The Sapphire Dragonfly

Prologue

Prologue

The gates of hell had opened, and every demon and monster had come flooding out. They raged into the world spitting poison and breathing fire, raking jagged claws through reality. They were nightmares incarnate, the shadows under beds come to life. They were fear and rage and pain wrapped up in an ugly package, and they stank of death. They destroyed and killed and hurt every living thing they came across. They set the world on fire and then ran with the flames, destroying everything in an unforgiving manner. For three months, these demons ran wild, and the death count tallied too high. And then heaven sent help.

Angels were not soldiers, they guided lost souls to their rightful place in heaven, and protected them on the journey. To them, human life was brief and unimportant, it was the soul that mattered. So instead, heaven found humans who were strong and good, and changed them. These became Heaven's Warriors, The Chosen. 

This new species was one of soldiers. Of fighters and strategists and leaders. They were stronger and faster and smarter than humans, but they were mortal, and could understand mortal concepts, such as time, life, death, hate, and love. Like the angels they were modeled after, powerful wings sprouted from their backs. These were not the glorious white of heaven's beloved, instead they varied in color, from pale sky blue to sunset pink, to cloud gray. These wings were pride and glory and strength. They were loyalty and faith and freedom. They were the love of God and the dreams of mortal souls. They defined a warrior as surely as their name. A name, that could be found in their eyes.

When you look deep into a human's eyes, straight into the pupil, all you see is a deep, soulless abyss. When you look into the eyes of a Chosen, you see the universe. You see the night's glorious and proud stars. They are no stars you and I see, but stars of a different galaxy. These stars are constellations and patterns and life that no person can discern. But when one of these special warriors dies in battle, they look into the eyes of their Maker, and he sees the Stars of Soul, and He reads them like they are words on paper, and calls that Warrior by name, and only then does that deceased warrior come home to heaven.

But from home they must first depart, so when these select few were finished and perfect and their toes ached to run and their wings ached to fly, they gathered at those pearly gates ready ready ready to go when their Maker stood before them one last time and he named them the Ailé, the Winged.