"You're leaving."
Beatrice looked up from her half-packed duffel bag. Camila was leaning against the doorframe, her countenance crestfallen.
"…Camila-"
"I understand." A slight wobble undulated though her voice. "I get it, Bea. But is there really nothing we can help you with here?" The sister warrior stepped further into Beatrice's room, her eyes searching, hoping.
Beatrice ached at her sister's pleas, she loathed to leave her behind, but everything had changed. The OCS no longer felt like home.
"I'm sorry, Camila. The OCS and I no longer share the same priorities." The small nun deflated at her words, an offered hand recoiling back in rejection.
"You have to find her." A statement, not an ask nor a request.
She was aware that though their own pain was astronomical, Beatrice's was beyond measure. Sometimes, when sleep wouldn't come and Camila lay staring at the ceiling, the darkness stared back. And she mourned, raged and cried out for her friend, 'God, why have you forsaken her?'. Because to Camila, Beatrice was the best of them all, and did not deserve even a shred of this unhappiness.
The sister warrior patiently studied her friend. Their eyes met, shared grief pulling down on their shoulders.
"Yes." Beatrice whispered.
"Bring her home, Bea."
The former nun shifted her eyes to the simple chest of drawers nestled in the corner, landing on the last item to be packed; a grey cap, worn but loved.
"I will."
The Vatican - 3 Months Later
Silent feet and a blur of black swept through the 5.3 miles of shelving in the Secret Archives. Beatrice examined each section urgently, growing more impatient with each fruitless search.
She was looking for something specific. Not crumbling books or ancient documents, but a passage, a door, a hidden hallway; something that lead to the rumoured 'Bunker'. For she knew that the information she sought wouldn't simply be stacked amongst the rest, accessible for any scholar or student. Rather it would be under lock and key, potentially caved in by earth and rock, not for any but the most superior of eyes.
Aware of the ticking time, she hurriedly ducked and weaved amongst bookcase after bookcase, avoiding the positions of the CCTV she had painfully mapped out for weeks.
Though tedious, she hadn't been alone in the task. Jillian Salvius had been Beatrice's helping hand, advisor and even bringer of comforting words in the previous months. A kindred soul, one who'd lost a love to the other side in the same unique circumstances as herself. The scientist had offered a hand to Beatrice in her darkest hour, one that she felt no guilt in taking as it didn't endanger the lives of her family in the OCS.
She decided in that moment, that this was a sign that the universe was telling her not to give up.
Not God.
Beatrice still needed time for that anger to subside before she evaluated her faith in Him. Or Her… whoever decided it necessary to reap Ava of life.
She hit the back of the room. No sign of any entry to 'The Bunker'. Something bubbled within her, raked at the walls of her chest, hot and flaming with hellish fury.
Where was it?
What were they hiding from the rest of the world?
What more did they possess in their arsenal to tear apart everything Beatrice believed in?
She needed answers. After visiting every OCS chapter in the world, hoping for hidden myths to reveal anything on the other realm, or Adriel or Reya or anything at all that had made Beatrice's life utterly unliveable, her hands and heart were empty. One last ditch attempt had led her to researching the reticent Vatican and its locked doors, wondering if more tales had been spun by its jaws on the fate of Adriel.
And yet here she was, faced with yet another dead end.
She slammed her fist against the wall, pain obliterating her nerves. But the frustration did not dissipate and she reared back for a second strike-
Long fingers gripped her wrist.
"This is a dangerous place to be alone, Beatrice." A familiar voice bounced off the surrounding bookshelves, the syllables stretched long and cold. The former nun turned to meet their eyes, scaled and a slight tinge of the devil's flames burning through the irises.
Lillith.
Beatrice ripped her arm from the firm grasp, gritting her teeth as black talons tore through flesh.
She did not have time for this. The tranquilliser would soon be wearing off and her presence would be known. Pushing the winged woman aside, she splayed her hands against the stone walls and felt for any kind of lever or hinge.
"What are you doing?"
British lilted phonemes, not unlike Beatrice's own, fell on deaf ears. They were drowned in her rising desperation, heartbeat thundering away. She did not fear discovery by the Vatican guards. She feared losing the chance to secure a clue to Ava. So her erratic search continued, begging hands groping for a rope to save her.
"Hey!" Lillith pressed a hand into the beseeching woman's chest, forcing her away from the wall and demanding attention.
Beatrice drew a sharp breath, every nerve ending firing as she fought the instinct to attack.
Breathe.
Once.
Twice.
Heaving chest slowed, her brown eyes looked up towards the offender, molten venom injecting into her.
"You do know this is a library?" Lillith had never heard such spite from her former sister's lips.
"You do know this is breaking and entering? Into the Vatican for the second time, might I add." Her retort was less noxious, yet still daringly prepared for violence.
"I didn't break anything."
"Tell that to the tranquillised Swiss Guard shoved into a utility cupboard."
Beatrice ignored Lillith's response, searching for her usual cool head to assess the situation.
This whole time she had been searching the walls, eyes forward, head up. But a bunker? Those were usually subterranean.
She cast her eyes towards her feet, hell-wards.
"I heard you left the OCS." The taller woman continued to talk, her eyes following Beatrice as she surveyed the length of the floor.
"You heard correctly."
Nothing but the sound of shuffling feet filled the silence.
"…why?"
The sound stopped. Beatrice bent closer to a stone slab beneath her boots.
"I could ask you the same, Sister." A pointed glance in Lillith's direction allowed her to see the hurt hollowed out within the hate. She knew she wasn't the sole reason for its existence, but Lillith realised she played a part.
This Beatrice.
This broken, bruised Beatrice had never been seen before.
"My reasons are…" She gestured towards the ebony scales of her arms. "Obvious. But you, on the other hand, you were the Sect's pride. More so than the warrior nun." She observed the former nun's jaw clench tightly. "They'll need someone like you on their side when the holy war comes."
In any other circumstance, Beatrice might have took notice of the indirect compliment from Lillith. Six months ago, she never would have imagined being called the 'Sect's Pride' from her own proud lips. But this wasn't any other moment.
The former nun traced her fingers along the rim of the slab, noting its slight give compared to the surrounding stones. She slid a knife from her boot and jammed it into the edge, using it as leverage to prise it from the floor.
An unlit chasm revealed itself, its perimeters the same size as the slab. Indents carved into the rock along one length of the pit served as a ladder. Beatrice took a small torch from her belt, lit it and let it drop. The sound of metal meeting ground came earlier than expected and she could see the small cone of light shining towards a tunnel perpendicular to the vertical shaft. Maybe only 7-8 metres deep? Beatrice wondered just how many secrets were hidden so shallowly beneath these well-walked floors.
She bit the inside of her mouth, liquid poison flowing from the crevice. One day, when she wasn't busy trying to access another dimension, she might find the time to explore all these existential crises and their causes. But for now, she sheathed her blade and went to lower herself.
"Beatrice," Lillith started, hand rushing to seize her shoulder. "You don't know what's down there."
"I know," Beatrice replied as though it were obvious. "I'm hoping it holds the answers I seek."
Lillith sighed, kneeling down to meet her former friend's eye level. Her schooled expression fell slightly, a hint of concern, exasperation and empathy moulded the sharp features of her face.
"And what is it, exactly, that you're looking for? A door to the other realm? A way to challenge God?" Beatrice stared back at the taller girl rising above her, not a single doubt clouding her mind. "This is foolhardy, Beatrice. And you know it."
Oh, Beatrice knew it. The old Beatrice would have wholeheartedly agreed and never dared to venture into such an unknown for something she didn't even know existed. But the old Beatrice hadn't met Ava. She hadn't felt the touch of something celestial. Despite her devoted years to the Catholic Church, God had never provided such divine feelings, rather He had been the one to tear them away. And after a lifetime of giving and giving, this Beatrice couldn't do it anymore. It was time for her to take back Ava.
"I'll find a way." Eyes of steel, voice of conviction, she dared Lillith to challenge her one more time.
"Search the area!" A distant voice rang out in Italian and Lillith's head shot to survey the bookshelves. The guards were coming.
"Look, I've been there myself," she said in a hurried tone, her wings twitching with alarm. "Yet despite that, I can't tell you anything about it."
Beatrice had already begun to lower herself into the shaft, boots locked securely into the first rung on the ladder. Lillith latched onto her wrist once more, face pleading.
"What makes you think anyone on this side has your answers? No one in history knows the truth."
The footsteps and shouts were getting closer. Beatrice, unfazed, continued her steady descent.
"Then I'll keep incessantly looking for a way to the other side so I can get my answers." Beatrice shook off the hand, Lillith reeled.
"You're insane," she breathed, almost a thought that was never meant to spill out.
The winged woman rose to her feet and kicked the slab back into place above Beatrice's head. She heard the tell-tale rip peel apart the air above as Lillith teleported away.
"No, just in love," the former sister warrior whispered into almost complete darkness.
Madrid - Another 3 Months Later
The winter nights had rendered the streets of Madrid relatively empty. Bitterly cold winds whipped around its tight corners and ice bloomed along the window panes of each building.
Beatrice buried her numbing fingers into her coat pockets and glanced up at the swollen clouds. They looked fit to burst and blanket the sleepy city in snow. She wondered whether Ava had ever rolled around in it as a child, warring against others with deadly balls of ice. Or whether she had lay back in the milky sheets and spread her arms and legs, making an image of herself, not needing a halo to confirm her identity. The thought made Beatrice smile and the corners of her heart ache.
So much life not lived.
So much of a girl not loved.
The wandering woman crunched along the frozen pavement, stopping at a car parked alongside it. Drawing a hand from its warm refuge, she scratched at the ice on the windshield, printing onto it the name mirrored on her own heart.
AVA.
It was small and something that would be erased by morning but if only fleetingly, she wanted the world to know that this person had existed.
A trail of warmth ran down her cheek as she observed her crude artwork.
The months shortly after Adriel's defeat, Beatrice had not cried. Now, the tears fell freely and frequently. Camila reassured her that she was finally healing. That crying was the body acknowledging that it was in pain, and that acknowledging she was in pain was halfway on the journey to healing.
Beatrice didn't know about that. She felt just as torn and empty as the day Ava left, and with no more leads to go on, no more Catholic catacombs to plunder for hidden secrets, she had also lost her strength to hope.
After a month in Rome, the Vatican had provided little information and her driving anger had finally melted away into resignation. Dr Salvius had rested a warm hand on her sagging shoulders and with a sympathetic expression had essentially told Beatrice to let matters lie. The words had reminded her of the warning etched above Adriel's tomb: 'Et defunctis requiem'.
Let the dead rest.
The dam holding back the almighty river had burst at that thought, and Beatrice didn't even register the folds of the doctor's arms around her as she truly broke for the first time.
Her only solace was in trying to live the life that Ava had wanted for her. Though Beatrice wasn't quite sure what that was, she assumed it unencumbered and free of guilt. She retraced their steps, observing the mellowing colours of autumn in Switzerland to braving the frozen winter in Madrid, the ghost of Ava skipping in front of her in her denim dungarees and ageing grey cap. The broken woman had yet to find a place to call home, but seeing an essence of the halo bearer with every corner she turned was the closest she had come to finding comfort.
Beatrice picked up speed as the cold began to creep further beneath her layers, recognising that her temporary abode would soon be in sight.
But something made her stop. A feeling, a sense that something wasn't quite right. The hair on the back of her neck stood tall, fingers pulsing to be released from their confines. She knew this feeling well, one that had been honed after years of tactical training.
She was being followed.
For how long had they been on her tail? She felt naked, compromised, a victim of the numbness of normalcy. Beatrice couldn't remember the last time she had trained her body and she almost cursed at herself.
The crunch of ice under feet was suddenly glaringly loud in Beatrice's ears, less than ten metres away. Her stride widened as she fought the urge to break out into a run, her own words repeating back; 'Never spark a conflict until you have a complete understanding of your odds'.
Calming her breathing, she listened intently:
Two, three, four. No, five.
She was being tailed by five - judging from their heavy footfalls - men. Adriel's remaining zealots? Thieves mistaking her for an easy target?
No matter. Whoever they were, once they rounded this corner, they would regret their choices.
Pressing her body against the wall, she lowered to a crouch, icy fists poised in front of her chest. They wouldn't expect the lowered height, making for an easy incapacitating strike to a male's most vulnerable area.
But instead, she was the one faced with an unexpected consequence.
The barrel of a gun stared her in the face.
Beatrice hadn't accounted for this. Gun crime wasn't non-existent in the city, but unprecedented like this? A random, thoughtless attack? Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe her incessant digging into holes she didn't belong had finally caught up with her.
The former sister warrior calculated, hard and quick. It was mere centimetres away, the man out of range from an extended arm, her legs disabled in this crouched position. Seize the barrel with her hand and push it away in two seconds flat. That's what her instincts told her. But her fingers were bound in ice. Her reactions slowed from lack of practice. Her senses dulled with the weight of grief. She wouldn't make it.
Would she finally be able to see Ava?
She heard the leather of a glove crease as his finger squeezed the trigger-
A hand seized the gun.
The weapon glowed orange, then red, then oozed to the floor as it melted and dripped through the man's hand. A blood curdling scream ripped past his larynx, his flesh joining the molten metal on the floor.
A hooded figure stood between him and Beatrice, face hidden from view. The other four men gaped in horror, their eyes quivering from their wailing comrade to the assailant clad in midnight black. Terror rolled off them in waves and flooded across the iced floor, hitting Beatrice straight in the gut. She was no stranger to the debilitating tides of trepidation, but she knew how to control her breathing and keep her head afloat. She rose to her feet, never losing her guard against her attacker or saviour.
"Leave," a voice commanded. "Or I do that to your face."
Fear metamorphosed into shock.
That voice.
Beatrice could pick it from a crowd of thousands. Could describe the rises and the falls of each syllable to a musician and make a perfect song. It had scored every one of her dreams for the past six months and coloured every memory of the last two cities she had travelled.
"Ava?"
The hooded figure turned from the retreating men, a soft smile catching the street light.
"Hey, Bea."