Descent of a God

Lighting the Fire

Caera POV:

The rain splattered on the ground, darkening the surroundings to an almost uncomfortable level as my feet silently skidded across the streets of Aensgar. 

It had been a month since I saw Jude unleash his new powers for the first time, and to be say that I was shocked was too much of an understatement. 

The chill permeating through my spine as I had looked at the purple wings perfectly melding into his back instantly informed me of how far above me he was.

'All I could see,' I recounted, 'Was a wall. An unsurpassable wall.'

According to him,  he was still not at the level of a high-ranking Asura or a Sovereign yet, but that level was within grasp for him.

Shaking my head, I dispelled those thoughts and focused on the task at hand.

Scanning the street, I found the alleyway to take and sneaked through. Continuing to find and pass backdoors, I finally found myself in a narrow corridor.

Slowly passing through various rooms, whispers entered by perception as I cautiously approached the last door.

I quietly punctured a crack through the door, using mana perfectly like Cordelia taught me to ensure nothing leaked and was detected by the Highbloods.

"Scythe Cordelia Vritra's andSeris Vritra's emissary is late," an older man said. His bushy blond goatee had faded nearly to white, but there was steel in his eyes and he stared around the room. 'Lord Uriel of Highblood Frost', I thought, recognising him immediately. 

A much younger man, dark-haired and barrel-chested, laughed low and dangerous. "Highlord Frost, these are Scythes we're discussing. And one of them is the greatest genius in the history of Alacarya." He drummed his fingers across the scarred table that dominated the back room. "At any rate, their representative will arrive, and when they do, they will consider themselves exactly on time. The real question is why they chose such an unruly, meagre sort of place to meet."

Highlord Frost's thick brows rose as he considered the younger man. "I suppose you are correct, Lord Exeter. Although, if Scythe Seris and Scythe Cordelia expect to win our goodwill, perhaps they should start by treating us better than their previous compatriots have."

A cool female voice belonging to someone not visible from my current vantage cut in, saying, "Oh really, Uriel. When have you ever been treated poorly in your life? Born a Hghblood and heir to the title of Highlord, your success and authority were very nearly predestined. You've heard the parable of the silver spoon, I assume?"

There were several scandalised scoffs from the men in front of me.

Highlord Frost scowled, a look that would have frozen the blood of most Alacryans. "Some of us have had the good fortune to be born into our position, while others have fought and bled to scrape their way up from the dregs of the unblooded." His tone was mild, with the barest cutting edge just audible in the undertones. "But we are all Highbloods now, Matron Tremblay. And all here for a shared purpose. I suspect if your blood's interactions with the Scythes and Sovereigns had been positive, you would not have answered their invitation."

"Well said, Uriel," said one of the others, a younger man whose back was to me so all I could see was his tight ponytail.

I pulled back from the crack in the wall and headed toward the door, deciding to make myself known before things escalated further.  

I opened the door as a familiar women was ready to hurl an insult back towards the men at the other end of the table. 

However, my slight disturbance caused her eyes to shift towards me, her mouth opened with hesitance and she managed to speak, "Caera?"