Twilight of the Gods ✔️

Chapter 25: Blood of Life

"How do you plan to bring our people back?" Uriel had returned to Ezra's room, intrigued by his proposition.

Ezra looked at him thoughtfully. The fragrance of chamomile drifted over, flooding Uriel's sense with the tea's flowery scent. "We'll start in the oceans. The bodies of our people should be the least damaged, submerged in water. If fortune smiles upon us, they may even still be alive."

"And the rest of them?"

"We'll find them just like we found you."

"Do you think there are any angels in the snow?" Uriel was referring to the mountains in Ylivia.

"Maybe," Ezra said. "I hadn't thought about that. But it's best to start at the sea first. It's how I found them."

"Who?" Uriel sat up straighter in his seat.

"The other angels. They make up the other half of the Council. I thought you might recognize or sense them."

Uriel shook his head. None of the Elysians stood out to him. But it made his head spin knowing that there were more than just him and Ezra in Otherworld. 

"Interesting," Ezra said. "Your resurrection came with unexpected side effects." He pulled out a pen and paper, scribbling as he muttered "loss of memory" and "loss of senses" to himself.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, getting the distinct feeling that Ezra saw him as nothing more than a lab rat. "Is this really necessary? Taking notes?"

"It's extremely necessary. Resurrected angels often have trouble adjusting to their second lives. Better to know the symptoms to treat the illness."

So Ezra did have a plan. But Uriel knew that whatever details he would reveal to him wouldn't be part of the full picture. After all, Ezra thought he was stupid. Maybe he'd underestimated him enough to leave crucial clues. But the Elysian wasn't known for being careless.

He was known for being arrogant.

Somehow, the other Elysians tolerated it. Maybe it was because of his knowledge. Uriel suspected that he was responsible for making most of the members powerful. The room was surrounded with books about magic.

Ezra pushed over a cup of chamomile tea. "Drink," he said. "The mortals claim that it's soothing. Some say it helps them sleep."

Uriel held the cup up to his nose. It smelled more like a perfume than an actual drink. He eyed the contents suspiciously. A blue root floated to the surface, standing out among the white petals. He looked at Ezra, distrust shining clearly in his eyes.

"It's Mnemosyne's root," he said. "I've fed it to all the other resurrected angels on the Council. It's meant to help with memory loss, although the others don't have a case as severe as yours. I promise it's safe."

To prove his point, Ezra took a sip from Uriel's cup.

Still, Uriel didn't touch the drink. "What is it supposed to help me remember?"

"Ideally, everything. That includes everything from your previous life, including your service to Anhel, and anything before that. But that takes five cups over the span of a week," he explained.

"There was no life before serving the Gods," Uriel protested.

A strange look came to Ezra's eyes. "There were for some. Not all of us have that kind of blessing. You'd know if you drink the tea."

Uriel laughed, a strangled noise coming from his throat. "That's impossible. We were made by the Gods to serve."

"That's a lie," Ezra said. "A fairytale fabricated by those immortal lunatics."