Even though I live in a small town, if you get everyone gathered in one area the crowd is quite impressive. There is no moon for it only comes out for an hour each day, yet the light of the lanterns and the stars is more than enough to fight off the surrounding darkness. Even the lanterns weren’t necessary, but were there to provide some sort of comfort on this fearful night.
Teachers, searchers, protectors, hunters, solders, keepers, builders, leaders, healers, redeemers, and takers; all are here, without the moons light to reveal who is of what kind.
We all are gathered together in the old city, surrounded by its towering stone walls and arches and under the open sky we felt a sense of stability, closeness to our roots.
I weaved my way through the crowd, sitting next to a familiar face, identification number 03117. He slouched over; watching others around him with his straight ashen hair in his face, as if it had a life of its own.
I smiled softly as I stepped over peoples’ feet and sat down next to him on the steps, noticing his deep red eyes lighting up as he saw me.
As soon as 77135, the lord of this land, stood up unsteadily, everyone was silent. Now that he has lived to a thousand years his wings had faded, and he is aging quickly. Everyone knows his time is running short; it is rare for one to live past a thousand years. Usually a fatal accident cause ones wings to fade, and once faded they go through the final steps of the aging process. But our lord was lucky enough to have been given a long life.
“My people,” he started, his gold eyes of wisdom staring intently upon the crowd. “Though our city is small we are in grave danger. In the past, we have been in constant fear of the takers, those who willingly take the wings of another, compromising the victim’s life and giving it a life outside of the safety of society. Though takers have multiplied greatly among us, we are yet in the presence of an even superior danger; the dark one. He, whom number is unknown but his presence is known by many through his heartless bloodshed of our kind, has set his eyes upon us as his next target. Many have been grieved by the loss of loved ones on his previous acts of destruction, but we now must look out for ourselves. This is our home planet, the home of our ancestors. Why the dark one decided to massacre his own kind, we do not know. But be assured that we will not give up in our efforts to fight against him, and try to redeem what has been lost.”
“I took it upon myself to plead our case to UPS, the United Planetary System…” he continued, explaining everything so that even the children of his audience could understand. But from my opinion, the explanations are needless diversions from whatever the point is. “...and we have come to the same conclusion. Each of the remaining planetary unions has agreed to sending one representative to fight against the dark one,” he paused, making sure we are hanging on his words, “including Orian.”
Everyone around me began murmuring, their eyes searching around them as if they could guess who the chosen one will be before the lord announces it. But, 03117’s eyes remained still, watching our lord as if he already knew what he was going to say. Nothing seems to surprise him; his scarlet eyes hide it well.
“The emperor has privileged us,” he spoke as his golden eyes lit up with pride. “For he has decided for the chosen one to come from our humble land, for it is a certainty that the dark one does not reside here; we would have noticed a newcomer years ago. So out of his blind side, we shall strike!” our lord shouted as everyone surrounding me applauded and shouted. I clapped just enough to be polite.
I had a gut feeling that “the dark one” didn’t have a blind spot. Most likely, he just didn’t think that this town could be a major threat. If I were him, I wouldn’t for we are few in numbers. But few know how great we are in power. It is the very reason power-hating takers have become an infection of this land, which is ironic since one would think that those with more power can protect themselves. But the danger is when they know they have a sizeable amount of power, and thinking their undefeatable they put in less effort. Pride is the weakness of those who know they are strong.
The applause died, and our lord continued to speak, his long white hair falling down to mid-back, his fervent speaking and the light wind both cast it about in all directions.
“I have put great thought as to what kind we shall send to combat such an enemy. No one is born with such hatred, for hatred is something learned or acquired through an experience. Sending a warrior would have little impact since every other planetary union is bound to send a warrior. But that will only cover over the problem, not extract it from its roots! That is why I have decided to send a healer, one of great power that cannot only heal the physical body, but the heart and mind of another!”
The crowd again murmured around me, but I remained silent now that the speech wasn’t just about a generic topic. I paid closer attention now knowing that what he is speaking about could involve me.
“All those who are healers come! The moon is showing her face, and there is little time to decide. Approach the center so that I, personally, can decide on this day,” our lord directed.
I stood hesitantly; tugging the white hood of my cloak to be sure it hides my face. I didn’t want my marks to be seen, for they show the good and the bad, the beautiful with the ugly, all of who I am shown to all eyes. I didn’t want to be seen. I would rather be given a bad judgment by someone who doesn’t know me, someone who hasn’t seen my marks, than someone who knows me; for the latter of the two is most likely correct.
Thinking this I stepped down to the center of the arena, surrounded by crowds and blanketed by the open sky above. I kept my eyes to the sky, not only because I am drawn to the beauty of it, but I needed something to distract me from the thousands of eyes staring down upon me.
The beautiful full moon rose gracefully in the same way a flower placed in still water moves across its surface. The crowd was momentarily silent, awed by the great magnificence entering the sky, its light stretching its fingers about it, touching each surface it reach.
Every night, a loyal lamp barer, it appears giving us more precious light than the faint glow that appears at the horizon each morning. Due to the placement of our star, we would be living in near constant darkness if it were not for the much loved moon that appears each night.
I took my place in the line, last since I am the youngest here. I don’t understand why I am even standing up here; our lord would not pick me due to my lack of experience. Even if he did, I’m sure the aged ones would override it. Experience and wisdom is worth far greater than power. It’s not that I am particularly lacking in either of those qualities, it’s just that many are of greater knowledge than I.
“Healers,” our lord spoke gently, still in awe of the moon. “I will not lie to you, this mission involves great risk, no one yet has faced the dark one and lived to tell the tale. Rumors are that he reads our minds and our marks; exploiting each fear we keep hidden to our hearts making those who rise against him destroy themselves. This is a mission that will require great bravery. But for those who are willing to accept the fact that you may never come back, your courage will be remembered for many generations; it will not be forgotten. May the maker show you favor and light,” he spoke so gently that his next burst of energy startled all of us. “Take of your cloaks and let all see who you really are!” his shout echoed throughout the arena.
Our lord walked down the row, giving us each our turn to take off the cloaks. The moon’s light reflected against the loose electrons that make up the shape of our wings and reveal our marks for all to see. It depends upon the concentration of electrons the color of our wings, and it is us healers that have the highest concentration for we reflect every spectrum of the moon’s light-our wings appear white and feathered. It is the wings that give away what kind we are, what talents we possess; teachers-yellow, searchers-orange, protectors-black, hunters-green, solders-red, keepers-purple, builders-blue, leaders-golden; all of their feathered wings beautiful and precious, seen only in the moons light. Wings are our prize and beauty, which is the reason takers are so feared. But many forget that the takers own wings have been cut, leaving behind a dark shadow of what their wings have once been. The loss of wings takes away their power and forces them to age quickly. That is why they cut others wings, since they themselves have been through that pain, and don’t want to suffer alone. Few of these takers feel guilt, and those that do try to redeem themselves for what they have done, the process known only by those who truly want to redeem themselves for the pain and suffering they have caused others. These last few are as scarce, if not scarcer than the amount of those who call themselves healers, are known as redeemers. All I know about them is that their past causes them to never let the moons light to touch their skin, not wanting others to judge them for the past they have been trying to fix for so long.
“Child,” our lord addressed as he stepped in front of me. Without further instruction I bowed my head, I letting my white cloak slip to the ground.

03117 always thought 01476 is beautiful with the way her silver hair fell down to her mid-back, not quite wavy, not quite straight, always seeming be doing what it wanted. She has a slender figure, barely any curves that are common in other women. Her cheekbones are high, and her jaw was sharp; whether it is due to her bone structure or her thinness, no one really knew or cared. Her lips were full and plump, one of the softer features about her. Her hands held long fingers, and are rarely still. She always seemed busy, going here or there, doing this or that. But there is one thing strange about her, a quality that people whisper about behind her back, a quality hidden within her eyes.

Eye color is the one quality that didn’t need the moons light to be revealed, and it tells a lot about that person, showing their hidden feelings. Yellow eyes mean the person is curious, green eyes show that the person is thoughtful, golden eyes show wisdom, purple symbolize pride, black reveal that the person is self centered, orange shows a persons determination, red symbolizes anger, dark red represents hatred, light blue portrays lovingness, and dark blue reveal a deep sadness.

Her eyes were a dark blue, yet no one has ever seen her cry. No one knows what her past has given her since she moved to this town when she was only eight since her mother died and no one knew who her father was. Even the family that took care of her until she recently turned seventeen didn’t really know her: all they could say about her is a hard worker, followed rules well, was loving everyone especially children, and rarely seemed rebellious; but even they couldn’t find the reason her eyes were such a deep blue, why she carried around such sadness.

Everything about how she carries herself about is different than those around her. She respects everyone, is a bit withdrawn from others. She doesn’t talk about herself other than the few accomplishments she has made, and rarely talks badly about others, but when she does she always keeps it on a hopeful note that they will change.

Yes, people only knew her by what they saw, and no one has seen her marks nor her wings before this moment.

03117 smiled as she stood uncomfortably in front of the crowd, not because of discomfort, but because the moon had revealed something that no one expected.

All of the other healers beside her were made stunning by the moon’s light, but she is mesmerizing. Her large electron wings reflected the moons light brightly, its feathers highly detailed; she outshined all of the healers next to her. She has more power than even the eldest of the healers. But her wings were not the only thing the moons light revealed about her.

Her marks from memories past can now be seen, most of them white showing that she has dealt with many trials and privileges well. Each mark has a memory that caused it, so one can easily see that this girl has been through a lot.

03117 watched as the lord walked around her, he himself awed by the potential this young woman had to offer.

“Child,” the lord started to question her, being sure everyone can hear him. “Do you fear death?”

“No my lord, I never have feared death,” 01476 answered respectfully.

“Are you in search of it?” the lord continued, trying to see if she is suicidal.

“No my lord, I see it like this; I won’t go out of my way to escape death and save myself, but I won’t go about search for it in case some use is left for my life here,” she answered as she shifted from one leg to another, relaxing a bit as if the crowd daunted her less.

The lord’s golden eyes examined her marks, but her long silver hair was covering the left side of her face. When he reached out to move it out of the way, she flinched as if he was about to strike her.

“Forgive me my lord,” she apologized as she looked at the ground, and hesitantly brushed her hair behind her ear.

Again she surprised the crowd; even the lord was so shocked that he took a step back. There, on her left cheek was a black mark running the length of her cheekbone, its thin lines winding its way away from its origin.

“A marked healer,” 03117 whispered stunned.

“How did you get this!?” the lord yelled, but she didn’t answer. “This is the mark found on every one of the dead bodies of those unfortunate enough to have encountered the dark one, how did you get this mark! Are you allying with him?”

03117 flinched as the lord screamed at 01476, for no one has seen him display such lack of self control.

“Answer me!” the lord screamed, fearful that her mark meant the dark one has sent her as a spy.

“I do not remember how I came to have this mark,” she said shakily, trying to keep the tone of her voice respectful. “And I would never ally myself with someone who has caused others so much pain and suffering; I would rather die the most dishonorable death than to harm another!”

Something in her words struck 03117 to the heart. He too, hated to see others in pain, though he knows that he had been the source of the pain in others. He refuses to forgive himself for that.

The lord stared into her eyes until he came to the conclusion that she was telling the truth.

“You are dismissed,” The lord said with a thread of anger still hidden within his voice.

She nodded and walked up the steps away from the arena.

03117 shook his head. If it were he standing up there, he would have hated to have the whole community to see and judge his flaws, and she seemed to take it well as if she expected to be judged. Either way, the lord was throwing away talent that could have been useful to the mission when he judged and dismissed 01476. But then again, it is good to know that she will not die at the dark one’s hand.
With these thoughts in mind 03117 stood up, being sure that his dark green cloak covered his skin, and left not caring who the lord decided the chosen one is.

As soon as I was away from the crowds’ sight after my blemishes having been shown, I just want to run and hide to where no one can see me. How dare he accuse me of siding with the dark one? He doesn’t know me, no one really knows me; all I give them are pieces of who I really am, I could be the dark one himself and they would never know. They wouldn’t even care about the difference, they would treat me the same, judging each newcomer no matter what the circumstances of their being there.
I started crying, away from others prying eyes. “Why am I here?” I whispered to the darkness as I turned to the left, going any random direction in the ancient city just wanting to hide my face and the blemish it holds.
Slowing my pace to a walk, I looked around at the emptiness of the ancient city. Everything is still, its stone walls towering high into the sky, windows and doors, tools still scattered about on the ground, broken carts; yet occupied by no one as if everyone left at once.
Seeing the hallway open up to a large area, I stepped down the stairs cautiously looking around at the eerie surroundings. Judging by the scattered stands, this place once was a marketplace.
Everything looked and felt dead; even the air felt still and lifeless as if the very soul of the area has been sucked dry. Even the soft tap of my bare feet felt out of place, as if this area hasn’t heard sound for thousands of years.
Walking to the center of the courtyard, I noticed that it held many entrances, for at one time this place was the heart of the ancient city. It once was bursting with life and luster, but now only shadows of memories remain.
I lightly brushed my fingertips across the surface of the nearest stand, removing a thin layer of dust and dirt. Seeing my reflection in the mark I just created, I smeared away more dirt from the mirror. Hesitantly, after a quick glance around me, I dropped my cloak letting only the darkness of the courtyard see me.
There it is, my mark. The one thing that I try to hide from others, the ugly blemish that no healer should hold. All healers are to have all white marks, to know the art of healing oneself before healing others. But I am different. I cannot heal myself, and I hold more concern for others than I do me. Traits that shouldn’t be in a healer, as much as the mark of the dark one shouldn’t be magnified on a healers face. It is one thing to have a black mark, but another to have it magnified on your very face. A face is what is remembered the most, making any imperfection upon it nearly impossible to forget. Now no one will forget the blemish I hold, especially since it is upon me, a healer. Healers are to give the appearance of perfection. But I will never be perfect, not with a reflection such as this.
Tracing my fingers around its edges, I racked my mind in search of the memory that caused this mark. But nothing came to mind. All that I can associate with it is fear, deeply embedded and unmoving fear.
Closing my eyes, I let my hand fall to the surface of the stand, trying to remember what happened. I’ve been given this mark before I moved here, and I remember little of what happened before, just flickers of memories, not even enough to weave into a vague background. Had I really met the dark one?
The rustle of a cloak jerked me out of my thoughts.
“Who’s there?” I asked without looking behind me out of fear that the stranger will be reminded of my mark that the moon reveals. But the only answer I received were the soft tap of footsteps.
I tensed more with each step, for they got louder and louder as it got closer.
Suddenly, the silence of this area swallowed the sound of the footsteps. The emptiness of the silence shook me more than the sound, and unable to resist the urge to find out who it was, I spun around only to find that no one was to be seen. Confused I started walking in the direction the sound originated from.
“Going somewhere?” a voice behind me smirked.
How did he get behind me yet again without my knowing?
Hesitantly, I turned around, finding myself face to face with a set of deep red eyes, so dark that they almost appeared black. And I saw no good in them, only hate; the hate of a taker.
Appalled by what I saw in his eyes, I took a step back waiting for his next move. One must never run from a taker, only makes better sport of the horrifying deed. But this was no easy task, for every fiber of my being is warning me that this isn’t safe, that I should flee. His hate of everything was apparent in the black marks all over him, few white marks were to be seen, but the black marks that envelope both of his hands is what defines him to be a taker to be greatly feared. Each set of wings cut blackens the hands of the taker, forever marking them for their heartless deed. His hands were black up to his elbows, a seasoned taker. He knows what he is doing.
“It’s too bad that our lord decided against choosing you, it’s a shame that such power has to go to waste,” he said scornfully as he began circling me.
Refusing to let him see my back, I turned to face him with each move he made. But when he saw me doing this he laughed.
“I thought you held no fear of death, young healer. Why do you look so nervous now?” he continued mockingly.
“Though I have no fear of it doesn’t mean I am in search of it,” I said flatly, not daring to remove my eyes from his.
“So you are fearless?” he said sarcastically.
“I never said that,” I answered tensely. When is he going to give up on the conversation and strike?
“Then what are you afraid of, my young healer?” he prodded as he reached his hand out to touch my face. When I flinched, he stopped circling me and laughed again, enjoying my fear. Leaning closer, he whispered, “are you afraid of me?”When I didn’t answer, he grabbed my face with one large blackened hand, forcing me to turn my head to the right. “Do you fear me?” he hissed directly into my ear as the knife in his other hand was pressed against my throat.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Not this close. I shoved him away from me, my unexpected move caused him to lose his balance, giving me just enough time to spread my wings and take flight.
But he wasn’t off his feet for long. Though he is a cut wing, it isn’t difficult for him to keep up. Somehow, all cut wings, whether they’re redeemers or not, are given unfathomable strength. It is as if the maker was trying to make up for their loss. It makes sense, even from a scientific standpoint; the energy from the wings had to go somewhere, so it went within. So though all of the takers are dying, they are going down powerful; with strength and speed on their side. The cut wing soared to the top ledges of the walls swift and precise as if they were nothing.
No matter how fast I flew, or how many sharp turns I made, he was always there beneath me following my every move, his yellow hair waving like a banner behind him.
Suddenly, a pair of blood red eyes leaped out at me, grabbing my shoulders and sending me crashing to the ground. I found myself pinned by yet another cut wing in a bottom corner of a small room with only one exit. Escape is nearly impossible, for I didn’t have enough room to take off flying, and the first taker stood in the archway of the exit.
“Find your own wings, this one is mine!” the blond taker challenged, not knowing who the person that has pinned me was. His cloak completely enveloped him, shadowing his face, hiding all of his marks from the moon.
Freeing me from his grip, he stood up slowly and faced the taker.
“You should find another poor soul to torment, for I am not going to let you touch her.” Immediately I recognized his voice. 03117.
How did he find me?
“You don’t get much choice in this,” the taker hissed. But he didn’t he didn’t move from where he stood.
“We’ll see otherwise,” 03117 replied, drawing a long blade from his belt. A protector’s dagger, it’s both lightweight and durable; made out of the rare transparent stone Quanitokum, a nearly indestructible rock only found in deep caves.
The taker held his own metal blade loosely within his hands, confident in his own strength and experience. He knew better than to rush his challenger, so he stood ready, legs apart and slightly bent at the knees, breathing slowly; every part of him seemed peaceful and at ease except for the hate in his eyes and the smirk on his lips.
03117’s stance was much different. One could easily see that he is restless, impatient and impulsive. Though his hands were steady and strong, his whole body was tense, coiled like a spring ready to strike. It was an internal battle for him to hold back and wait for the taker to make the first move, his eyes gave away that much. 03117 seemingly hid in his cloak, not letting the moonlight touch his skin, unlike the proud taker. But though they were different, both are powerful forces to be feared if tampered with.
I sat up, distracting 03117 long enough to give the taker the advantage of the first move. The taker lunged forward, striking 03117 stiffly with his left fist first and allowing the move to lead seamlessly to a quick slash of 03117’s shoulder, revealing a deep wound. He cried out in pain, yet he still didn’t back down, but retaliated with a swift blow to the taker’s head sending him reeling back. But the taker didn’t let down his guard, and patiently allowed time to pass between his next strikes, wanting to catch his opponent off guard. As a seasoned taker, he knows to watch his opponent and wait till it is at its weakest.
All was still for a moment; neither the taker nor 03117 took their eyes off of each other. They wouldn’t dare. Both of them were so engrossed with keeping their opponent under close watch that they didn’t notice the blanket of dark clouds hiding the light of the moon from us. The takers marks faded into his skin color, as for the marks of 03117 though they were unseen to begin with since he was always in the shadow of his own cloak. Through an outsider’s eyes, it would look like two young men in a brawl, nothing out of ordinary. It is of that unseen that tells the true story of what is happening.
“Who are you?” the taker hissed, curiosity getting the best of him.
“There is no need to tell you if you have already forgotten. I wish I could have forgotten myself, but then again I will never lose that memory out of fear that I will make the same mistake twice,” 03117 spoke distantly.
The taker smirked, and looked at his opponent more closely.
“03117, it has been a few years. I was beginning to think that you were shunning our kind, that you have grown a new heart, one that has forgotten the past. Yet here we are, fighting over a fresh pair of wings!” the taker mocked, but 03117 is unfazed.
What past is this one hiding? Who really is 03117? Many felt they knew him, and many more trust him. He is known to be an average young man; impatient, impulsive, always smiling and ready to laugh. But then again, there is a restlessness about him; and whenever the moon is out, he is surrounded by his cloak, always hiding from its light. No one has seen his marks, at least none I know. But then again, no one bothered to ask. We all have trusted in his sunny smile, his laughing eyes, and his childish manner without giving any thought as to who this man was behind them. What past could he possibly have with this seasoned taker? Have we all been fooled by his childlike mask?
“I found her first,” the taker challenged, “and I have no reason to give her up.”
03117 paused, as if he was uncertain as to whether or not he should respond.
With his blade out, ready for attack, he glanced at me, as if I somehow held an answer to a question within his head. His eyes held a deep sadness, regret and need; all of the qualities that shouldn’t be found behind a pair of red eyes.
Seeing that 03117 is distracted, he saw this as an opportunity to attack, but 03117 was more alert than he appeared for his strike was precise, cutting the taker’s right hand and forcing him to drop his weapon. At that 03117 slammed him to the stone wall.
“Look at your hands! They are covered with the blood of those whose wings you have taken. Can you not hear their cries of pain? Can you not feel their shame; there emptiness as their birth given power is drained out of their bodies? Does it not remind you of your own anguish when your wings were cut off, how your own power left you dying a slow and painful death knowing you will never reach your full potential? Yes, your hands are drenched with the blood of others because of what has happened to you. But the cut wings you have created will create more cut wings, so even you cannot imagine how much damage you have created. I meant it when I said I’m not going down that path again. I also mean it when I say you have no right to take her,” he paused, trying to carefully choose his next words. Whether it is to hide something from me or to choose words that will allow the taker to better understand him, I do not know. “She is my redemption.” He spoke the last word delicately, but it has a power over the taker, for his eyes show that he will back down.
The taker stared at 03117, studying him and his intentions.
“Do not forget the price. Redemption is a gamble at best, and now that the rest of us know that she is your redemption, you cannot back out without handing over the last bit of life and pride you have within your heart. And when that happens, I’ll be the first in line to give you what you deserve for betraying both the light and the dark. Remember that,” at that 03117 took a step back, giving him freedom to leave and the taker left as suddenly as he came.
03117 stood there, lost in his own thoughts as he stared in the direction the taker went.
I leaned back against the cold wall and closed my eyes, sucking in each breath slowly, trying to stop the racing of my heart as I attempted to piece together what has just happened.
03117’s feet scraped the ground, and I opened my eyes in time to see him ease himself to the ground, favoring his wounded shoulder. Though the strength he had shown earlier has faded, his seriousness has not.
It seems like time has stopped, and silence screamed in my ears. I need an explanation as to what has just happened, and why am I involved. Why did the taker leave at the utter of a single word, a word that has little meaning to most of us in Orian? Redemption.
I again looked at 03117, and decided to hold my tongue in regards to my many questions. Blood is pouring from his wound, covering his whole arm in a sticky red sleeve. Slowly I got up, not willing to be the one who shatters the silence that has befallen us. Due to small size of the room, I was beside 03117 within two steps.
I kneeled beside him, watching my hands glow white as I thanked the great maker for the life he has given us, the power and love he has shown us.
“Don’t,” 03117 gasped out without even turning to look at me.
“Your wound is deep, you need healing,” I said softly, ignoring his protest.
“There are many things that need healing in our society. I am not one of them, I can heal myself. I didn’t ask for your help,” 03117 continued to object.
“You may not have asked for it, but you need it. Look at your arm! If you continue losing blood like that, you will lose your wings, is that what you want?” I further pressed him.
“You can’t lose what you don’t have,” 03117 said flatly.
I stared at him, watching his eyes to see if what he is telling is true. But there was no lie in them, not within that statement.
“You are a cut wing?” I murmured to myself, not expecting him to hear.
“Yes,” 03117 said flatly.
I looked away, not wanting to give away my thoughts. Was he at one time a taker? Very few cut wings don’t follow the path of takers, but how could he be one? He is only my age!
I shooed the possibility of him being a taker away, it is not my place to judge others. If he is kind to me, I shall show him kindness in return, it is only what’s right.
Again I gave thanks to the great maker, this time I spoke softer, more respectful. Once my hands were glowing again, I pressed them onto 03117’s wound ignoring his cry of pain. Within a few seconds, the wound had healed without leaving a scar.
“This isn’t right,” 03117 whispered as he examined his newly healed arm. “You are my redemption; it is I who should be helping you.”
“What makes you think I need help?” I said, rather insulted. No one helps me; it is I who helps others.
“By helping you, I will help myself. You are my redemption, the one that will help me right a wrong I’ve made in the past…though I will never forgive myself, I want to prove to everyone that I am not one of the takers,” 03117 said, but his explanation had many holes. What did he do for him to need redemption? And what does he want from me, his redemption?
“What does the process of redemption include? What am I to do?” I asked, uncertain about the whole situation.
“You are not to know the answer to either of those questions, for your being yourself will decide whether or not I am to be redeemed,” he replied certainly, but his eyes gave way to his own uncertainty for the idea of me being his redemption is new to him. Did he just say that to save me from the taker? If so, he is paying the price now, risking so much on me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, realizing that I had forgotten my common courtesy.
“For?” 03117 questioned.
“Thank you for saving me from the taker. I know I shouldn’t have ran, it’s just that I panicked…thank you. You help me, I’ll help you. I’ll do what I can to help you gain your redemption,” I spoke the words slowly, as if my tongue wanted to re think what my mind has decided.
03117 smiled a thank you, giving me a glimpse of the 03117 we all knew. His smile faded as a thought crossed his mind.
“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked
“No, I left the family that was caring for me not too long ago. I was tired of being their burden,” I answered, giving him an abbreviated explanation.
“…Then stay with me,” he offered, though it sounded more like a command. But where else do I have to go? It is my job to return the favor, he has risked so much for me I should be willing to do the same for him. And I am willing, for helping him will help me too. Maybe, while I’m away from things I can figure out what is wrong with me, figure out why I have this black mark.
I agreed, not knowing how my whole life will change based on that one yes.

My eyes fluttered open, and though I barely slept I felt like I’ve woken up as a new person. Breath came easier than it had last night, and the searing pain of loss is now replaced by a dull ache; uncomfortable, but not deadly anymore. I knew my downward fall, the one that had started when Tasouc first came to my life, had finally come to an end. There is only one way to go now; up. I am finally looking around me with a new set of eyes; I have hope.
Hope is like energy, it never dies but rather transforms. That’s the beauty of it; it is always there if you know how to find it.
My eyes grazed across the knife that still lies beside me and a twinge of regret and shame pulses through me. That was the first thing I set my mind to that I didn’t follow through. Am I not strong enough? Why am I still here?
The door to my quarters opens silently, exposing three figures; shadows really for I didn’t look up at them until they were practically standing on top of me. I must look like a mess, hair going in all directions and a red tear stained face. A disappointment, for I am now known as the healer with the most potential power.
Two of the shadows approach me, but the third hangs back and watches every move I make. I can feel his prying eyes.
The smallest shadow knelled down beside me.
“I am sorry for your loss,” she said gently, with a string of awkwardness holding it together. “Both you and Psyfer have lost your people along with your homeland. I just want you to know I am here for you.”
“What is your name?” I asked without looking up at her.
“Zatara,” she answered questioningly to my sudden change of subject.
“Zatara, the people you speak of that I have lost have pushed me away because I was something they could not understand. Even so, they are my people; and because of the genocide I have lost everything I ever cared about,” I looked up at her; she seemed to be only a few years older than me if that. Her eyes are grey, for the moment since they seem to be constantly changing. She had choppy black hair that barely touches her shoulders, and prominent cheekbones. But no wings, she is of a different kind than I. “How could you understand what I am going through?”
Zatara took my challenge with considerate eyes and an understanding heart. She took a moment to think, and I can see that she is searching for the right words.
“The dark one has destroyed three of my home planets,” she started without a trace of scolding in her tone. “I have lost my home too. I do know how you feel.”
I nodded and looked away again, feeling ashamed for jumping to conclusions. Of course, why would they have volunteered to fight against the dark one if they have not felt the pain he causes?
The shadow next to her shifts his weight, and I look up to see a man, around Zatara’s age. I’m guessing this is the one who Zatara called Psyfer. He is exactly my height, but more heavy set than I am. His hair comes down in tight ringlets to his broad shoulders. Its color seems mismatched, silver with white highlights and dark ash lowlights, but somehow it all seems to fit. His hands and feet are large for those his size, but what fascinates me the most about him are his eyes. They are green, rimmed with a grey blue, speckled with both gold and red. Yes, this man has so many dominating qualities; even his eyes can’t decide what he feels most of the time. A protector, I can see that easily for the knife that he has in his belt; for it is nearly identical to the one Tasouc used to carry. The one he gave to me.
I again glance down at Tasouc’s gift, his last gift to me.
“What is your name?” he asked, his eyes watching mine as if he expected to see me cry. But I don’t cry. I refuse to in front of others.
“My identification number is 01476,” I answered dryly.
“And my identification number is 03752. But they need a name for records, especially for where we are going, Earth. They see numbering living things as dehumanizing, so if you want to blend in you are going to need a name,” he said gently, speaking to me as his equal, not as if I am lower to him as those of higher rank usually do. These two talking to me are different. “To honor the lost, chose a name that has been given you. I’m sure by now you have been given many; your talent is undeniable.”
“No,” I said shaking my head, ignoring his compliment. “I have only been given one name, for only one person has come to know me well enough to name me. I don’t have any others to choose.”
“And what may that be?” Psyfer urged.
“Asoulna,” I answer, remembering the confusion in the taker’s eyes as he passed it on to me.
Psyfer smiled, and his whole face seemed comical. I took refuge in that smile, allowing it to lift my spirits as well.
“The name suits you well,” Zatara said nodding. “If you ever need anything, my quarters are across the hall,” she said as she touched my arm. My pride lessened as I leaned into it, I needed contact. I needed comfort but couldn’t ask for it. Never ask for anything, appreciate what you have.
Remaining silent, I watched as the three of them walked out of my room, Psyfer picking up a large black cloak and swinging it over his shoulders before he left the room after the rest.
Suddenly I remembered the flutter of a black cloak outside my window not so long ago, is he the one who stopped me? What would he tell the others, now that I am so close to finally amounting to something?
I got up from the floor and lay down in the bed, hoping to catch some more sleep. It’s not like there’s much else to do, they still have not decided whether or not to use me on the mission. Until that decision has been made, I am confined to the crews living quarters. And apparently, I have a protector watching over me. Too bad the only threat I have is one he cannot protect me from; myself.
I close my eyes, crying for Tasouc.
“What are we going to tell Emerson?” Tor asked as soon as Asoulna’s door closed behind him. He always is strict with regulations, a man of logic and little emotion. “She appears to be far from fit for such a mission. She started off to be more risk than she’s worth, and now there she was unpresentable and distant as she has been since she got here. I don’t care if this is a suicide mission; this girl is a waste of our time.”
“Now now, Tor, don’t you keep your opinions to yourself,” Psyfer mocked the officer, yet again breaking the regulations. Though he was specifically called for the mission, he had no right to speak to the officer that way. But Psyfer didn’t care; he does as he pleases without regarding what others will think of him. But his light hearted tone vanished before he spoke again, “But then again, maybe you should. Neither of us knows what she has gone through, not even the advisors from our home planet could offer much information about her. Not to mention the fact that she has recently lost her home planet…”
“You lost your home planet too, but I don’t see you moping around over it,” Tor pointed out, cutting Psyfer off.
“That is because I have been here since I was a child. You well know my family works here, there is nothing to attach me to my home planet other than my race,” Psyfer explained.
“She has been through more than we give her credit,” Zatara said softly. She has zoned out ever since she touched Asoulna’s arm, but nether Tor nor Psyfer paid much mind to that. It happens often, for she is a Saia Nah, memory seeker. By one touch of an individual, she can see all of the memories of that person as if they are her own. But that’s only half of it, she is a shifter, and can change form into any living thing with a brain she pleases. The base prized her, for she is helpful when interrogating prisoners, for she can appear to the prisoners as a trusted friend of theirs. Yes, she has been a useful tool to the base, and they did everything to try to prevent her from being assigned on the mission too. But they couldn’t change one important fact, she wanted to go. She wants to make a difference.
Both Psyfer and Tor were silenced by her words, trying to guess what in fact Asoulna has seen in her short life.
“Either way,” Tor started, breaking the silent spell, “We have to tell Emerson that she is not ready. She is completely unprepared for such a mission, especially not one of such difficulty.”
“You have seen the mark yourself, Tor,” Psyfer contradicted, “there’s no doubt that she has faced the dark one before. Can you name another person who has faced him and lived?”
Tor’s silence was answer enough for Psyfer.
“No?” Psyfer answered for him, “Then give her some time. My home planet is gone, so you cannot find another healer to replace her. Even if you could, I know you have not seen one with potential for such great power. So don’t lie to me about that. She has power that we have only known in legends about the sons of the great maker, power that no one has seen with our eyes before. I doubt you could find anyone better.”
“Potential is not a guarantee, even you have to admit that she is a great risk,” Tor contradicted, “and I am to notify Emerson of such risks.”
“Wait,” Zatara spoke loudly, surprising both Psyfer and Tor. She was back with the real world, and had finished seeing Asoulna’s memories.
“Well, what did you see?” Tor questioned impatiently, hoping that Zatara would tell of memories that would support his argument.
“You well know that others memories are not mine to tell,” Zatara said formally. She hated Tor, for he is always impatient and prying for answers that are not his to know.
“Then at least answer this question, is she stable enough for this mission?” Tor asked, settling for the hope of her supporting his argument, not his curiosity.
“No,” Zatara said flatly, watching Tor smile all over, the way he does when someone tells him he’s right. But right when he was about to make a snippy comment to Psyfer, she continued her thought, “…but she will be soon. She had recently experienced loss. Not only that, the past affects her too much. But with a little help, I’m certain she will be even more stable than you are.”
Tor winced at the very idea that someone else could be better than him in anything. Seeing this, both Psyfer and Zatara exchanged both smiles and glances.
“You are certain of this, no more than a week?” Tor asked, surrendering.
“Yes,” Zatara replied without hesitation. “And I know for a fact the risk is too great for you to turn me down, for if a week is all she needs the mission could be lost without her. Do you want our blood on your hands?”
Tor shook his head, seeing her twist his previous argument about risk. But she is right, the risk is too great. He gave in.
“I will give you a week, not a moment more,” Tor sighed, then, noticing Psyfer’s eyes smiling in accomplishment, he continued hoping to dampen it. “And you, Psyfer, get to be the one who keeps an eye on her. You are to know where she’s at and what she’s doing at all times; hope that won’t inconvenience you. You often are absent at your other responsibilities, but if your absent for a single day at this one, I personally will kick you off of the mission.”
Psyfer beamed, giving Tor the opposite response that he was expecting.
“Yes sir! I won’t let you down. I have no problem with hanging around a beautiful woman twenty four seven,” at that Psyfer spun on his heels to go back to Asoulna’s room, leaving Tor shocked and Zatara laughing.
But that’s Psyfer’s manner, blunt and to the point; he says things in his honest opinion without regard to how others take it. Though he knows that people have a tendency to twist words and phrases they hear to please their own heart, he gives it little thought. He is who he is, and refuses to change for anyone.
Smiling at Tor’s reaction to his bluntness, he stood at Asoulna’s doorway swooping off his cloak as the door to her room opened. Orian is a cold planet, due to the lack of sunlight. Due to the darkness that resides over the planet, they are drawn to light and the warmth that comes with it. Her room is always warmer than the others, though not by much. Either way, it is too warm for his heavy black cloak.
The light flickered on, and Asoulna lay in her bed with her covers tangled about her. She seemed at peace, though her face is tear stained. She seemed better than she was not too long ago.
Psyfer retired to the corner farthest away from the bed, sitting down on the ground, back to the wall. The lights flickered off automatically, for he was out of the sensor’s range, and the light of many stars conquered the darkness. Both Asoulna’s and Psyfer’s marks and wings became apparent, now that the starlight has no competition with the artificial light.
“Funny, back at Orian, everyone thought it was the moons light that made our marks shine when in fact the moon is but a reflection of the starlight,” he said softly to sleeping Asoulna. “That is why I know your name fits you, for it means humble star. You give off such beautiful light, but no one gives you credit for it. The moon takes all your glory, yet you don’t mind. You don’t want all of the attention to yourself. You’re just happy to be doing something good.”
Psyfer stopped speaking as Asoulna stirred, not wanting to wake her. She needs her sleep, needs to heal from her wounds. He stood up slowly, so as not to disturb the sensors, and reached over to his left. He waved his hand over a black dot, and a keyboard projected and his fingers danced over its keys as he put in the code to turn off the sensors. He didn’t want to be confined to a corner throughout the night.
At that, Psyfer stepped out of the corner, his steps soft and silent, he moved to the foot of her bed, picking up the protector’s knife that she had dropped when she was about to commit suicide.
Looking at her with a sense of wonder and curiosity, he couldn’t see why she would attempt such a thing; she has power, a good heart, and a future that will make a good difference to the universe. Everything is going for her, why can’t she see it?
He sighed, putting the blade down on a table. Who is he to judge? He himself has had his moments where he wanted to give up in this fight we call life. Though the marks can be seen by all, it is what cannot be seen that defines the person, the pieces that tie each one of us together.
“Tasouc?” she whimpered, half awake.
Psyfer froze, not wanting to startle her with his presence. But she rolled over and soon has drifted back to sleep.
“Who is Tasouc?” Psyfer thought to himself as he stared at her marks. Earlier he had touched one of them when she was asleep on the floor, a white mark so that she will remember something good as she slept and for him to learn about this secretive healer. But all he found out was how she befriended a cut wing with the identification number 03117, and that she is very self conscious of the black mark on her cheek; the mark of the dark one. What else has she hidden deep within her soul?
She only has one black mark other than the one on her cheek. Curiosity came over Psyfer, and he reached out his hand. What could affect one with so little darkness within it?
As soon as his fingertips touched the mark, he was submerged into her mind as an outside spectator of her memory.

I can’t take another step towards him. Something is wrong. I can feel it in the air, and I can see it in the way he is standing. The shine of my good news has faded, and gloominess set in. He won’t even turn around to face me. I don’t exist.
Tentatively, I walk slowly until I am beside him. He didn’t acknowledge my presence, so I used this time to take in my surroundings.
A graveyard. No one came here unless someone has recently died, and even then only to bury them. It is not a safe place to be, for it is often filled with takers. Even with 03117’s protection, just being in this area makes me watchful of every movement in the shadows.
“What do you want?” 03117 said dryly.
“I have been accepted on the mission, as a backup for 03776. I am to leave tonight, since I have nothing to pack. 03776 is going to stay behind a few more days to prepare things, we both can take one person each. I don’t have to leave you 03117, you can come with…” I ramble on, the atmosphere making me nervous. But when I saw he wasn’t listening, I stopped speaking.
“Have I told you about Srelli?” he asked, lost in a memory. But he didn’t wait for my response. “She was a young searcher, only six years old. I was thirteen then, when I first met her. She had a beautiful set of wings and she really could have been something great. And I hated her for it. My wings, they were cut since I was four and my greatness was already taken from me.
“Every day her wings grew more and more beautiful, and the darkness within me grew greater and greater. At that young age I knew I was dying. And I was scared, I didn’t want to die alone. Hated the very idea of dying alone, but then again sometimes a greatest fear can become your greatest wish…” he continued wistfully. “When we found ourselves alone, I couldn’t hold back my hate and anger. I pinned her down so that she lay on her stomach, and stabbed my father’s knife deep into her back at the base of each wing, releasing the power they once held. The scream that she let out still haunts me to this day. Though her wounds healed nearly instantly, the damage lasted throughout her life, as do the black marks on my fingers. I finally had another who knew my pain.”
“My father, a protector, was the first to see what I had done. It is his job to kill any taker that crosses his path, but he couldn’t kill me for no matter what I have done I am still his son. He gave me his protector’s knife, and set me loose. I have been on my own since then. But I never was far off, I watched Srelli from a distance and I saw myself. But she got sick, and due to her weaker state without her wings, she died not long after. At that hate of others left me, replaced with a deep unmoving hate of myself. I vowed to never forgive myself.”
Silence smothered me; I didn’t know what to say. I never gave it much thought as to what he had done to need redemption. I felt an immense pain stabbing my heart, how can the one I love do something like that?
“Do you hate me?” the words came out pleadingly, for he doesn’t know what my silence means, neither of us do.
I shake my head, unable to speak.
“You should. I am leaving you; I now see that all that I have been doing is drag you down. You will go to the base that orbits Earth, and you will do many great things in your life. I’ve cheated on you, I’ve lied to you, and I can’t even love you. I never have. You are just an object to me, an attempt to free myself of my hate. But who am I fooling? Redemption is of no use to me. I refuse to forgive,” he continued, keeping his eyes fixed on a tombstone that I’m assuming is Srelli’s.
I have sensed this coming, felt it happening a long time ago. He had grown shifty and restless. Deep down I knew he wasn’t going to keep a single promise he has made, but I have been hoping that I was wrong.
Oh, creature of darkness! How often are you in search of light and freedom from your own guilt? Did you have to tear me apart and change your mind? What are you my friend, my foe?
Looking at him in the eye, I knew I was more hurt than mad. He was the first person I had learned to trust, to love, and now the first to break both.
“You are Tasouc,” I said on the brink of crying. But I will not cry. Not now. Not in front of him.
“You are the darkness that chases the light, you come so close that there is only one barrier that separates you from it. Yourself. You could learn to make yourself a better person, create a better future for yourself to make up for your past. But you refuse to!” I held his gaze, refusing to let him look away. He needed to hear these words, the reason I have given him such a name.
The truth stung Tasouc as if it were acid.
“Get out of here! I should have let that taker cut off your precious wings; I was so much better off before you came into my life!” Tasouc screamed at me, his eyes confused and wild.
At that, I turned around and took off running. How could he say that? All I was trying to do is help him, and yet he’d rather watch me suffer pain and disgrace?
Takers of all kind rushed over, racing past me with their knives out and eyes fixed. Many of them were laughing, and a few were screaming. I covered my ears so as to block the horrid sound; I knew they were going to my Tasouc. Oh great maker, what are they going to do to him? Please, let him be spared! I love him, I don’t care if he loves me back or not I do. Please, please let no harm come to him.

I woke up crying, scenes of the nightmare still vivid in my mind.
“It’s ok, it’s ok,” someone cooed to me, but I didn’t care that I was being watched; I continued to sob.
“Tasouc…” I choke out, crying out to him. Why did he have to die? Even if some miracle happened and the takers showed him mercy, there is no doubt he is dead now. He’s gone…out of my reach. I have nothing to hold on to, the good nor the bad.
Large hands brushed away my tears, wrapping me in the arms they were attached to.
“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have touched that mark. Your memories are for you and whom you choose to share them with only. I’m sorry,” the voice continued to comfort.
My vision cleared, and I saw a pair of green eyes, rimmed in a grey blue with gold and red flecks in the middle. Psyfer.
He held me close until I stopped crying, and even then it was I who let go, confused as to why he is here.
“Why are you here?” I questioned defensively, refusing to sound weak and vulnerable anymore. He has already twice seen me at my weakest, and I don’t want him to make the mistake of thinking that I am a weak person.
“I have been given orders to watch over you,” Psyfer answered.
“When were you given these orders? I haven’t seen you in my room since you came with Zatara and the other man,” I pressed on, uncertain that I like the thought of needing a babysitter to watch over me.
“Not long ago,” Psyfer stated plainly.
But what has changed? He wasn’t watching over me before, not that I know of.
My eyes fell to the knife that is now on the table, and I remembered what he saw me almost do. Shame came over me, and I turned away.
“It’s not for that reason. They don’t know, they have no need to,” Psyfer consoled, reading the expression on my face with ease.
Staring at him, I marveled at what the moon revealed. Large black wings, heavily feathered with a strict absence of light, spread out behind him identifying him as a protector. Though his power is completely opposite of me, his power is commendable, especially since it is obvious that he knows how to use it. On top of that he has many marks; a random pattern of darkness and light stretching across his visible skin. I’ll be the first to admit that many of them are dark, but he is honest with them and isn’t going around covering them up as Tasouc did. Because of this, I didn’t put much fear into Psyfer’s darkness for little is hidden and he knows how to control his darkness and not let the darkness control him. No, this is no creature of darkness and evil even though he is not all good; and, going against all logic, we are not that different. But our differences interest me greatly.
But his eyes, those are what mesmerizes me the most about him. All of the colors are equal, none strong enough to dominate over the others. He has many facets to him, each of equal importance.
Psyfer shook his head, “I’m sorry for bringing that memory back to your attention. But, how did you end with his father’s knife?” he asked apparently unfazed with the fact that I have been studying him
“A taker came up to me, right before I left for the base. He said Tasouc wanted me to have it, since he can no longer protect me and he had no one else to leave it to. That same taker called me a name that Tasouc had wanted to call me, but he ran out of time to give it. Asoulna-humble star, for though I “give off light, it cannot compare to the precious light the moon gives so freely.” He used his last words to pass protection as well as an insult, no surprise since he is a constantly divided man,” I said as my eyes wandered, I cannot let them rest on Psyfer’s eyes for I do not want him to see the line of tears that is rimming them. Keep strong.
“Do you not know the moon is but a reflection of a star’s light? That’s why Asoulna suits you, for you are the original light the moon reflects. He gave you a name of such great value without realizing it,” Psyfer nearly laughed.
I shook my head, not really believing his words.
“If what you say is true, then why didn’t the starlight show our marks on our home planet?” I asked defensively.
“That is because they didn’t give off enough light due to their distance from Orian. This Asoulna’s light is brighter for she is closer; so even her reflection will surpass the light these distant stars give,” Psyfer explained good-naturedly, completely counteracting my stubbornness.
Running my tongue over my now salty lips, I thought about what he said. It is so different, contradicting everything that I have been taught; but its logic is undeniable, making it easily believable. Have we been mistaken all of this time? What else has our lost planet been wrong about?
“From great insult to a great compliment due to a little knowledge,” I whispered as I shook my head, “Tasouc, maybe you were the one who didn’t know what you were speaking about oblivious to the truth within your own words.”
Hesitantly I looked up at Psyfer, uncertain as to ask him a question that has been eating away at the back of my mind. As a protector, he should know the answer, but do I really want to know it myself?
“Do…do you know what the takers do to those who turn down their own redemption?” I asked.
Psyfer’s eyes darkened, as if he is debating whether or not I could take it.
“You sure you want to know?” he asked uncertainly.
I nodded, hoping that Tasouc had been given at least a quick death.
“Well…first all of the other takers surround the one who has turned down redemption, with their makeshift blades that they use to cut wings at ready. They wait for the taker to state their case, after which each of them stabs it, stating one thing wrong that the one that has turned down redemption as its blood runs from the wound. Within twelve stabs, the unfortunate soul is dead, and even so they continue to disturb the corpse until each one has had its turn. They view it as a lesson to be remembered. If redemption is available; take it if one wishes too. But never back down from such a decision, never turn down a precious gift. Ungratefulness is not tolerated by those who have nothing.”
Sitting there dumbly, I couldn’t even look back at Psyfer. Didn’t want him to see how the truth affected me.
Tasouc chose me to be his redemption; somehow I must have failed him. If I hadn’t…would he be here with me? Or would he have died a quick death on Orian? Either way, it was better than the death he had been given
“Don’t blame yourself,” Psyfer said, reading my face, “There is nothing you could have done to change his fate. It was up to him whether or not he would have been redeemed; and yet he turned that opportunity down. According to the justice system of the lower takers, he had committed an offense even greater than taking another’s wings; which is turning down an opportunity to be forgiven by the great maker.”
Lesser takers? These creatures that everyone on Orian greatly feared were of the lesser?
“What do you mean by lesser takers? There are other kinds?” I asked, curious about what else I do not know.
Psyfer paused, trying to figure out the simplest way to put it.
“The phrase cut wing refers to those of our kind who have a shorter life span, yet still have great power. The takers of Orian were lesser, not governed by the greater cut wings. The dark one is but one of these greater cut wings; there are many higher and lower. They take orders from those who have greater power above him, and give orders to those below them. It is the takers at the very bottom who seem to have their own rules, for they don’t pay attention to the orders of the cutwings above them. But that is just the society of those who become cut wings out of experience. There are those who are born cut wings; commonly known as protectors…”
“What do you mean you are a cut wing?” I asked, now confused. He has wings, how could he possibly consider himself and the rest of protectors cut wings?
“Can you not see that my wings are black and do not radiate any light? That is because there is no power behind them. I, as every other protector in existence, am a cut wing; born to a life that is automatically cut short as one without wings is. Legend has it, the great maker created our kind when he discovered one of the ancients willingly cut off his own wings not wanting to be a part of his order anymore. The first great cut wing went around cutting others wings and teaching them to cut their own wings so that he grew a cut wing army to follow him. When the great maker saw these evil ones growing in numbers, he made a law that no cut wing from that moment forward could live beyond a hundred years; giving the winged ones a chance to fight back. He then created protectors to protect the winged ones and to seek out these cut wings. We were born with the pain they have, so we know how they feel, we are given a mind like them so as to help us search them out. We share strengths and weaknesses, but there is one great difference between them and us, we know how to control the pain and turmoil that comes with being without wings, they don’t,” Psyfer explained, enjoying sharing the story of the protectors.
I grew quiet, digesting the information that has been given me. Psyfer got up and wandered to my watching the stars dancing on their black canvas.
“When…when did you know that you were dying?” I asked Psyfer softly. I know it is none of my business, but how can a child be happy when it knows that in but a few years it will grow old and die?
“As far as I can remember I knew that fact,” Psyfer started softly, “ I’ll admit, there was some jealousy and it was more difficult for me to control my anger due to what I was…what I am. But it came with some benefits; I grew to adulthood faster, and even now have the physical strength and quick thinking of a cut wing. And there is one lesson of life that sticks to me even now: it doesn’t matter how long or short you are able to live, it is what you do with it that makes your life count.”
I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant.
Psyfer turned around, his eyes staring sadly into mine for a moment, but then he fought off his depression and gave me one of his heartfelt comical smiles.
“Don’t worry about me Asoulna, I am not afraid. You should worry about getting some sleep, it’s been a long night for all of us and we have plenty to do tomorrow,” Psyfer said matter-of-factly as he took the lightest blanket from the tangled mess on my bed and lay down on the floor. “I hope you don’t mind, but with the temperature you keep this room in, my cloak would be much too heavy…”
“I don’t mind,” I whispered as I again drifted off to sleep.

“Come in,” Emerson addressed Immal.
“I have the package you asked for,” Immal said, setting a box onto the desk. “Though I must ask, what is it? We don’t receive many packages from Earth, especially ones specially ordered.”
But Emerson didn’t answer, at least not right away. The very presence of the box preoccupied him, and put him on edge. He didn’t have to open it, he knows what is inside.
Sighing, he ran his hand through his short light brown hair with silver sideburns.
“Some things…just have sentimental value,” he said vaguely as he put himself together enough to give usual orders. He hated going into his personal life. “Give this to the girl who came from Orian, I am sure the clothing will suit her well.”
“She came with clothing of her own sir,” Immal said confused, “I don’t think it would be necessary to give her another set.”
“I have my reasons. And I would appreciate it if you follow my directions,” Emerson snapped, not wanting any further questions.
Immal picked up the package, hiding his irritation completely. He is outspoken, and known for stating his opinion but he let it go this time. He isn’t willing to start a fight over a box of clothing.
“Anything else you need sir?” Immal asked respectfully.
“Yes, have the girl from Orian come by tomorrow afternoon. It is about time I have met the one who supposedly has the greatest power anyone has seen for ages,” Emerson directed after a short thought.
Immal gave a quick nod and left the room without another word.
“Immal!” Zatara called after him, matching her pace with his slow steps. Her eyes light up when she saw him walking by. “There is something I should tell you, it is Emerson, he is not who he says he is. I saw it in Asoulna’s memories...” she stopped short when she saw the package in his hands, her thoughts suddenly changing direction. “Who is that for?”
Immal laughed at Zatara’s ever changing thought patterns, causing Zatara to take a breath and watch Immal for a moment to straighten her thoughts. He is a tall man, born on the planet Earth to human parents, yet he has a disposition and loyalty that is found in many great leaders. But one would not notice that by just walking up to him. He is thickly set with the normal proportion of any human, but he has features that appear delicate, contradictory to his personality. His almond shaped brown eyes rimmed with long eyelashes as well as his small smile and light complexion give off an appearance of fragility. Many have had the ill luck to assume that Immal is one easily pushed over, only to wind up finding themselves in a battle they cannot win without keeping their rank as well as their health.

“Don’t laugh at me, who’s that for?” Zatara repeated acting annoyed while trying to fight back the smile on her lips.
“The young woman from Orian,” Immal said giving in to Zatara’s curiosity. “And before you ask what is in it, all I know is that it’s some sort of clothing that is sentimental to Emerson.”

“Makes sense, for this is not the first time he has met Asoulna…” Zatara mused, stopping in the middle of her spoken thought.

“How can that be so? There are no records of…Asoulna?” Immal questioned, reassured that he has her name correct by Zatara’s nod. “There are no records of Asoulna before she arrived on Orian when she was eight. And there are certainly no records of her being here.”

“True, but Emerson has been working here for the past nine years, he could have been anywhere before that. I have no doubt that he has seen her before, at least once. I saw him in one of her major memories; our leader may not be who we think he is if what I saw is true,” Zatara explained.

“I see. But even if he is not who he appears to be, he is doing his job well; he has gotten us closer to the dark one than anyone else has been able to. That is why he is leading the project and the one choosing his team,” Immal reasoned, giving both Emerson and Zatara the benefit of the doubt.

“Even so, be careful,” Zatara warned.

Immal looked in Zatara’s eyes, realizing that what she had seen in Asoulna’s memories had greatly affected her.

“What is it that you saw?” Immal asked softly after a short period of silence.

“I couldn’t see it clearly, for it was in a subconscious memory,” Zatara started worriedly, “But I am sure I saw Emerson, and that Asoulna has a deep rooted fear of him. So be careful.”

“You’re the one telling me to be careful? What about you? You knew that the upcoming mission is most likely going to result in the death of all involved, and yet you insist on volunteering!” Immal retaliated frustrated. Although he generally respects Zatara’s decisions, he hates the idea of her losing her life to this mission.

“But you are on that mission,” Zatara said softly, ignoring Immal’s outburst.

“I know, but I was given orders to be on it, you weren’t,” Immal reminded her.

“I realize that. But I’m not going to back down from my position; I love you Immal, and I refuse to be the one safely left behind twiddling my thumbs. You were assigned to this, and now I will be there to have your back. I would rather die with you than to be left here wondering what is happening to you, wondering if you are dead or alive…”

Immal watched her in silence, frustrated that she is willing to take such a risk for him. But once he saw her look stubbornly back at him, he sighed and gave in. No one is able to change Zatara’s mind on anything, not even Immal.

“Well, if you have set your heart on this, I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to. You are quite gifted, and your abilities will be of great use to our team, we are lucky to have you,” Immal said, attempting to mask his worry with compliments.

“As we are lucky to have you as our leader, even though you’re terrible at package delivery,” Zatara teased, for they both had stopped walking as soon as Zatara’s signing up for the mission was brought up.

Immal shook his head smiling ever so slightly; he cares greatly for Zatara’s safety, but if his worry prevents him from accomplishing small tasks, what effect would it have on a life or death decision?

“Then would you mind walking me to Asoulna’s room?” he offered, trying to sound light hearted.

“On one condition,” Zatara said challengingly, “you stop trying to talk me out of the mission.”

“No problem,” Immal agreed, though he knew that request will be very difficult for him.

Psyfer woke up questioningly, for his surroundings didn’t resemble his quarters. The air is way too warm, the furniture is out of place, and he is on the floor still wearing everything including his shoes. It took a few moments for memory to remind him the reason why his surroundings are different; Asoulna.

Relaxing from the mild anxiety of not knowing where he is, Psyfer stretched and yawned, knowing that he probably won’t get much more sleep tonight. He has difficulty staying asleep for long periods of time, a trait of protectors. One who sleeps a full night lets his guard down for a full night; and though there appeared to be no immediate threat, Psyfer couldn’t force himself to sleep for more than an hour and a half. And even if he could, morning is already here. The long night of tears has ended, left only as the memory of yesterday.

Psyfer watched the window, its many stars sparkling as always. No sunrise ever challenged the darkness of the night on this base. Vinen is a dark planet with surprising consistent mild weather and a breathable atmosphere. The creatures that had once lived here had died off due to disease, leaving this small and unnoticed planet perfect for a base. The only problems they had encountered were the visibility of the base due to the lack of vegetation and trees to hide it, but this was easily fixed by a large central cloaking device.

A soft tap on the door shook Psyfer from his thoughts. Not wanting to wake Asoulna just yet, he got up carefully so as not to create too much rustling as he answered the door.

Yawning, he pressed a button to allow the door to silently slide open. Since it was not a check up, whoever was on the other side had no authorization to let themselves in.

“Psyfer, what are you doing?” Immal said shocked to see a half asleep Psyfer in Asoulna’s quarters.

“What do you mean what am I doing?” Psyfer replied, still too groggy to figure out what Immal meant.

“I know she might be vulnerable after losing her home planet, but that doesn’t mean it is ok for you to take advantage of that! What are you thinking? Are you trying to hurt her even more?” Immal scolded.

“Hush! You’ll wake her!” Psyfer whispered harshly.

“Oh, so you would prefer to be the one waking her after sleeping with her?” Immal hissed.

“Psyfer, it’s good to see that you have been following Tor’s orders and keeping a close eye on Asoulna,” Zatara cut in, clearing the air between the men, “How is she?”

“A little better than before, but we spoke only for a short while before she fell back asleep. Since she wasn’t going anywhere, I took a short nap on the floor,” Psyfer explained, running his fingers through his curly hair in an attempt to tame it.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that she is in a better condition than she was when we left her earlier,” Zatara said optimistically as Immal stood there silently.

Immal scolded himself inwardly for jumping to such a drastic conclusion so easily. He never acted this way; first bickering with Zatara and now Psyfer. He is on edge, but cannot pinpoint the reason why.

“Here,” Immal said dryly, handing Psyfer the package, “Emerson wants to meet Asoulna today, wearing what is in this package.”

“That’s the reason you had to bring the package here? Asoulna is far from ready to meet Emerson; she needs to be back on her feet before she is assessed, that is the only way for her to be placed in an appropriate place in the mission,” Zatara objected.

“Orders are orders, and whether or not he is to be trusted, he is my superior officer,” Immal countered.

“What do you mean ‘whether or not he is to be trusted’? Have you two found something out?” Psyfer questioned, for few have been able to come up with anything but praises for Emerson.

“Doesn’t matter. Just make sure she wears it when she goes to Emerson’s office today,” Immal ordered, not wanting to spread anything about his superiors unless he has more evidence.

“Will do,” Psyfer replied closing the door as Immal and Zatara rushed off to perform their daily duties.

Psyfer turned around and walked over to Asoulna’s bed, placing the package on top of the knotted mess of blankets at Asoulna’s feet, surprised that she is still asleep even after all of the bickering. He found refuge in her peace, allowing himself to straighten his own scattered thoughts as he looked upon her still form. Worry and pain have been washed away from her face, making her appear childlike. The world that envelopes her when she dreams, Psyfer could only guess. But it doesn’t matter, for she looked content, as if she only gave up her battle against herself when she is asleep.

“What is your fate Asoulna?” Psyfer whispered to the darkness, “You hold on to the past so desperately, you forget to look ahead at all of the promise you have. There is something different about you than other healers, even Tasouc noticed that when he saw your power. But it runs even deeper than power, but down into who you are at heart is where your greatest difference lies. I know you have given up, but something tells me you won’t for long. You do not appear to be one who stays knocked down for long. I know you have something grand in store for you; the great maker has set his plans in motion.”

Psyfer sat down beside Asoulna; captivated by the white light her wings are continually freeing to battle the shadows of the room. He reached out his hand, sweeping her tangled hair out of her face, allowing his hand to linger on her left cheek for a moment.

“You have much to learn, Asoulna. But something tells me you will get through it,” Psyfer whispered wistfully as he watched her blue eyes flutter open.

Psyfer. There he is, smiling down at me. But why? What have I done to cause him happiness?

Wondering this, I yawned and stretched, trying to ignore the fact that Psyfer is watching my every move.

“Good morning,” Psyfer addressed cheerfully, considering he barely looked awake himself.

“Morning,” I answered respectfully as I sat up, trying to clear my head.

“There has been a change of plans. Emerson, the head officer of this base, wants to meet you this morning. And apparently he wants you to look your best, for he has sent you this,” Psyfer said as he gestured to the package at the end of the bed.

I nodded, not knowing what to say.

Standing up, I started towards the bathroom grateful to have a reason to get cleaned up again. I have been lost in my own self pity long enough, it is time to move forward. Tasouc will never care about me again; he made that much clear when I last saw him. He is now undoubtedly dead, and even if he had remotely still cared about me he wouldn’t be able to do anything to act on it. It is about time that I started to genuinely care about myself.

Opening the bathroom door, I noted that it was still in the perfect condition that it was when I first got here. I have used it multiple times since I have gotten here of course, but I had taken great care to place things back to where they were, not wanting to be a burden to the housekeeper who no doubt has plenty to do as it is.

I gently shut the door behind me and locked it. Unlike all of the other doors on the base where you press a button and it opens for you, you have to open and close all of the bathroom doors manually. I guess if there was ever a power outage, it allows everyone to at least be able to use the toilet.

Looking around me, I felt like I am seeing things for the first time. I noticed the light blue paint on the walls, and everything besides that is either white or transparent; white towels, white toilet, white sinks, white cabinets, white bathtub, transparent shower door, transparent light shades and faucets.

Again, I stretched, growing more content with my surroundings. After turning on the shower water, I stripped, dropping my clothes in what the housekeeper called a “hurricane”, which turns out to be a washing machine that cleans and dries clothes in a matter of minutes. Once I am out of the shower, my clothes will be dry and warm, ready to be folded.

Once the water started steaming, I stepped in; grateful for the warmth it gave off and wasted five minutes just standing there, getting lost in various daydreams and memories until I lathered myself in soap and more than enough shampoo and conditioner than necessary. After I rinsed off, I turned off the water and stepped out, content in a numb sort of way. I have to continually fight to forget, fight to make myself ok for just a few more minutes.

After drying off quickly, I reached into the washing machine and threw my clothes back on, remembering that I forgot the box in the bedroom where Psyfer is. After wrapping my hair up in a towel I ventured back into the bedroom immediately noticing Psyfer messing around on a projected keypad by the door, turning on the lights, and causing the windows to turn black, without any transparency.

“You know, you can change the tint of the windows for privacy when you are getting dressed. You are lucky that the window to this room faces out, and few people wander by outside if at all,” Psyfer said, noticing my presence without even turning around.

“Then what were you doing there earlier last night?” I questioned, curiosity getting the best of me.

“To be honest, I was avoiding Tor, my superior officer. Whenever he runs into me, I am always criticized for doing something wrong when I’m working, or for being lazy when I’m not. We have always been on bad terms with each other even back when we were kids. He was the one who followed rules as if they were commandments from the Great Maker himself, while I looked at them as a suggestion rather than an order. Don’t get me wrong, I follow them for the most part and do my fair share of work; but when something comes up and doing the right thing involves breaking a few rules, I am perfectly willing,” Psyfer explained, allowing me a brief glimpse as to who he was as a child.

“I see,” I said, again glancing at the blackened window, trying to picture exactly where I first saw Psyfer. But I didn’t stare there for long, for I refuse to remember my reasons for being in the state he had first seen me in.

“Do you need a shower or anything? If you were given orders to watch over me, you are most likely going to see Emerson too, and it might be for the best if you are cleaned up,” I offered, trying to change my train of thought.

“Alright, just do me one favor,” Psyfer said light heartedly after a short thought.

“What is it?” I asked uncertainly.

“Don’t go anywhere while I am in the shower. It would look bad to my superior officers if I am not following direct orders,” He continued with a smile before retiring to the bathroom. Even at this time, he still gave off the appearance of being happy, and even if it turns out to be just an act I wouldn’t care. It gives me a small refuge of joy to see another creature happy in my presence, miserable as I am.

Once the click of the bathroom door reassured me I was alone, again I had to fight off thoughts of Tasouc and feelings of guilt that he has died alone. I should have stuck by him, I should have been there.

Shaking my head, I smothered these thoughts trying to extinguish them or in the very least hide them for now. He is gone, and there is nothing I can do about it.

Thinking this, I turned away from the window and walked to my bed, and started fumbling with the cardboard packaging of the box, overwhelmed with wonder as to what is inside.

Once the brown cardboard box was opened, it revealed another box, this one black, and handled with more care than the one outside of it. The box itself seemed vaguely familiar; I must have seen one like it before, since the chances of me seeing this particular one are slim.

Almost giddily, I lifted the lid that covered its contents and gently pulled everything out of it, laying it out on the bed. The familiarity of the clothing, the box it was in, even the light smell that seeps from it, struck me hard. I cannot place the where or when, but I know without a doubt that I had seen these things before. Were they once mine? Or had they belonged to someone I once knew?

The dress itself is light and delicate looking even though it has three layers in the skirt. It is strapless with a low stooping back and a skirt that hovers an inch above the ground in the front to a one foot train in the back. Its fabric is light and thin and completely lacking any color. It starts from a dark grey at the top of the dress, fading to a lighter gray to the bottom of the first outermost layer of the skirt. This darkest layer was also the shortest, ending under the knees in the front and a four inch train in the back. The second layer is a light grey that ended at the mid calf and had an eight inch train in the back. The third layer is pure white, ending one inch above the floor in the front and had a train that is one foot in length.
On top of that, it has a slit on each individual layer that runs just above the knees, the slit on the bottom layer more towards the left knee, the slit in the middle was placed in the center, leaving the top slit residing more towards the right knee. This made the dress flutter when whoever is wearing it decides to walk.

The dress in itself is stunning, not too simple or over the top. It looks like it is in perfect condition too, but I cannot figure out why Emerson would want me to wear it when I meet him today.

The familiarity of the dress enthralled me, and I quickly changed into it surprised to find that it fits me perfectly. Removing the towel from my head, I worked a comb through my long white hair until the water has evaporated from it. Then I used a fine toothed brush to make it shine healthily before I wrapped it up into a bun at the back of my head, leaving a piece down on each side of my face. Those I put into two small braids and crisscrossed them at the top of my head, pinning them under my bun.

I hesitated before I touched the remaining components of the box; a cloak, its material like that of the dress, light, delicate looking, soft to the touch, yet durable. It is silver in color, and gave of a beautiful iridescent sheen to any light, matching the dress perfectly. Its hood is clasped together by a simple yet stunning silver broach with a few small diamonds studded into it.

Sweeping it around me, I put it on again surprised at the fit. The only problem was that the train is even longer on the cloak making it a tripping hazard when I walk down the hallways.

After that, I looked into the windows, watching my reflection for any sign of imperfection. Finding none, I looked myself over with a small sense of pride and a small sense of irritability for I cannot remember why these items are so familiar to me.

“You look beautiful,” Psyfer whispered, as if any harsh tone would shatter the moment.

“Thank you,” I said, turning to smile at him. His hair fell down in ringlets, the humidity causing the strands to cling together. The shower seems to have woken him up, for his eyes are shining brightly and he appears to be more alert to his surroundings.

Noticing my smile, Psyfer’s eyes softened and he reached out his hand; gently tracing my smile with his fingertips.

“Though you look beautiful when you cry as well as when you are serious, you look even more beautiful when you smile; so don’t keep them to yourself,” Psyfer again complimented.

“We should be going,” I said, ignoring his last compliment as I turned around and handed Psyfer his cloak.

“Alright,” Psyfer responded, continuing to beam at me as he swung his cloak over his shoulders and clasped it in the front, “let’s go.”

Psyfer couldn’t help but watch the creature beside him, mesmerized by her. The clothing that Emerson had sent for her to wear flutters with each step she takes, capturing the eyes of everyone she passes. All were curious as to who she was, for few have seen her since she hasn’t ventured from her room since she had been brought here. But she seems self conscious with all of the attention she is receiving because of her appearance, a reaction Psyfer did not expect.

“Psyfer!” Tor called after him as soon as he passed by.

Hearing his head officer call him, Psyfer turned around leisurely, a smirk already placed on his lips.

“Yes Tor?” he answered light heartedly.

“Where are you going? You are to look after Asoulna, have I not told you that? But here you are, disobeying my orders yet again, leaving the poor wreck behind. I am going to have to…” Tor scolded, but stopped short.

Asoulna stepped forward, lowering her deep hood to allow Tor to recognize her.

“Is there a problem sir?” she asked respectfully, her dark blue eyes staring deeply into Tor’s, making even him shift uneasily.

“Asoulna…I…I didn’t recognize you,” Tor stuttered.

“Understandable. I must not be such a miserable wreck after all then, am I? But then again maybe you would recognize me better if I was,” she said drawing out the insult Tor had previously said giving him a loss of words, a task not easily done. But then she smiled gently, softening her gaze.

“It is nice to meet you Tor,” she said politely, not wanting to have any foul relationships.

“Tor, this is Asoulna,” Psyfer said, taking the initiative to teach him the lesson of not jumping to conclusions.

“Good to meet you,” Tor responded, finally finding his words.

Asoulna nodded, following Psyfer to the door of Emerson’s office.

“You nervous?” Psyfer asked her, noticing her hesitation.

“Is he the one who decides who is on the mission and who is not?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yes,” Psyfer said, answering her question.

“Then yes, I am very nervous,” Asoulna said as she looked at the door.

“You will do fine,” Psyfer encouraged, “I’ll be waiting out here.”

Asoulna turned to him and smiled, entering Emerson’s office without another word.

I have been on my toes ever since I had stepped out of my quarters wearing this. I have grown so used to fading into the background that I become uneasy when people stare at me, even when they have good reason to. The clothing that Emerson has requested for me to wear is completely unlike the clothing anyone else on the base is wearing, or at least as far as I can see. Even so, I was surprised to receive that kind of attention, regardless of what I am wearing, but the way Emerson looked at me is what surprised me the most.

“Esperina,” he said tenderly, his eyes revealing an unlikely combination of love and hate.

“Excuse me?” I inquired respectfully, trying to make sense of his greeting.

“My apologies, for a moment I thought you were someone else,” Emerson said, busying himself with clearing the papers off his desk.

“I recognize that name, would you mind telling me who it belonged to?” I asked, watching his hands move about his desk. I recognize those hands. But from where?

“You don’t remember anything, do you?” Emerson said dryly, without looking up, “Esperina, she was your mother. The clothes you are now wearing are the ones she wore the day she died. I think they suit you well, do you not agree?”

Mother, my mother was Esperina. She had many names given her, but only one person called her that.

“Father,” I whispered, taking a step back tensing.

“That is up for debate my dear,” he smirked, “for I doubt it is possible for a healer and one of the original cut wings to produce a healer of your kind. But then again, I could be wrong.”

“Mom never cheated on you!” I hissed, his very presence irritating every nerve in my body.

“Do you know that for a fact?” he questioned, unfazed by my outburst.

How could I answer him? I cannot remember much of what had happened before I was eight; all I know is that I had forgotten for a reason.

“But then again, how could you know? It was before you were born, so don’t be so quick to stand up for something you yourself cannot be certain of. I bet you don’t even remember what caused that black mark on your cheek, do you my dear?” Emerson continued.

I started trembling. Whatever secret the mark hides, I don’t want to know anymore. Maybe some things are meant to be forgotten.

“Then let me refresh your memory,” he hissed as he stood up.

The walls of his office changed, and I was surrounded by a large room with high cement walls, and windows that run from floor to ceiling. It was bright outside, and light illuminated into the room. Very few things personalized this room, a desk in the center where a younger version of Emerson sat, seemingly unaware that his older self and his daughter are watching him.

“Emerson!” my mom greeted, holding me. My breath caught in my lungs when I saw her, she looks exactly like me.

“Emerson!” she called out again excitedly

“What is it, Esperina?” Emerson answered, returning her enthusiasm.

“Our daughter, she has wings!” my mother said excitedly, “Isn’t that wonderful? She will live a full life; she won’t have to suffer the pains of a cut wing!”

“How is this possible? You well know that the gene for a healer is recessive,” Emerson said, his eagerness vanishing.

“Yes but none of the cutwings have had children with those with wings, so maybe that trait is not dominant either,” Esperina said joyfully as I squirmed in her arms, wanting to walk. She gave in, setting me down on the floor so that I can take bouncy steps around the room. I couldn’t have been much more than one year old for my hair had barely started coming in.

“Or maybe you aren’t telling me everything that I should know,” Emerson said darkly.

“What do you mean?” my mom said nervously.

“I am just saying that no child of mine could be born with wings,” Emerson shouted, “So tell me who is the father!”

Esperina took a step back, for the first time in a long time terrified of Emerson.

“You are, I promise you she is yours!” my mom answered panicking.

“Liar!” Emerson screamed, throwing his desk over sending papers flying everywhere.

My one year old self started crying, drawing Emerson’s attention to it.

“No!” Esperina screamed as she blocked his path, “don’t harm her!”

“Why not? She is no child of mine, so I have no reason to protect her” Emerson hissed.

“She is yours, trust me,” Esperina whimpered.

At that, Emerson snapped, his distrust in everything exploded giving way to a rage that no one could stop. He grabbed Esperina by the throat and slammed her to the wall, oblivious to her shaking and gasping for air.

“Don’t you dare lie to me again, or so help me those will be the last words you make,” Emerson threatened, watching mom fall to the floor as he released her from his grasp.

Esperina coughed violently as Emerson rushed to the scattered contents of his desk, picking up his knife. Once she saw that he was going for the baby, Esperina threw herself at Emerson, blocking his path.

“Please,” she sobbed. When Emerson tried to throw her aside, she clung to him.

“You love this child than you love me, do you?” Emerson asked, sounding hurt.

Esperina couldn’t answer, for she was again caught in another coughing fit.

“Answer me!” Emerson shouted frantically, but Esperina started sobbing instead.

Emerson wrapped Esperina in his arms, holding her close to him. For a moment, it looked like all could be forgiven, that this outburst could be forgotten and that they would go on with their daily lives. Emerson kissed her cheek tenderly, and Esperina’s sobbing eased.

“You betrayed me,” he whispered sweetly into her ear as he stabbed his knife deep into her back at the base of her left wing. She screamed, her body shaking violently in his arms as her power began to leave her.

“Do you really think I would let you get away with it?” he continued, unfazed by Esperina’s cries as he stabbed the base of the second wing.

Once he pulled his knife out he let her fall, amused that the wounds that removes ones wings heal instantly. He then bent over, and took of her cloak as she lay there in shock.

“Don’t want to get this ruined, my dear,” he continued with a sticky sweet voice, “for this will make a lovely gift for your daughter, do you think not?”

At that, he laid her head in his lap, running his fingers through her hair before bending down and giving her a soft kiss on the lips before running his blade across her venerable throat, careful to keep the blood from dripping onto the dress.

“Mama!” the child screamed, oblivious as to what has happened. All Esperina could do to answer her daughter is make a gurgling sound before she died.

“Mama,” the child sobbed, approaching Emerson and Esperina tentatively. Once the child got within reach, he slapped her, causing her to hit the ground hard.

I couldn’t stop shaking, how could he do something so horrible, how could he?

“You take after your mother in more ways than I had expected,” Emerson said dryly, unaffected by the memory brought back to both of our minds, “I had thought a healer falling for a cut wing was a rare thing, but apparently I was wrong.”

“No! Don’t bring him up, please don’t, not after you had made me weak under the burden of memory. I cannot bear watching anyone else in pain, please don’t!” I wanted to cry out, but couldn’t; whether it is pride or fear that keeps me at a loss of words, I do not know. Stay strong.

There he is, Tasouc. He is running frantically around the room, not noticing the child and the man beside a dead woman. Takers of all kinds appeared out of nowhere, screaming and laughing with their knives out.

“Asoulna! Help me!” Tasouc cried as he clung to me as I panicked. This is not a memory; I have never seen this with my own eyes.

“Tasouc!” I cried, touching his cheek. But he didn’t answer me; instead blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth as his whole body shook with the stab each taker gave him. Soon the life in his eyes was extinguished, and there is nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t support the weight of his body up, but I couldn’t let go. We both fell, and the takers continued coming, covering me in his blood.

Pain, that’s all I can feel, a deep rooted pain that consumes everything in its path. No love, no hate, no joy, only pain.

Looking up at my father, I know exactly who he is. This is how he had killed many, leaving a black mark on the cheek of their dead bodies. He is the dark one, the one the mission is being set up to destroy.

“Vorasht,” I said to him, naming him, “For you are full of an endless darkness that takes pleasure in other’s pain.”

After saying that, I closed my eyes, letting out a scream as my pain worsened expecting that to be the last sound I will ever make. I have escaped Vorasht’s wrath once, it is unlikely that I will be able to again.

Psyfer jumped up in alarm, her scream ringing in his ears. Something is wrong, Emerson’s orders were to meet Asoulna, and even if he took this opportunity to assess her for the mission she would not react like this. Assessment is an interview to look over one’s mental stability for such a mission, and she sounds like she is being tortured.

Asoulna screamed again, drawing the attention of others in the hallway. Psyfer closed his eyes, backing up to the wall opposite to Emerson’s office door. He is infuriated, to the point that adrenaline pulsed through him as he instantly calculated how much strength it would take to break down the door.

Opening his eyes, the world around him was tinged with the color red as he tensed focusing on the door. Other soldiers were attempting to open the door, tapping into the electrical circuits that controlled it, but still it won’t budge.

“Out of the way,” Psyfer warned calmly, but once they saw the look in his eyes they hurried away from the door.

Psyfer swiftly rushed towards the door slamming into it with all of his might causing it to crumble. In that moment he is grateful to have the immense strength of a cut wing even at the price of a shortened life.

The impact startled Emerson, and the images that he was using to torture Asoulna faded before Psyfer’s eyes as Emerson lost his concentration.

Seizing his opportunity, Psyfer leaped at Emerson pinning him against the wall. But Emerson remained calm, staring into Psyfer’s eyes.

“Don’t underestimate me,” Emerson hissed as he created an energy pulse around him, destroying the wall behind him and sending Psyfer flying back hitting the wall beside the door.

Thought the impact hurt, it didn’t keep Psyfer off of his feet for long.

“What are you?” Psyfer yelled, this time keeping his distance so that he can put more thought into his next move.

“Simply put, a cut wing,” Emerson answered vaguely.

“How long have you been one?” Psyfer asked, a tinge of wonder in his angry tone.

“About three thousand years,” Emerson replied.

“Only the first cutwings have the ability to live that long,” Psyfer said suspiciously, thinking that Emerson is lying about his age.

“Looks like someone knows his history,” Emerson teased, “Like the ancient winged ones, the ancient cut wings have the ability and power to live indefinably until they are murdered. It wasn’t until our numbers grew considerably when the great maker shortened the life span of any new cut wings to a hundred years, and created your kind with the same powers and limitations. But when the great maker saw that even those who were good in heart were deprived of their wings unwillingly, he shortened the lives of the winged ones to one thousand years to make it fair for those victims, making the loss not nearly as great.”

“Why did you cut your own wings?” Psyfer pressed on, wanting to know as much as possible about his opponent.

“I hate to say this, young protector, but story time is over,” Emerson hissed as he picked up a sizable piece of debris and flung it at Psyfer, of which he dodged.

Seeing that Psyfer was distracted, Emerson rushed over and picked him up by the throat.

“Don’t!” Asoulna screamed, finally returning to her senses, “Vorasht, please don’t kill him.”

Emerson stood there, debating whether or not to kill Psyfer first, or to destroy Asoulna as well as the memories her presence brought with her.

Tossing Psyfer aside, Emerson rushed over to her and picked her up by her hair. Ignoring her struggle, he dragged her to his desk, pulling out a knife.

“Deep down I always knew that you were going to end up like your mother,” he said without a hint of pity in his voice.

“Let her go, or you will die,” Psyfer threatened, holding his protectors blade over Emerson’s throat. Emerson had underestimated him.

Emerson let go, knowing that he had no chance of fighting back with his hands full. It was then he took note of his surroundings, multiple soldiers pointing guns at him. Success of possible escape appeared slim for him, but fear knows no residence on his face as he cockily dropped his knife.

At that, Psyfer removed his blade from Emerson’s throat, feeling secure that the other soldiers will take care of him, and turned his attention to Asoulna searching her for any injuries. Finding none, he picked her up and started out of the room.

“Go ahead; walk away with a sense of victory. You have saved her for now. But I will be back when you least expect it, and I guarantee you won’t be as lucky,” Emerson warned, laughing, “And I wouldn’t stay on this base much longer. Something tells me that “the dark one” has set up a bomb large enough to destroy the planet as well as everything on it.”

“Now Emerson, don’t you underestimate me,” Psyfer said, repeating what Emerson had said earlier.

At that, Emerson let off another electric pulse, sending those around him off their feet as pieces of the building crumbled around them.
“Shoot him!” a superior officer commanded, and bullets filled the air though no one could see what they were shooting, and once the dust cleared he was gone. Somehow, he had escaped.
Panicking, Psyfer pulled Asoulna to her feet.
“Can you walk?” he asked, his eyes searching around her for Emerson.
“I think so,” she said shakily, her eyes round with fear.
“Good, let’s go!” Psyfer said, grabbing her hand and taking off down the halls. He cannot stand the idea of Emerson lurking somewhere close by, cannot stand the idea of her being hurt again.
“Where are we going?” she shouted above the uproar.
“Escape pods, I doubt he was bluffing about the bomb!” Psyfer answered without looking back.
He turned a sharp right only to find a dead end. But there is no time to retrace steps.
“Are those the escape pods?” Asoulna asked, looking out the window at the spaceships three stories down.
“Yes,” Psyfer said irritably as he started to turn around.
“Good enough for me,” she shouted as she rushed towards the window.
Catching on Psyfer matched her pace, breaking out surrounded with confetti of broken glass. They flew until they were on top of the escape pods, landing clumsily on them.
“Psyfer, Asoulna, what is going on?” Zatara shouted, standing at the entrance of a large starship.
“Emerson is the dark one, and he has set a bomb somewhere on the planet!” Psyfer shouted, sliding off of the top of the escape pods with Asoulna close behind. As soon as their feet touched the ground they rushed to the ship Zatara was standing in front of.
“Told you he is not one to be trusted!” Zatara shouted at Immal as soon as he walked out to find out what is going on.
As if the base itself was trying to prove Zatara’s point, a small explosion set off destroying the main buildings of the base, transforming them into a mushroom cloud of oranges and yellows surrounded by a black enclosing of smoke. There was a moment of silence as everyone looked away from it, dodging for cover.
“Get in, all of you!” Immal ordered once everything sunk in. Everyone within hearing distance rushed in, the slower soldiers Immal dragged up the ramp, for he refused to leave anyone behind.
“Yuit, start the ship,” Immal ordered the thin man at the helm.
“Already on it!” he answered as the ship shook beneath them.
“Psyfer,” Asoulna called worriedly, watching the destruction that surrounds the ship.
“Yuit, we need to go now!” Psyfer shouted.
“I’m on it, I’m on it!” Yuit shouted anxiously as he engaged the thrusters to get the ship off of the ground. “Brace yourselves,” he warned as the ship went into warp drive. When the planet did explode, all that they could see was a bright flash of light in the distance.

Gadion paced back and forth, trying to make sense of the situation.
“So you’re saying the one who we are to kill on our mission was the one running it?” Gadion questioned uncertainly.
“You have to admit, it made a great cover. Everyone was looking to him to find the dark one, putting him in the position of giving us false leads to make sure we would never find him,” Zatara reasoned.
“I understand that part, but why does he want to kill his own daughter?” Yuit asked referring to Asoulna had explaining that Emerson is her father earlier.
“Because he doesn’t think she is his. No one knows whether the cut wing gene is dominant or recessive for they tend to have children of their own kind,” Psyfer explained.
“But even he must still be uncertain, for if he knew for sure that she is not his daughter, he would have killed her by now. She has his magnitude of power, that much can easily be seen. And even if she is his daughter, he may just kill her anyways because of the threat she poses. The ancient cut wings have worked long and hard to kill off the ancient winged ones. This accident just might bring the ancient winged ones back into control over the cut wings,” Immal explained logically.
Hearing these words, Psyfer looked down at Asoulna, running his fingers through her hair, mindlessly pulling out the pins. Zatara had suggested everyone to let her sleep, for it would help her state of shock for what she had experienced.
“If she has so much power, why didn’t she defeat the dark one herself? Why did she need rescuing?” Gadion pressed on.
“Great power is useless unless you know how to use it,” Psyfer said thoughtfully, silencing everyone around him.
Immal watched as Psyfer pulled each pin out of Asoulna’s hair, gently running his fingers through the silver strands until they became somewhat orderly.
“You have grown attached to her, haven’t you?” Immal asked gently.
Psyfer didn’t answer, for he knew that Immal knows the answer to his own question.
“Be careful. The chances of her surviving much longer are low at best,” Immal warned.
“As are the chances of anyone on this mission,” Psyfer retaliated.
Immal nodded, letting go of Psyfer’s defensiveness.
“Even so, we will have to take extra precautions when it comes to her. We are going to temporarily impair her brain, causing it to stop giving the command of releasing the electrons that show her wings,” Immal started.
“You are going to turn her into a cut wing?” Psyfer shouted protectively.
“Temporarily, yes. Her wings will still be there, but we need them to be hidden from the dark one as she learns her powers. Not only that, but she needs to have temporary amnesia, in case he would ever find her. That way he would easily mistake her for a look alike, without wings and without any memory of him. This has to be done in order to give her a better chance,” Immal continued patiently.
“Who do you expect to do this? None of you have much knowledge of anatomy if at all, especially the areas and functions of the brain,” Psyfer countered, not wanting to see her lose her wings.
“We don’t, but you do,” Immal pointed out.
“I am a protector, not a taker,” Psyfer protested.
“Would you take to save her life?” Immal countered.
“But where would she go, with no power or wings?” Psyfer continued worriedly.
“Before she was sent to Orian, a family on Earth took her in, adopting her. They had grown quite attached to her, and were heartbroken when they had to send her to Orian when the dark one came close to finding her. We know them well, and I’m sure they will be happy to take her in again,” Immal explained.
“And don’t think you will be relieved of your duties of watching over her, for she is going to need as much protection as she can get,” Immal continued, being sure that Psyfer knows what is expected of him, “You wont be living with her, but you will be situated nearby. That will be your task for this mission as well as giving us any information of the dark one you may come across.”
Psyfer nodded solemnly, still feeling guilt for what he is being asked to do.
“Strange if you think about it; daughter of darkness and light she must grow up and face the fight. Her actions will tell if cut wings prevail victorious, or if winged ones return to control. It couldn’t have happened better if it was planned,” Zatara mused, lost in her own thought.
Was this beautiful accident a gift of chance or a product of plan? Either way, it doesn’t matter; everyone has their own part to move things forward.
“Goodbye Asoulna,” Psyfer whispered into her ear before following through with the procedure, “I hope you will remember me someday…”

“She is coming to!” a female voice shouted over me.
Where am I?
I opened my eyes but immediately shut them, the light burning my skull.
“What is your name?” a deeper male voice asked gently.
My name, what is my name? What happened? Why am I here?
“I…I don’t know,” I managed to say, the words stumbling off of my tongue.
“Do you remember what happened?” He asked, sounding concerned.
Opening my eyes cautiously, I squinted up at his blurred form, wondering how he can stand such brightness.
“Do you remember what happened?” he again asked.
Closing my eyes, I shook my throbbing head.
“My head hurts…” I whimpered, not sure what else to say. What can I say when everything before this moment feels gone? Shouldn’t there be memories of something, anything?
“Who are your guardians?” he pressed on, trying to find a thread of information about me. But I cannot tell him the answers to the questions I am asking myself.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, wishing for sleep.
The male voice paused, and though my eyes are closed I can feel him watching me.
“Can you remember anything?” he asked quietly.
A tear escaped my closed eyes as I racked my mind for something, just one memory, just one piece of information about myself and I would have been satisfied. Again I opened my eyes, this time allowing them to adjust to the bright light surrounding me. The owner of the male voice is wearing a white shirt and pants, as well as some sort of mask over the lower half of his face. He has short fine golden hair, and a pair of bright green eyes that are now staring into mine.
“No,” I admitted, answering his question.
There was a pause as he wrote something down on a clipboard, worry prominent in his eyes.
“Where am I?” I asked, trying to make sense of my surrounding. Everything appeared bland, white walls, salt and pepper tiled floor, white sheets, few bland paintings occupied the wall. Who would ever want to live in a place such as this?
“You were found unconscious without any clothing on the streets; the police took you to this hospital to see whether or not you are ok…” he started, his voice trailing off as he got to the end of the little information he knew about me.
“There is no reason to worry though,” he continued, reading the expression on my face, “There are no signs of sexual abuse or any other form of abuse for that matter. The only thing that appears to be wrong with you is amnesia, a hopefully temporary memory loss. As to who you are, we are working on figuring that out. We have taken your fingerprints and a DNA sample to run them through missing people’s reports. If we cannot find out who you are there, we will search other records and hopefully find some answers.”
“Where am I to go if you don’t find anything?” I asked. Bland as this hospital is, it’s the only place I remember being in. I am not particularly eager to be submerged into unfamiliar surroundings yet again.
“Don’t worry about that, you can’t be any younger than 16 so you would be placed in a nice foster home if it comes down to that,” the Dr said, failing at his attempt to comfort me.
I sighed, not knowing what comfort I am supposed to find in his words. But instead of focusing on it, I let my mind wander. I wish I was somewhere else, somewhere surrounded by stars, nothing but stars. I want to be surrounded by light that isn’t so harsh, so gaud; to not completely fade into the shadows, or to be completely exposed by the light.
“Dr. We have identified the young girl,” a young woman with liquid brown eyes and dark hair and skin. She walked to the Dr with a sense of pride and elegance, talking to him as if I wasn’t there.
But I am here so I listen closely, watching the Dr’s eyes as he looked over the folder that somehow shows who I am.
“Interesting,” the Dr whispered.
“What is it?” I ask nervously, unsure as to what he has found of interest.
“Ever Lee Condell,” he started, watching my eyes for any recognition of the name that spoke, but the name feels foreign to my ears.
“You have been missing for quite a while, almost ten years, so there isn’t much information about you. You had an abusive father, and when your mother died when you were just over one year, you were sent to foster care. Three weeks after the foster parent signed the adoption papers, you disappeared. There is no information as to what had happened to you from the time you were eight to now. But at least you now have somewhere to go. Your adoptive mother, Lynn Ida Condell, and her Adoptive son Malachi will take you in until you turn eighteen, which isn’t for another five months…”
“Are they going to come for me?” I asked nervously. The idea of strangers, especially ones that I should recognize, picking me up didn’t sound too appealing.
“Yes, as it turns out they don’t live that far from here. I was just on the phone with Charlotte and read her your descriptions. She was overjoyed that you have been found after such a long time, and I don’t blame her. It is nothing short of a miracle, for after five years we have assumed that you have died. She will be here shortly, even at this late hour,” the nurse stated without feeling.
“So I am leaving now?” I asked, looking at the Dr.
“You have no injuries that require medical attention, and the amnesia is more likely to fade if you are in familiar surroundings so I don’t see a reason why you should stay. Plus, you have a family that hasn’t seen you in years. I’m sure you’ll recover in no time,” he said reassuringly, patting my hand awkwardly.
I looked down, noticing that the only things I own is this plastic wrist band. It didn’t even have my name on it, Jane Doe. They must have given me the wrong one. So even this isn’t mine, and I don’t own any clothes, not that I know of. With no memory or no possessions I am nothing. The only thing to verify that I existed earlier is a family I once was a part of years ago. Hopefully they remember me more than I remember them.
“Since you won’t be allowed to take the hospital gown with you, we will provide you with a set of clothes. One of our nurses is about your size and was willing to give you a set of clothes and loan you a hairbrush. We won’t send you off to your family in your birthday suit, so you shouldn’t worry,” the Dr continued, filling up the silence.
Why is he still here? Shouldn’t he be rushing around trying to help others? But I held back these questions.
“Thank you,” I said softly, remembering my manners. He is the first person I remember seeing, might as well be on his good side.

A woman in her early forties fidgeted in her seat in the waiting room. She has auburn curly hair, thin lips, a sharp chin and liquid green eyes. Due to the hour, she had no makeup to cover her freckles and was wearing a simple blouse and jeans. Occasionally she would squeeze the hand of the young man 18 years in age sitting patiently beside her. They appear to be close, but it was obvious that Malachi is not Lynn Condell’s biological son. His almond shaped eyes are so dark of a brown they appeared to be black, and his skin seemed to be of a ghostly shade partially out of the contrast of his thick raven black hair. He appeared to be of Asian descent even though he was tall and lean.
Ever Lee Condell walked in hesitantly with a nurse by her side. In the blush colored sweater and jeans, she appeared dainty and childlike. It took a few seconds of her presence for Lynn to recognize her as her second adoptive child, the one she had raised and lost when she was eight. Her eyes looked upon her with relief that she is ok and pride in her adoptive daughter’s appearance even though the girl inherited none of it from her.
“Ever?” she whispered, covering her mouth in an attempt to hide her emotion in seeing her once more. Even though the disappearance and reunion of this child have been planned, she couldn’t help but rejoice to have her back.
Ever blushed at all of the attention being given her, looking over her family searching for some trace of memory but found none.
In the end, it was Malachi who broke the silence.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it Ever? Your aunt Lynn and I were beginning to think that we will never see you again…” he started, his face holding little emotion except for his eyes, for they were dancing. He is a man who has many conflicting emotions, but hides them away to the point where they can only be seen within his eyes. The only emotion that has the ability to take over him without logical thought is anger.
“I’m sorry…I don’t remember you, either of you,” Ever said apologetically.
Lynn started to sob, hating the idea of being forgotten. But Malachi held himself together, smiling softly at his sister.
“Well then, we will just have to give you new reasons to remember us don’t we?” he said, easing Ever’s humiliation.
“Come on Ever, let’s get you home,” Lynn said with tear rimmed eyes as she embraced her daughter.
Home. A place of belonging. The idea felt foreign to Ever, yet she couldn’t understand why. Such a simple thing, to belong somewhere, but she feels like she has never had that luxury.
Her eyes wandered around the hospital for the last time, saying a silent goodbye to the only place she knows. She was glad that the room is almost empty except for a man wearing a black trench coat. He was the only audience to her awkward reunion with her family.
“I think Ever should first thank the man who found her and notified the police. From the looks of it, he has been waiting here as long as Ever has to be sure she is ok,” Malachi pointed out, gesturing to the trench coat man.
“Go on,” Lynn encouraged gently, “we are not going anywhere without you.”
Ever hesitated before walking towards the man, who is sitting asleep in the waiting room chair, trying to see if she can remember him if he is the one who found her. Lightly brushing her hand over his sleeve, she woke him gently.
Psyfer opened his eyes, immediately relieved that the small Condell family has found Asoulna. Her light blue eyes with the yellow fire were clear and bright, and all of her vital organs appear to be functioning correctly. All in all, it appears that erasing her memory had no side effects.
He smiled, glad to see that following orders didn’t give her any permanent damage.
“Who are you?” Ever whispered, immediately noticing that Psyfer recognizes her.
“The one who made sure you were brought here,” Psyfer answered vaguely. A part of him wants her to remember him, to recognize his eyes and smile, but he needed her to be safe. It is better for her not to remember. Better to be forgotten.
Her brow furrowed as she searched her eyes for an answer. Finding none, she shook her head, and smiled apologetically.
“It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me your name. I just want to thank you for helping me,” Ever said, her eyes losing their suspicion.
“No apology necessary. I’m just glad you are alright,” Psyfer said with a tired smile.
“Well thank you anyways,” Ever said as she turned to join her family.
“There is something different about her,” Psyfer thought as he watched her look over her shoulder and smile at him before the door closed behind her.
“Its her eyes,” he concluded after a short thought, “Back on the base they were a dark blue, indicating a deep sorrow. She was greatly saddened by her past, and now she has a new beginning, untainted by painful memories. Her eyes, light blue with a yellow fire in the center reveal her loving and curious nature rather than a painful past. Maybe now she can find some joy in life before she gains her memory back and has to be a part of the mission again.”
At that Psyfer stood and stretched his cramped legs. He walked out of the hospital door, surprised to find Immal waiting for him. Psyfer almost didn’t recognize him out of uniform. He was wearing all black with a large white skull on his shirt, headphones around his neck, and his black hair hanging in eyes. He blends in perfectly, which isn’t surprising since this is his home planet.
“How is she?” Immal asked, wanting to know if his orders were carried out successfully.
“She is fine, a little confused and lost due to her memory loss though she appears to significantly happier than she was before. She needed a new beginning to mend her wounds from the past. She much better fit for the mission than she was before,” Psyfer informed Immal.
“And the others?” Immal inquired.
“From what I saw, everyone thought it was a reunion of a lost child and her family. Anyone who thought otherwise would be considered insane on this planet,” Psyfer noted.
Immal sighed.
“I know. That’s what makes this planet so vulnerable, anyone who sees anything that doesn’t belong on this planet is considered crazy by the rest of society. The few who actually know what’s really going on don’t dare tell anyone out of fear of being cast of as insane,” Immal admitted.
“Well the first assignment is done, what do you want me to do now?” Psyfer asked looking around him. Is it safe to speak of such things in public?
“Don’t worry, this is a crowded city. Everyone is just looking after themselves; they rarely pay attention to anyone else. You are to keep an eye on her whatever way you can without being noticed by her. Since she won’t be able to remember you, she will get nervous if she knows that she is being watched. Look for any sings for Emerson…” Immal started.
“Vorasht. Asoulna named him. Emerson is a name he chose to cover up what he really is while Vorasht reveals what sort of person he truly is,” Psyfer corrected.
“Your kind has so many numbers and names it’s difficult to keep up with. Fine. Look for any signs of Vorasht and his armies and do what you can to protect her. Blend in, and avoid starlight unless absolutely necessary. It would give away your position,” Immal said, trying to continue after Psyfer’s interruption.
“Not to mention make any human onlookers think they have schizophrenia,” Psyfer joked.
After giving in to a smile, Immal handed Psyfer a piece of paper.
“Here is her address. Lee and Malachi have agreed to keep her indoors as much as possible to lower the chances of Vorasht finding her. The rest of us will keep our heads low and try to find any other cut wing lords so as to gather information,” Immal summarized as he turned to go.
“If you ever need me, you know where to find me,” Psyfer offered before he took off after Asoulna.
Immal was doing an incredible job at keeping things organized even though things had strayed far from plan. Psyfer admired him for that. But other than that, Psyfer didn’t know Immal well enough to think much of him. Only Zatara seems to understand what goes on in that man’s head.

It is still dark, a long night for all of us. The woman who I am now referring to as Aunt Lynn appeared exhausted. And I don’t blame her, having to come and pick me up at such an odd hour, but even so she made every effort to make me feel welcome. She attempted to hide her grogginess behind a smile and a cheerful attitude as she leaped around the apartment showing me the rooms, but I still saw how worn out she is. Though she showered me with kindness and welcome, I still felt like an unexpected burden added to her life. Even so, both she and Malachi seem happy enough.
“And here is your room…” Lynn said as she opened the door to a fairly large room. It is slightly smaller than the master, but the high ceilings made it feel spacious like the rest of the place. There is a bed on the right side of the door and French doors that lead to a balcony. Sheer white curtains hung over the door for privacy since the French doors had eight sheets of transparent glass on them along with two long windows on either side of them. There is a desk on the closest wall to the left, and a closet directly across from me. The bedding is simple, a grey blue comforter and two light grey pillows.
Yes, all of this is beautiful, but what attracted me the most to the room were the paintings. They were simple, set on a tan background. All of them are of people, some with beautiful wings on their back others with shadows in their place. Each of them is beautiful, and the painter gave special attention to the eyes and wings.
“Who painted these?” I asked curiously. Something felt visibly familiar about them, but I can’t figure out what.
“The paintings? Your mother painted them; she had a slight obsession with angels and made them beautiful by her hand; even the ones without wings are pleasing to the eye,” Lynn explained.
I walked closer to one with a female angel holding a male shadow winged creature close to her. Her strokes are smooth and well placed, and somehow she placed a delicate need in both of their eyes. Pain also inhabited the shadow winged, and love the winged one.
“The women in this one almost looks like me,” I noted out loud, studying the painting.
“Your right, it looks very much like you. That painting always reminded me of you parents. Your mother was a good soul like an angel; I doubt a harsh thought ever entered her mind. The woman was full of love for everyone and everything, even those who are considered unlovable. She would never intentionally harm another person. Her husband on the other hand wasn’t that bad from a first glance. But when you hang around him for a while, there is an unmistakable flaw about him, something repulsive. He was manipulatively selfish with a painfully dark heart. His demeanor was bad masked with a fake smile and lightheartedness. Yet somehow your mother became his soft spot, the only good thing about him. He loved her, but their relationship of good and bad was held into balance by a single thread. I will never understand what she saw in him,” Lynn spoke softly, as if the very memory of my father still bothers her.
“If he loved her, why did he kill her?” I asked, remembering what the Dr said back at the hospital.
Lynn winced, my question catching her off guard.
“His love made him impossibly jealous, and eventually he murdered the only person that genuinely loved him,” she said shortly.
I nodded, looking around at the other five paintings. They all are in different sizes and appear to be of different people for the most part. My favorite is the one above my bed, a large painting of a woman’s back and highly detailed wings sprouting out of it. It was simple and perfect.
“How did you get these? Did you know my mom?” I asked.
“Your mom and I were close friends, and I was deeply grieved when she died. When she did, she left you in my care and I went through great lengths to keep your father from you. I was so scared you would wind up with the same fate as your mother, and you were her most precious position. Sometimes I thought she loved you more than your father…” she stopped speaking when her voice wavered. She had already cried in front of me once, I guess she didn’t want to do so again.
“Thank you for taking me in,” I said softly after a short pause, releasing her from the painful conversation.
“It’s no trouble, really, Ever,” she said as she gave me a fake smile.
“Even so, thank you. You didn’t have to do all of this for me, even when I was younger,” I insisted.
“Well your welcome Ever,” she said as she wrapped me into an awkward hug, “You should get some sleep. I’ll make your favorite for breakfast.”
At that she left the room, trying to hide an escaping tear. At the click of the wooden door closing, I am alone for the first time I remember.
Is this something I should remember? The room had qualities that felt familiar, but I can’t remember from where. It is the paintings that feel the most familiar, but from where? Could I have remembered my mother painting them? I doubt it, since she died when I was one.
I wonder what happened to my father after he killed her. Is it possible that he is still out there?
I jumped at a sharp knock on my door.
“Who is it?” I asked, half expecting it to be my father to take me away.
“It’s Malachi. May I come in?” a male voice spoke.
“Alright,” I said, embarrassed that he scared me.
Malachi walked in calmly, acting like I was always here.
“Lynn forgot to loan you a set of pajamas. She was so tired that she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow so I brought you one of her older sets. They should fit you nicely,” Malachi said, explaining his presence.
“Thank you,” I said as I placed the folded clothing on my bed.
“Is anything the matter?” Malachi asked, his eyes giving away his concern.
“Nothing. It’s just strange, I feel like something is missing, especially when I look at these paintings. And I feel bad that I can’t remember anything, I know it hurt Aunt Lynn because of it. And my unexpected appearance must have been a burden to you both,” I say, feeling less obligated to avoid harming his feelings than Aunt Lynn’s.
“I know it must be tough, being surrounded by people who say they know you and being placed in strange surroundings. But you have plenty of time to figure things out, Ever,” Malachi said optimistically.
I nodded, still frustrated with my situation as Malachi turned to leave my room.
“If you need anything, I’m in the next room over,” he said softly.
“Then can you do something for me?” I asked, stopping Malachi in his tracks.
“Anything,” he said flatly without looking over his shoulder.
“Tell me one thing you remember about me,” I asked, desperate for any shred of evidence to prove that I have a past here.
“When I was seven and you were five, I announced to Aunt Lynn that once we got older I was going to marry you. Hearing that, you blushed and looked down at your mashed potatoes and Aunt Lynn laughed,” Malachi said glancing over his shoulder.
“Married?” I asked the word unfamiliar to me.
“It’s when two people make a promise to be romantically committed to one another forever,” he explained dryly.
“Do you still want that?” I pressed on.
“No. You are like a sister to me, I couldn’t do that. It was a childish wish before I knew the true meaning to the word,” Malachi stated, but then his eyes became alert and fearful as he watched the window behind me.
“What is it?” I whispered nervously, but Malachi put his fingers to his lips.
He stepped lightly to the window, moving the curtain aside slightly so as to look out. Where the light toughed his fingertips, they turned black. But I must be mistaken, for the touch of light doesn’t make a shadow.
After standing there for a few seconds, Malachi left the window shaking his head.
“Forgive me; I’m just worried that you will be taken away again. I must have been seeing things, sorry,” Malachi said shamefully as he left my room, “Goodnight Ever.”
“Goodnight,” I answered as he closed the door behind him.
“A cut wing! She is living with a cut wing!” Psyfer hissed as he leaped back on to Ever’s balcony to check on her. She sat on her bed, holding up the short white nightgown, the cut wing has left her without causing any harm. That means he must be in his room.
At that, Psyfer leapt to the deck on the right which is by the dining room. Everything in there is dark, perfect for Psyfer to sneak in.
The door from the dining room deck was unlocked, making it easy for Psyfer to sneak in. His hands lightly touched the table so that he wouldn’t run into it or any other furniture. He doesn’t have to worry about leaving fingerprints behind, for they don’t have any record of those who don’t originate on this planet.
The light to Asoulna’s room went out, making Malachi’s room more prominently seen. Psyfer hesitated outside of his bedroom door, making sure his protectors blade was out and ready. There he stood, waiting for the light to go out in order to sneak up on his prey. He refuses to let anyone harm Asoulna.
Not long after he approached the door, the light flickered off; giving Psyfer his opportunity. He turned the door handle slowly and eased the door open just enough to let himself in. Taking as few steps as possible, he silently shut the door behind him.
Click. The lights turned on, as Malachi stood by the door with a handgun in his hand. And it is pointing at Psyfer.
“Predictable Psyfer. In an effort to keep Asoulna from harm you stalk into my room with every intention of killing me. Do you really think I would accidently leave the door to the dining room unlocked? I knew you would come in to destroy anything potentially harmful, typical protector,” Malachi said dryly as he held the gun loosely in his hands.
“You are a cut wing. All cut wings in this area are under lords, and all of the lords are under kings. You are plotting on giving her into the hands of Vorasht, a cut wing lord as well as her father. You are planning on betraying her as well as everyone left from the base,” Psyfer stated, skin crawling because of the presence of the gun.
“Some of what you say is correct, some of it false Psyfer,” Malachi stated, watching him wince when he heard his own name, “That’s right, I know your name as well as your mission, things that your team have thought they have kept secret. Here is your first lesson; we always know more than you think we do.”
“Wonderful. You are planning to teach me before you kill me?” Psyfer said sarcastically.
“Who said I am planning on killing you? No, this gun is just insurance that you won’t kill me. You have much to learn if you wish to keep Ever safe,” Malachi countered, waving the gun a little, “We are on the same side, the cursed one of the winged people. We both share the same pain, yet you work for the other side. If you want her to remain safe, you must learn what I have to teach you.”
“And if I don’t trust you?” Psyfer countered, hating the idea of getting help from the other side.
“Then you will be the one to watch Ever, your precious Asoulna, be tortured by her father to the point that she would sob at your very feet; begging you to kill her and put her out of her misery. For years her screams of pain will echo in your ears, killing every good thought within you, and you will become something vile when her pain crushes you. Once her screams of pain tear you apart to your breaking point and you do inevitably kill her, you will hate yourself to your very own dying breath knowing that you alone had the chance to save her, but you refused!” Malachi hissed.
Psyfer started trembling, knowing that Malachi’s words are true. That is her fate if Vorasht were to get a hold of her again. He was willing to give her a quick and painful death once, but now that hate has fermented in his soul, it is highly unlikely that he will settle for that again.
“I’m listening,” Psyfer surrendered, dropping his knife to show his sincerity.
“Good. First thing you should know, Vorasht knows she is here. The only reason he isn’t attacking her now is because she has no memory. For now, she is labeled as safe, but it won’t last. In order for her to fulfill the mission she must regain memory as well as learn in depth what she is capable of. She alone has the power to destroy Vorasht,” Malachi explained.
“Why do you want to help her and betray your own kind?” Psyfer pressed on, still suspicious of the cut wing.
“I am not betraying my own kind. My lady, Amy, agrees with this task. Many lords, ladies, kings and queens of cut wings are in support of Asoulna rising up against Vorasht,” Malachi explained.
“Why is everyone against Vorasht?” Psyfer asked curiously.
“It is because of how he treats those under him; even from a cut wing’s standards it is wrong. One can easily pick out those of his army by the abuse they have been given. All of them have been starved close to death, hair has fallen off of their bodies and skin has grown over their eyes and mouth. They appear to be walking dead, their individuality stolen from them. He sucks away the little power they have left and takes over their minds, using mind sight so that he can see their surroundings. He has taken the normal torment of a cut wing to another level, slaving them for his use alone. He is cast off from other cut wings for this behavior, and has been forbidden to take any fresh cutwings as his own, but still his army grows. He breeds his tortured ones cursed children that grow up not only wingless, but thoughtless and loveless. They all mirror his amplified hate, and their numbers have tripled since the death of Esperina, his wife,” Malachi went on, giving Psyfer the back story.
“So you are to help us on our mission,” Psyfer stated, making sure he got it right.
“Yes. But before you give Asoulna her memory back, I have to give her these. They are letters to her from her mother, and they might give her clues as to how to bring Vorasht down,” Malachi said, gesturing to a stack of letters on his.
“May I?” Psyfer questioned, peering over the ordinary looking letters.
“It was requested by Esperina herself that these letters remain unopened until her daughter comes of age, and even then only by her hands. I guess the winged one had a feeling her time was short,” Malachi shrugged.
“I see. But how are we going to keep Vorasht from destroying Asoulna once she gets her memory back?” He asked worriedly.
“Simple. Destroy any member of Vorasht’s army that comes near her and I will make sure word of her regaining her memory doesn’t spread to him. I will do everything in my power to protect her, she is my sister after all,” Malachi said softly.
“Esperina had another child?” Psyfer asked surprised.
“No. Asoulna is an only child. But we were raised together from the time she was one to the time she was taken away. She cared about me even after I lost my wings when I was six, giving me love where most would have hated me. It was a few years after she left that I became a taker. Her love and caring eased my pain when she was there, but her absence made it even more painful. Even so, I will always look out for her, my little sister, for she has looked after me when no one else would,” Malachi explained with difficulty.
Psyfer searched his eyes for any signs of a lie, but finding none he sighed.
“May I go now? I should be keeping watch by her window,” Psyfer asked, trying to get used to his new alliance.
“By all means. Just send word to your team that they should talk to more than one lord to get all of the needed information. Zatara has found a lord respectively known as Mr. A. Only those who know him well can call him by his full name. He is a good source of information, but it would be best if they search out others,” Malachi advised as he lowered his gun.
“I’ll see to it that they get that message,” Psyfer said as he quietly left the room. The odd alliance made him uncomfortable, so he was glad to return to his post outside of Asoulna’s window. She shouldn’t be left unguarded for long.

It is cold, so cold that my skin formed tiny bumps on its surface. I lay there; keeping my eyes closed debating whether or not I should get up. It should be morning my by now, but from the sound of it everyone else is still sound asleep. Even so, I cannot fall back asleep, it is too cold to.
I opened my eyes and sat up, wrapping my arms around myself. Something beautiful is happening, a white light is gently seeping in from my window, touching everything within my room making everything appear precious and new.
Dazzled, I got up and approached the window, brushing aside the curtains in order to find the source of such beautiful light.
The sky is golden, and the light came from somewhere behind the vast buildings that stretch out to the horizon. Their windows reflected the gentle light, making it harsh to the eyes. The whole sky lit up, painting its immense surface a pale blue as the gold faded away, welcoming an orb to the heavens so bright that it brought tears to my eyes when I stared at it too long.
Opening the French doors, I walked onto the balcony so as to take a closer look at such beauty.
“Has one ever seen something so beautiful?” I whispered, mesmerized by what just took place before my eyes.
“It is breathtaking,” a man in a black trench coat whispered, startling me.
“Don’t be frightened!” he pleaded as I stepped back. His eyes have many colors in them, and from what I can see, he has no harmful intentions. After searching his face, I realized that I have seen him before.
“I remember you,” I said softly, watching as his eyes flooded with joy as he reached out his hand, “You are the man from the hospital, the one who saved me.”
His eyes clouded and his hand retreated as he tried to hide his disappointment behind a smile. Am I missing something? Even back at the hospital he appeared to know more about me than what he would say. But why is he remaining silent?
“What is your name?” I asked, trying to cover over the thick sadness that hangs in the air. If I knew him from before, maybe his name will spark some sort of memory.
“Psyfer,” he said, his eyes pleading me to remember him. He must have been someone important in my life, but he appears to refuse to give me any other clues as to who he was to me.
“Psyfer,” I repeated, feeling the name set on my tongue but memory remained out of my grasp, “My name is Ever.”
“So I’ve hard,” Psyfer said deprecatingly, “A beautiful name. It suits you, but not as well as other names could.”
“What would you suggest?” I asked curiously, not understanding where he is going with this.
“Asoulna,” he said delicately, as if the name would shatter if spoken harshly.
“Asoulna,” I repeated, noting how familiar the name feels on my tongue, “it is beautiful.”
“Yes, it is,” he answered, turning his attention to the sunrise.
“Have you seen something like that before?” I asked, referring to the sunrise.
“They happen every morning Ever,” Psyfer said matter-of-factly, glancing at me through his silver curly hair.
“What are they called?” I asked, embarrassed for my lack of knowledge.
“Sunrises,” Psyfer answered.
I looked back at the golden beauty that filled up the sky, but when I turned to ask Psyfer another question he was gone.
Disappointed, I walked back into my room, picking up my multiple blankets from the floor beside my bed. Does Psyfer spend nights on my balcony? If so, why? Doesn’t he have a home to sleep in?
I shook my head, might as well not ask questions I cannot find the answer too since I’m already having difficulty finding things out about myself. Even so, life must be difficult for him if he has to sleep there. He must be cold and hungry; tonight I will be sure to leave a blanket and food out for him in case he returns.
Thinking this, I wrapped myself in blankets and lay back down on my bed, hoping to get more sleep despite the bright light.
“Ever, are you awake sweetie?” Aunt Lynn said after a quick knock, “breakfast is on the table.”
I sighed and stretched, might as well get up now. It’s not like I have anything better to do.
I wandered my way into the dining room finding Malachi and Aunt Lynn already dressed sitting at a table piled with food.
“Good morning!” Aunt Lynn greeted cheerfully, pulling out a chair for me, “I wasn’t sure if you like the same foods so I made you a little bit of everything. We have scrambled eggs, waffles, bacon, toast, and a boysenberry topping!”
“Thank you,” I said as I sat down, blushing at all of the attention that was being given me.
The meal went on with constant friendly chatter coming from Aunt Lynn, talking about how I’m going to need clothes and how happy they are that I’m back. I smiled and nodded, saying only enough to show that I am paying attention to what she was saying.
“Ever, do you want any more waffles?” Aunt Lynn offered, finding my plate empty. I had already eaten three, and I still felt a little hungry. It must have been a while since my last meal, for I felt like I was starving.
“No thanks,” I said, eyeing the brown liquid in the glass in front of me.
“You may not remember, but chocolate milk was your favorite,” Malachi encouraged, clarifying what it was.
Hesitantly I took a sip, finding its contents thick and sweet.
Both Malachi and Aunt Lynn laughed when I gulped down the rest.
“Some things never change,” Aunt Lynn happily said, as she picked up everyone’s dishes and headed to the kitchen.
“Ever, I have a gift for you,” Malachi said softly, smiling for the first time. Such a small expression, but I felt glad for causing him happiness; an emotion that so rarely appeared on his face.
“What is it?” I asked excitedly, mirroring his smile.
He pulled out a stack of letters that must have been residing on his lap throughout the meal. He held them gently, being careful not to smear any syrup onto their surface or crease the corners of the envelopes.
“What are they?” I asked, unsure of the reason why he was giving me a stack of letters.
“They are letters for you,” Malachi said tenderly, “Your mother wrote them when you were small, letters that we were to give you when you came of age. One of them is from me, but I want you to read that one last.”
“Thank you,” I said gratefully as he handed the stack to me.
“Ever? I am going to run to the store to get you some clothing. I would ask you to come with me for sizing but the only clothes you have are the ones from the hospital, and they smell funny. And you can’t run around in my pajamas, so I will have to pick you out some things on my own. Any preferences?” Aunt Lynn said, poking her head out from the kitchen.
“Not really,” I answered, not exactly sure what was the right response.
“Alright, I’ll just find things that suit you. Malachi, do you need anything?” She answered, turning her attention to him.
“Yes, but I’m not going to give you free pick. I’m coming with,” Malachi said as he began clearing the rest of the table.
Aunt Lynn raised an eyebrow.
“Are you sure?” she said worriedly, glancing at me.
“I think she will be fine having a day to herself,” Malachi said logically, “Plus the alone time could help her with her memory loss.”
After staring at Malachi for a few more moments, Aunt Lynn sighed, backing down.
“Alright. Just stay in the apartment Ever,” Aunt Lynn warned worriedly.
“Understood,” I answered with a sharp nod, walking her and Malachi to the door.
“Help yourself to any food if you get hungry, leave the hospital clothes outside your door for laundry, and please make your bed,” Aunt Lynn called out over her shoulder, “We should be back shortly.”
“Goodbye,” I called out as Malachi shut the door. I know she is scared that I will disappear again, but that doesn’t mean I have to be babysat all of the time.
“Thinking this, I went to my room and left the clothing the hospital gave me outside my bedroom door to the left, and hurriedly made my bed as neatly as possible. Afterwards, I lay the letters on my desk, and sat down.
All of the letters, except for one, were numbered on the outside corners of the envelopes. Three of them were from my mother, one of them from Malachi.
After setting Malachi’s letter aside, I carefully opened up the first letter from my mother.
 
My dearest child,

Today I just found out your existence, and though it was unexpected it brings me great joy to know you are coming. If you are reading this something must have happened to make me incapable of telling this to you personally. If you are reading this, you have come to be old enough to understand the truth of the story you are about to be told.
I will start off with the beginning, my story. I am not sure what use it will be to you, but in the very least you will know who I am even if I’m not around to care for you.
Three years ago, I arrived onto this planet, Earth, to study the cut wing kings and armies. As a winged one, I did hold a certain amount of fear of these creatures, but my fear moved me to act differently than the other winged ones. I had no wish to fight or destroy these creatures, but rather study and get to know why they acted the way they do. I wanted to learn the secrets of these people reserved only for the protectors.
As it turns out, the cut winged culture is surprisingly organized. There are kings in control of lords, lords in control of minors. The kings and lords were always the most powerful for they are the original ancient cut wings, and the minors have a high range of power but are the newer cut wings that have a short life span. Each answer to the one higher up and those higher up have the right to punish those below them if they are disobedient.
But even though they were organized, they had many squabbles with one another. The disagreements among the minors didn’t have nearly the effect as the disagreement of the ancients. Those would result in war which results in the complete elimination of the losing side.
I had learned a great deal as an outsider, but soon was picked out and captured by horribly deformed cut wings that brought me to their lord. He was a young looking cut wing, with fine brown hair that fell into his face. It was his eyes that startled me the most, irises that are a deep black with blood red fire in the center.; the deadly combination of hate and selfishness. Yes, I was frightened at first, but surprisingly this ancient took me in after finding out I had no wish to harm him. I was kept well fed and happy in his company, he always had a smile on his lips when he greeted me. He always had pleasant words to sooth my ears, and gentle arms that wrapped around me.
It was then I realized a secret the cut wings have, the turmoil and pain they have fighting inside their hearts from the moment they lost their wings. Pain and anger inhabits them continuously, and the only thing that can possibly sooth them has been denied them. Love. We cast all cut wings from our midst and isolate them when we should understand the pain they go through and give them more than enough love to sooth their aching hearts. It is the one weakness they all have, the one thing they need but are afraid to search for. When the lord found that I meant no harm, he tried to make me happy hoping that I would love him in return. And I do. He has kindly taken me in when many other lords would have killed me on sight.
He calls me Esperina, blameless star. And he is my Rahim, the moons hidden side for, to me, he remains one full of secrets and mystery.
I love him, even though I don’t know everything about who he is. He seems so happy that I love him, so glad in my presence I couldn’t say no when he asked me to marry him, an Earthling tradition.
And now you are coming along my child; nothing else could make me happier than I am now.
I guess there is a lesson here. What is light, without the darkness that surrounds it, is it nothing? And what is darkness, without light to pierce through it? Darkness and light both need each other even though they are in a constant battle.
I hope you understand what I am saying my child, and know that I love you unconditionally even if I am not with you now.

Your mother,

Esperina


 
I sat there dumbly, re reading the first letter twice before ripping open the envelope to the second letter.

 
My dearest child,

As you grow inside of me, my nervousness also grows. Your father Rahim is irritable and angry. My original comfort around him is wavering as he constantly interrogates me who I have been spending my time with and what are their names. He questions the fact that you are his child, and threatens me with your death if you are in fact not his. I don’t understand his fear, for he is the only one who could possibly be your father. But then again, he might just be under stress.
Rahim’s king is angry at him for his treatment of the minors, and your father refuses to change. He continues to control his army through their minds, taking away their freedom, individuality, sight, and speech. They have taken away his rights to claim any new cut wings as his, so he has found a way to have these miserable creatures breed. Oh, may the Great Maker not turn a blind eye to what is happening, for I fear only he could stop this madness.
Your loving mother,
Esperina
 
My dearest daughter,

I have not written for a while due to heaviness of heart. The works of your father pains me greatly, only you have been keeping me sane and bring a smile to my face. It has been a year since you have been born, but now I see that the Great Maker has blessed me for my patience.
You have wings, beautiful healer’s wings like mine, but you have inherited your father’s ancient power. You are the first ancient winged one that has existed for over two thousand years. Even now, you are the only winged one in existence to date. My daughter, you have unlimited power. You are the only one who can possibly free those unfortunate enough to be under your father’s rule.
It is an old saying that if one focuses, they can transfer their power to another. This can only be achieved through great concentration. But one such as you with unlimited power can free all of those under your fathers rule, giving them their rightful wings and individuality. They will be able to see again, my daughter, they will be able to speak!
But, my daughter, I must warn you that such an endeavor will not come without a price. As a newly born ancient winged one, you never have to die. If you do actually follow through with this you will live only a thousand years, a typical lifespan of our kind.
Alas, my daughter, it is still your choice, but do choose wisely. Think of the miserable souls under your fathers rule, you can free them from not only the misery your father has caused them, but from the misery of a cut wing.
I must go now, my daughter, and show your father the beautiful gift you possess. If he finds out on his own and thinks that I am trying to cover your gift up, he will certainly kill you and use your wings as evidence that you are not his. I hope he is in a favorable mood today, but even if he is I keep on feeling that my time is running short.
Now I will name you my daughter, Ever, for no matter what happens to me you will always be in my love to the end of forever my child. Goodbye my daughter, may I be able to write you again.

Love your mother,
Esperina
 

I sat there sobbing; watching my tear drops wet the pages of her letters. That was why he killed her, because of me. He was so certain that I wasn’t his that he murdered her in revenge. But why hasn’t he murdered me? Is he out there now, searching for me?

I looked out of the window, the light coming from it comforting me. There are no shadows for him to hide in, no darkness that he could take me away to for now. Even so, I still felt fear.

Gently, I folded the letters back up, placing them back into their torn envelopes carefully and nestled them in the top drawer of my desk. After doing this, I carefully opened Malachi’s letter, uncertain as to what’s inside.
 
My dearest sister,

Though you are not related by blood, you are as close to me as any blood sibling could ever get. We had gotten along well since you were brought here to hide you from your father, and I miss you terribly now that you are on Orian. But I am glad you are safe Ever. I would hate myself even more if anything should ever happen to you.
Remember when you said you love me even after a stranger made me a cut wing? When you said I don’t have to become a taker? It was the love you gave me then that kept me from falling further than I could have. That same love is what I need now.
No one knows my secret except you Ever, and you accepted and loved me no matter what. Is it possible for you to care about me now? I have gone insane tormenting myself, and without love I have taken my hate and anger out upon others. I have been crafty about it Ever, taking the wings only from those who were prideful and self centered. But even then it doesn’t make it right. I now hate myself greatly, but refuse to let that hate to hurt others again.
I have been placed under the lady Amy, an ancient cut wing. She is kind, but strict. From what I see she takes us younger cut wings under her wing, and I am no exception.
My sister, please forgive me for what I have become for I don’t dare ask the Great Maker for such mercy. I am miserable, and am in constant pain and turmoil. Your forgiveness is the one thing that can make this tolerable, the one thing to ease this pain.
I know that what I am asking for is a lot, and I don’t blame you if you refuse to. If you can’t, then please think of me fondly, and remember your brother who was always laughing and happy. Remember the brother who was so stubborn to refuse help from anyone. Remember the brother who would fight any kid who teased you because of your silver hair.
Remember, my sister, just because I am miserable doesn’t mean you have to be. Be happy, and live a long life. And I beg of you dear sister, do not make the same mistakes your foolish brother has made.
Your brother,
Malachi Anderson Condell
 

Psyfer watched as she placed the last letter in the envelope and into the drawer with the others. Its contents appeared painful like the others, and Psyfer ached to be there with her, to comfort her.

But she has grown stronger than she used to be, for she brushed her tears aside and stood up, leaving the room for fifteen and a half minutes before returning with wet hair and a comb to tame her tangled hair.

He watched as she again left the room, returning with three drinks and two cups.

“Instead of standing out there you might as well come in,” Ever said, opening the French door without brushing the curtain out of the way.

“How did you know I was here,” Psyfer said, surprised.

“I didn’t, but I do now,” Ever said with a smile as Psyfer walked into her room, closing the door behind him.

“Why are you inviting me in? You don’t know me, I could be someone dangerous,” Psyfer scolded.

“That’s where you are wrong. I do know you. I can see that from the way you look at me. We are no strangers. And you being dangerous, you would have done something by now if you were. You’ve had plenty of opportunities by now,” Ever stated, cracking open the lid of a small bottle with light green liquid within it. Once it was open the liquid seemed to grow angry, and it hissed within the bottle.

“You that thirsty?” Psyfer asked, eyeing at the three bottles.

“Not really. I just want to figure out what I like and what I don’t, since I can’t remember. And I was hoping that you would like some too, there isn’t that much food or drink on the balcony,” Ever replied as she divided the angry drink into two bottles, “If you are hungry too, I could get you some food.”

“It is not necessary,” Psyfer said, not wanting to be a burden to her.

“When was the last time you ate?” Ever pressed on gently, not wanting to come off as pushy.
Psyfer avoided the question, remaining silent as he took a sip of Mountain Dew.
“Ok. It’s fine if you don’t want to answer that question. But if you need anything, just let me know,” Ever continued, though slightly discontented by his silence.
“You don’t have to do all of this for me,” Psyfer said quietly, feeling out of place since she doesn’t remember him.
“Yes I do, for you are a friend of mine,” Ever responded.
Psyfer smiled at her quiet stubbornness. He has gotten so used to taking care of her that he didn’t expect the reverse to happen.
“Has any of your memory returned?” Psyfer asked kindly, less aggravated about it being gone.
“No. But I do have some clues about my family,” Ever replied, remaining vague out of fear that he would perceive her mother’s letters as insanity.
“That’s good,” Psyfer said nodding, noting that Malachi had already given her the letters. But it felt wrong for him to prey into what its contents are just after she read them.
“How well did you know me?” Ever asked tentatively.
“I don’t know everything about you Ever, but I know enough to have a good idea of who you are,” Psyfer started, uncertain whether or not he should go against Immal’s orders.
“Then tell me what you do know,” Ever said, encouraging him to go on.
“Our kind, we classify ourselves by identification numbers to strangers until others give us a name. One can have many names given to them if many people knew him or her well enough to name it. Your identification number is 01476, and you were given one name; Asoulna,” Psyfer explained, apparently liking the role of teacher.
“We? Are you a winged one or cut wing?” She pressed on curiously.
“I am a winged one, a protector. My kind are like the winged cut wings for we too have a shortened life as well as the same inner turmoil as they. The Great Maker created our kind to protect the winged ones as well as hunt down and kill any cutwings,” Psyfer briefly said, trying to direct the conversation away from himself.
Ever winced when she heard Psyfer’s words and focused her attention on her bubbling drink.
Her reaction to what he is caught Psyfer off guard, for she didn’t act like this when she was told before.
“Do you remember Tasouc?” Psyfer said, assuming that she remembered her dead cut wing companion.
Ever looked into Psyfer’s eyes, letting him see the pain taking over them by the mere mention of that name; Tasouc.
“I didn’t remember until you brought him up…” she said softly, touching her forehead with her fingertips.
“I’m sorry…” Psyfer said, not sure what to do. He had no intention to cause her first memory to be a bad one.
“Psyfer?” she whispered after silence inhabited the room for a while.
“Yes?” he answered uncertainly.
“Why were you so kind to me? I know you were given orders to watch over me, but that doesn’t include holding me when I was crying or risking you life to protect me from my father. You did more than watch over me, you were there for me as if I was your closest friend,” Ever said glancing back at him.
Psyfer was silent for a while, uncertain how to answer that question correctly.
They jumped at the sound of a door slamming, and Psyfer quickly left for the balcony as Ever closed the French doors behind him quietly before gathering the rest of the drinks and the two glasses to return them to the kitchen. In her haste, she nearly ran into Aunt Lynn.
“Goodness Ever, you seem excited to see what I got you!” Aunt Lynn stated cheerfully.
“Actually, I was going to put these back into the kitchen. I know you hate it when people eat in the bedrooms,” Ever said, trying to move around her to put them away.
But Aunt Lynn put her hand over her mouth, her tear rimmed eyes creasing from the smile that she was hiding.
“Ever, you remember,” she whispered with a trembling voice.
“Yes, Aunt Lynn, I do remember. And I know what I have to do,” I said softly, “Where is Malachi?”
“Probably in his room as usual my dear,” she said, stumbling over her words.
Ever hugged her, and let her adoptive Aunt sob a little before knocking on the door to Malachi’s room.
“Come in,” a voice inside said, not sounding like Malachi at all. There was too much fear in his voice, too much pain.
Ever walked into his room slowly, closing the door behind her.
“Have you read it?” Malachi asked flatly as he sat at his desk, facing away from her.
“Yes,” Ever answered, uncertain whether or not she should approach him.
“And?” Malachi prompted, afraid of her answer.
“Brother, you have been there for me and tried to protect me even at your young age from my father. You even are willing to put your life at risk to protect me now, how could I not forgive you? You are my brother, and I loved you when you became a cut wing, and I love you now even though you are a taker,” Ever said, choosing her words carefully.
“It is a surprise that you’ve forgiven me after how that taker on Orian treated you,” Malachi said softly.
“It is no surprise, my brother, I forgive him too. Tasouc was scared, and found himself falling deeper into darkness when all he was searching for was light. He had good intentions, but didn’t know how to use it,” Ever quietly stated.
“Believe it or not, your Tasouc reminded me of myself in my darkest hours,” Malachi whispered softly.
“How did you know about him?” Ever asked, suspiciously.
“You are my sister, when I became a cut wing I went to great lengths to keep an eye on you between assignments,” Malachi answered.
Ever stood there quietly, thinking about everything she had learned that day.
“I just ask one thing of you, my brother,” she started.
“Anything within reason,” Malachi said, repeating a phrase he used to often say when he was younger.
“We all have darkness within ourselves, but brother, please don’t get lost in your own. Don’t become like Tasouc and especially not my father. Please my brother, I couldn’t stand seeing you with such a fate,” Ever pleaded.
“I will do what I can,” Malachi said as he looked up at his sister, eyes full of emotion, “I promise you Ever, I will do what I can.”
But the worried look remained on Ever’s face.
“You still worry, do you not trust me?” Malachi asked defensively.
“I do trust you; it’s just that a protector has taken residence on the balcony,” Ever said, carefully.
“Ah, I see, Psyfer must not be as good at hiding as he thinks he is. No, he is of no threat to me. He cares about you greatly though, Ever. He was ready to kill me only when he thought I was a threat to you. Though he has a past of bloodshed of our kind, he seems to preoccupy all of his energy to protecting you,” Malachi said with a smirk.
“He was given orders to watch over me Malachi, that’s his reason for doing so,” Ever protested.
“Ever, even you are not that naive. From what I heard, he has gone beyond his orders to protect and comfort you. He loves you Ever,” Malachi answered sarcastically.
“Why would he? I haven’t given him a reason to,” she said, blushing.
“It starts off with the basic cut wing feeling that lurks in his protector’s brain; he cannot stand the idea of being alone, of dying alone. That is why us cut wings form legions, so that even when we die, we will never die alone and unnoticed unless your are the lowest of low of the minors. He also has a deeply rooted need to be needed by someone. But for Psyfer, it goes beyond that. He has never seen a creature with such an odd combination power and humility. You are something that baffles him, how you went against all logic and natural fear when you loved a cut wing deeply, even though you are the one with the most to lose. From a protector’s eyes, it is unnatural for any winged one to care about a cut wing, yet the most powerful one not only humbly pitying and caring for one, but sobbing over him when he dies “a deserved death”. You, my sister, go against all odds, and that’s what interests him,” Malachi explained.
“I see,” Ever said quietly, trying to find holes in what Malachi said but found none.
“And from what I sense, you care greatly about him too,” Malachi said teasingly, “You remember Tasouc, do you not? Yet you are not crying over him anymore. In fact, I have noticed that you smile at the mention of his name, and you do not appear to be the least bit worried about him lingering outside your room.”
“How do you know so much?” Ever asked suspiciously.
“I talk with other minors of my legion. We keep tabs on those involved in our projects,” he said simply.
“And what would that project be?” she pressed on curiously.
“Freeing your father’s legions from the torture he continuously brings upon them,” he said flatly.
“I know how,” Ever stated after a long pause.
“Tell me, and I will do what I can to help,” Malachi encouraged.
“It was in the letters from my mother, Esperina. Somehow I will have to give my power to his army, returning their wings and individuality. It would cure them of their enslavement and deformity,” She summarized.
“You do realize that has never been successfully done before? Do you even know the possible outcomes of this act? It could kill you, Ever, or turn you into a cut wing. In the very least, you are giving up your immortality, and you will not be able to get it back. You are one of the few who is capable of living forever other than the ancient cut wings, you could use that for good,” Malachi stated, wanting to be sure she knew what risk she is taking.
“Do you have a better plan?” Ever answered challengingly, watching as he sighed and shook his head.
“No, none of us do. But, Ever, you are going to have to be close to be able to do this and have unshakeable concentration. If your concentration wavers, you will lose more power than is necessary, which may result in shorting your lifespan more than necessary or even turning you into a cut wing,” Malachi instructed worriedly.
“I am not afraid,” she whispered.
Malachi watched her demeanor, searching for a trace of fear about her but found none. She truly is not afraid of death, or becoming a cut wing. He knew that if she did indeed become one, she would be the youngest lady, and easily picked on by the others. Even so, it would be nice for there to be more kindness in the cut wing society.
“There is one thing you fear, but this is not it I see. Alright Ever, I will let my lady know what you have told me. She will decide whether or not this should be told to Mr. A and the rest of Immal’s team. As for Psyfer, I will have to ask you to leave him in the dark the content of those letters,” Malachi instructed.
“Why?” Ever asked, hating the idea of having to keep a secret from him.
“Because, it is his job is to protect you. If he worries about your possible fate, he will become overly paranoid and be unable to protect you as efficiently as he would otherwise,” Malachi continued logically.
Ever nodded and turned to leave the room.
“Do me a favor?” Malachi said as her fingertips touched the doorknob, “Do not tell Aunt Lynn the contents of my letter…she does not know, and I wish for it to remain that way.”
“It is not my story to tell Malachi,” Ever said gently as she left the room.

Psyfer remained on the balcony outside of the dining room window until the sun again set, grateful that Malachi was back to help protect Asoulna now that her memory is back. He felt continuously watched by the shadows of the night. He felt uneasy, and because of it he made sure he knew exactly where Asoulna was and what she was doing at all times.
But though he felt uneasy, the contents of the apartment seemed to be filled with joy that the lost child finally has her memory back. For once, Asoulna looked like she genuinely belonged somewhere, and she appeared to be happy even when she would glance at the window hoping to catch Psyfer out in the open. The pains of memories past appear to have lost their sting, and acceptance finally has entered her aching heart.
She retired to her room late that night with an armful of clothing that her Aunt Lynn had bought, tired and happy.
“May I come in?” Psyfer whispered after opening the French doors just enough for her to hear his voice.
“Sure,” Asoulna said as she busied herself with folding and putting away her new garments.
“Your Aunt Lynn has good taste, though I still prefer the one you wore when you met Emerson,” Psyfer stated, looking over the clothes.
“It is my favorite too. What happened to it?” Asoulna asked without slowing her pace.
“Don’t worry, it is safe. Zatara is holding on to it,” Psyfer reassured.
“I see. It may come in handy in the future,” Asoulna said, closing the drawers to the dresser.
“It may,” Psyfer said softly as he walked to one of the long windows that face the balcony, “It is difficult to get used to the view here.”
“Why is that?” Asoulna questioned.
“I have spent most of my life on the base, and there were always millions of stars and constellations dusted across the sky. Here I only can see a few thousand,” he specified.
“Even so, it is still enough to make our marks seen,” Asoulna said as she walked towards the window, letting the starlight touch her skin. Her wings appeared in stunning detail, and all of her marks shone white, even the dark one on her cheek.
Seeing this, Psyfer smiled. She truly is at peace with her past.
“Your black marks, Asoulna,” Psyfer whispered as he traced the white one on her cheek, “they now shine white.”
She glanced at their reflection in the window, seeing that what he says is true.
“So they have,” she said softly as she looked over Psyfer’s many dark marks.
“You afraid that I have more darkness in me than yourself?” Psyfer questioned, but she shook her head.
“No, I am just curious as to the stories behind them,” Asoulna clarified, “You know so much about me yet you yourself remain a mystery.”
“I am not one to complain about what life has given me,” Psyfer stated, shrugging her curiosity off.
“So I’ve noticed. But I still want to know who you are,” Asoulna encouraged.
Psyfer sighed and looked into her eyes, but found no reason not to trust her. They appeared innocent and childlike as well as wise, an unlikely combination.
“My father, though of the winged ones, was not the best of men. My mother loved him, but wouldn’t put up with that, he had no right to treat her badly. One day she got fed up and took me as well as everything she owned and moved to the base where my grandparents were working. My mother is a smart woman, and she easily got a job. Her strong will and determination helped her do her numerous projects as well as raise me. As an orange winged searcher, she hated staying still. Even on her vacation time she always had to be doing something, and she acted like doing nothing will kill her. My grandmother was quite different from that, and she possessed the green wings of a teacher. When I was twelve, she explained to me what life as a protector is like, and told me the story of why the Great Maker created protectors. She was a good teacher, and taught me how to deal with the cut wing’s turmoil. Honestly, if it weren’t for the love my family gave me, I would have become something much worse. It is not uncommon for protectors to cut their own wings in an effort to find an escape from the turmoil. And I know for a fact that without my family I would have by now,” Psyfer said, giving Asoulna a brief summary.
“That does not explain your black marks,” Asoulna pointed out gently, grateful for the piece of information he gave her.
“A weakness that keeps appearing,” he answered vaguely.
Asoulna watched him, his black wings covering him from her view except for the back of his head.
“My weakness,” Asoulna started as she took a step closer to him, “is love. I am like my mother in that way, loving everything even creatures deemed unlovable. Do not be mistaken, I don’t fall head over heels over every stranger or deeply care about everyone that comes my way. For most, I give them respect that they deserve and the benefit of the doubt. But for those that I am close to, ones that I care about as a lover, friend, or family, that is where my weakness shows. I get hurt multiple times, and try to cover everything over until what is unseen between us is ugly and ruins the relationship. But even then, I remain stubborn, and I stayed with Tasouc, no matter how badly he treated me, until the day he died.”
“Do you forgive him even now?” Psyfer questioned, without looking back.
“I do,” she answered without hesitation.
“I don’t understand why, it is stupid of you to do that for it only sets you up to get hurt again,” Psyfer pointed out.
“Yes, but why hold a grudge on something you can’t fix or change? It is in the past, and Tasouc was trying to do what is right, even if it was for selfish reasons,” Asoulna countered patiently.
“Yes, but remember the pain it caused you, trusting and caring about someone against all odds? Do you not regret it?”Psyfer asked, confused.
“No. I don’t regret it because of what I learned from him. I found out how cut wings each have their own individual personality, each dangerous on different levels. I learned the turmoil of the cut wing, and how painful it is. I understood it as well as I can without feeling it myself. That is why I feel like I understand you, for I know of the turmoil you go through as a protector, and for that it was worth the pain,” Asoulna answered.
“You have no hate in your heart do you?” Psyfer asked as he looked at her, “not even for your father, even though he killed your own mother and is torturing cut wings beneath him?”
Asoulna was quiet, uncertain how to answer his question.
“You don’t. Your silence proves that. You are incapable of hating even those who hurt you personally. What I don’t understand then is why you are a part of this mission to destroy him,” Psyfer prodded.
“I am not here to destroy him, but to free those under him from the pain he causes them. If you gave me a gun and told me to kill him, I know I won’t have it in me. It is not because he is my father either, but because I do not see it as my right to take another’s life,” Asoulna quietly explained.
Psyfer turned away from the window, watching as Asoulna stood awkwardly before him. She is so childlike, the way she trusts and loves others. It is remarkable that she is that way after being treated poorly by so many.
“My weakness,” Psyfer started, brushing Asoulna’s hair out of her face gently with his fingertips, “is my fear of being alone. I know my life is going to be short; I just don’t want to go through it by myself. I have chased many women because of that weakness ever since I was old enough to like girls. But I always ended up hurt and alone. I am not like you, Asoulna, I don’t give trust as freely as you do. Every time I got hurt, I grew less willing to trust until my lack of trust got in the way, it isolated me even though I was surrounded by good people. I still enjoyed the company of women, yes, but I was always alone. And that got to me at times.”
“Do you trust me?” she asked tenderly.
“Yes,” Psyfer replied, “and that’s what scares me.”
“Why? I trust you,” Asoulna reasoned.
“I’m not all good,” Psyfer warned.
“I never expected you to be,” she said.
At that Psyfer smiled, and wrapped his arms around her. Their wings completely surrounded them, black and white. He leaned his forehead against hers, feeling her soft breath against his cheek. But it was Asoulna who leaned in and kissed him softly. Psyfer then leaned back, his eyes sparkling.
“Have I told you,” he started, looking down upon Asoulna’s smiling face, “how beautiful you look when you smile?’
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry in that moment. She was just happy to have someone there, happy not to be alone anymore. He was nothing short of a hero to her, one that prevented her from taking her own life; someone that was there even though he didn’t have to. He saved her from her own pain, soothed her own memories past. His touch comforted her, and she never wanted to let go. She held him wishing that this moment could last forever, that tomorrow will never have to come.
In that moment, Asoulna realized that she loves Psyfer, that she had loved him for quite a while. He was the one person who she is not afraid to cry in front of, to show him her weakness as well as her strength.
Some people enter your life unexpectedly, and sometimes unwontedly they effortlessly change your life for the better. It is these people, that are hard to find, and are treasured the most in the heart.
Malachi walked down the street, ignoring the smell of smoke in the air and the poverty surrounding him. The Earthlings out on the street at this hour were constantly looking over their shoulder, fearful of their own vulnerably. But Malachi showed no fear, for he knew this area well.
In a dark corner at the end of a street, Malachi turned and entered a bar; keeping his hood up to be sure that no one would recognize him. He didn’t want to become acquaintances of the humans of these parts.
He took a seat on a stool at the bar, and watched the blind bartender take care of her customers.
A group of men as well as a few ladies entered the bar, the men screaming, whooping and rough housing with the women laughing alongside them. The bar keeper walked so smoothly to the group she appeared to glide alongside the bar to the stools this group was waiting.
“What can I get you guys,” she said, though the words themselves are casual they sounded formal coming from her tongue.
“A couple scotches for my boys here, and beer for the ladies,” the loudest man said, flashing the bartender a toothy smile.
“And how many of each would that be?” the bartender asked as the group laughed.
“Four scotches and three beers,” he said loudly, acting like she is deaf too.
“Coming right up,” she said as she turned and prepared the drinks as the women of the group retired to the bathroom.
She served the drinks efficiently, putting all of the scotches together as well as the beers in one neat line and went back to polishing the bar beside them.
“She doesn’t trust them at all,” Malachi muttered quietly to himself, watching closely as the men punch each other in the shoulders laughing about some smart remark about the bartender. And right in front of her, one man dropped some powder in the woman’s glasses while the other three created background noise, confident that she would not notice.
She didn’t react at first, letting them bask in their own success of a minute before gliding calmly so that she is standing right in front of them.
“I will not tolerate that kind of behavior in my bar,” she said angrily.
“I’m sorry ma’am if we are too loud,” one man said in mock respect.
She threw her fist onto the bar, shaking and splitting the wood beneath her hand, the impact causing the drinks to spill and shatter on the ground. All of the noise and ruckus that filled the room died in that moment as everyone held their breath.
“It is not your volume that bothers me,” she hissed as she leaned closer to the stunned men, “it is the fact that you think that you can get away with an act such as that. I am not blind boys. If I ever find any of you in here again, I will personally make you regret it!”
She took off her glasses, revealing blood red eyes with a golden center. The men sat there petrified, as her fake smile revealed her mouthful of sharp and transparent teeth.
Replacing her glasses over her eyes, she leaned back, smirking as the four men darted out of the bar.
“Bar’s closing early today ladies and gentlemen!” she shouted to the rest of her silent customers, and without any further instructions they filed out of there, including the ladies that retired to the restroom.
Seeing that Malachi wasn’t leaving with the rest she approached him angrily.
“I said the bar’s closing!” she shouted at him.
“I am here on business, my lady,” Malachi said respectfully as he lowered his hood.
“Ah,” she said with a smirk as she spun around and closed the door and curtains behind her bewildered guests as Malachi stood respectfully in the presence of his lady.
Amy approached Malachi, placing the glasses onto the bar. She is slender to the point her bones are visible, and her neat shoulder length straight hair is a bright unnatural red that stands out on her pale skin. Other than her eyes and teeth, she easily could fit in with the earthlings, one of the few ancient cut wings that can for her deformity for cutting her own wings is milder than many.
“Do you have the letters?” she asked, watching as Malachi pulled out Asoulna’s letters from her mother.
Amy opened the envelopes, reading all of them carefully before giving them back to Malachi.
“Esperina asks a lot of her daughter. Does she accept?” Amy questioned.
“Yes. She is not like you may think; she is very selfless and deeply feels for those creatures,” Malachi answered, making sure every word came out respectfully.
“Surprising that a winged one will go to such lengths for a group of cut wings,” Amy mused, “Has the protector even seen the rest of the group since they took Asoulna from the hospital?”
“No, he has been too paranoid to leave her alone for any length of time. He doesn’t trust me,” Malachi explained to her.
“Typical protector,” she smirked before continuing, “But I cannot say he is wrong to be paranoid. I have been warned that Vorasht has sent half of his army into another dimension to watch over what is going on. That means he knows about her memory returning, and exactly how many are watching over her at all times. He is waiting for his chance to take her, and trust me; I don’t think it can be prevented for long. All they have to do is to jump back to this dimension when we least expect it. So we have to allow her being captured to be a part of the plan, since we cannot stop it from happening.”
“You sure that is wise my lady?” Malachi questioned, worried for Asoulna’s life.
“Have you learned nothing minor? The lord or lady is always right and wise in a minor’s eyes,” a deep laughing voice said.
“How long have you been here?” Amy asked the lord that just jumped out of another dimension.
“Long enough, so don’t worry your pretty little head,” Mr. A teased, knowing that Amy hates that earthling phrase.
Mr. A spent nearly all of his time in another dimension because of the deformity that resulted in his cutting his own wings is great. He is large in size, ten feet tall and thickly muscled. His skin is red, for his red eyes do not even come close in describing the hatred he carries. His hair is short and black, and he has a neat, close cut beard. A loud and outspoken ancient cut wing, he often got on Amy’s nerves for she prefers everything to be neat and orderly.
“What brings you here?” Amy hissed between her teeth.
“I just thought it would be good to do some information sharing, since I have contact with the rest of the group. I could pass messages if you wish,” Mr. A said with a large grin.
“What do you want in return?” Amy asked suspiciously.
“Full rights to the clone Vorasht has succeeded in creating,” Mr. A said vaguely as he wandered around the bar, looking it over.
“His clone? The man doesn’t strike me as one who would clone himself, he wouldn’t want the competition,” Amy said, confused.
“Not a clone of himself, but one of his daughter,” he said laughing.
“What would you want with a baby ancient?” Amy prodded.
“I could raise her to be a nice cut wing sidekick,” Mr. A pointed out.
“Right, a side kick more powerful than the ancient cut wing. I’d like to see how long that lasts,” Amy said sarcastically, “But I will allow you first pick of his freed cut wing army if Asoulna frees them. Let’s say, 20,000?”
“Thirty and I’ll consent. Those newly freed cutwings should be full of fire and hate after going through such pain, they will be the pride of my army,” Mr. A said smugly.
“Good for you. Now I would like you to inform the rest of the team that Asoulna has her memory back, and tell them that they somehow have to make their way to the top story of his hideout when you give them the mark. They are our insurance that all will go well for the healer to give her power to the unfortunate ones. All they need to know is there part of the plan, they will figure the rest out when the time comes,” Amy instructed.
“Consider it done. Any idea when I should tell them to follow through with these orders?” Mr. A questioned seriously.
“Is it not obvious? When Vorasht captures Asoulna!” Amy shouted.
“Well you guys better put up a good fight in protecting her from being captured, or he will suspect something. And I also suggest that part of the plan is kept hidden from the protector and healer,” Mr. A advised.
“Makes since,” Amy said, surprised how quickly Mr. A can go from taunting jokester to helpful advisor. She looked at Malachi and nodded her head, allowing him to return home.

I woke up to Psyfer smiling down upon me as he lay on top of the blankets fully clothed.
“What are you doing?” I said groggily as I stretched and rolled to my side so that I am facing him.
“Just watching you sleep,” he replied happily as he kissed my forehead.
“Do you ever sleep?” I asked him as I moved closer. He is warm.
“Not recently, but I feel like I should stay awake,” Psyfer answered distantly, causing Asoulna to laugh.
“You are already half asleep, what’s keeping you up?” I asked sleepily.
“I am afraid that when I do, your father will use that opportunity to take you away,” Psyfer said anxiously as he held her closer.
“You don’t have to worry so much about me,” I answered with a sleepy smile.
“I do. I don’t want to ever lose you. I love you Asoulna,” Psyfer whispered into my ear.
I remained silent, uncertain whether or not I should say something. The last time someone spoke those words to me, I got hurt badly. Tasouc didn’t mean those words, but does that mean Psyfer doesn’t mean them as well?
“Asoulna, stop your panicking,” Psyfer said gently as he kissed me. His lips felt warm and plump, and are growing quite familiar against mine. “I am not Tasouc, and I will not treat you the way he did. You are the one thing I cannot stand to lose, and I mean it when I say I love you. Earlier today you asked why I was willing to go beyond my orders to protect and comfort you, and that is my reason. You have a compassionate heart and are very beautiful; Tasouc was a fool to lose you. I mean it. And in all honesty, I am selfishly happy he did, because now I have you, and that would not have happened if he didn’t leave. I love you, Asoulna, trust that I mean it.”
“I love you too,” I whispered before I could stop myself. I mean it; he is the one person who was willing to go through great lengths for me, even though I didn’t ask him to.
Psyfer smiled and sat up, trying to keep himself awake.
“Thank you,” I said softly, “for being there for me.”
“My pleasure,” Psyfer responded.
“But you need your sleep. If you take off your shoes and sleep close beside me, whatever tries to take me will not succeed without waking you up. If you keep this up, Psyfer, your ability to protect me will lessen as sleep loss takes its toll,” I advised, wanting to get some sleep.
After a short silent spell, Psyfer took off his shoes and cloak and went under the covers with me. He wrapped his arms around me, as if I am going to disappear when he closes his eyes.
“Goodnight,” I whispered, falling back asleep.
“Goodnight,” Psyfer said as he leaned his forehead against mine.
But I couldn’t fall back asleep. No matter how long I kept my eyes closed, I could not get over the feeling that I am being watched. Even though the rhythm of Psyfer’s ribcage rising and falling next to mine soothed me, I cannot get over this feeling of uneasiness. Something felt horribly out of place, and I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly it was.
A finger, cold and thin touched my shoulder; gently at first but its fingernails scratched my arm as it ran its hand down the length of it. I winced, wanting to cry out but fear kept me silent as I kept my eyes closed.
What creature is in the room with us?
Two hands rolled me over slowly, so as not to wake Psyfer. Its cold hands remained on my shoulders, pinning me on my back.
Trembling, I opened my eyes wishing I hadn’t.
I stared into the thick layer of peeling skin where the creature’s eyes should have been. The skin that has grown over its jaw stretched and collapsed, as if it was trying to say something.
I opened my mouth to scream, but it shoved its fist in my mouth, leaving me gagging at the taste of its skin. I threw my head back, trying to spit its fistful of bones and tendons out, but the creature put a blade against my throat, bidding me to be silent.
Its fingernails dug into me as it dragged me off of my bed.
Tears streamed down my face as more of the cursed creatures appeared, and I could not stand the sight of their eyeless faces or their bones that jutted out like the tombs back at Orian. Their tendons quivered with their each movement towards me. Though they appear frail, I know they are not weak from the black shadows that hovered around them where their wings should have been. Yes, each one of these creatures are very powerful, and with my fathers’ mind controlling them they are very dangerous.
The room grew crowded with these ugly ones, and as soon as I was completely surrounded by them the rest began to approach sleeping Psyfer, growling through their noses at the presence of a protector.
“Psyfer!” I screamed, watching as these cursed cut wings pulled out their blades.
Oh Great Maker, please don’t let them hurt him, please. Don’t give and take away so soon, please let no harm come to him.
Psyfer cried out as one of the cut wings stabbed him and I struggled against the cut wings in a fruitless attempt to get to him.
Suddenly, the whole group of cut wings disappeared as I fell to the floor sobbing.
“Sorry for crashing your party,” A large booming voice said behind me.
Who is this?
Psyfer leapt out of bed, ignoring the large gash in his chest and pulled out his knife.
“Touch her, and I will kill you,” Psyfer threatened, slowly approaching the creature behind me.
A large booming laugh echoed filled the room as the cut wing stepped back in mockery.
“Foolish young protector, you should know better than to mess with cut wing lords, especially Mr. A. My army could eat you as if you were a snack; your power is no match for them! Besides, what makes you think I have any wish to harm her?” Mr. A said.
“That’s cannibalism!” Psyfer protested, disgusted by what Mr. A said.
“Even so, I know of a few cut wings in my army whose hate for winged ones is so great, cannibalism would not matter much to them as long as it caused a winged one pain,” Mr. A sneered.
I stood up shakily and turned to face the lord who towered above me. His skin is bright red along with his eyes, and he had black hair and a neatly trimmed black beard.
“Thank you for scaring off Vorasht’s army,” I said respectfully, “but why do they hold fear of you? All of them are controlled by my father’s mind, so it makes no sense that they would shrink back into the shadows because of your presence.”
“Vorasht and I are on a sort of truce. Our armies are equally strong, and in order to avoid war between us we try to stay out of each other’s business,” Mr. A briefly explained.
After giving him a respectful nod, I approached Psyfer to get a closer look at his wound, softly thanking the Great Maker and placing my glowing hands on it. Psyfer winced but immediately relaxed.
“You know, each time you do that you lose some power,” Psyfer said softly, feeling guilty, “You shouldn’t waste it on me.”
“It is not power wasted if it keeps you here,” I countered as I turned to Mr. A, “What is the reason of your coming here, if I may ask?”
“To find out the name Esperina called Vorasht,” Mr. A said flatly.
“Alright. Would you mind, in trade, staying here so that the creatures don’t come back tonight?” I asked, wanting Psyfer to rest.
“Only if you tell me the name,” Mr. A said sarcastically.
“Rahim,” I said, giving him the information though I don’t know why he wanted it.
Mr. A nodded, and kept his post at the door.
It took a while for Psyfer to give in to sleep, for he hated the idea of his life being at the mercy of a cut wing lord. But even as his breath slowed beside me, I couldn’t find sleep so I got up and went to my desk and found only Malachi’s letter remaining.
“Malachi borrowed the letters to show his lady so as to put the plan into motion,” Mr. A clarified, noticing my confusion.
I nodded, not at all angry at Malachi for not telling me he took them.
“Yet something still bothers you winged one,” Mr. A said indifferently, “You have everything going for you, great power, a purpose, a family, friends willing to risk their life for you, even a lover and still you are anxious?”
“I don’t fear losing my power or my life, I even don’t fear failing the mission as long as I do everything in my power to succeed,” I started, without even looking at him, “I just fear losing ones that I care about.”
“You are going to have to get over that fear, young winged one. Whether or not you keep all of your power or become a cut wing, you will outlive all of those you care about. It is a fact that you have to get used to, Asoulna,” Mr. A said matter-of-factly.
“But I don’t want to lose him,” I whispered, “…I fell apart when I lost Tasouc and he didn’t even treat me right. It would tear me apart to outlive Psyfer, even if I end up living only a thousand years I can’t stand the idea of being without him.”
“You fear losing that protector more than losing your own life?” Mr. A asked surprised.
I remained silent, realizing how odd that would sound on the cut wing’s ears.
“Your silence answers the question, young healer. That explains why you feel so guilty, even after you have healed his wound. You blame yourself for his injury,” he continued, but I didn’t look at him. I don’t want to reveal how true his words are; for I know the guilt can easily be seen in my eyes.
“If it weren’t for my being here, he would not have been harmed. My father would have been indifferent to his presence. We got lucky this time, but what about next? I am a healer, but I cannot bring life into something that is dead,” I said, trying not to whimper.
“You do realize turning yourself in will put everything at risk, including your life. Do you want to put him in the same situation that you are trying to escape?” Mr. A pointed out.
“He would have less time to have to deal with it,” I answered weakly.
“Then you are not nearly as selfless as everyone has told me. You are just a suicidal child just trying to escape pain!” Mr. A laughed.
The words pained my heart, but he is right. Tears streamed down my face as I looked over at Psyfer, sound asleep in my bed. Why would I deliberately cause someone who has been so good to me pain? How could I be so selfish?
“We all have our moments of weakness, Asoulna, even powerful winged ones such as yourself. Just because all of your marks are white does not mean you are perfect and strong in every way. You are weak as well as strong. Even the highest kings of the cut wings have a weakness hidden somewhere in their hearts. Take your father as an example, his weakness is more obvious than most, even yours is better hidden than his. Do not be so greatly pained, you just needed to hear those words. Sometimes a mirror needs to be placed in front of one for a person to realize what he or she is doing wrong. And it almost always hurts,” Mr. A said indifferently.
“What if I become a cut wing as a result of freeing my father’s army? What would a protector want to do with a cut wing lady?” I asked worriedly.
“Some things cannot be answered until the situation brings itself about. You are going to have to face your fears sooner or later,” Mr. A said, stepping around my question.
I turned as Psyfer rolled over in slumber, so tired that my conversation with Mr. A doesn’t even disturb him. Peaceful sleeper, may you become well rested and happy as long as you can, we have a lot ahead of us when you awaken.
“Thank you for your patience,” I said to Mr. A, who just grunted in response, “But may I ask why you are doing this for me when you and my father are under a treaty?”
“Some agreements are meant to be broken from the start,” he said with a shrug, “The man has lost what’s left of his sanity when he killed Esperina. He now has a clone baby of you; don’t ask me why because I have no idea what his reasoning is behind that. Very few of us understand him, and that is why his army must be freed. If more lords and ladies resort to his methods, it would become a bigger task to get rid of it than it already is. All of us cut wings are already under extreme pain; there is no need to amplify it,” Mr. A stated.
“A clone? Where would the child go after this?” I asked, curious.
“No clue. Probably to one of the few remaining winged ones. Possibly you, if you are willing to raise it,” Mr. A suggested.
I sat there, thinking. I am not the only winged ancient anymore. This child that Vorasht has brought into existence will have unlimited power, and if she were to lose her wings she would become the youngest cut wing lady. Is that what my father trying to do? Bring this child into the world so that he can cut her wings once she grows them, and raise a daughter that is “his” because they share the same pain?
“I would like to have rights over the child,” I said, wanting to prevent my sister, my daughter, my clone, from such a destiny.
“Doesn’t matter to me. I’ve already called dibs on the freed cut wings; the child isn’t worth much to me as long as she doesn’t become a threat.” Mr. A said shrugging.
I nodded, remaining silent. He thinks the freed army will still be cut wings, but if I succeed with what I am planning they will be winged ones. But, since there is no guarantee that I will even free them, I didn’t bother in correcting him.
I opened the drawers to my desk, pulling out a few sheets of paper and a pen. I will write a letter to Psyfer, just in case things go badly for me. I don’t want to leave him in pain.

Psyfer rolled over, happy to feel Asoulna close to him for it proves that she is still here, that no one has taken her away while he was sleeping. He briefly opened his eyes and looked around the room, finding the sun up and the cut wing lord gone.
Psyfer yawned and stretched, thinking of the attack last night as one thinks of a bad dream. Its only remnants are the light scratches on Asoulna’s arms, and even those are fading.
“I promise you,” Psyfer whispered to sleeping Asoulna, “I will not let them take you away from me. I will not let them hurt you again.”
But she didn’t stir; all she did is smile, lost in the world her dreams take her. Is it possible to still have beautiful dreams even when surrounded by such chaos?
Psyfer smiled and kissed her forehead as he brushed her tangled hair from her face.
Her eyes opened, and she squinted at first adjusting to the light of day. Seeing Psyfer beside her, her smile grew and she gently kissed his lips.
“About last night, I am sorry…” Psyfer started, feeling horrible that Vorasht’s army almost succeeded in kidnapping her.
“Don’t worry about it. I was the one who insisted that you should sleep even though you had a feeling something was wrong,” Asoulna cut in, sharing the blame, “But either way, you’re going to need some food in you. I’ll bring you some.”
A knock at the door silenced them, and Asoulna gestured Psyfer to get on the floor on the side of the bed facing away from the door.
“Ever? May I come in?” Malachi’s voice said from the other side of the door.
“You may,” Asoulna called out, as Malachi opened the door and walked in, Esperina’s letters in his hand.
“You didn’t have to kick Psyfer off of the bed,” Malachi said after closing the door behind him, “I knew he was in here.”
Psyfer stood up from his hiding place, uncertain as to why Malachi was visiting.
“My apologies for the secrecy, but I had to borrow the letters to show my lady. We have a plan forming, one that will succeed,” Malachi said as he handed Asoulna the letters.
“Good,” she answered, not as excited about it as she could have been. Though she accepted whatever fate that may befall her as a result, she still worried about whether or not she will be able to keep Psyfer.
“You should put your cloak back on as well as your shoes,” Malachi said as he turned to Psyfer, “Aunt Lynn wants to invite you in for breakfast.”
“How does she know I am here?” Psyfer asked, feeling ashamed of his hiding techniques.
“Someone from your group called her, and said that you probably haven’t been eating if you were still on the porch,” Malachi said as he shrugged, “Apparently Asoulna is not the only one who cares about your health.”
Psyfer’s brow furrowed as he swooped his cloak around him into its place. Why would Immal allow anyone to give away his hiding place? But he shrugged off his questions, knowing that he must have had a good reason to.
“Alright, well I’m going to take a shower, let Aunt Lynn know that I’m going to be a little late for breakfast,” Asoulna said as she grabbed some clothes from the dresser and left the room.
Once she left, Psyfer and Malachi stood awkwardly in her room.
“You two didn’t…?” Malachi asked as he glanced at the bed.
“No,” Psyfer answered calmly as he put on his shoes.
“Good,” Malachi said, debating leaving the room without Psyfer.
“How do cut wings disappear and appear out of thin air?” Psyfer asked, wanting to know how a handful of Vorasht’s army was able to get into the room last night.
“Cut wings have the ability to jump into another dimension, allowing us to go wherever we want unseen. None of the winged ones have the ability to jump dimensions,” Malachi briefly explained.
“But can a cut wing take a winged one into that second dimension?” Psyfer asked, looking at the door Asoulna just went through worriedly.
“It is possible, but highly unlikely. Our kind don’t want many winged ones to know of that ability, so it would be a great risk to let them see it,” Malachi said, catching on to Psyfer’s worry.
“Boys?” a female voice said after knocking on the door, “Breakfast is ready.”
“We’ll be right out Aunt Lynn,” Malachi shouted then whispered to Psyfer, “Don’t you dare tell her that I am a taker. She is a good hearted keeper, and it would deeply hurt her if she were ever to find out what I really am.”
“In all honesty, I have no intention of getting into your business. You don’t have to worry about me telling secrets that are not my own,” Psyfer said indifferently.
Malachi gave a sharp nod and left the rooms with Psyfer close behind.
I took my time in the shower, letting the hot water roll down my skin. May it wash away my fears, may it erase my pain.
Last night scared me, and brought to my attention how real the creatures are. It gives anyone pain just to look at them, which cannot even come close to the pain they must be going through every day. The creatures appeared to be more animal than cut wing, creatures living off of pure hate.
I now understand why my mother put such a task on my shoulders, she saw this pain more than I have; she had to see them in their agony every day until the day she was murdered. And I wholeheartedly accept what is to come, as long as these creatures are freed.
A low growl outside of my shower curtain interrupted my thoughts. I reached to turn off the water, but a boney hand grabbed my wrist as the creature pulled me out onto the bathroom floor. I was again surrounded by them, but everything around me felt different. The colors changed, as if I had stepped into a black and white movie.
Bewildered, I remained silent as the creature that grabbed me dragged me through the locked bathroom door and into the hallway. I screamed, but none of the cut wings bothered in silencing me. I started crying and screamed even louder, but no one came. Even as I was dragged into the living room in plain sight of Psyfer and Malachi eating in the dining room with Aunt Lynn, no one got up to help me. No one saw me.
“Psyfer!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as I was dragged out of the apartment, but he cannot hear me as I was dragged out of the apartment.

Mr. A jumped out of second dimension in the hotel room Zatara is staying in.
“Hello Mr. A, what is your reason for dropping by,” Zatara asked without even flinching at his presence.
“I was wondering if you still had that garment set that Asoulna wore when she met Vorasht back at the base,” Mr. A said casually.
“Yes, why?” Zatara asked, but Mr. A ignored her question.
“Is it true that you can shift into anything, even those you can see in other people’s memories?” Mr. A asked.
“Anything within reason,” Zatara answered, giving up on asking him questions. She has tried asking Mr. A questions before, and always when he refuses to answer one question, it means he refuses to answer all questions for the moment.
“Good. Put it on and shift into Asoulna, today we are bringing down Vorasht,” Mr. A said triumphantly.
“Then it’s a good thing I had breakfast this morning,” Zatara said, smiling at her own odd comment.
“You must memorize the words that I am about to tell you, for you are going to meet Vorasht himself alone at first. His eyes may frighten you, for he wore green contacts while he was working at the base. Whatever you do, don’t flinch when you first see them, and be sure to find the memory of Esperina so that you can shift into her before he has a chance to take a close look at you,” Mr. A instructed.
“Ok. But why am I to become his dead wife?” Zatara said as she took out Asoulna’s clothes and laid them on her bed.
“Simply put, we are giving him a nice little trip down memory lane,” Mr. A said with a smile, “Don’t worry, the others will be there to protect you if anything were to go wrong.”
“What about you?” Zatara asked curiously.
“I won’t be right on the scene, but I will be around. I have to remain close by if I am to get my first pick,” Mr. A said with a grin.

Psyfer spent the whole breakfast looking over his shoulder, hoping to see Asoulna rushing to the table with a smile on her face and a polite apology about how late she has been. But she didn’t, and that made Psyfer uneasy.
“Ever usually takes her time in the shower, but I don’t ever recall her spending much more than twenty minutes. She should know better than to waste so much water,” Aunt Lynn said frustrated as she gathered up the dishes, leaving Asoulna’s plate at her place of the table.
“I think I should check on her,” Psyfer said concerned as she stood up.
“I don’t see that to be necessary, there is no window and I haven’t seen anyone come in or out of the hallway,” Aunt Lynn said good-naturedly.
Psyfer glanced over at Malachi and saw that he had the same concern. Something is wrong, and it would put both of their minds at rest once they know she is safe.
“I’d rather stay on the safe side,” Psyfer said as Malachi nodded.
Both of them stood outside the bathroom door, listening to the running water.
“The shower’s still running,” Malachi pointed out, “She might be in there daydreaming.”
“Not this long,” Psyfer said as he gently tried the lock on the door, “Asoulna, you in there?”
Hearing no answer, Psyfer knocked loudly.
“It is possible that she cannot hear you because of the running water,” Malachi said dryly.
Psyfer turned irritably to him.
“Fine. Then you go into second dimension and check to see if she’s there,” Psyfer demanded.
“You very well know only cut wings have that ability,” Malachi hissed, in case Aunt Lynn was listening.
“Just go!” Psyfer whispered harshly, panicking.
At that Malachi disappeared, and the water turned off. Psyfer listened intently for any sounds that might suggest that Asoulna is in there, that she is ok but he found none.
The door handle clicked as Malachi opened the door.
“She’s gone,” he said calmly.
“Gone!” Psyfer yelled as Malachi grabbed his arm and jumped him into second dimension.
“Stop yelling!” Malachi hissed, “This is good. It means everything is going according to plan.”
But Psyfer wasn’t in the mood to listen and ignoring his black and white surroundings, he shoved Malachi against a wall, and both of them fell through it ending up in Malachi’s room.
“Good? How is this possibly good? You tricked me, but what’s worse is that you willingly put your beloved adoptive sister into the hands of a creature that takes pleasure in other’s pain,” Psyfer screamed as he pressed down on Malachi’s throat.
But Malachi tucked his knees under Psyfer and kicked him off and leaped to his feet, staying a safe distance from Psyfer.
“Don’t fight me when you don’t know the whole story,” Malachi warned, watching Psyfer’s movements carefully.
“Then feel free to fill me in,” Psyfer said through clenched teeth, trying to control the shaking of his hands.
“Asoulna has willingly consented to free Vorasht’s army, even though it would be a great cost to herself,” Malachi started carefully, watching Psyfer’s eyes.
“What do you mean, “a great cost”,” Psyfer prodded frustrated with his opponent.
“The only way to free them is to give them back their individuality so that they can re gain control over their own minds. She will have to give up the power held in her wings in order to give them enough individual power. But once this happens, cut wing justice will take place, and Vorasht will be killed by his own army,” Malachi explained.
“For an army of over three hundred thousand, that is a lot of power. What would happen to her if she does this?” Psyfer said irritably, but when Malachi didn’t respond he shouted, “Answer me!”
“On the very best circumstances, and only if she gives enough power for all of them to remain cut wings, it would shorten her life to a thousand years,” Malachi started, not wanting to reveal the darker potential fates Asoulna has.
“And if circumstances are not favorable?” Psyfer pried as he glared at Malachi.
“Then Asoulna would become a cut wing lady, or possibly die from the loss of power,” Malachi said slowly, watching as Psyfer pulled out his knife.
Psyfer looked at his knife, turning it around a few times in his hand while watching Malachi out of the corner of his eye. He then sprang up from the ground, hurling the knife towards Malachi’s chest, but Malachi caught it with his hands, splitting both of his palms open as Psyfer continued to press down wanting to go past the small cut he had created on the taker’s chest.
“I refuse,” Psyfer said shakily as tears streamed down his face, “to lose her to such a horrible fate.”
“You know Asoulna is one to give up everything to help another, so you cannot doubt that I am right when I say she consented to this,” Malachi gasped out, “It is a fate she chose! No one else made that decision for her. Would you rather kill me and be stuck in this dimension forever or come with me so that we both can try to make sure she has a better destiny.”
“Why should I trust you?” Psyfer glowered.
“Because you have no choice but to trust me, and you know she will fare badly if we stay here,” Malachi answered, watching Psyfer surrender.
Psyfer took a step back, gently removing his protector’s blade from Malachi’s bloody hands.
“We haven’t even fought Vorasht, and blood has already been spilled,” Malachi said absent mildly as he watched the blood drip from his hands.
“True, but more blood is bound to be spilled on this day,” Psyfer said as he walked through the wall to Asoulna’s room.
He looked around it with a heavy heart, hoping that he will bring her back here safely.
“Oh Great Maker,” he whispered to the empty room, “have mercy on the most cursed of your loved ones, and let her live…take my life in her stead if that is your price, but let her live. She has done nothing to deserve the fate of a cut wing; she has done nothing to deserve to die. Great Maker, did you bring the ancient winged ones back only to suffer the fate of your cut wings?”
A sticky wet hand touched Psyfer’s shoulder, causing him to jump. But it was only Malachi.
“We both love her, Psyfer. And I believe, if the Great Maker is truly just, that he will somehow give her a beautiful future no matter what happens today,” Malachi said quietly.
“I just wish I knew what was going to happen,” Psyfer said softly.
“I do too. But the future remains uncertain, waiting for our hands to mold it,” Malachi attempted to sooth.
Psyfer nodded, taking a few moments of silence, savoring this moment of uncertainty for he had a gut feeling that things are going to make a turn for the worse. He would rather the future remain uncertain than for it to be certainly terrible.
“You lead the way,” Psyfer said as he stared at the painting of the winged one and cut wing, “to where Vorasht is keeping her.”
Malachi nodded and turned around, leaving Asoulna’s room with Psyfer following close behind.
I fought against the heavy chains that bound my feet to the floor.
“Fight all you want, young Asoulna, but those chains won’t budge,” Vorasht said apathetically as he sat at his desk in the center of the room, “and all of your movement will wrinkle your mother’s beautiful dress.”
“Why did you keep all of her clothes?” I questioned aggravated as I looked down at the strapless dark blue gown I was put in. It was stunning to say the least, and the fabric shimmered beautifully without appearing to be shiny. The dress itself touched the floor and had a small train.
“Guess I never had the heart to get rid of them. I did love the original owner of them, even though she betrayed me and tried to cover it up with lies. But it is a good thing I have kept them, or her beautiful daughter would be here clothes less,” he said as he looked up from his desk.
I stood there silently, watching my father work at his desk just as he had the day he killed my mother. Has he no guilt? Has he no heart?
“What was it,” I started slowly, uncertain how he will react to my question, “that made you decide to cut your own wings?”
Vorasht stopped his work abruptly and looked up slowly with a grin on his lips and eyes flashing with anger and hate.
“That is a long story my dear,” he smirked, “you sure you want to hear it?”
I nodded, too frightened to speak.
“Very well,” Vorasht said as he leaned back in his chair, “it doesn’t matter if you know it or not, you won’t be living long enough to tell it anyways. About three thousand years ago, I was an ancient winged one, one with great power like you. Except I did not have the white wing’s of a healer like yours, but rather the blue wings of the builder. All of the lords, ladies, kings and queens were there when the Great Maker began losing interest in our kind, and set about to create new worlds and new species besides our own. He filled the universe with life, but gave us no rights of a firstborn; he didn’t allow our kind to rule over any of these less intelligent creatures. We didn’t even have the right to rule ourselves, which all of the other species were allowed to do. We were to obey him, simple as that. Many of us whispered among ourselves against him, hating him for abandoning our kind. It was then many began to take their own wings, to let the Great Maker know that we are not his to rule over anymore. Many cut their own wings in want of power to control and rule over others; others cut their own wings in hopes of being able to blend in with the new creatures on the other planets, falling for their beautiful people, and a few did it out of jealousy, wanting to make the Great Maker pay for creating others besides our kind. The few loyalists that we could find had their wings cut, and were given the choice to join us or die. We lost many powerful winged ones that way,” Vorasht mused as he laughed.
“What were your, reasons?” I asked hesitantly.
“I was hoping to rule over one of the lesser races that the Great Maker created, but he threatened us all with our lives saying that we are not to rule over them directly. I also did so out of jealousy and hate for the other creations, and in spite of him. Soon enough, the great maker shortened the life of the winged ones and future cut wings after creating the protectors to protect individuals and warriors to fight in large numbers against us. All it took was cutting the wings of six of the shortened life winged ones, and soon their hate brought them to cut other’s wings and so on. It became an unending cycle that allowed us to accumulate large armies to protect ourselves from the winged warriors. And thus, we formed a ranking system that continues on to this day,” Vorasht answered happily, as if he were telling a child’s bedtime story.
“But why put your armies through such pain?!” I shouted, not understanding his way of thinking.
“If I cannot have absolute control over any of the other creatures or cause them any pain, then I might as well take my hate out on my armies and make them suffer as those creatures deserve to suffer. It is my right as their lord,” he said casually.
His answer shocked me, and I again tugged at the chains at my feet, but they wouldn’t give. What did my mother possibly see in him that allowed her to love a creature with absolutely no good in him?
“Do you have any other questions, my dear,” Vorasht said with a sharp laugh.
“Yes, why do you have a clone of me?” I asked quietly, feeling trapped.
“So that I can have the daughter I deserve. She may not be mine, but I will adopt her, and after losing her wings she will be more like me than you ever could!” he said stingingly.
But his harsh words had no effect on me; I do not want to be his much loved daughter as he causes pain to all of those around me. The price is too high to be in his love, and even when it is paid, would he be capable of loving? He couldn’t find it in his heart to love my mother, the only person who found it possible to love him. He repaid her love with suspicion and distrust, murdering her in the end.
“Why so angry Asoulna? Have you found it in your heart to hate me,” Vorasht asked, laughing.
“No,” I said, my answer surprising me even though it is true.
“Really? Even though I took the life of your mother, torture my own armies, killed all of those on numerous planets including the one you lived on for nine years you still cannot find it in your heart to hate me?” Vorasht asked, amused with my answer.
“No. Whether I like it or not, you are my father, the one who gave me life. I cannot change that no matter how much I want to. My mother found reason to love you, and no matter what you did I know she continued to do so against all odds. The thing that brought greatest pain to her heart was watching your treatment to your minors, watching you torture them until the very life within them is extinguished. Even so, she put up with hoping that something would change. That is what love is, an emotion that lasts and clings to your heart against all odds. You never truly loved her, for if you did she would be alive today. You killed her within five minutes of your jumping to the conclusion that she cheated on you, and even now you hate her! You love only yourself, are compassionate only to your own pain; you are the darkest and the worst of all of the cut wings. And one day you will get what has long been coming to you!” I spoke, unable to stop myself.
“Are you threatening me? Do you really think you have it in you to kill me?” Vorasht questioned, already knowing the answer.
“No. It is not my right to take your life,” I answered flatly.
My father laughed, even more amused.
“I should have known you never were a threat, even when you became a part of the group that set off to destroy me,” he said, shaking his head.
“Now my father, never underestimate me,” I said, staring him down.
The soft tapping of feet echoed throughout the room as a women approached my father, wearing the cloak and dress Vorasht gave me. Her hood is down so far it covered her face as she doted over the baby in her arms.
Vorasht’s jaw dropped as I stood there unable to speak. My father got up and rushed over to the woman, touching her arm to see if she is real. The woman looked up, and smiled lovingly at my father.
“Mother…” I longed to whisper, but the words remained in my throat.
“Good afternoon Rahim,” she said to my father sweetly as the baby squealed in her arms.
My mother, Esperina, could she be back from the dead?

“I am not comfortable with Zatara being in the same room as her,” Immal said uncomfortably as he stared down into the room. Amy had situated the rest of the team on the glass roof; Immal, Yuit and Gadion were present, all carrying stun guns.
“You sure that those creatures are of no threat to us?” Gadion said anxiously, staring at the few minors of Vorasht’s army that stood listlessly on the roof with them.
“For the present, yes. They are controlled by Vorasht’s mind and do not think on their own. Since the dark one is preoccupied with his “wife” coming back from the dead, all of them have stopped working. His mind is too busy trying to figure out how this is possible to control his army,” Amy said as she too stared down at Vorasht and Zatara.
“And why are we only given stun guns to protect ourselves?” Gadion asked as he shifted feet.
“Because,” Amy said sighing, tired of having to explain the simplest of things to these creatures, “it is not our right to kill the army, because every action that comes from them is from Vorasht. Stun Vorasht, and the army is of no threat. It is cut wing justice to allow the army to kill their own lord. Only their hands shall shed his blood.”
Gadion then remained silent, keeping an eye on the cut wings that surround him.
“Looks like our Zatara is doing quite well,” Mr. A said as he approached Amy and Immal, “Can your woman really change into the form of any creature?”
“Yes,” Immal said without looking away from Zatara, afraid that Vorasht will try to kill her too.
“You lucky lucky man!” Mr. A laughed as Amy glared at him.
“Hey look, Psyfer is here!” Yuit said excitedly, pointing at a black cloaked figure.
“Looks like my Malachi showed him the way,” Amy mused, uncertain whether or not she should be pleased. It is against regulation to bring a winged one into second dimension, but then again Vorasht took Asoulna here through it already today. If the enemy breaks a rule, does it give us the right to break it too?

“The sun is setting,” Yuit pointed out as he looked at the horizon, “I wonder what darkness will be brought about this night.”
“Esperina?” Vorasht whispered in a hushed voice.
“Who else would it be Rahim? Really, you have been worrying me lately with the consistent hallucinations you have been having,” Zatara said as she ran her hand down his arm and held his hand as she saw Esperina often do in his memories.
“You’re telling me that you do not see that woman over there?” he asked, as he pointed to the spot Asoulna was standing.
“What woman?” Zatara asked, allowing her eyes clouding up with confusion.
Vorasht spun around, finding Asoulna gone. He then looked back at Zatara, sharing her confused expression.
“Never mind that,” Zatara said kindly, as if she were smoothing over a loved one’s mental illness, “Have you come up with any ideas for what we should name our daughter?”
Asoulna spun around, finding herself in second dimension again.
“Do not be afraid,” Malachi said with a small smile on his lips as he watched Psyfer rush over to hold Asoulna, but after a few moments his seriousness returned, “We do not have much time. We must get you back to the dimension you are most used to so that it would be easier for you to concentrate.”
“But how am I to do this?” Asoulna said, looking anxiously at her father.
“Thank the Great Maker until both of your hands glow, then thrust you hands to the ground and focus your mind on to the image of your father’s army,” Malachi said vaguely.
“But I’ve never done anything like this before, what if I fail?” Asoulna said, beginning to panic. She had expected herself to be more prepared when the time comes.
“Practice would have diminished your power. Treat it as if you are healing the wound of another, and do not lose concentration! Do not worry about failing, for this has never been done before. But I do honestly believe this is the very reason the Great Maker gave you such great power, made you like the ancient winged ones. I know you will not fail my sister, I just worry about what will happen when you succeed,” Malachi reassured.
“Don’t worry, Asoulna,” Psyfer said as he kissed her forehead, “Malachi and I will be here to make sure that you are safe.”
“It is not my safety that I worry about,” she said softly.
“That is what worries me,” Psyfer whispered, “for you may be fine with the idea of dying for a good cause, but I am far from ready to lose you.”
Malachi watched the suspicion in Vorasht’s eyes grow concerning Zatara. Time of transition is running out.
“Very touching, but we need to go now,” Malachi said as he jumped both of them into the first dimension.
Upon seeing the three of them, Vorasht turned to Zatara and struck her.
“Liar!” he hissed through clenched teeth as he watched her shift into her original form.
“Hey!” Immal shouted, appearing behind Vorasht pointing the stun gun into his back, “Don’t you touch my woman!”
“Fine,” Vorasht said with a smirk as he held his hands above his head, “I will not lay a finger on her.”
At that Zatara was surrounded by five members of Vorasht’s cut wing army, and this being the first time she has seen such horrific creatures she screamed. Immal shot three times, trying to hit Vorasht, but he kept going in and out of second dimension making himself a difficult target.
Amongst the chaos of the fighting surrounding her, Asoulna got to her knees and closed her eyes, trying to drown out her surroundings with her own thoughts. Psyfer stayed beside her, fighting off any cut wing that came near.
“I thank you, Great Maker, for giving me this power,” she spoke, ignoring her surroundings, “No, if you will, allow me to use this power for good!”
At that she thrust her hands on to the ground, her whole body glowing from the power she was giving away. All of Vorasht’s army stopped in their tracks, not responding to any of his mental manipulations. That left Yuit, Gadion, Zatara and Immal completely surrounded by unmoving cut wings, making them unable to help any further in the battle.
“Good to see you again young protector, too bad you are always in the way,” Vorasht said sarcastically as he leisurely walked toward him.
“Can’t say the feeling is mutual,” Psyfer said harshly, standing firm before Vorasht.
“You do realize that if you remain in my way, both of you will die,” Vorasht said calmly, “If you leave now, I will let you go with both your wings and your life.”
“I am prepared to risk both for her,” Psyfer said, mirroring his calmness.
“One protector against a cut wing lord, an easy battle to win,” Vorasht laughed as he pulled out his blade, the same one he murdered Esperina.
“Count again,” Malachi said as he appeared behind Vorasht, blade already out and bloody from his cut hands.
“Young minor, do you not know better than to challenge a lord?” Vorasht said without turning around.
“My lady once said, ‘follow all rules without wavering, but remember that there is always a time when rules are meant to be broken,’” Malachi retaliated dryly.
“Your lady is very wise young one, I’ll let her know you quoted her before you died trying to save a winged one,” Vorasht said with a grin.
“Don’t forget to tell her that winged one we are trying to save has successfully freed your army,” Psyfer said, provoking Vorasht.
Vorasht hissed and lunged out at Psyfer, but Psyfer used his force to spin him around and fling him back. Malachi and Psyfer then started circling Vorasht slowly, awaiting his next move.
“Do you think you are really saving her, letting her drain all of her power?” Vorasht taunted, smirking at Psyfer, “Mark my words; she will be dead by the end of today because of you.”
Malachi lunged out at Vorasht, using all of his strength to shove him into the wall, smashing into the drywall and creating a thin cloud of dust.
“You are greatly mistaken, cut wing lord,” Malachi retaliated pressing down on Vorasht’s throat, “It is you who will die before dawn breaks again.”
But he let out an energy pulse, sending Malachi flying into the other wall, slumping to the ground unconscious. Only then did Vorasht take a look at his army around him, their eyes and lips became visible, the flesh on their bones are healing, and all of them are watching their lord with great hate in their hearts.
Seeing this, Vorasht grew fearful for the possibility of his loss is growing. And the deadliest combination is that of hate and fear, for Vorasht charged towards Asoulna, knife in hand with every intention of destroying her and what she is doing in order to preserve his own life.
But Psyfer leaped out and attempted to stab Vorasht in the heart, but Vorasht grabbed hold of Psyfer’s wrist preventing the impact.
“You have gotten in the way one too many times young protector,” Vorasht hissed as he flung Psyfer’s wrist up, forcing him closer to himself, “It is about time you’ve paid the price of challenging a cut wing lord.”
Vorasht then thrust his knife into Psyfer’s back using his free hand, releasing the power from one wing. Psyfer shook as beads of sweat formed on his brow as he tried not to cry out in pain.
“Don’t worry young protector,” Vorasht hissed after stabbing the base of his second wing, “You will not die alone. Asoulna, your beloved, will soon die after you. Too bad she has the power of the ancient winged ones; her pain will be far greater than yours.”
Vorasht pulled the blade from Psyfer’s back and watched him crumble to the floor sobbing. Heartlessly Vorasht rolled Psyfer onto his back and stepped down onto his chest, giving him as much agony as possible.
“Did you really think you could protect her now when my army almost carried her away without your noticing last night?” Vorasht laughed as Psyfer tried to stand, but Vorasht stabs his chest, causing him to fall again.
“Enough Vorasht,” Amy said, but Vorasht didn’t respond, to busy releasing his hate onto Psyfer.
“Enough!” she shouted, catching Vorasht’s attention, “It is over Vorasht…”
Vorasht looked around him, watching the winged creatures that surround him. All of them are strong and healthy, all great in power. She had done it, Asoulna had won.
Vorasht began to tremble, angered by what he saw. Even Malachi, the cut wing that he threw against the wall had a pair of powerful red wings, the wings of a warrior.
“The time has come,” Amy said dryly, “to face what has been long coming to you.”
But Vorasht disappeared, taking his escape through the second dimension.

“Psyfer!” I screamed when I saw his body, trying to find the strength to get to my feet so that I can rush to his side.
“Don’t,” Malachi warned, “Your wings have almost completely faded; saving him means giving yourself a life of torture and pain. He would not want you to have that.”
“No!” I screamed sobbing as I got up and attempted to run to his aid.
“He is dying Asoulna, dying to make sure you live a good life. Let him go and give him what he wanted!” Malachi shouted as he grabbed a hold of my wrists.
“Please,” I whimpered, “please let me heal him. I refuse to let him die, I cannot lose him. Please Malachi…”
Malachi released me with tears in his eyes as he watched me rush to Psyfer’s side. I whispered my thanks to the great maker, asking him for enough power to follow through in what I wish to do.
“Please don’t be dead,” I whispered with a trembling voice as I watched his wounds heal beneath my hands that are already stained with his blood. The wounds healed quickly, and Psyfer sucked in a breath but still I am not done.
“Asoulna, stop!” Malachi shouted, “You don’t have any spare power to give him his wings too!”
“I am only giving back what he lost because of me!” I shouted back, watching the electrons go into formation, watching the rebirth of Psyfer’s wings.
Just a few more seconds, just a few more seconds and all will be fine for him.
But not for me.
Searing pain pulsed through me coming from the base of my wings. I couldn’t hold it in, the pain was too great, I let go of Psyfer and threw my head back screaming. I fell to the ground, my whole body shaking, every fiber of me screaming out in agony. Hands reached out to touch me, to hold me down so to prevent me from hurting myself, but I couldn’t stop. My head thrust itself back and forth while my spinal cord stiffened as the very last bit of power is sucked out of me. The hands that tried to still me just gave me more pain, my nerves screaming at her touch. I wept, feeling alone. Pain of memories past grew inside me, and agony grew in my heart.
“Hush, Asoulna, hush, it will be all right,” Malachi whispered to me as I opened my eyes. The world around me is bright, too bright.
“Psyfer…” I managed to stammer out as my whole body trembled, my stiffened spine loosening.
“He is all right,” Malachi whispered as he sat by me, careful not to touch me for he remembered the pain, “May I ask you something?”
I nodded, trying to gasp for air as tears streamed down my face. What does a question matter? I have already cast myself off from the Great Maker.
“Why did you waste your power on me, to return my wings back?” Malachi asked softly.
“Because,” I manage to gasp out, “You are my brother. I love you, and I want you to know that there is always hope, always hope to start over again.”
“Thank you,” he whispered as a tear rolled down his face.
I tried to stand up, but my legs gave way beneath me. But Malachi didn’t let me fall, he grabbed on to my arm and steadied me.
“I know you probably feel alone now Asoulna,” Malachi tried to sooth, “but the great maker has shown mercy upon you. All other ancient cut wings have had deformities after they lost their wings, even your father’s deformity that remained deep within his heart. But you appear to have none, and I don’t sense hate within you, only pain.”
I only nodded at his words for I was too busy watching Psyfer who was standing by the window. How long have I been lost in my own pain? Why isn’t he here with me?
Reading my face, Malachi cautiously let go of my arm, and I can feel his eyes watching me as I walk unsteadily towards Psyfer.
“Psyfer,” I called quietly, stopping three yards away from him.
He looked at me, deep pain etched on his face and I cannot tell its source. Can he handle me being a cut wing lady even though I have no army? Can a protector love his enemy?
Psyfer approached me slowly, and what scares me the most is that I cannot read the expression on his face. I have no idea what he is going to say, or what his next move will be. He reached out his hand, gently touching my face.
“You are now a cut wing lady?” Psyfer asked dryly, holding back emotion as he looked over the area where my wings used to reside, and now great shadows lurk.
I nodded, not knowing what to say.
“I love you Asoulna,” Psyfer started as tears streamed down is face, “I meant it when I first said it and I mean it even more now. I love you; those words will remain true no matter what happens. Come what may, Asoulna, I will always be there for you…”
I ran into his arms, ignoring the pain that resulted in his touch. I needed to hear those words, need to feel him close to me to know that what he says is true.
“I was so scared that I lost you,” I sobbed into his chest as he wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in his black wings.
“You will never lose me, Asoulna,” Psyfer whispered as he kissed the top of my head.
“I love you,” I trembled.
“I love you too,” he whispered back, smoothing my hair away from my tear drenched face, “You are so much stronger than I ever expected Asoulna, I am so proud of you…”
But he never finished that sentence for arms pulled me away and a knife placed itself on my throat.
“I always finish what I start,” Vorasht hissed into my ear.
“You never would have accepted the clone as your daughter, would you?” I asked, knowing nothing I do would change my fate.
“Your right, I never could have,” Vorasht laughed as he ran the blade across my throat, splattering red all over the ground, my blood.
Zatara watched as Mr. A appeared behind Vorasht, preventing his escape as Psyfer held Asoulna’s body.
“Did you really think you could escape?” Mr. A said tauntingly, “You might have been able to except you had to come back and cause more trouble.
Zatara turned her face away, trying to hide her tears.
“Why are you crying?” a child’s voice asked.
She looked down and found a black haired boy with golden eyes and golden wings, one of the many that Asoulna freed.
“Because a friend of mine died, murdered by your lord,” Zatara put simply.
“Is she the one who freed us?” he asked her as he looked at Asoulna’s body in Psyfer’s arms.
“Yes,” Zatara said, watching Psyfer kiss Asoulna as if that is what would bring her back.
“Do not be greatly pained, justice will come,” the boy consoled with words beyond his years.
Surprised, Zatara watched the eyes of the boy, noticing that she is not looking into a child’s eyes at all for he has been through so much pain that the childhood has bed sucked out of him and he had been forced to grow up at his young age.
“What is her name?” The boy asked indifferently.
“Asoulna, she was the daughter of your lord,” Zatara explained.
The boy nodded and took out his knife as he approached Vorasht.
“This is for killing your daughter, Asoulna,” he said as he stabbed Vorasht deep in his gut.
The boy ignored his pain, and quickly pulled out his knife. The golden winged child then placed the knife by Psyfer and Asoulna, the blade facing outward in a sign of respect. He nodded his condolences to Psyfer and left the room.
“Asoulna…” Psyfer whimpered, too much grieved to rejoice over Vorasht’s pain, “I am not like you…I do not share your inability to hate, even after you father suffers and dies I will continue to hate him for taking you away from me. Until my dying breath I will hate him for doing this to you, for doing this to me…”
“This is for making me cut the wings of my family…” a voice said as Vorasht groaned.
“This is for making me go through unbearable torture…”
“This is for taking away my natural rights…”
“This is for making me afraid of myself…”
“This is for making my hate unbearable…”
“This is for having love for nothing but yourself…”
“This is for making me murder innocent people…”
“This is for your destroying of many planets, murdering multitudes of people without guilt…”
“This is for killing the only people who loved you…”
“This is for isolating me even from other cutwings…”
“This is for taking away my childhood…”
All of their reasons landed on Psyfer’s ears, reminding him that what she did was right. Only a handful of Vorasht’s army followed through with the cut wing tradition, the rest of them left, grateful for the freedom. But every winged one that did follow through with it left their knife beside Asoulna’s body just as the boy did. All three thousand of the blades faced out making rings of bloody knives around her. Even after the last freed winged one left, Psyfer remained by Asoulna’s side, holding her stiff body close.
“Morning is coming soon my friend,” Malachi said gently, “It is time to let her go.”
“I can’t. It’s my fault she died, if I were more careful she would not have needed to give the last of her power to me….then Vorasht wouldn’t have been able to murder her,” Psyfer said shakily.
“Blaming yourself will not bring her back,” Malachi said logically.
But Psyfer didn’t respond, he just wept.
“I believe she is alright,” Malachi said, just loud enough for Psyfer to hear, “The Great Maker, if he truly is just, will give her mercy even though she died a cut wing lady. She was both strong and weak, a good soul down to the end. Yes, I believe she was the Great Maker’s favorite cut wing for her last few hours of life. And I hope that there is a world beyond the living, where she is waiting for me….waiting for you.”
After saying these words, Malachi turned to leave the room but stopped when he remembered something.
“Mr. A told me she wrote a letter for you, in case anything were to go wrong today. I will give it to you the next time I see you. It is what she would have wanted,” Malachi said over his shoulder as he left the room.
Amy watched from her perch on the roof as Psyfer kissed Asoulna and left the room slowly.
“I am here my lady,” a voice behind her said.
“Malachi, you are a winged one now. You don’t have to talk to me using such formalities,” Amy reminded as she turned to face him.
“Even so, I will continue to give you respect. I may not be under your rule anymore, but I still want to give you thanks,” Malachi said as he bowed his head.
“Thanks for what?” Amy asked as she raised an eyebrow.
“Thanks for your kindness,” Malachi clarified.
“Is that all you came here to say?” Amy asked, happy that he has come to give her a few words of gratitude.
“No, I wanted to check if Psyfer has left yet,” Malachi admitted honestly as he looked down at Asoulna, “She really does look like a star…”
“Yes, the knives that were placed around her look like the fire around a blood red star, the weakest and coolest of all the stars, yet in her blue dress it shows that she actually is the strongest,” Amy mused, remembering simple astronomy rules.
“It suits her, she appeared weak and childlike on the outside, but was strong and steadfast down to her core,” Malachi said, “I hope the Great Maker sees that.”
“Do you think the clone will be like her?” Amy asked.
“If she is, there is hope for all of us,” Malachi answered with a sad smile, “there is always hope.”

(five years later)
“Is this our new home daddy?” Willow asked as she stepped into Lynn’s old apartment.
“Yes sweetheart, it was where mommy grew up,” Psyfer said as he set down the last bit of luggage.
But the girl wasn’t listening, she was too busy exploring the three bedroom apartment. Psyfer smiled at her enthusiasm, but went through the place more slowly, seeing Asoulna in every room, remembering every small detail of her.
“Daddy, can I have this room?” Willow called from the end of the hall.
Psyfer walked into Asoulna’s old room, finding Willow already in the bed.
“Isn’t it pretty? I like the pictures on the wall,” she announced, her blue eyes with a yellow fire in the center sparkling.
Psyfer sat on the bed next to his adoptive daughter, remembering his and Asoulna’s first kiss by the window, remembering sleeping next to Asoulna in this bed…
“Did you know that this room used to be your mothers?” Psyfer said absent mindedly.
“Then can I have it?” Willow asked eagerly.
“Of course,” Psyfer said with a smile as he brushed Willow’s silver hair out of her face, “And since you are already in your pjs, bedtime. It is too late for you to be up.”
“What about a story?” Willow asked.
“All of your books are packed sweetheart,” Psyfer said, “We are going to have to skip one tonight.”
“Then can I tell you about my dream last night?” Willow offered, desperate to stay up for just a few more minutes.
“Sure. What did you dream about last night?” Psyfer said goodheartedly.
“I dreamed that mommy visited me. She told me that she wasn’t my real mommy, and that you are not my real daddy. But she told me not to worry, since you both love me just as much. She said the Great Maker gave her wings back, and that you should stop worrying about her. She told me to ask you to let go of your guilt, that she loves you too much to see you in pain. Mommy said we will all see her after we die, but we have things to do here first,” Willow said innocently.
Psyfer was silenced by the child’s words, for she was saying things that are impossible for her to know. Is it possible that Asoulna still exists somewhere? How else would the child know about Asoulna’s wings and Psyfer not being her real father?
“That’s even better than a story,” Psyfer said as he kissed Willow on her forehead, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight daddy, I love you,” Willow said sleepily as Psyfer walked out of the room and turned out the light, leaving the door open an inch so Willow wouldn’t be completely surrounded by the darkness.
Psyfer walked to the suitcases and rummaged through them a bit before pulling out what he was searching for, a letter from Asoulna. He took it to the balcony off of the dining room, feeling more at peace reading it under familiar stars.
 
My dearest Psyfer,

I write this as you lay there asleep in my bed. Sleep cannot sooth my worrying heart, so here I am writing you. I hope you find this letter many years from now, and I am there looking over your shoulder laughing at the fear that posses my heart now. Maybe everything will be ok, but the chance is too great that it won’t.
The task that I have taken as my own is heavy, for I am to free Vorasht’s army by giving away the power hidden within my wings. I wish I can explain this to you now, but I have been advised against it. Please forgive me for my secrecy.
There are three possible outcomes to doing this, one is that my life is shortened to a thousand years, the normal life span of a winged one. But even if I get this fate, I fear I will outlive you, and I cannot stand the idea of losing you to death.
The second possible outcome is that the loss of power will kill me, and then I will be leaving you alone in the world. If this is the case, I am greatly sorry my love for I would be making you face the situation that I have been secretly dreading. But if this does happen, I must ask of you one thing. Take care of the child, the clone that my father has created. She needs to be raised by a kind heart and an understanding mind, for she will be the last ancient winged one in creation. That way, you will never be alone, and it would put my heart at ease knowing that both of you have each other.
I hope that death isn’t truly the end, which even if I do die there is a possibility that I will see you again. Even now I pray for it to be so, pray that I can be with you again no matter what happens in the future. It is this faint hope I cling to even now.
The last possible outcome is that I will become a cut wing lady. If I do, I won’t force you to be with me if you cannot take the fact that I have changed. And I won’t blame you, a cut wing lady would never be considered by any stretch of the imagination a suitable wife for a protector. But you need to know that even as I watch you walk away, I will still love you with all of my heart and will continue to do so to the end of eternity. I would weep bitterly when you die, and do whatever I can to make you happy. But, if you find it in your heart to still love me, against all odds, I promise you I will cherish every moment we have together, as I do now.
Goodnight my love, now I will join you in sleep. My heart is at peace knowing that you will get this. Know that I will always, always love you.
Love,
Your Asoulna
 
“Asoulna,” Psyfer whispered, weeping to the stars, “Do you still exist out there…somewhere?”
At that moment a star grew bright as it fell, leaving a trail of beautiful light behind it.
And Psyfer wept harder, for he had gotten his answer.