Messenger of God

Chapter Three.

Florence Graves was a soldier. The left hand of Father Watson and the right of God. That is all she has known since she was sixteen and her parents had left her in this unfamiliar building without a single goodbye. Training is easy, learning is easy, following directions, is easy. 

Dressed in a sports bra and a pair of shorts, Florence slammed her wrapped fist into the boxing bag right in front of her. The bag swung with the impact and dust flew into the air. She steadied the bag before taking a deep breath and swinging again, and again, and again. Watching the sand particles floating in the air with the effort, watching the bag’s stand tilt and totter with the force. Florence moved like a well oiled machine, a practiced waltz she had done thousands of times before. She gave one last punch before leaning into the bag and panting, pressing her head against the rough material. A grunt left her throat as she leaned back, pushing off the bag. It clanged behind her as it swung back and forth, and she moved to make her way towards the small bench off to the left of where she had been practicing. Digging down into the small black duffel bag that she owned, she removed a white water bottle and began chugging it, feeling some droplets sliding past her mouth and down her blazing skin in the haste to get hydrated.

Florence dropped the her hand loosely, still holding the bottle and used the other hand to wipe her mouth. She leaned back against the wall, brows raised high as she attempted to get her breathing under control as she watched the other Angels in the room train. 

The sound of someone sitting next to her broke her train of thought.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours, Rence?” A sigh ripped through Florence at the sound of their voice, and she turned her head, still resting the crown against the wall, to eye her new seatmate. Blue eyes, blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, with freckles splattering her cheeks like someone took a paint brush and just threw brown paint all over the woman. Tanned skin and defined muscles. Alora.

“Fuck off, Reigns.” She grumbled as she leaned back down and took another long drink from her water bottle.

“Ooh, last names today? Okay, Captain Graves. But seriously.” The blonde placed a hand on her shoulder, her nose ring glinting from the light of the small window on the opposite wall from the effect of sunsetting. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind, hit me.”

Florence turned to eye the woman, her dark tresses falling over her shoulders on one side and partially spilling to cover her blue eyes. She turned her gaze down, before setting the bottle on the bench space between them and bringing a hand up to rub along the small scar on her eyebrow with a sigh. 

“It’s Amara. The new girl.” 

“Ah. The fire bearer?” Alora raised her brows at Florence with a hum of thought. 

“She’s just.. I don’t understand why Father sought her out, going as far as to literally kidnap her-”

“Whoa, he kidnapped her?”

“And then even placing me in charge. How could he have known Amara would be a fire bearer when there havent been any in ages since their clan was wiped out and the survivors went into hiding? It just doesn’t make any sense. Up until now, Fire Bearers were seen as a myth. A folk tale told around a campfire to scare  children. And now, one is here and she… she appears human? Like, they always said firebearers had a similar appearance to demons. What with the tattoos, they were seen as defectors and thus had a bounty on their head from the demons. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.” The woman grumped, furrowing her brow and pressing her lips together in frustration.

Alora watched for a moment, before turning her gaze to the others in varying states of train. Thuds and grunts echoing throughout the room. She turned her gaze back to Florence with a small sigh.