Lu woke up to the distant chirping of crickets and a warm breeze that filtered through a window, which was only a perfectly round hole in the wall to her left. The stars were still firmly clinging to the night sky, though she could see the glow of nearby lamps outside her room. The ceiling was made of tree branches that converged in a spiral held by a central column, mimicking the roots of a tree merging into its trunk.
The blue-eyed demoness stretched her hand above her head, feeling her still-sore muscles, but when a sharp, piercing pain spread through her back, she immediately stopped. Her wounds had not fully healed, and she hoped she had not reopened any. Luciela took a deep breath as she looked to her sides. Her arms were still bandaged, but she could move them with ease. The fractures were fully healed, at least. Once she sat down, she saw two other thin mattresses on a wood slab, but both were empty.
'He didn't leave me with enough power to heal, yet he has the gall to blame me for losing his humanity,' the demoness bitterly thought as she got up.
The demoness let out a deep breath and noticed she had nothing but bandages on. Considering the state of her clothes after the fight, it made sense that whoever had taken care of her after she passed out from the pain had taken her clothes off. Still, she would have appreciated having something other than a blanket to wrap around herself. Once Luciela had covered her nude body, she got up and walked around the yurt she was in, but she could not find the door. The window she had seen was too small to squeeze through – even in her current form – without making her injury worse.
The Steel Queen frowned, opting to walk right next to the walls, sliding her hands around, knocking on some spots, looking for the smallest of cracks she could use to escape. There was nothing. The walls were smooth and solid, like a rock. Then, when she reached the window again, it closed on itself. Only a thick, continuous wall was left all around her. She did not have her gauntlets on her, and Ciel, wherever he might be, was not close enough to hear her. Luciela exhaled, falling to her knees before punching the wall where the window had been.
It was dark. Terribly so.
She threw another punch and another; there had to be a way for her to exit. The demoness pounded the wall to no avail. She sprang up and rushed to the opposite end of the perfectly round room, punching as hard as she could, yet refused to summon Ciel to her side. That man might be her servant, but last time she had trusted a servant to that point…
Ain't this beautiful, Ruellia? Poetic, even?
The Steel Queen loathed to reminisce about that vile woman she had once called her beloved servant. Luciela's power flowed through her veins wildly like untamed fire. She did not care for how her flames prickled the old burns on her arms or how the bandages stretched thin and ripped away from her arms as she regained her adult height. The blanket, too, stretched and ripped as she grew, but it still managed to hold on to where it mattered.
The demoness threw an orb of fire at the gate, using the pain that spread throughout her hand as fuel to fire another and another. Her fire extinguished itself when it hit the wall as if the wall itself dared to absorb her might. Just like Ciel, just like Barkat. She would show them what it meant to mess with her; she would show them all that she was not to be trifled with.
The pain was so maddening that she could no longer focus. Her spell went up in smoke, and the intense burning feeling she had inflicted on herself made the darkness all the more bitter.
She let out a sharp exhale.
There was no way out. Again.
She unconsciously took her head in her hands, sliding her fingers over her neck, then down her clavicle. Right at the centre – where her clavicles met the sternum – there it was. The mark of Barkat's betrayal: a scar shaped like a four-pointed star. When she touched it, bitter memories floated back to the surface.
That scar was both an insult and a reminder that her own clan – the Soulscreams – never wanted to rebel against the previous Steel King, Bifron the Mad. Her scar was a reminder that Barkat had opened that shameful wound again to kill her.
The wound on her back had reopened; the blood pooled on the ripped bandages and slid down her back and onto the floor.
Luciela stared blankly at the darkness around her, resigned to her fate.
Then, there were three knocks. They came from the other side.
Her gaze widened, but instead of approaching, she retreated, putting herself as close to the wall as she could.
"Demoness, are you alright?"
She straightened up the moment she recognised the voice.
Luciela cleared her throat. "I'm alright. I just need clean bandages."
Silence was her only answer for a long moment.
"Hey, Celestial? Are you there?"
The silence continued, which only made her grow concerned over whether or not she had hallucinated his voice. No, that was not possible. She had only spent a few hours, at most, unconscious. He was there. He had to be there.
"Celestial?"
Nothing. That Celestial was not answering her. She should have expected this, even after all that had happened. He would never help her, and why would he? Ainchase could have perhaps been the one to…
I'll always be the first one to find you.
She still could not wrap her head around how different he had been that day. If Celestials, under the influence of demonic energy, could briefly become mortal…
She shook that thought off her mind. If that was the case, demons would have won in the end. Then why? Why did she feel so anxious knowing that Ainchase could be on the other side? She should expect this so-called betrayal from her people's sworn enemy.
The room lit up with dozens of glyphs covering every inch. They were written in a language the demoness could not read, but she could vaguely feel their power.
A door finally appeared in front of her, revealing the green-eyed man standing in the middle of a group of three elves. It was Rena, the short-haired winged elf, and an old elven woman with long platinum blonde hair already greying.
"Could you give me a minute with her?" Ainchase asked the older elf. "But please lower your barrier. It's not needed."
"She's a demon. A Demon Lord, in all likelihood," the old elven woman spat out. "She's better off dead."
"Look, she's still injured, like her servant. If you let me talk to her like I did to him—" the Celestial countered.
"I don't care if you got these two pests subdued," the Elder immediately shot back, her amber eyes glaring at the Celestial. "This demonic scum is too powerful to be left alive." Then, she eyed Rena and the other ranger. "I thought I had taught you two better than to trust a human, even more so when he's an aberration of nature."
"The goddess has considered the life of these two demons a necessary evil for the time being. If you're unwilling to cooperate, it falls onto me to enact her will," Ainchase coldly told her as he walked into the dark room. The three elves all remained at the door frame. While the Elder was still frowning, the two younger elves looked worried, and Rena seemed to want to follow the Celestial, but her companion stopped her.
"Why would the venerable goddess…?"
Ainchase barely gave her a glance. "Who are you to question the goddess' judgement, mortal?"
He took a box with various medical supplies from a shelf Luciela had not seen or felt until now.
The elven Elder simply bowed at him. "I understand," she said. "Let the goddess of all life know that I will let you carry her will on your own, unimpeded. However, please understand that I cannot tolerate having her roaming free in the village."
"Very well, mortal," the Celestial said, in a low and almost menacing voice. "Pray that the goddess and my brothers show you the same kindness I'm showing you for your insolence and your shameless cowardice."
The three elves bowed deeply at him, asking the goddess for mercy.
The runes activated again, and they were both imprisoned in darkness. It was not hard for her to guess that everything Ainchase had said to the Elder was blatant lies. That old woman was surely not dumb enough to believe him so easily.
"You idiot," Luciela hissed. "Not only did you throw empty threats around, but you messed up the only chance we had to get out of here! We're trapped!"
The Steel Queen heard the rattle of a few glass flasks and then heard him gently put the box on the floor. Luciela watched as he made out a hollow blade with threads of mana, illuminating their prison with a gentle, green glow. She looked down at herself, adjusting the cloth that still covered her as best she could. His blade shattered in countless fragments, and they floated softly around the glossy walls that caged them.
"Their barrier is not that complicated for me to break," he calmly told her as he picked up the medicine kit again. "As for my bluff, what she knows about me is enough to make my words absolute. And for your third point, are you sure you could go far in that state?"
She hated that he was right. Ainchase approached her, and once he was only a step away from invading her personal space, the Celestial looked her up and down. It was a tad embarrassing, even if he did not show any malice or lust. Instinctively, Luciela curled her tail around herself.
The Celestial tilted his head at her. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Your tail's a tad sharp around the edges. You might cut what little cloth—"
"Oh, shut it," she shot back as she turned her back on him. Just like he had predicted, when she uncurled her tail, the little cloth covering her breasts ripped and fell over her thighs. "If you come to treat my wounds, just do it fast and leave me alone."
She sat down so he could have easier access to her wounded back and laid her tail lazily on the side. Luciela heard cloth sliding off. Before she knew it, she felt his cold touch briefly graze her shoulders, and his coat then covered her now nude chest.
"Don't order me around," he softly said, somewhat close to her ear. "I told you it's unpleasant."
Luciela's blue gaze widened briefly, and she turned slightly to the side to look at him; Ainchase had quickly slid behind her and began to wet a few pieces of cloth and a flask containing a blood-red potion. It was the first time she saw him without his coat. The sleeveless, cool-green shirt he wore underneath revealed many scars, some so old they were almost invisible.
'Why wouldn't his goddess make them disappear?'
Her eyes rested on the deep cut he had still bandaged on his right arm. The bandages were still tainted by fresh blood.
"Please turn around," he said. "And move your hair away. I need to clean the wound first."
She did as Ainchase asked but voiced her biggest question so far. "Why are you doing this? You're still injured yourself."
"It's my way of paying you back for what you did, and…" he trailed off.
He put the dampened cloth over her open wound. She furrowed her brow at how deeply it stung.
"And what?"
Ainchase sighed. "And my injury doesn't bother me. I can tune out the pain signals in situations like this."
"Well, that's quite short-sighted on your part," the Steel Queen huffed. "Pain tells you if the wound is healing or festering. Ignoring it won't be good for you in the end."
"If I were a mortal, you'd be right."
She thought about that moment the day before; she had heard a heartbeat and felt a palpable, mortal warmth from him. She clenched her scarred fists, looking down before closing her eyes.
The damp cloth slid over her back, leaving a trail of fire from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back. It hurt, but the Steel Queen could tell the Celestial was exceedingly gentle with her. Why? Even among demons, this level of care was exceedingly rare. A Celestial should have even less reasons to be this careful with his natural enemy.
"Do you—" she began, only to press her lips shut again. She feared the answer to what she had thought about asking. Luciela opened her eyes again, eyebrows furrowed. No, she should never ask such a thing.
"Hmm?"
"Well, I hate sounding ungrateful, but," she giggled with a hint of unease, "Are you sure you know how to bandage a wound?"
"I've learnt how to, over the past two weeks," he answered matter-of-factly.
Luciela gasped. "I've been unconscious for two weeks? What about Ciel?"
"He woke up again yesterday, but he's worse for wear compared to you," he droned on. "That said, I presume he'll be back on his feet when you are. Am I wrong?"
"Technically speaking, no, but… I don't think he is doing worse than me," she doubted.
The Celestial searched through the box of medical supplies, rattling the bottles as he searched for something else. "Well, he is. He first woke up a few days ago, and the moment he saw you, he transferred what I assume to be demonic energy into you. Rena and the other Ranger, Lime, helped him lie so their Elder wouldn't kill you two on the spot."
"Is that so?" Luciela wondered as she combed through the long mane she had brought over her right shoulder.
She pondered his decision for a moment. As good as it seemed to be at first glance, she could not trust it fully.
"Did he call me by a human name when he did that?"
"Yes," Ainchase answered. He had taken out something metallic—scissors perhaps. Luciela assumed it was to cut bandages. "That's the only reason why Elder Branwen let you live."
"It's still disgusting," she growled.
The white-haired demoness felt the graze of his fingers and the touch of the bandages curling around her neck like a necklace. She held her breath, barely daring to glance to her side.
"Hey, wait a minute," she said, forcing a chuckle. "You're not thinking of wrapping all my torso just because of some tiny scratch on my back, are you?"
"It's not just a scratch," the Celestial answered. "You're lucky that the stitches are still hanging on, but I can't cover it if I don't wrap the bandage around. You should feel the extent of the wound, right?"
"Of course—ugh! Listen, I meant to say you should let me wrap it on the front past a certain point, okay?"
"I was going to ask you to do so, regardless."
She whistled. "Oh my, what a gentleman. As expected of a man of the cloth."
He did not comment on that, curiously enough. The Celestial was astonishingly calm, yet not to the point of being coldly indifferent. Something was eating away at his usual self. Once he was done bandaging her back, she thanked him and turned around, still holding his coat close to cover herself. Ainchase sat before her, still rummaging around the medical supplies with his uninjured arm. His treatment had made the fresh stain of blood in his bandaged arm grow two-fold.
"Don't thank me," he said before he took one of those flasks with a red potion inside. "I told you I only did this to get even."
"Well, then, can you let me return the favour? I will never hang it over your head, I promise."
The grey-haired young man tilted his head at her. Under the light he had created, his eyes almost looked aquamarine.
"Let me treat your arm," she said, gently reaching for him.
He looked down at her arms and shook his head. "You've got burns. I forgot to treat them…"
"It's alright. They don't hurt, and they'll heal fast," Luciela smiled at him, still feeling that strange tug in her heart when she looked him in the eye. "Please, let me help you. It's, uh, it's rather strange to have you acting so selflessly without returning the favour."
Ainchase's eyes widened briefly, but his eyebrows furrowed soon after. He shook his head as if to shake an unpleasant thought away. "I should've known this wouldn't help me at all."
Though it was only a whisper, it was venomous, reflecting the strange swirl of confusion and anger in his eyes. Luciela expected him to get up and leave, but he only hung his head low, grabbing his head with both hands. His blood was now dripping on his clothes, yet he did not seem to care.
"All of this just made everything worse…" the Celestial breathed out.
He stayed like that, in a silence that said more than any words could ever express. Luciela reached for the box and brought it closer to her. She then took the flask and wet the remaining clean cloths with it. The demoness took the scissors and approached the Celestial, sitting to his right so she could cut the sullied bandages and replace them with new ones.
Ainchase did not push her away nor look at her when she put the scissors on his skin to cut through his soaked, old bandages. The quiet ripping of cloth was the only noise that cut through the silence of the room. When she unveiled the full extent of the cut, she froze. Most of the stitches had come undone, and his flesh was fully exposed. How did he just let her pass scissors over it without complaining?
"Are you sure it doesn't hurt at all?"
"Yes. You could even cut my arm off there, and I wouldn't feel a thing."
The way his eyes looked at her as he said that so off-handedly made her frown. "I would not do that to you."
"Why not?"
She blinked at his question, but did not dwell too much on it.
"Because I said I was going to do you a favour," she explained as she began to disinfect the area, a pair of pincers she found in the box and gently took the open stitches out. "Amputating your arm a little under the elbow level is not doing you a favour."
Luciela searched through the kit and found something to stitch his arm up. Now that she had properly disinfected his gashes, she had to put in new stitches.
As she treated his wound, Ainchase finally spoke again. "Who are you, demoness?"
He had straightened up, letting her have a better angle to get started with the stitches, and looked at her. The desperate, confused, almost pleading look made her pause for a fleeting moment. He had been alive for a moment. And he was alive, somehow, now. He had to be. No Celestial would have such an expression on their face. They were only imitations of life, limited in what they could feel and express.
She could feel the warmth of his blood, yet that could be an illusion. Yes. It had to be. Celestials were created from Ishmael's essence. This was an illusion.
She raised an eyebrow at him before continuing her task.
"I'm a demon," she absentmindedly recited. "One of the former four demon kings, to be precise. I'm the all-mighty Steel Queen, the one and only Luciela R. Soulscream, here as your bonafide healer. Pleased to meet you, Ainchase Ishmael."
Just as she finished, Luciela noticed she had to move back to the front for a better angle to make the last three stitches. She did so, careful not to let the needle and thread touch dirty surfaces.
"What does the R stand for?"
She chuckled. "None of your business. Nobody gets to call me by my middle name, your Holiness."
"Is it Ruellia?"
Luciela almost dropped the needle when she heard him say her name.
"Wow, Celestial," she muttered, quickly offering Ainchase a light-hearted laugh. "That's a strange name you said there. Very demonic, for sure, but you guessed wrong!" She stuck her tongue out at him. "Bleh! Better luck next time, Friar!"
"Why are you like this?" He only seemed to be hurt by her answer. "What part of this is some kind of joke to you?" His words got harsher, angrier. "Why—what will it take for you to take a single damn thing seriously? Does it look like I just came here to joke with you?!"
Luciela's smile vanished, and she lowered her gaze, finishing her task. With a single finger she covered in her cold flames, she traced the fresh stitches and cauterised the wound.
"Answer me," he snarled.
She slid her hand over his, feeling just how cold he was. She must have been wrong when she felt the warmth of his blood.
"I told you everything Celestials would like to know about me." She paused and picked up a roll of clean bandages in the kit. She began to wrap them around his injury. "What else would you have liked to hear?"
She secured the bandage and cut the excess cloth. When their eyes met again, the anger that was starting to boil in his eyes subsided. His bright gaze was so expressive and vulnerable, it almost made her wish he did, in fact, have a soul—a warm heart beating in his chest.
"I don't know. I've just kept having these dreams, over and over…" Ainchase softly confessed before looking down at his bandaged arm. "You're sometimes there, with cobalt-blue wings, and I…"
He paused, took a deep breath and continued with a shaky voice. "I keep thinking about what you asked. A time when the goddess had not isolated this world. It's utter nonsense, I think. I mean, it should be. The El has always protected this world. That's what the goddess always says. She said that I was created as a Celestial, and that I shouldn't have dreams, but now…"
Ainchase frowned, and though an unmistakable hatred was engraved in his eyes, she wondered if it was truly directed at her. "This is all your fault, isn't it? You did something and sullied my connection with the goddess. Ishmael hasn't answered me at all. How am I supposed to see the right path without her?"
His lips trembled as if he struggled to make anger continue to guide his words. Ainchase took a deep breath, and his true torment unravelled before her. Guilt. Bewilderment. Disgust. Those were only some of the emotions that were truly overwhelming him. Luciela wondered why she could see it all so clearly, almost as if she had seen it all before.
He was an abnormal Celestial, and though that had scared her at first, she knew all too well that an abnormality brought more misery to the one carrying it than to those who pointed at it. Perhaps that was why she wanted to help him shoulder his pain.
"I don't understand who you are and why you make me act this way," he continued. "I should not care whether you live or die, whether you're hurt or not, but I—"
Luciela put her hand over his, cutting off his long, anxious tirade. "Ainchase, your goddess made you in the image of mortals, did she not?"
"Huh?"
"None of your kind has been walking so closely among mortals for as long as you have, have they?"
He seemed to relax a little at her words. "Yeah, you're right. My mission is… unprecedented."
'This kind of turmoil… Why would Ishmael allow it to fester in the soul of her perfect soldier?'
"If you're made in the image of mortals, would it not be normal for you to start developing a facsimile of a human soul after everything we've gone through?" she wondered. "Your dreams are maybe just the first manifestation of it."
"But what about what you asked?" he countered, leaning slightly closer to her. "And your blue wings, they were torn and in—"
She put her hands around his naked shoulders and made him lean back. With a rueful smile, she said, "I'm sorry about that, Ain. I was only pranking you a little with that question. I didn't think it would affect you this much. I would take it back, if I could. I swear it on Sult."
He seemed taken aback by it, but he did not try to rebut her.
"As for my wings," she continued softly, as if her lie were one of her deepest secrets, "My father tore them apart after I lost my first spar when I was just a little girl. They were black, not cobalt-blue."
Luciela could not help but trace one of the many scars on his arms. The Ainchase she was seeing now almost seemed like someone she could have known.
'That's why, I suppose, I don't want to hurt him…'
"We haven't met before, if that's your concern," she assured him before offering him a tiny smirk. "I'm sure I'd remember if I had met a Celestial as fun to fight as you are." Luciela shrugged. "We're just… companions. Of course, we're concerned about each other because it's normal for mortals to not want to see their companions get hurt. That's all there is to it, Ainchase."
He let out a deep breath and looked down. "Is that really it?"
"It's my best guess," she answered as she finally let him go. "I'm unfortunately not all-knowing, unlike your goddess."
"Your best guess? You base all your conjectures on just that? A guess?"
"Of course. That's all mortals can do."
"How can you live that way?" he asked, finally looking at her with a pained smile. "Wouldn't you prefer to know everything for sure?"
"No," Luciela softly said, looking down at her burns. "I think some mysteries have an answer so terrifying that I'd rather never know it."
The light around them dimmed, casting deep shadows over them until they were barely visible to each other in the oppressing darkness. The silence that separated them was impenetrable.
Their gazes met again, yet neither of them could see the expression the other made. Luciela welcomed it, for she feared that if he could see the face she was making now, he would leave her no choice but to admit that she, too, now wondered who he was.
"Can you stay for a while, Celestial?"
A pause.
"Did you not want me to leave once I was done?"
"I changed my mind. I… I don't think I can go lay back and get some rest without some help. The mattress I was lying on is too small for me now."
The floor creaked as he got up and walked. Ainchase dragged one of the flat, adult-sized mattresses on the other end of the room and left it in front of her. "There. I'll go out after getting some rest, too."
She touched the bed. It was cool but the covers were slightly warm around the upper edge. It had to have been Ciel's.
"Will you come back?"
"Yes. I assure you that I will come check how you're doing until you're fully healed."
"Well, I may not know when you come back. I might sleep for days on end."
"So?"
Silence lingered for a long minute.
He sighed. "What would you have me do? Hold your hand while you count sheep?"
Ainchase's voice still carried the levity of a joke, but the only answer to it was silence.
"Demoness, are you missing your stupid slave this badly?"
"I wasn't thinking about taking you up on your unserious offer, Celestial."
"Then why are you so adamant on having me stay?"
"My burns hurt."
The light intensified again, letting her see the tiny furrow in his eyebrows, the blueish hue that made his green eyes take a similar shade to his shirt, and the light, almost silvery highlights in his hair. It looked darker than she remembered, but perhaps it was only due to the poor light.
The demoness lay on the side before him and offered him her right arm, the one where her burns were the freshest.
"Could I still ask you to treat them?"
Ainchase sighed. "Fine."
He began to treat her. His touch was warm—alive. Tears silently rolled down her cheeks. Why? Why could she not place a name, a face or any memories at all to someone who felt so familiar? Did that someone even exist, or was he merely the bait that Ishmael and her little tin soldiers want her to take?
"Luciela, what—?"
"The burns fucking hurt, okay?"
"Right… the burns. I'll try to be careful, then."
