The crimson sun hung low over the shattered remains of what had once been the Eternal Sanctum, casting long shadows across the battlefield that stretched beyond the horizon. Where celestial spires had once pierced the heavens, only broken stone and twisted metal remained, scattered like the bones of some massive divine creature.
Nigihayami lay among the ruins, her golden wings spread wide against the cracked marble that had once been an altar to peace. Each breath came shallow and labored, her luminous form flickering like a candle in the wind. Around her, the bodies of fallen angels slowly dissolved into motes of light, their essence returning to the realm they had fought to protect, or perhaps to transform.
She stared up at the smoke-stained sky, where the eternal light of Asgard had dimmed to an amber glow. How long had she been lying here? Time seemed meaningless now, each moment stretching into eternity as her life force slowly ebbed away.
"We were bound from the moment we first drew breath," she whispered to the empty air, her voice barely audible above the distant crackling of divine fires. "Chained not by law, but by our very nature."
The irony wasn't lost on her. Angels, beings of supposed freedom and light, were the most enslaved of all Asgard's children. Their connection to the realm ran deeper than blood, deeper than soul. It was woven into the fabric of their existence, an unbreakable tether that called them home when darkness threatened, regardless of their personal desires or the safety they might have found elsewhere.
She had tried to escape. For precious weeks, she had tasted true freedom in that quiet dimension with Lucretia and Wildan. No demands from archangels, no political machinations, no war, just the simple joy of teaching and watching potential bloom into power. But when the final moment came, when Asgard itself cried out in its death throes, she had no choice but to answer.
"The lesser angels..." she breathed, thinking of Wildan with his black wings and gentle heart. "How I envied them in the end."
Blackangels were weaker, yes. They couldn't soar as high or shine as brightly. Their magic paled in comparison to their golden-winged cousins, and they were often looked down upon as incomplete beings. But in their supposed weakness lay a strength that Nigihayami now understood: freedom.
Blackangels were tied to Asgard by choice, not by nature. They could leave if they wished, could find sanctuary in distant realms, could turn their backs on war and destruction without their very souls rebelling against them. Wildan would be safe in that peaceful dimension, free to live and teach and find whatever happiness existed beyond the reach of divine politics.
The marble beneath her began to crack as her power finally gave way. Soon, she too would become particles of light, scattered by the wind that now carried the ashes of heaven itself. But her thoughts weren't of regret or fear, they were of a silver-haired elf who had reminded her that even in the darkest times, new life could take root and flourish.
"Be strong, little goddess," she whispered as her form began to fade. "Create something beautiful from all this destruction."
Her final prayer wasn't for her own salvation, but for those she left behind, that they might break the chains that bound them, that they might find the freedom she had glimpsed but never truly possessed. As the last of her light scattered on the wind, Nigihayami smiled, knowing that somewhere in the vast expanse of existence, love and hope were still taking root beneath a growing tree.
The ruins fell silent, save for the whisper of wind through broken stone, carrying the dreams of angels toward distant stars.
---
To be continue.