Summer Garden

Azrael

The light above him had faded and left him alone.

His body had fallen silently to the ground, defeated and broken. Nothing left but an empty shell.

The garden was aflame. He couldn't see the army anymore, couldn't see the fight. He was a shade, a flickering memory of something that was. He wasn't in the world anymore, though he hadn't left it yet. All that was left was an echo. A shadow in the flickering light as the garden around him burned and died. He found himself wondering if any of this had been worth it. If the destruction of the creature that Vastras had sent him out to destroy really had been worth doing so much damage to untold beauty.

The garden reminded him of an ancient tale, of the first people to have entered the world.

A place of beauty, where no evil or hatred could exist.

It was true, in a sense. He could feel the garden, even now, attempting to draw the angst and violence out of his heart. It forced him to look at the trees as the leaves turned brown and curled. Forced him to watch as the creatures of the garden flew from bush to bush, seeking desperately to escape the destruction of their home. The desecration.

"So, you can see it then."

He nodded quietly, not turning to face her. He didn't dare to, now knowing that this sacred place was falling by his hand. He had brought the horror of war to a place that had been opposed to the existence of such a thing. This was a place of healing, and here blood was spilled by his hand.

"You really are an idiot, Azrael."

He flinched at the words of the goddess, and knelt down slowly, passing a hand through the prickly and blackened grass, "It will heal. As all things do."

"Pathetic." The goddess retorted, "The only solace you can take is that this place might recover? Newsflash, it won't. The curator's hand is gone. She's dead, or will be. You killed her hope, Azrael. You took the only light of life left to the woman who forged this world in desperation, and you killed him. I did not send you out to be the tool of the bitch mage. I sent you to stop her, Azrael. Vastras seeks to kill me, and the others. Did you never see it? Did I allow you to be so naive as to believe that a mage of all people was seeking the end of magic?"

Azrael shook his head.

Death came with retrospective. He could see clearly how Vastras had manipulated him. It was as obvious as his death that the mage had been seeking to destroy his goddess. He hadn't seen it. Hadn't believed it. Had convinced himself he was serving the goddess as he waged war against a species that had done all they could to isolate themselves. They weren't invaders. They hadn't antagonised the human race.

The Fae were a myth to most simply because they refused to have anything to do with mortal kind.

They were victimised here.

He stood up slowly, "I have a question, still."

"Really? Do you deserve an answer?"

He shook his head, "I do not. Still, I want to know. Who was she?"

A hand touched his shoulder gently, "She was in love with the man you killed. She never stretched out a hand towards him, in respect of her goddess, F'rir. She simply did what had to be done. She was used by Vastras as well. Forced to create the situation that let Vastras create this very attack. Yet, she saw what was, and what could be, and stayed. She fought to protect the man she could not have, for a woman who hated her. She atoned."

Azrael winced, "Mortality is anathema to Elfkind. How... How could she fall for him?"

"That's... A long story." Sarin laughed, her arm going around his shoulders and squeezing a reassurance, "Suffice it to say that prejudice and xenophobia are enemies that can be defeated by the heart. The heart doesn't play fair. All is not fair in love, nor war. The heart lays everything bare. It takes the reasoning of the mind and throws it aside without caring. Only the strongest will can defeat the heart. The heart leads one to sacrifice oneself for a lost cause. The heart tells you to stand and fight, when the enemy is at the gate. You know you will die, but you might save someone else. If you can create hope, then the heart is what drives you forward."

Azrael sighed heavily, "What now? I have barred the gates to the next life by my actions."

"That isn't your decision to make." Sarin replied coolly, "We go to judgement now. The heart cannot stand in judgement over itself. Those you have known, they will be the ones to stand in judgement over you. You will not be a witness. They will be the ones who speak of your life, and the actions you took."

Azrael sighed heavily, "I know few among the dead."

"Time is over, little man." Sarin replied, "All you have known will be there. They will speak of your heart, and lay bare the secrets it kept even from itself. Come, they're waiting."

He turned, and saw the air shimmering where he'd expected the goddess to be.

It was time.

Time to find out what he had been.