Author's note: A big part of this story is now possible thanks to angelstarhikaru! Thank you for suggesting so many names. Whew! I was stuck on the names of Zyirael and Eviaren but I finally chosen Zyirael because it sounds smoother. I kind of changed the spelling, hope you don't mind, because it reminded of something which I'll incorporate in my story. Again thanks to angelstarhikaru! I didn't want to waste Eviaren, though, and gave it to another character.

About Malas...Actually I didn't know that! Thanks for bringing up that bit of information, it was cool. I love word stuff. It directly sparked a conversation between the thief and the mage. Read on about it!

Well, I intentionally named her Malas because in the Tagalog dialect it translates to "unlucky" or "ominous." Malas ain't her real name.

Wow! That's the longest I've ever done. Well a long A/N deserves a lengthy chapter. You have been warned! Read on!

Zyriel, Fallen Angel

"So this is the end."

She began to sob. She didn't want to die! She would pass away, and no one would never know or care what happen. Matthew... would never find her. And...the young boy...and that Mage...she never even got to know their names.

"Lord God—anybody!—please help me!" she silently pleaded.

The cold point had finished its mockery and left her neck. The girl shut her eyes and waited for the cold plunge of the knife.

And waited...

And waited...

Then...smooch!

A soft, warm object had quickly planted itself to Malas's cold cheek. Her attacker had abruptly released her so Malas stumbled forward but managed to stand up. She turned around and stared at what she saw.

It was her mage.

Alone.

He was waving at her, like it was the most natural thing to do. His other hand was holding a steel wand upside-down placing the pointed end up.

"You..." Malas squeaked with mixed emotions.

"Hi. It's been a while, ne, Malachuchi? I've wanted to surprise you, maybe I did too mu—hey!" The mage, who had been scratching his head and looking rueful, now looked worried as Malas swayed back and forth.

It had been an overwhelming day. She had been caught, bombarded with old memories, and mock threatened with her life. Emotions flooded her and she felt disconcerted. Confused, she did the only thing she was capable of doing.

She fainted.

A little girl was sitting on a branch of a tree. Her blond hair, divided into two by ribbons, was lightly swaying in the wind. She was turned the pages of a small thick book and admiring the intricate pictures. There were words too but she only how to read a little. Anyway, it didn't matter because she knew the story by heart. As she looked at one particular picture, her arm reached for an apple. Someone called her name. Startled, she almost fell from the tree but she grasped the branch just in time. She lifted her head, gasping.

"There you are."

She peered below. A man, who looked about in his late twenties, shaded his eyes and smiled at her. He had cropped white hair and wore a crimson robe, which was left open at the chest. A rosary shone from his neck.

Crying with glee, she jumped from her perch towards him. The priest, stunned, only had time to hold out his arms before the little girl crashed on him. The impact left him sprawled on the ground, but thankfully (at least to him) the girl was unhurt.

"Oooof! You're getting heavier." She scrambled off him as he struggled to sit up. "I don't mind you tackling me but could you at least give me a warning? Please?" The girl giggled and began going through the book again.

"So that's where my book went! I've been wondering if a thief took it." He peeked over her shoulder. The page was turned to a picture of a rugged man standing on a hill. His left arm was holding a staff with a grand cross, his right was stretched out to what looked like a small city.

"That's the part where the holy warrior planned to have the cathedral built." The priest looked thoughtful. "You really like stories, Mala. That's so sweet!"

Malachuchi pulled the book closer to her face. She tried to hide her color, now resembling a rose. It wouldn't have done her any good because he was behind her. Fortunately at that particular moment the priest had decided to lie down. He plucked a piece of grass and stuck it between his teeth.

Mala, as she liked to be called by the priest, was now turning the pages to show him her favorite picture. She crawled to his side and set the book in front of his face. The priest lazily stared at the picture. A young woman was caressing the limp body of a young man. He slightly frowned at the picture. It was sad but no doubt the artist put a lot of work to making it beautiful. The background was dark blue and yellow illuminated the characters. In the background, miniature people were hovering behind the couple. All of them were crying. The priest gave a sad sigh.

"Maybe the angel was being a little selfish don't you think? I mean, the world lost a holy messenger and all she could think about was she'd have him all to herself. Makes you wonder if that's really true..." he trailed off.

"Does that mean...this legend is false?" She hugged the book close to her. The priest, alarmed at what he just said. crouched her beside and instead of answering her question, pointed. Curious, Malachuchi followed the direction of the arm. It pointed towards a city, which looked small because they were from some distance.

"Mala, can you tell me what that is?"

"That's Prontera City, Capital of Rune-Midgard" She remembered from a lesson he taught.

"Right and what's that over there?" Pointing to the small chapel near them.

"It's our cathedral..."

"Uh-huh. And where are we and the cathedral?"

"On a large hill..." The priest twirled his arms as comprehension dawned on Mala.

"It's the legend! The Prontera is the city built and our church is the Cathedral!" she shouted.

"You've got it! How can it be not true if the evidence is already here?" The priest cupped his chin and nodded. The legend was undoubtedly true; Matthew was only questioning whether the scribes who wrote down history were mixing up too much drama with the facts.

"Father! That means the jewel is inside the chapel! Come on!" Mala attempted to pull Fr. Matthew towards the Chapel.

"Whoa! I'm sorry, Malachuchi." He pulled her back and placed his hands on her shoulder. He bended down so they faced each other.

"The jewel is there but it's a sacred object. Only the high priest and acolytes of the Cathedral could see, much less touch it. You could search the whole church—and it's really a small church—and still you could never find it."

Malachuchi was really disappointed. A tear actually trickled down her cheek but she was surprised to feel Fr. Matthew's hand wiping it away.

"Mala...Don't cry. When you've grown a bit older then you could train to become an Acolyte. You have my promise that I'll train you to be the best Acolyte you could be. And then you could finally see the it. Who knows? You might even become High Priestess."

He slightly tilted his head at her and smiled. She was pacified, only to notice that Matthew's hand had a slight wound.

"Oh no!"

"Eh?" He was puzzled. Then looked a t his hand. "Oh, it's only a scratch. I could easily heal my-"

But Malachuchi was already rubbing powdered red herb onto his hand then wrapping it with a roll of bandage she procured from her pocket. Matthew's expression was one of admiration then of laughter.

"Yes, Malachuchi, you'd make a good acolyte."

If Mala had been rosy before she was as red as Patoochi now. She was saved from her embarrassment when Fr. Matthew turned to find a person calling him.

"Father Matthew!" A teen-aged acolyte with messy dark grey hair and sharp eyes was standing a few feet from them. Mala hid behind Matthew's legs. She had always been scared of Brother Harsch.

"Father...another has been found." He started solemnly but changed his voice to a higher pitch one. "And have you forgotten your responsibilities, sir? You have to: manage a service, meet the Pope, fix lunch for the children, wage war against world hunger, and bring about world peace..."

Fr. Matthew twitched at every phrase, agitated. "Okay, okay! Just stop it! Where are the other acolytes? The chapel? Good. Tell them to start lunch. I'll handle world peace and hunger after I meet the Pope." Fr. Matthew marched resolutely before the acolyte stopped to whisper something. Mala heard it anyway.

"Father, the new one looks traumatized too." Harsch glanced over at Malachuchi. Mala gripped the book tightly

"Right. I'll deal with it personally."

The little girl silently followed after them.

Dejection

Guilt

Relief

Happiness

Malas groaned. Bright sunlight spilling through her window hurt her eyes. She turned over to the other side. It had to be mid-morning.

"Malachuchi," a voice coaxed.

"Uh…" A dream. It was that dream. No. It had been buried memory masquerading as a dream. Then there was another dream...no...a nightmare. Good Lord of Gods, her head ached. Still, the voice was wonderfully soft.

"Malachuchi." He was trying to wake her up gently but she stubbornly wanted to sleep. "Come on. Mala."

Mala. That name rang a bell. Maybe it wasn't a dream. Maybe Matthew was with her. Malas whispered, "Ma—"

She opened her eyes, half expecting the priest. Instead her eyes set upon the magician.

She had meant to say Matthew but it came out as: "Mage!"

The magician was standing over her. His thick dark hair was disheveled and his face was with etched with worry. His cape lay rumpled on the floor so he was only wearing a black shirt and long pants. He stayed up all night taking care of her, appearing very much worn with out care. Malas would've found this very thoughtful if she wasn't seething with indignation. Apparently the memory of last evening was still fresh on her mind.

"Hey." He said softly. "I'm glad you're awake, Malachuchi."

At the mention of the name, Malas doubled with anger and punched him in the stomach. The mage recoiled, grasping his stomach. His face was contorted with pain but he managed to open an eye.

"Ouch! Okay...okay...I deserved that. I'm sorry. I thought it'd be a joke..." He finally stopped flinching and composed himself. He sighed. The lady deserved a proper apology for his stupidity.

"Malachuchi..." he began. But at the sound of the name, her eyes shot daggers at him. She threw away the white covers. She didn't notice that her legs were bare and faced the Mage, eye to eye. As she eyed him crossly, she backhanded him.

The Mage was stunned but promptly recovered.

"What was that about? I was just trying to apologize!"

"The name's Malas! Jerk!" the thief spat.

"And mine is—!" But Malas didn't try to hear him out. She huffed towards the door. The mage was fuming but noticed that she was going to slip on his cape.

"Hey! Watch out!" He lunged to grab Malas but both lost their balance and fell on the floor.

There was a knock and the door opened. A certain somebody poked his head of silvery hair in and, from what could be seen of his clothing, the certain somebody was a hunter.

"Zyriel, I just wanna...oh?" He blinked at the scene before him. Malas was on top of the mage (whose name we now have, Zyriel!), looking very messy. Zyriel, who was still red from her slap, was untidy as well. The scattered appearance of the thief's shoes and pants plus the mage's rumpled cape did not help. In fact, it maintained the idea like they had been doing something wild.

"Oh ho ho...I seem to be disturbing something." The hunter narrowed his eyes and grinned knowingly. Malas looked clueless while Zyriel was turning redder by the second. "I'll just come back later..."

"Gago! We're not doing anything!" Zyriel fervently denied, though his ears seemed to smoke.

"Right." He drawled, clearly disbelieving the mage. "If you're done, we'll be having brunch downstairs. But don't worry, if you want, I'll tell them you two are busy." He winked.

"NO!"

"All right! All right. Don't get so defensive." The hunter addressed Malas this time. "Eviaren's waiting for you." He closed the door and went down humming.

Curiosity got the better of Malas's anger.

"Who's Eviaren?"

"I think you should know. He was the little boy you saved."

"He's here!" Malas face bent dangerously close to Zyriel's.

"Yes..." he stuttered. She was still on top of him. Chest heaving, Zyriel was sure that the heat he felt wasn't coming from the desert sun.

"I've got to see to him." She immediately started for the door only to slip again on the cape, right into his arms.

The mage shifted so that he'd be sitting while he held the girl securely. She looked up to his intelligent, grey eyes watching her intently. What? She felt a strange new emotion that was both pleasurable and uncomfortable.

"They'll be plenty of time to see him but first we have to talk."

"Malachuchi..." Zyriel felt her flinch at the name. "Why do you react that way to your name?"

"It's not my name," she answered without conviction.

"Oh?"

"Yes! Why do you call me that! Malas is my name!" She was gaining back her prickly personality. He moaned quietly. Don't go there.

"I overheard everything last night when we came back to Morroc. The acolyte said your name was Malachuchi. I wanted to help you; I was forcing myself through the crowd when you escaped them. I had hard time trying to find you."

Aww, that was so sweet…"So that gives you a reason to scare me to death?"

"I know... I know it was a really stupid idea. Actually it was that Gago's idea but the reason why I did that is because you looked so dejected. It's was supposed to be a joke but I guess went too far." He hung his head sorrowfully, his bushy hair falling messily around him. Malas admitted to herself that he did look quite adorable.

Her anger subsided. Just a little.

"Gago? Isn't that ancient dialect word meaning..."

"Yeah. Sometimes my friend totally acts that way. But he's really a generous guy once you get to know him. He was the one who sent his falcon to find you." Malas felt really confused but nodded just the same.

"Anyway, why would you want to give everyone an impression that you're lazy? Besides Malachuchi sounds cuter."

"Excuse me?" Malas was now clearly affronted.

"As I recall, Malas means lazy in the ancient Malay language. Some people still learn this stuff you know."

"Yes, I know," she snapped. "My name is based from a dialect but means an entirely different thing." She sharply turned her head away from him.

"Sorry, couldn't help it. Would you kindly tell me what it means then?"

Malas hesitated. When she didn't reply, he rhythmically stroked her hair. He didn't tell her that he knew different dialects and what Malas could mean. But he wanted the explanation to come from her. Maybe if he knew why, he could help her.

"Good Odin, why do I worry so much about her?"

"All my life, I've been unlucky. Please, just call me Malas." Why is it when she cries, it only comes down as one trickle?

Pain. It pained her to say that. He wished that he could take away all the pain she felt. There was so much in his heart already, what's a little more?

"I will. But only—" He reached for her hand. "—if you promise me to tell me the reason soon."

"I promise."

Minutes passed as they stayed there unmoving, Malas against Zyriel. While Mala felt content just to stay by a newfound friend, Zyriel was now blushing deeper shades of red. Full awareness of the situation had finally struck him. They were in a room alone; he was holding her close with a cotton shirt the only thing covering her. Malas had a dazed look in her eyes as she craned herself to face him.

"Oh no, upper bodies touching again. Getting too hot." He thought, alarm registering in his brain. "Think of something to say, quick!"

"Uh, Malas? I believe we were never properly introduced." What! Why am I choosing such a lame topic! "I'm Zyriel."

Zyriel. Where had she heard that before? Like a hero from a legend. She was too faint to recall right now. Still, she was curious enough to ask:

"Uhm...What does it mean?"

"Hmm...Nothing I suppose. I mean my parents just named me, Zyriel." That much was true.

"Zyriel?" she asked hoarsely.

Heart pounding, he stuttered, "Y-yes?"

"I'm hungry."

Toink!

"Ate!"

A short boy sitting on the inn's table looked up with pleasure. He had soft brown hair, and a cotton shirt that was way too big for him. But now it was tucked in his pants. A breastplate covered his chest and a knife from his belt. He still wore the shoes that she bought for him though it was worn out.

"I can't believe it's you! You look so handsome now!" Malas squeaked with absolute happiness. Zyriel watched behind her. It was nice seeing her this way. She looked so happy just being with the kid. He resigned himself and held out a chair for the lady. Eviaren held Malas's hand and sat her down. It was when the mage sat down too that the thief checked her tablemates. A benevolent looking knight raised his glass at her. The mischievous hunter gave a thumb's up. Last, a tired Alchemist was sleeping on the table.

"Hey...you guys took long enough." The hunter winked suggestively.

"Gago. Shut up." Zyriel coughed and gestured to guys at the table. "Malas. I'd like you to meet my party members."

"Lord Frey." (The Knight grinned.)

"Sala." (The hunter obviously gave the alchemist a kick because he started from his nap.)

"And Gago." (The hunter gave his most charming smile.)

"Gago?" Malas asked, bemused.

"Actually my name is Gareth Gona. My no-good friends call me Gago," he told her in a woe-begone voice. "But while we're in the subject of names—"Gago glowered at Sala who was now snickering. "Sala here is short for Salamangka. Feel free to call him Sally."

Sala, who was longer laughing, jumped up brandishing his fists. Gago was raring to fight too, when the Knight roughly grabbed their collars and lifted them up.

"Siya, siya. If you want to fight, fine. But not in front of a lady." Frey cheerfully reprimanded them. The men looked away from each other and avoided Malas's eyes. Satisfied, he put them down and sat back to his own seat. It was only when Zyriel coughed loudly that Malas realized that she'd been staring at the Knight.

"Let's order something, na." Frey amiably said, peering at the old, frayed menu.

"What do you want, Eviaren?"

"Bread." He quickly replied, eying the fresh bread on the table.

"Eviaren," Zyriel said, "You've wanted to eat nothing but bread since we started our journey. As your mentor, I will not let eat such an unbalanced diet. Here." He placed an apple in front of the novice. "You will eat this apple."

"Sure!" He took the apple and sliced it into pieces. Which he put on a piece of bread and chomped on. Zyriel slapped his forehead.

"Don't react like it's something bad. Eviaren, let me try some." Malas took an apple slice and placed it on her bread. She readily chewed and swallowed. She gave Eviaren a knowing smile, which he promptly returned. The hunter quizzically looked at Zyriel who replied with a shrug.

This was the first time in nearly two years that our thief ate at a table. Everyone was satisfied with the meal. (Especially Gago whose belch was heard all over the inn.)

Relaxed, Malas asked: "So...why did you come over here to Morroc?".

The guys, who had been rowdily drinking (ale), fell silent. Gareth murmured something disdainfully to his glass which sounded suspiciously like "girls!" Malas wasn't sure who kicked him, but the hunter winced, as the men beside him, Frey and Sala, were giving their hurried explanations.

"We wanted to set for a brand, new adventure! Danger, desert monsters and the like!" Frey answered, a little too readily.

"Yes, yes! I've also been meaning to find new exotic potions," Sala agreed.

"Oh yes. It would be such a joy," Gareth dryly added. He was still rubbing his shins. Both had kicked him.

Malas turned for Zyriel's explanation but he just sipped his ale quietly.

"Well, they are his party mates, Zyriel would have to join their exploits. Of course Eviaren would follow his teacher anywhere.'' Malas deduced.

"Well, thank you for the meal. I never knew that Morroc had nice inns." Malas rose to leave. "Well, I never got around much," she added truthfully.

At a glance from Zyriel, Sala stopped her with a question. "How long had you lived in this city?"

"A couple of years. Why?"

Zyriel's friends looked at each other then at Zyriel. The mage finished his glass and set it down. A wordless message was being passed around. The guys nodded in unison while Malas and the novice watched in wonder. The knight, alchemist and hunter rose and marched towards Malas. Sala and Gareth took her arms while Frey carried her feet. Together they carried her outside.

"What the!"

"You're coming with us," Frey declared, merriment lacing his words.

"Don't worry. We just want you to truly enjoy yourself. You haven't lived until you've gone sight seeing around Morroc!" Sala exclaimed.

"Yeah. Us being your lovely guides," Gareth smirked.

Malas was too taken aback to argue.

Eviaren run after them, leaving Zyriel alone at the table and pay the bill.

"You guys..." He smiled wryly. "Thanks." "Oi! Wait up!"

L.C.: This chapter might have been a bit boring but I promise more action to the next chapter...

Zyriel :( pointing an accusing finger) Oi! What are you doing here? What happen to your personal credo not to do this kind of dialogue, end of chapter stuff? You told me that you'd take this writing thing seriously!

L.C. :( sighs) I know but I had to. We have special guest star appearance to introduce the next chapter.

Zyriel: Fine. (Arms crossing) Where's this dude?

(An old man with wild white hair and tattered wizard's clothing steps in. He has an insane look in his eyes)

Zyriel: (mouth hangs open) You brought Zephyrus! ZEPHYRUS! Why? He's insane for crying out loud!

Zephyrus: (laughing insanely) Puray time is ovah! Elshiiiii... (Play time is over! L.C.!) LORD...OF...

Zyriel: (Eyes widening in fright) Good Frey's sister ! (Grabs L.C. and runs madly) Come on, we still need you to finish the story!

Zephyrus looks around to check if they're gone. Satisfied, he now speaks in a suave, sane voice...

"Next Chapter, there'll be revelations and confessions and... (pulls out a candy cane and licks it) something sweet from Lutie. Nyahah!"

"Everything is for the sake of truth! Don't you agree? Hahahaha! Candy..."