-defended one at that. How do you expect to destroy it?"

"I didn't say destroy," Sandalphon said. "I said take it. We will take it and hold it, shut down the Mother Machine and yoke it to our control."

"You're are mad," Kirone said. "I couldn't even do that."

"I'm not you," he said. And you don't know why I want it yet, he thought, willing his mind to obscure his thoughts from the Seketha.

"And you think the techno-pirates will be blamed for it?" Kirone asked. "They're nothing but a group of rebels. A mere handful of warriors."

"Leave it to me, Kirone," Sandalphon said. "By the time we're done, the Mother Machine will be ours, the techno-pirates will take the blame, and we'll be free to take care of Darken Blackangel."
"I'd like to take care of him now," she said.

"Not yet," he said. "First, the "pirates" have to stir up some trouble."

"So you see, Lady Aemonie," Cradha began. "For whatever reason, it is clear that the Angels want these, and want them so bad they're willing to risk a war with all of us."

"And you prose an alliance?" Aemonie said. "To what purpose?"

"Our mutual defense," Cradha replied. "My people have seen their skyships in action. They are very effective battle machines. At this time, there are 15 of the ships flying, with more being build every day at their shipyards. And there are rumors of other technologies they have near completion."

"This is very strange," Aemonie replied. "The Angels have always been a militaristic race, but never to this extent. This seems almost aggressive."
"We cannot explain it either," Cradha said. "And we have the most experience with them. The build-up for war--over these--makes no sense at all. Nevertheless, our war councils believe they will move soon. And all races who are not like this must either prepare to die or surrender."
"You, I take it, won't surrender."

"My father and his both fought the Angels to the end of their lives," Cradha said. "We have never surrendered and we never will. If we must battle to the last of us, we shall."

"And so shall we," Aemonie said. "But only if Kraken waters are attacked. If such a thing happens, then you will have my troops beside you. Until then, the only aid I can give you is materiel."
"I understand completely," Cradha said. "I hope it won't be necessary. No world should pray for war."

Over the skies of Deianyra, Captain Kurel ordered his ship, the Wizard, to full stop. Standing before them was a figure out of legend. He was clad in black and red, his face masked by a black helmet and blood-red facemask. Huge leathery wings flapped slowly, keeping him hovering there before them. In his hands he held two swords, their blades glittering in the sunlight.

Kurel was standing on the deck of his ship, watching him. Surrounded him were the younger members of his crew, shocked, whether it was a hoax or not, that the legendary Yrouel, the Angel of Fear and secret protector of the Angels stood before them.

"Captain Kurel," Yrouel said, pointing to him with a clawed white and black glove. "You follow the false ruler. Pledge your loyalty to the true king, Sachiel, and survive. Refuse this royal decree and be scattered."

The voice was cold, and almost inhuman
"Sachiel is dead," Kurel said, surreptitiously signaling his soldiers to stand by their duties. "Sandalphon is our ruler now."

"Then suffer for you false loyalty," Yrouel said. Before Kurel knew it, Yrouel had looped and banked around. He ordered his crews to the guns, but by the time the first volley of shots had been fired, Yrouel had already torn a great rend in the side of the Wizard's hull.

Kurel charged to the bridge. "Status," he barked.

"He's attacking our engines," his lieutenant said. "Our guns can't track him, and we risk hitting our own engines if we try."
"Can we turn?" Kurel asked. "Swing us around, try to keep our side to him at all times and keep him pinned under the fire."

As he finished his command, the back half of the Wizard was rocked by a series of explosions. Kurel was sent sprawling by the force of them.

"What was that?" He asked.

"Engine failure," his lieutenant responded. "Yrouel's cut off our steering vanes, and our mains have gone off-line. He's just to fast for our countermeasures."

Kurel looked around. His crew was young--cadets. They hadn't seen the wars he had, couldn't know the fire in his blood that wanted to stay and fight to the last.

In truth, he didn't want them to. "Crew to the lifeboats," he ordered. "All hands abandon ship. I will stay and engage him."

"But sir--" his lieutenant protested.

"That's an order Lieutenant," he barked. "Go. I will see you again."

The bridge cleared. He could feel the subtle shudders under his feet of the lifeboats escaping. From the windows of the bridge, he could see Yrouel letting them go. Not giving chase.

Probably so they can witness for him, Kurel thought. He drew his spear from the rack and the bridge and made his way to the deck again. He took flight, heading toward Yrouel, who was, at this moment, destroying the intakes on their hovering engines. He charged his weapon, intending to bring it to bear at close range.

Closer and closer he dived. Behind him, Yrouel felt a displacement and rocketed upward at the last second.

Kurel was sucked into the intake, the massive blade of the propellers grinding flesh and bone, wings and body to meaty, bloody paste.

Yrouel looked away. He hadn't wanted it like this. It wasn't fair.

He turned and landed on deck. He waved to the skies with his swords.

From the upper clouds, the Ghost Lion appeared, moving alongside the crippled skyship. Lashings were made, and in less time than it takes to tell, the techno-pirates were aboard.

Yrouel removed his mask and helmet, shaking out his long hair.

"Well fought, young one," Lion said, placing a hand to his shoulder.

"It shouldn't have been necessary," he said.

"It will take time," Lion replied. "As you are the Angel of Fear, you must give them time to fear you. That fear may do the work you wish it to do sooner than you think."
"I hope so," Yrouel said.

"In any case," Lion said. "What shall we do with the ship?"

"Salvage whatever we can," Yrouel said. "Take the Crossing Device first. Making our own gates will help immensely when it comes time to mount an attack on Nycheladra. The rest I leave to you."

Lion waved to his crew. There was a hint of a smile on their faces as they set to the work of cannibalizing the Wizard.

"Then it's settled," Sandalphon said to his council of war. "Tomorrow, we will take a task force of 10 skyships to take Achromurcra."

"10 ships is two thirds of our entire force," his minister of defense said flatly.

"10 ships is what I need," Sandalphon said. "We cannot hope to take an entire Sphere with any less than that. Once we hold it and yoke it to your authority, we can re-assign half of the force."
"Our causalities could be incalculable," his minister replied. "No one has ever mounted and assault on the Machine Sphere. Their possible defenses could well outstrip ours."
"We will be carrying a new weapon-type for this mission," Sandalphon said. "I am not at liberty to say now, for security reasons, but when the task force is ready, we will have a full complement for every ship in the force. That should make us competitive. We move at high sun tomorrow. May Phoenix's fires carry the day for us. Thank you."

His council dispersed. Alecto was allowed in shortly afterward.

"You wanted to see me father?"

"Yes," Sandalphon said. "I take it you've heard? About our mission to Achromurcra?"

"I've heard you're going," she said. "I'm not sure I understand why."

"It's necessary, I'm afraid," Sandalphon said. "And I want you to come with me."

"Father?"

Sandalphon walked up to her an embraced her. For not the first time Alecto was conscious of how ice-cold her father was to her touch. He held her for a time, very tightly, as though she was the last remnant of his love for life.

"I want you there with me," he said. "Think of it as the completion of your officer's training. Besides, there is a task I need for you to perform. And only you, I'm afraid, can do it."

"Anything Father, you know that."

Sandalphon held her. "I need you, my daughter," he said, a little weariness creeping into his voice for the first time. "I need your strength, your courage for this fight."

I need you to be safe, he thought.

Darken was shocked to see the red-clad Seraphim at his door, even more stunned to hear what he said. Liandra couldn't hear them. Through her fairies, all she could see was the Seraphim handing Darken a box, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaving.

What was that about? Liandra wondered. Why would a Seraphim--one of the Royal Messengers, from the look of it, come here, to speak to him?

Darken stood there, for a time. He almost dropped the black lacquered box. He leaned against the wall, then turned and ran up the stairs.

He couldn't believe it. Hot tears fell from his face as his mind swam with memory.

Touch Maryna again and I'll see you killed, he remembered him saying.

Liandra was having difficulty following discreetly. She caught the box as he finally let it drop. She opened it, and was shocked by what she found inside.

Maryna and Tabris' Eagle Clasps. They'd both thought them destroyed.

After all I've done and said about you, Darken remembered him saying. You’d still fight for me? Why?

He went to a parapet and finally, the tears flowed. He balled up his fists, wanting to scream, but he couldn't find the air. The grey sky above him loomed like a funeral shroud.

Maryna seems so much happier with you, he could remember him saying. It hadn't been so long ago. I want you both to be happy.

The sky joined him in his tears, letting loose with a torrent of rain. It soaked his clothes, and his body, but he cared not. He didn't even try to shelter himself with his wings.

All he knew was that one of his friends, one of his longtime friends, was gone from his life.

"SACHIEL!" He cried to the skies.

This is about Maryna, Sachiel said in his memory. You miss her.

Darken's body was wracked with tears. He hadn't felt loss so painfully since Maryna. It was like his world had been shattered, callously, carelessly, as a child would break something delicate and valuable. And was not sure how his life could ever be the same.

He took a deep breath, letting the rain cool his flushed skin. He looked to the sky, through the rain.

I think congratulations are in order. May the goddess Phoenix smile on you both.

Darken felt his face. He was still crying. Or maybe it was the rain. He examined the cold water on his white-gloved hand. The painful thing about crying alone in the rain was that no one could tell. No one could see tears of the heart through the tears of the sky.

His chest hitched for air. Before he knew it, he felt arms around him, lips pressed against his. He tensed, but then he recognized the familiar touch and the scent of her hair. It was someone he knew well. It was the woman who had saved him from despair before.

It was Phoenix.

Darken wanted to say something, but his throat was still tight. So he held her, and Phoenix, realizing that her closeness would do more for him than any words of comfort she could offer, did the same.