Present Day
The scent of angel's blood. There was nothing like it in all the Multiverse: a biting bouquet, sweet and brackish, tinged with spice and sharp with power. The aroma met Arlinn's wide wolf nostrils as she raced up the sheer incline of a gorge toward the town of Lambholt under siege. She snarled at the smell of it, cursing. She hadn't been fast enough. She should have been the one to draw the blood, to fell the angel, to earn its wrath. She was the protector of the Ulvenwald.
Faster.
She had witnessed the mad angel's descent on Lambholt from afar; the divine being had dived down, past the rooftops and steeples. Cries of horror and flashes of light had followed. Moments later, the angel had surfaced, wings bloody and sword aflame, only to plunge in once more.
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Though Arlinn hadn't seen all that had happened beyond the rooftops, she could imagine it well enough. There was only so much that mad angels did. They were broken, inconsolable, shrieking and crying of Avacyn's death as they careened through the sky. It seemed impossible that the angel was truly gone, but there was no denying the hole in the fabric of Innistrad. A hole that was filling rapidly with wails of innocents, roars of flames, and cackling of corrupted beings.
The desperate trumpet of a cathar's horn—a Goldnight's, she knew the tenor—spurred Arlinn on. She summoned strength from the forest, pumping the thick muscles of her legs, pushing herself up the slope. Faster. But she feared it was already too late. Blood had been shed, and not just angelic. Human blood too. The cathars. Arlinn could picture them, holy weapons raised, magical invocations on their lips. But they would not be blessed with the power they prayed for; Avacyn was not there to answer their prayers.
Years Ago
"Arlinn Kord, in being here tonight, you have answered the call of the holy protector, Avacyn. There is no greater blessing than that which you are about to receive. Please step forward."
Archmage Reeves stood on the altar of Goldnight, gesturing for Arlinn to join him and Archmage Rembert. The archmages could have no idea how much this moment meant to Arlinn. They would never understand fully—she couldn't tell them. It was so much more than the archangel's sacrament, extraordinary though that may be; to her, it was freedom. But if she were to explain that to the holy men before her, it would all be over.
Arlinn rose from her bent position of supplication and ascended the stairs to meet the two archmages. Reeves didn't look at her, but Rembert shifted his gaze, a smile on his thin lips. Arlinn returned the smile as best she could, her lips trembling. She fixed her eyes on the familiar sights around her in an attempt to quell the alternating swells of anxiety and anticipation that surged through her. The chapel at Elgaud Grounds was small but far from simple. The altar shone with golden detail bearing the symbol of Avacyn. Thick white fabrics were draped from the ceiling on all sides, creating the feeling of a protected alcove, which was filling with clouds of incense, peaceful yet powerful.
"In the name of Avacyn and with the power vested in me by her holy church, I confer upon you this blessing," Archmage Reeves began to chant. Arlinn knew the words well. She had listened to this prayer countless times over the past years as the sole cathar who had been present at every archmage's ceremony of blessing. She had watched those who had gone before her stand on this very altar and receive the highest sacrament. Each time, she had wondered if it would ever be her; each time, from her seat in the pew nearest the altar, she had doubted herself; and each time, from the same seat, she had reminded herself to believe in the power of Avacyn. Now, here she was.
