There was tension in the air when the fighting began again, anew, between Heaven's four generals. Tension grew between the four legions in the wake of their generals arguing; Powers standing against Grigori, Principalities against Virtues, and all the others locked themselves away once more, remembering one ending that this fighting among them had taken.

The Market district all but disappeared.

The blacksmiths hid in their forges.

Joshua sealed himself in the Garden.

The Choir returned to the inner sanctum of their Pantheon.

And they all prepared themselves for the second war to come.

There was one that remained, one who didn't turn and hide, a small fledgling whom had grown rather close to them all, and they were all too blind to the pain their fighting was causing their young fledgling friend. She stood in the shadows, watching as Semyaza and Nisroc stood face to face, sword in hand, prepared to strike one another. She watched in silence as the oldest two archangels faced off again, circling one another like a beast would it's prey, their own swords clutched in hand as they lay in wait for the other to throw the first punch. She hid in the shadows as the Healer and Messenger threw spiteful words at one another, another loud argument that the wind could not conceal from outside ears.

They hadn't the clearest idea that there was someone there to witness their squabbling until Nisroc had stepped back from the Grigori, and unintentionally he had stepped on her foot, and she yelped at the pain of it. He was quick in spinning around at her appearance, his sword falling from his hand for the first time in centuries, Semyaza peered around his arm to see what had captured his attention, and his sword hit the grass of the training field with the Powers.

Her eyes were saddened, so full of sadness, and it only highlighted the dark circles that hung under her eyes.

"Akeelah," The Power chose his words very carefully, "How long have you been there?"

"Since the start."

The answer he gained was the answer he feared, and he turned over his shoulder to the Grigori there, Semyaza met his gaze, their argument forgotten at the grieving fledgling, and he nodded at the silent inquiry. He turned, heading off to the others, he could not stop four raging archangels, but he could get the other Captain's attentions for this matter at hand.

Nisroc knelt, and she watched him with a cautiousness that made his heart twist in agony, "May I pick you up?"

It was a silent relief he felt when the fledgling nodded, and he was allowed to hook his fingers under her arms and lift her from the trampled ground underneath, her legs curled around his waist, his arm settled under her bottom, and he turned in time for Semyaza to return with the others.

The mere mention of his friends name had turned Zaveriels attention from the Virtue to the Grigori, and the condition of her being turned the Virtue to him, thus they returned to his side in no matter of time.

Oren looked the fledgling over from where she hung nearly limp in the Power's arms. He felt her temple, her cheeks, turned her chin from side to side to get a better glance at the bags under her eyes, checked her pulse, did all the things a well trained healer would do.

"You're completely exhausted." He came to his diagnoses, "When was the last time you slept?"

"I can't sleep with no stories."

She was a stubborn little thing, they would give her that, and had grown accustomed to the Morningstar reading her stories before bed, thus she now refused to sleep without the nightly stories. A blessing and a curse, and in this instance particularly, it was most certainly a curse. Oren turned to look over his shoulder at the arguing generals, and turned to his fellow Captains, "If they won't take care of their own fledgling, then we shall, until they come to their senses."

"Agreed."

"Of course."

"Gotcha!"

They decided on taking the fledgling to the Infirmary, back in a bit more of a private area, where the workstation for tonic making was closer than anywhere else and set her in the bed.

Oren placed his hands on his hips and looked between the four of them, "Firstly lets get her bathed." He nodded to the Grigori, "I trust you can make a nourishing sleeping tonic?" Semyaza nodded instantly. The Virtue turned to the Principality, "We need new robes for her to be in, I am sure you know where to fetch them?" Zaveriel nodded, his light personality having taken on a surprisingly serious turn. And then he turned to the Power, "She's known you longest out of all of us, perhaps maybe other then Zaves, will you bath her?" Nisroc nodded, having shed from his leathers and armor some time ago, his sword, though retrieved from the grass of the training field like any well trained warrior would have, leaning against the table he stood before, "Yes."

The healer nodded, "Very good, I'll make her up the bed, I know where the softest and warmest blankets are, and the fluffiest pillows."

The Power lifted the fledgling from the bed, and she curled around him silently, like a small octopus, and he walked back towards the far end of the Infirmary, down a torch lit path, to the opening of a spacious cave dwelling. A water fall fell from above, flooding the knee deep pool below it, and he kicked his boots off to prepare himself. Setting the fledgling down, at her own insistence at this part, he turned as she silently undressed herself, and turned back when she tugged on the leg of his trousers. Taking hold of her little hand, they stepped into the pool together, it barely came above his knee, but it circled around her midriff.

She stood under just before him as he undid every delicate braid, and turned her to stand on the rain like waterfall from above, the fledgling looked up at him as he lathered the soap in his hands and ran them through her matted curls until every strand he could see was covered in the white suds, and the brushed the soap back, washing it out of her curls, ringing it from the ends. He handed her the cloth, once again at her insistence to wash herself with, and he turned to wait patiently for her to be done, until she tugged on his trouser leg again, to indicate that she had completed her task.

Nisroc took her hand once more, and they wadded out from under the water fall, to the dry stone before them, where Zaveriel waited with a towel for the both of them, and a change of clothes for each of them.

"I took one of your shirts for her," he handed the Power his tunics and trousers, "I didn't think you'd mind."

"I don't."

He dried himself and changed as the Principality dried the fledgling, helping her into the dry tunic that smell liked the Power Captain, and she raised her arms to be picked up again when he was done, to which he happily obliged and lifted her into his arms.

"Come on, little friend, the others are waiting for us."

True to his word, Oren had covered the bed in soft warm blankets and given her the softest looking pillows he could find, on the side table sit a cup, something akin to a sippy cup, that undoubtedly had the creation of Semyaza in it. Oren ushered her into the bed, tucking the blankets in close around her, as the other two from the washroom claimed chairs on her right side, Semyaza came up behind him with a book in hand, nodding to the cup for her to drink. Once Oren was sure she was tucked in warmly, he handed her the cup, watching patiently for her to stuck the nub in her mouth and begin to drink it down slowly, lazily, from how truly worn their fledgling was, and the healer sat in a chair at her other side, beside the Grigori.

Semyaza smiled at the fledgling when she turned to look at him, "Would you like me to read you a story?"