Awaken (Of Gods and Angels #1)

Chapter 1

Ayzel didn't know what it felt like to soar, didn't the divine pulse of immortality that once blessed her kin, didn't what it meant to be holy.

~

"Come on," Arion's voice rang out, laced with impatience, "the merchants will be closed by the time we get there."

"Why do we have to go," Ayzel whined, "remember last time"

"Yeah... it wasn't that bad,"

"Arion, it was terrible," Ayzel points at her dull, splintered halo and the tattered black feathers that once upon a time were known as wings, the only wind they now caught was the breezes that blew through the variety of rips and tears. As she points a few more of her already scarce feathers fluttered feebly to the ground, almost as if to back up her point.

"In case you forgot, I'm not like you, I am an Angel, the dirt between the cobblestones if worth more than me," 

Arion sighs and grabs her skinny arm, "come on." He leads her through the battered slums and and crooked streets of Tethoris.

The snarls begin as soon as she enters the wide square of the merchants district. God-bred filth and Godspawn being some of the nicest words they sneered at her.  A few sly children even have the nerve to pluck a handful of drab feathers. Ayzel ignores them and sits down on the edge of the fountain, daring someone to push her in. She makes a show of arranging her feathers whilst humming a lewd tune.

Arion sits beside her,

"Yes, going great isn't it," Ayzel says sarcastically, vaguely indicating a few of the more hostile citizens.

"I thought it would be better, you are nice, why don't people like you?" he asks quietly.

"Oh I don't know, maybe the fact that angels were the assistants of Karanik, the tyrant who once ruled Nethilor and the God of Death, and that humans were enslaved for thousands of years until Godfall." Ayzel snaps back.

"I'm leaving" she adds as she stands and stalks into a back street. She hears Arion's heavy footsteps behind her and spins swiftly on her heel, probably adding another hole in the sole of her battered boots.

Arion opens his mouth to speak, but Ayzel beats him to it, "go talk to those girls by the fountain, i'm sure they'll be enjoy it," Ayzel spits,

"Fine," is all he says as he storms away.

Ayzel clenches her tanned fist and walks back through the cobbled streets. She feels a slight pang of regret and jealousy as she sees Arion laughing with the pretty market girls, humans. Ayzel mentally slaps herself, Arion is human, she is ruining his life just as his friend, let alone as something more. No, herself and Arion could never  work. Ayzel is used to the whispers that follow her whenever she goes anywhere with him. What is HE doing with that God-bred brat. Ayzel can understand, she herself doesn't know why he tolerates her. His bronze tan, curly chocolate brown hair, warm brown eyes and athletic physique have earned him many an admirer over the years.  Yet he still chooses to associate with an Angel, the lowest of the low.

Ayzel swears she can hear even the dirt-ridden pavement laughing at her as she trudges home. She passes past the crooked fences and overgrown lots that do little to deter thieves and prowling lowlifes, like herself. The sprawling web of streets is as familiar as Ayzel hand as she stalks through the emptiest alleyways and disreputable establishments.

Ayzel breathes a slight sigh of relief as she sees the familiar grey walls and decaying wood of the 'abandoned' warehouse she and the other Tethoris Angels call home. She slips through one of the few shattered windows, the door to the warehouse was sealed shut by rust many years previously. 

Almost immediately she is greeted by the brown-haired wraith Ismet.

"Back so soon," Ismet grins slyly. Ayzel gives her a pointed stare and doesn't bother to respond.

"Rude." Ismet says while rearranging her feathers.

Ayzel sits down on the cold, stone floor and pulls her limp white hair out of its tight ponytail. It falls in pathetic waves down to her mid-waist, just above where her sorry excuse for wings jutted out.

"The wind is beckoning," the old raspy voice catches Ayzel off guard,

Ayzel turns her head and sees the Mother Angel standing over her,

"Mother," Ayzel acknowledges with a bob of her head. She wasn't Ayzel's true mother but out of tradition and respect, the few Angels in the warehouse called her that. She was the closest any of them had to a mother. 

Ayzel's own parents hadn't survived the Angel Purge.

9 years ago, in the 45th year since Godfall the Angel Purge occurred. King Rendorr's men raided the country, scouring the land for Angels. The thousands of Angels they took never came home. 

Ayzel was nearly one of them.

Her parents gave up their final moments of freedom for her, shoving her into a crevasse between two derelict buildings. Ayzel, like so many others, never saw her family again.

The Mother Angel soon found her, just as she found Ismet and the others, hidden away in the deepest parts of the city.

And now here she is, living a life of scorn and hatred.

Ayzel sighs as she leans back to rest her heavy head on the solid wall.

"Arion is such an optimist, he needs to learn that the world has things wrong with it," Ayzel mutters while twirling a strand of hair,

"Nothing wrong with a little bit of hope," Mother croaks, 

"There is nothing left to hope for,  the world is just as doomed just as we are," Ayzel murmurs.

A few moments of silence follows, and just as Ayzel turns away, Mother speaks.

"I remember what it was like," she says, sorrow glistening in her silver eyes.

"What?" Ayzel asks, disinterested,

"To be immortal, to be holy, to fly," she says as nostalgia floods through the old woman's mind.

Mother keeps talking,

"The humans were treated just as we are now, except they were treated this way for over a thousand years, there is always hope. Change is inevitable, one day we will once again be great,"

"Don't get Ismet's hopes up, we know it won't happen," Ayzel retorts,

"You don't know that Ayzel," Ismet mutters,

Ayzel rolls her eyes, "see, you've put ridiculous ideas into her head,"

"The only ridiculous thing here is your attitude," Ismet replies snarkily,

Ayzel begins to respond but she is cut off by Ferran's deep voice from across the room, 

"I'm trying to sleep, can you stop talking your rubbish," 

Ayzel raises her arms in agreement, and Ismet scowls, prowling back to her bedroll.

And by the next morning, Ayzel couldn't remember the old Mother's words.