Chapter Twelve: Dawn
Tyrael watched Malthael stumble away from them with exhausted resignation. He considered trying to stop him, but he also knew his brother's stubbornness well. Whatever he sought was more important to him than his own health, or the well-being of his companions. Trying to convince him otherwise would be futile.
And Tyrael had his own concerns. He turned back to where Chith and Auriel were applying healing magic to Lyndon's arm. Golden light wrapped around the rogue, sealing the wound and soothing the charred flesh. Beads of sweat ran across his forehead, and a pained smile twitched on his lips.
"Still less damage than he took." Lyndon glanced blearily at Imperius' corpse. "Hells be damned though, this hurts."
Any comfort Tyrael tried to voice died in his throat at the mention of the Archangel. Imperius' essence had long evaporated from the smoking husk of his armor. Elsewhere, it remained. He rotated El'druin, cringing as Lightblood dripped from the hilt and his gauntlet onto the marble. It was dark and corrupted, but still his brother's. Who he had slain, without any hesitation.
"What you did was just," Chith offered quietly, as if reading his expression. "Do not think for moment it was not."
"I don't offer my limbs for ridiculous causes," Lyndon added, before groaning as the spell continued to stitch his flesh.
"No," Tyrael muttered. "And I am immensely grateful. Because of you, I am only mourning two siblings, instead of three."
"Where did Malthael disappear to?" Aya rubbed her temples and winced as she approached. "I saw him leave."
Auriel looked up from her work. The glow gradually faded from her hands, and with Chith's assistance, she helped Lyndon stand. "He goes to the Arch. To see the Light return." But as she spoke, the sky darkened further and the shadows about them lengthened.
Confused, Tyrael watched the remaining light fade from the Heavens. The quiet keening of the Arch grew discordant, as though someone were dragging a knife across its surface. The dissonance made his head ache and his soul ill. The clamour was far worse than what he'd heard during the Lightsong when the Black Soulstone had been kept in the Heavens.
Al'maiesh slid from Auriel's grasp, though Chith caught it before it fell to the floor. "No. No, it cannot be."
Malthael knew. Before any of us.
Speechless, Tyrael sprinted after him, passing over platform after platform until his view of the Crystal Arch was unimpeded. An impenetrable, soul-shattering darkness spilled out from where its glow had once been. The Arch's heart throbbed with shadow; the stain contained the Light within, blocking its escape.
Malthael leaned against the balcony and stared unblinkingly outward. "This should be impossible. The Light cannot be perceived this directly by mortal eyes."
"It is tainted, as it once was by Diablo."
"You also said when Diablo was slain, and his essence was removed from the Arch, the Light returned. Imperius is dead. Yet, this intensified. Why?"
Footsteps sounded as the others joined them, Lyndon still braced carefully between the two healers.
"It is the sickness we angels bore." Auriel's voice had lost its melody. "Verily, our brother took the darkness of the Hells into his being. But he was darkening before that moment. I saw in him a terrible, festering wound, one I could neither heal nor sooth. It was through that wound the Prime Evil entered. And where it remains."
Malthael shuddered but remained silent.
"But he would return healed, would he not?" Tyrael gestured to the Arch. "At the next Lightsong. We would see Valor return, and Fate, and the many kin you have lost to time."
Even as he spoke, he doubted his words. The Lightsong signalled a moment of harmony in the Heavens. In the past, it had birthed angels of all Aspects. More recently, it had called for Valor. But even when the Aspects had been imbalanced, there had still been enough angels to create the resonance.
"Who remains to do that, brother?" Malthael said, echoing Tyrael's suspicions. His fingers tightened against the railing. "Those dead on the battlefield? Or the few below us, whose wings lose form as I watch? Without the Light to sustain them, there will be no melody."
"Perhaps tomorrow, then. There were not always angels. The Arch formed you from nothing."
"It created me from Light itself. The darkness is within the Arch, not outside it. Auriel speaks truly. Anu's will is tainted with the Prime Evil." Then, quieter: "I only delayed this moment by taking mortal form. The same would have occurred had I returned to the Arch. The Prime Evil would have followed. These are the death throes of a dying being."
"I refuse to let that happen. We fought today to preserve all the Heavens represent!"
"We fought for the mortals' survival. Do not be blinded by our past, Tyrael." Malthael fell silent again, and for a moment, only the haunting howls of the Arch broke their solitude. "I strove to avoid this moment. I still misunderstood."
"I do not understand."
His brow furrowed. "Prophecy. We were warned this would occur. Imperius. Angels on Sanctuary. I thought by avoiding that fate, we would avert the darkening of the Arch. But that future, the future Farah saw…she glimpsed the path we took to arrive here. Victorious."
"She saw the Arch fall," Aya conceded. "I remember. She told me she saw it crumble and the Light escape."
"Precisely."
"But the Arch still stands!" Tyrael gestured emphatically at the Spire. "Imperius has not succeeded in shattering its glory. Neither have the Hells."
"No. That duty falls to us." Malthael turned, but Tyrael caught his arm, clutching it tightly even as the man growled. "Unhand me."
"You would have us destroy the very heart of the Light?" The words seared his throat with their sacrilege. "Why? We would concede the Eternal Conflict, irrevocably."
"I would release it, lest it rot in this prison eternally. Or worse, be wielded by the Hells. As they will do, if their evil continues to spread. They will warp and twist our kin beyond recognition for their purposes." He wrenched his arm away from Tyrael, though he made no additional attempt to leave. "I would do as you did for me, when I drowned in darkness. As you did when you destroyed the Worldstone."
Tyrael tried to think of another path, one that could heal the Arch of its corruption. But even the Archangel of Hope had been unable to cure the sickness plaguing the Heavens. A sickness that had existed since the moment Sanctuary had been created, forever altering the Balance of the Eternal Conflict.
It could have been Malthael, as he said. It could have been me. The darkness infects. Patiently. Insidiously. What righteousness is there in eternity if it fraught with evil?
"We have long walked this path," Tyrael admitted. He had taken the first steps when he had cast off his wings and fallen. "It went unnoticed for far too long."
Malthael nodded. "We were incapable of noticing. Such awareness was not in our nature."
"But it is, now."
"Then you understand what we must do. The Light will survive, but not as the singular property of the Heavens. The Conflict was never ours to win. We must entrust it to those who fight in our place."
"To Sanctuary." Auriel pressed Al'maiesh to her eyes with her palms. "I wish it were otherwise. But Itherael said as much when they cast their vote to save the mortal world. They believed humans would serve the Light better than we ever could. They were right. In their absence, I will uphold their faith. And my own. I do not wish my brothers and sisters to languish forever in agony. I would rather them have peace, wherever they find it."
Malthael's eyes grew distant. He absently palmed the hilts of his blades. "We are mortal. But the Angiris Council we remain. What does Justice say?"
"Justice left the Heavens once before to preserve its purpose." The conflicting correctness of the statement twisted his gut, but he continued. "I will do as I must to ensure the Light survives, and to ensure justice is done for our kin."
"Consensus. We destroy the Arch."
"Together." Auriel wiped her face and stood. "Though, brothers, how do we undertake such an immense duty?"
"It is already weakened." Malthael pointed to Aya and Chith. "And these two, strong."
"I will share your burden," the arcanist offered. "For all those on Sanctuary."
"As will I," said Chith.
"Then, come. Bring Solarion. If El'druin was able to shatter the Eye, then the Spear will break the Spine. With haste, before we lose our resolve."
Aya gripped Solarion tightly. The spear felt heavy with purpose. It sang faintly, though its resonance was warped from the darkness Imperius had infused within it. The struggle between Light and shadow threatened to tear it apart in her hands. As they traversed the stairway within the interior of the Silver Spire, similar vibrations rose from its base. The lightless path was treacherous, and several times she stumbled when the steps shook under her.
"I don't think it needs our help," Lyndon muttered. He had climbed onto Tyrael's back at the larger man's request, which allowed him to ascend the stairs while dizzy.
The darkness lessened only marginally when they exited onto the heart of the Arch. The platform's floor was split by two large openings. Where Light should have escaped, only shadow remained. Aya could not look at it for long without feeling ill. She averted her eyes and allowed Solarion to settle to the floor, its tip ringing as it hit the marble.
While Chith and Auriel helped Lyndon down from his Tyrael's back, Malthael lowered his cowl and knelt near one of the gaps. He squinted into the rolling shadows, then eventually removed a gauntlet and ran his fingers across the nearby floor. "The resonance is broken." His frown intensified.
"As we feared. It is far worse than when the Lightsong was corrupted." Tyrael knelt beside him. "Then, the instability came from the Host. But this is indeed from within the Arch."
The spear continued to hum loudly against Aya's shoulder. "Solarion is doing the same."
"Wait." Malthael swore as a tendril lashed out from the gap, barely missing his hand. A second followed, then another. He slid away from the breach and drew his blades, mist already pooling about them.
"I don't remember it doing that last time," Lyndon hissed. "And I really don't want to find out what happens if we leave it alone."
"Ah, but are you not curious, Nephalem?"
The scoundrel's face lost its remaining colour.
"Mal…" Chith stumbled back from where the shadows were beginning to coalesce.
"Spear!" Malthael snapped, rushing to Aya and pulling her to the platform's centre. "And you." He pointed at Chith. "Call the Light. It will answer."
"The Light always answers. How predictable."
Aya shivered. The voice was like a thousand swords digging into her skull. Still, she lifted Solarion, its tip pointed at the Arch's epicentre. The Spire's vibrations had intensified and ran through her boots and into the spear. Ignoring them, she tugged at the edges of the arcane Well that glowed within her and began to draw it into the weapon.
"What pathetic cowardice. A mortal, willing to surrender the Conflict to the Hells? Your kind has weakened, human."
She hissed as doubt gathered in her. The spear, which had begun to glow, wavered. Then a hand grasped her shoulder, and shortly after, a second. She blinked the haze away and found Tyrael and Malthael standing on either side of her, their expressions sorrowful yet resolved.
Across the gap, Chith angled his palms at the shadow, his brow furrowed in concentration. Auriel had wrapped Al'maiesh tightly about him and held one end, while Lyndon clutched the other.
"You are greater than we are." Tyrael's words became a beacon of serenity in her soul. "Just as you are greater than this monstrosity."
"It is not difficult to be greater than your kind, angel."
"Nor yours," Aya roared. Inhibitions shattered, the arcane exploded freely within her. It surged through her limbs and ignited her hair, before flowing to gather at the spear's point.
For all I love. For Sanctuary. For our future.
"For the Light!" She drove Solarion into the Arch. It pierced a hand's breath at first, then sank until the spearhead was completely embedded. The Arch's corruption fought her intensely, but she met it with equal fervor, becoming a conduit to the eternal essence, until cracks of brilliance began to emerge from within the shadows. Motes of Light drifted upward, gradually floating towards Chith.
"Fools! You concede everything by doing this!"
"Absolutely right," Lyndon sneered. "And that includes you. Now take your arse back to the Abyss where it belongs."
The Light reached Chith. The instant it brushed his hands, the world paused. In that moment, Aya felt every piece of the Arch. Each crystalline facet, every step and corner and gold-wrought panel. Within it was all that remained of Anu, struggling mightily against the darkness that threatened to drown it. It screamed.
Here, she called, pointing it to the bridge she had forged between her and Chith. Come here. Come to us. Escape.
Reality returned with a deafening crack as the Spire shattered along its length. The floor heaved, wrenching Solarion from her grip and knocking her off her feet. Strong arms pulled her towards the stairs as the tower's sway and the lingering remnants of the arcane offset her balance.
The Spire began to lean. There was no time. Groaning, she tore open the Well of the arcane, haphazardly weaving its power into the incantation that would allow them to escape. The magic seared her limbs, but she forced the evocation to completion with a howl. The world rippled around them, then disappeared.
Aya collapsed onto a cold marble floor. In the distance, the Silver Spire swayed, then began to crumble. Enormous chunks of crystal sheared from its sides. Before it could collapse, a blast exploded from the heart of the Crystal Arch, shattering it and any pieces that had already fallen. The fragments flashed outward in beams of Light that pierced the firmament.
For a final moment, the Heavens were illuminated to their full glory. The sky glittered with crystal rain. El'druin's protective shield materialized as Tyrael slammed the sword into the platform. Shards showered downward, driving deep into the stone around them, while others were flung outside the Silver City, tumbling towards Sanctuary.
Then, the Light faded, though the impenetrable darkness from earlier did not return. Instead, the Heavens retained a muted appearance, as though twilight forever lingered on the horizon.
A sunset for the Angiris. Or perhaps, Aya realized, a sunrise.
Though skirmishes occasionally approached Eirena, none ever reached her location. She remained beside Kormac, his body kept warm from the incessant heat of the fires. The dry autumn leaves had burned quickly before the fire moved to the trees and grasses. The river that ran near Tristram would stop the worst flames from reaching the town, but even so, it would be a long while before the landscape recovered.
Before any of them did. She brushed the templar's hair from where the breeze had pushed it over his eyes. She should have followed the others after Imperius, but she had not wanted to be a liability. Nausea struck her whenever she thought of Kormac. And if the worst happened, and Imperius somehow won, well — someone needed to survive and tell the others what had occurred. She still believed they would return, victorious. But something about Kormac's death had shattered her unending resolve and replaced it with a practical cynicism.
"You did us all proud," she whispered. "You were the mightiest of your order. A true templar. We will tell your tale and ensure it is never forgotten."
Above her, the sky shifted hue. Confused, Eirena glanced upward, thinking perhaps the fire had moved towards them. Instead, the clouds dissipated, and a brilliant, pure light emanated from the zenith. It intensified as she watched, its glow radiating warmth and peace.
Eirena closed her eyes as the beams fell upon her. They released from within her the swirl of emotions she had sought to subdue. Fear and sorrow. Yet, also hope and joy. As though the entirety of her existence had suddenly become enrichened.
And she knew, unwaveringly, that her friends had defeated Imperius and had returned the Light to the Heavens.
Around the battlefield, the remaining Luminarei fell inert. Valla watched suspiciously as the angels, who had moments ago been prone but still very much alive, began to fade. Their wings dissipated, and the golden armor tarnished and sank into the dirt.
The demon hunter considered the light emanating from the skies with a strange mix of relief and dread. She knew the warmth, intimately. It was the Light of the Heavens. She had seen it many times upon visiting the realm.
It was not meant to be seen in Sanctuary.
Even as she pondered the possibilities, including the most dreadful, she realized the answer was already before her. The Luminarei were, after all, deceased. The Nephalem had won the conflict. She could return home to her son, and her other students. They would mourn. And then, they would prepare for the next hunt.
There was always another.
In Tristram, the sky burst into brilliance. Farmers and scholars protected their eyes until they realized the glow wasn't flames. They had listened to the distant sounds of battle echoing from the wilderness, waiting to see who emerged, wondering if the town would be razed while they watched.
"Holiness," Talm breathed. Nat squirmed on his lap, also watching with wide-eyed wonderment. "The Light."
Through the window he saw others leave temporary shelters, gazing upward with similar rapture on their faces. The screams of war had dissipated, leaving only the gentle murmur of birds and insects. The smoke drifting on the air remained at a distance.
"They won." Lena dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the worn floorboards. "It's over."
Even from the meadow, Farah still heard the faint clashing of blades and the roar of flames. The library was more insulated, but she couldn't bring herself to remain inside forever. Too much was at stake for her to hide away and avoid the world. Instead, she waited by the river. Where, if she closed her eyes and dreamed hard enough, she could still hear Malthael's voice and smell the tanned leathers of his gear.
After what felt like an eternity, the clamour of battle unexpectedly ceased. The clouds exploded with light, a permeating shimmer that drove away the shadows. The river reflected the radiance, its waters rippling like fireflies.
Pain wracked her chest. She had seen that light before, in a dream. A spire falling, its crystalline heart shattering onto the earth. The end of the Light. Stifling a cry, she forced herself to breathe. There was no sound of troops, yet. But the angels would rush Tristram. They would destroy the last bastion of the Nephalem. And if they didn't find her directly, their flames would.
She had nowhere to run. All that remained was a promise.
"Where water meets sky. You will know the place, pi'ra."
She wrapped her arms across her chest and tried to still her shaking shoulders. He would have been strong, even in the face of death. Not fearless, certainly. But resolute. As he would want her to be.
I'll wait here. At the water. For you.
Yet, the world continued. The silence was broken by voices, from Tristram. Weeping. Screaming. Joyous. But that was impossible. She had Seen the end of things and the fall of the Heavens. And she was sure the Fall had taken place above her. Except, there were no Luminarei rushing the town. Or her.
The longer she considered the din coming from Tristram, the more she found herself staring into the water. The ripples were hypnotic and something tangible she could focus on, while she tried to understand the confounding situation unfolding around her. Each wave that struck the shore brought with it the same realization.
The voices she heard were mortal. All of them.
Gradually, the Light faded. The waters tinted amber as the sun began to dip. The celebratory cacophony continued. If it was real, then she needed to go to them. Aya could be there. She had to check on her.
But she could not. Not when she had promised to wait for him. Not until she knew for certain if his demise was imagined, or if he had, miraculously, survived. And perhaps none of it was happening. Perhaps it was the final gasps of her mind as she lay on the ground underneath the Luminarei. Perhaps—
"You were not where I expected to find you. When I said by the waters, I meant so symbolically."
She flinched in surprise, then in fear. But even as she rose to flee, the deep, familiar voice finally registered in her consciousness. And there, in the water, was a tall figure standing by her side.
"Pi'ra," she whispered. Malthael dropped to his knees and caught her as she stumbled. "I saw the Light. Gone. I thought we had lost."
"You saw our victory."
Overcome, she embraced him tightly, withdrawing only when he groaned. The reason for his discomfort became obvious. His sleeves were shredded, and the skin underneath streaked with dried blood. Haphazard field bandages were wrapped around some of his arms, as well as his thigh. She ran her fingers across his chest, then through his hair, which glowed a vivid white in the dimming sun. An illusion of the skies, and not his doing. But he was no illusion.
He was there. He was breathing. Not a dream born of her last moments.
"You're still here," she managed.
"Indeed. Mortality is vastly preferable to the alternative."
"But, how? Wasn't the Arch destroyed? I thought your brother had…"
"Imperius is dead. Aya bested him. Tyrael drove El'druin through his chest."
His mention of Aya swelled her heart further, though it did little to explain the contradiction. "Then, who?"
"We did. The Angiris. Our time is over."
"You…" They had spilled the Light from the Heavens. Not the demons, or the corrupted angels. But her friends. She shook her head, unable to express her sorrow at the revelation. "But, then the Conflict is—"
He gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her against his breastplate. "Complicated."
She sank into the gesture, her composure dissolving into a strange blend of relief and dismay. "I should have brought tea," she whispered, as she tightened her fingers on his back. "To help. Oh, not that it would. With this. But-"
He chuckled, painfully. "It would. And I would like that very much."
It had been a long while since she had heard the sound, and she found herself joining in. They watched as the last flickers of daylight left the skies and night fell. It was a darkness finally free of peril, and privy to the secrets of their future, come dawn.
Epilogue: Decree
Though the Host lay in ruin, and Imperius' remains were sundered across the white marble of the Heavens, it came at a hefty price. The losses to the Nephalem were not miniscule. As soon as the survivors were able, they returned to the charred fields to retrieve their fallen comrades. No indignity would be as great as if they allowed roving monsters to raise the corpses from their rest or use them for a meal.
Then, they gathered whatever remaining unburned kindling they could find, bringing it and the bodies to the centre of Tristram. There, a wide pyre was assembled: a collection of wood imbued with arcane runes where the dead could be safely sent off. Once it was completed, the survivors gathered solemnly around it.
Malthael observed the memorial from under the cover of a market stall, away from the bulk of the crowd. He ached from the events of the day prior, and from the small help he had provided in collecting the dead. He absently adjusted the fresh cotton bandages wrapped around his forearms; the lacerations pulsed, even after Auriel and Chith had tended to them. His leg did not feel much better, but he refused to let the pain stop him from attending the ceremony.
"Are there any others?" Tyrael called. He waited a few minutes, then eventually turned and bowed to the pyre. A seemingly-endless queue of Nephalem followed him around the unlit bonfire, each taking short moments to pay their respects to those who had fallen.
Lyndon glanced at Malthael as he and Eirena passed by. The scoundrel shrugged, and Malthael replied in kind. He knew what Lyndon meant by it. They had, in their own way, survived. There would be time enough for talk later.
I owe you my life. That will not be forgotten.
Any pretense of control Lyndon displayed, however, broke when he saw Kormac's body. He slumped against Eirena and pressed a palm to his eyes, sobbing quietly. Then, with the enchantress' help, he tugged the charm he carried from around his neck, and lay it on the templar's chest.
"Sleep easy, friend," he said hoarsely. "You've more than earned it."
Once as the passersby thinned, Malthael left his post. He searched the pyre, eventually finding a white-haired woman whose smirk remained even in death. There were no flowers or tokens left for her. She would not have cared.
Returning the smile slightly, he lay his hand on Zaira's chest, long enough to show a semblance of respect. She had been unkind, even to him. But she and Osseus had died resplendent in battle, with the confounding complexity he saw so often in mortals. They had traded their lives for the distraction that had likely brought them all victory.
"Rest, Lady Reaper," he whispered. "With my respect." Then he joined the others and waited for the procession to conclude.
At the very end of the mourners came Aya and Farah. The former's usually vibrant robes were replaced by dark mourner's garb. She carried a gem engraved with a greater mark of burning. Bowing, she placed it upon Li-Ming's chest, then folded the woman's hands tightly around it.
"My friend." She spoke so softly Malthael could hardly hear. "My mentor. My sister-kin. Your sacrifice and your love will not be forgotten. I will do right by it and your memory." She sought Farah's hand and held it tightly, before closing her eyes and stretching her other hand to the pyre.
The runes began to glow, faintly at first, then brighter, until the wood combusted, becoming a final, ruthless conflagration that surged towards the night sky. The smoke obscured the stars until the crackling stabilized, and the haze dispersed.
As the bodies caught fire, Malthael felt a twinge in the realm's fabric. Lingering souls, waiting to bid farewell to their comrades before making their final journey. If the faces of the mourners were any indication, they were unaware of the company. They were absorbed in their own, overwhelming emotions, and did not notice the transient brushes of hands across their cheeks or the whispered, breathless goodbyes.
It was his silent watch, alone.
The spirits flickered, then gradually vanished. As they did, he reached out and very gently guided them towards the fog of Death. He did not know what was beyond the veil. It was still not his time to learn. But he did remember the words spoken by those as they passed. As was the Aspect of Death's burden and responsibility.
Do not be afraid. There is plenty of light where you go. May it be greater than what you found here, at the end.
As the morning sun crested the horizon, it gradually illuminated the smoking remains of the pyre and the remnants of the wake that had occurred through the deepest hours of the night. Casks of mead and wine remained where they had been dragged from cellars onto the streets. Discarded steins and bottles were everywhere. A few revellers were passed out under trees or on benches, some in each other's arms.
Auriel smiled as she walked across Tristram's square, quietly so as not to wake them. They were in no danger, and she did not want to disturb their sleep. Exhaustion was also her companion, both from her efforts on the battlefield and the countless hours she had spent healing the injured afterwards. She had taken to bed while the fires still burned. Even after a deep sleep, she felt as though she walked in a dream.
The world is changed. My perception of it will adjust, with time.
Yet, some elements of her world remained the same. In the stillness of the early hours, she sought someone who could share her company. She knew Malthael would be awake. He had been a restless soul even while immortal. The little she had seen of him since his rebirth suggested nothing had changed.
"No sleep, sister?" he asked, as she approached. A worn, leather journal lay open on his lap, and beside him on the bench were an ink vial and pen. He gathered the latter into a pouch and gestured for her to join him.
"Oh, I slept. Restfully and undisturbed, to my relief. But the dead sleep enough for us, and I would not squander these blessed hours by wallowing in the emotions of the damned."
"Mortality is wrought with feelings."
"As I have seen. Yet, all in their place and time."
His lips twitched. "You are not here for small talk. What wisdom do you seek?"
"You know me all too well."
"And you, I."
He clearly knew she was troubled. She had always provided him hope during his darkest moments. And he had always provided answers when the horrors she witnessed threatened to drown that hope. If ever she had needed an answer, it was now. She had breathed her question into silent life a thousand times while pondering it to the extent of her ability. It rested heavily on her tongue even as she tried to give it form.
"Speak," he said, not unkindly.
She clasped her hands and locked her gaze to the cobblestones. "What of our lost siblings?" Her voice rang discordant even to her own ears. "Now that the Arch is no more, and the Light has been released to cascade endlessly about Sanctuary. What becomes of Itherael, and Imperius, and the rest of the Host?"
Malthael was silent for a long moment. He braced his chin against his hands, his expression growing distant. She waited, patiently, for she knew he was giving deep consideration to her question.
"I do not know. But," he raised a hand, "I know death. Death of the body is not an end, particularly for our kin. It was not for me. Perhaps it will not be for them."
"Hope, then? Is that the answer?"
"Perhaps." A subtle smile hid in the creases of his eyes, where the depths of wisdom pooled. "You should know, sister. That is your domain."
"It was, a lifetime ago. Do you think it will remain such as I walk this realm?"
"Verily."
She laughed softly. Regardless of all that had occurred, at least a small fraction of her family remained. And though she missed Itherael with a horrific, keening pain she had never known while immortal, she also saw the truth in Malthael's words. Their sibling might return, one day. And if Imperius chose to do the same, perhaps with time she could forgive him as she had Malthael.
"What of your dear friend?" She chortled again when his eyes widened in surprise. "Your Farah. Where is she?"
"Sleeping."
"Alone?"
"I would assume. She was when I left."
"I am glad you have found someone who understands your penchant for vanishing. Oh, Malthael, do not scowl at me so. You have always been different, and I mean so kindly. In mortal form, these differences are some of the many facets that make the realm truly unique."
"As should be expected from a world born of chaos."
"Still, I am more familiar with mortal needs than you likely believe, having entertained Tyrael enough times in the past. Have you slept at all? Have you even eaten since we warred?"
"I have not been home," he said, dryly. "It was in most pleasurable use when I attempted to."
"Surely they could have waited until the morning. Particularly if you required rest!"
"I did not ask. I am not evicting Tyrael from his own home. And I am tired of him and Aya staring at each other in bewilderment. Perhaps this will remedy their confusion."
Mortality had not dulled his bluntness. Still, as concerned as she was for Malthael's health, she was also happy her other brother and Aya had found some comfort with each other. That was no small blessing, given all that had occurred. She also suspected Malthael could have stayed with Farah had he so wished. It was clearly not a lack of lodging that had kept him awake through the night.
She gestured at his journal with a knowing smile. "And so, you write. Despite bandages and sleeplessness. Is it a history of these events?"
"Of course. Victors create history. We will be judged, as we should be. And this preserves our reasoning, lest they condemn us without context."
"Why do you so readily assign us villainous roles in the tale? You were right when you claimed this was not our conflict to win. It never was. Nor did we willingly invite darkness into the Heavens. It was unfathomable, and unavoidable. At least mortals may use what lingers of the Light to do what we could not."
"The shards of the Arch also fell to Sanctuary. They will be uncovered in time, as were the remnants of the Worldstone. Only, they are far more powerful. And power is not inherently good. We may have done the Nephalem a disservice."
"You may be right," she admitted. "Though, I suppose we will learn the answers to that in time. Tyrael told me of the wanderings that occupied your time in recent years. I sense a great many adventures in your future."
"The search for wisdom is endless." He closed the journal carefully. "That remains constant."
"Wait, brother. Since you speak for all our kin in your words. I would know, what did you write in our defense?"
He sighed, then reopened the book. And in the wonderful voice Auriel remembered, he read aloud.
Future inhabitants of Sanctuary may accuse us of genocide. And verily, we did choose to end the reign of the High Heavens. Yet, that end was also preordained, and had been in motion since Diablo first split the Council. He spoke of a trap, and indeed, he rendered one fully capable of destroying the delicate balance of power between the Angiris. He sowed seeds of discord that eventually struck Imperius from his throne of valor.
Even Diablo, however, was not strong enough to singlehandedly bring ruin to our kind, though his work certainly hastened it. No. Such an end was caused by our own nature: static, unmalleable, and unable to adapt to the introduction of a third power. As Sanctuary grew and the Nephalem became stronger, the Host weakened. A sickness spread through the Aspects, one driven by our compulsive need to maintain an order that no longer existed.
From myself, it stole my understanding of eternity; in my drive to find answers in muddled waters, I sought to destroy the very beings that would be our future.
From Tyrael, it stole his immortality; demonstrating wisdom beyond his station, he saw the necessity for Justice outside the Heavens, and he cast off his form to join those who he would embrace as his kin.
From Imperius, it stole his purpose; he feared a day when the splendour of war would be beyond him, and instead of revelling in the glory of such a permanent victory, he created new conflicts to ensure an eternity of battle.
From Itherael, it stole the respect owed to them; though, it should be noted that of any of the Archangels, Itherael maintained their admiration for mortals, and was content to watch them grow even as the Heavens faded.
And from Auriel, it stole the rush of air on her wings; her fall was the result of each of ours prior and was as malicious and horrific a sundering of innocence imaginable. She paid the price for our mistakes without choice or alternative.
Thus, the Angiris Council faltered. Without their guidance, the Heavens themselves fell prey to the shadows. But even in times of the deepest darkness, the Light of the High Heavens will always persevere.
We released it from its prison, so it may grow in splendour within Sanctuary. Equally available and freely obtained within the heart of every mortal. The Light will always thrive as they live and die together.
And, most profoundly, as they love.
FIN
A/N: And thus, we reach the end. The series started on the water's edge, and it ends there, as well. Prophecies echo, after all. As do stories. But sometimes with enough repetition, we find wisdom. We find purpose. We find love.
When I started writing Diablo: Amor Aeternus, I hadn't planned on it being a series. I didn't know where it was going beyond the first story. Like so many works of fiction, the characters found their voices and their own directions. Farah was meant to be a side-character at best. Lyndon was just in it for the jokes. Malthael was supposed to find mortal wisdom, though I wasn't sure what kind. But, well.
Well. Stories tell themselves, sometimes. The series received its name after I finished writing Act 4, once it became obvious the story I was trying to tell. Which is, that the most common and affecting fundamental human experience is love. In every permutation. Between all sorts of people. Nothing complicated. And nothing short of profound.
It's been an immense joy to share this series with all of you. I hope you've found as much joy in reading it (alongside no small amount of heartache, I'm sure).
Is this really the end, though? Not really. Ends are just the beginning of other tales. And I have more than a few left to tell about Malthael and the Nephalem.
...Stories that you'll see in the next series - Diablo: Archfall!
"Archfall. The moment the Eternal Conflict ended, changing Sanctuary irrevocably.
While mortals recover from Imperius' attack on their home, the Nephalem seek to understand the shift in the Balance wrought by the destruction of the Crystal Arch. The Light has fallen to Sanctuary, and its shards possess the strength of the Angiris. Some seek the shards to understand their power. Others pursue them for their own uses, whether to maintain peace or gain authority.
Observing all of this with calculating patience is the Burning Hells. Demons never rest: they only find new hosts. And without the Heavens to assist, it falls to the Nephalem to stand alone against the growing shadow of the Prime Evil."
Our friends have some new problems to deal with. They also have a lot of baggage to process from the preceding series.
Diablo: Archfall is a series in 5 Acts, tentatively titled as follows:
Act I: Breathe
Act II: Shards of the Gods
Act III: Tomes of the Ancients Act
IV: Brothers-in-Arms Act
V: The Mortal Aspects
There will also be a series of side-fics, the same as I did with "Tales from Tristram".
I am currently debating whether to post everything under one over-arching story for ease of reading the filler chapters afterwards. Regardless, I won't be posting anything until the writing is finished and I have a chance to do a full-series edit like I did with the first series.
Look for Diablo: Archfall this summer! And in the meantime, I'll still be answering tumblr blog Asks, writing extra material, and generally providing you all with the Malthael-related Diablo content you seem to crave.
