'Trainees!' bellowed Sten. 'Hold and gather!'

The warrior-trainees sighed in relief as the words cut through the middle of their hundred-and-somethingth repetition of an unarmed combat drill. After hours of practising punching, kicking, blocking and falling in sequence, even the strongest of the lot were bruised and fatigued.

Eliah lay flat on the ground where a merciless Loker tossed her during the last drill, staring up at the sun, unable to muster the strength to get up. A shadow dropped across her face as Balint walked over and cocked his head in an expressionless gesture of silent concern.

Behind him, a very grumpy and bruised Ketill – his sparring partner – limped past and grumbled, 'Falling is stupid.'

Eliah groaned and propped herself up onto her elbows. 'I never thought I'd say this, but I think I actually agree with him.'

Balint frowned. 'I would have thought someone who falls as often as you would understand the point of this training.' He offered her a hand. 'If you didn't know how to fall properly, you'd injure yourself a lot more. Just look at Ketill.'

Eliah pulled a face but didn't disagree. Exhausted, she let Balint pull her to her feet.

'Thank you,' she muttered.

He just shrugged. Together, they moved to join the others. Sune glanced sideways and inclined his head as Eliah slipped into line beside him and Loker. Loker, however, frowned and opened his mouth to say something. He was quickly shoved aside by Balint as the bigger boy took up the spot between him and Eliah.

Rubbing his shoulder, Loker scowled up Balint and kicked him lightly on the ankle.

Balint blinked at him. 'What?'

Loker lowered his voice to a hiss. 'Don't act like it's not obvious. You've been following her around like some kind of loyal dog since the incident with Sune. She did something to you at the Temple, didn't she?'

Balint shrugged. 'Not really. It was more that I did something to myself.'

'You won't get anything out of being nice to her, Balint. Just look at her; she's trouble waiting to happen.'

Balint's eyed Loker carefully, lips pressed together to hide his thoughts.

The other youth glared back. 'What?' he snapped.

'Mother Helene once said something similar about you.'

Loker went stiff, but any response he may have had went unsaid. A shadow blocked out the sun as the two boys looked up and found Sten standing right in front of them, staring them down.

'Are you two done conspiring?' asked the Trainer, his voice dry.

'Yes, sir,' said Balint.

Loker just looked down at his feet and mumbled something along the lines of an apology.

Sten eyed them for a moment longer, and then sighed and cast his eye across the entire line. 'There will be a Feast today. I've received word from the Marshal that Tyrant Ylva and the Titans will be returning from their trip beyond the Gate, and they will be escorting a small party of Aeren.'

He paused as the warrior-trainees digested that information, the looks on their faces ranging from open disgust to barely hidden excitement. He cleared his throat loudly and they stood at attention once again.

'It is expected, trainees, that you will treat our... guests with the utmost respect. The Aeren are a proud and cunning people, and they have not set foot on this mountain in over a century. Any perceived slight may be used to break the Treaty, so be on your guard and mind your tongues. Understood?'

'Yes, sir!' responded the trainees.

'Good. Make sure you bring an offering for the Feast. Dismissed.' Beckoning to the helot that always shadowed him, Sten turned heel and left.

Muttering to himself about winged blasphemers invading their mountain, Ketill followed after him.

Iliana was the next to break the line. She ran up to Loker, grabbed his hand and dragged him away as she chattered excitedly about the Feast.

In dribs and drabs, the rest of the small group dispersed, openly sharing their mixed thoughts on the Aeren as they headed back.

Balint didn't move until Eliah did. She took a step towards the village path and he silently took up a spot beside her. The girl glanced sidelong at him, shook her head slightly, but let him be. He'd been doing it for days – ever since the temple visit.

After they'd finally escorted Hal back to the Clan Mothers' house to perform the healing, Balint had insisted on walking with her as she made her way home. She'd been instantly on guard, expecting him to stop somewhere on the edge of the village to confront her over her use of magic in the Temple. But he'd never brought it up. Never questioned how or why she'd been able to save his life. All he did was walk beside her, at her pace, in silence, until they were at Regis's hut on the edge of the forest, where he waited for her to go inside before heading back to the Clan Mother's house at a jog.

Then he'd done the same thing after training the next day.

The first time she'd realised he was next to her, she'd put her hands on her hips and demanded to know what he wanted.

Balint had simply looked confused, shrugged, and said, 'Nothing.' And as far as Eliah could tell, he honestly didn't seem to want anything. He never asked her questions. Never tried to start a conversation. Just walked quietly along with her until they reached the village and parted ways as part of his daily routine.

He'd even started being helpful during training, albeit in that blunt and unintentionally condescending manner he had: correcting her grip when Sten wasn't looking, adjusting her form, or showing her how to make certain movements easier or more effective because of her smaller stature – things that she never would have caught herself, and Sten would never have bothered to teach.

Frankly, she found his behaviour perplexing. But the other one was worse.

Glancing over her shoulder, Eliah confirmed that Sune was indeed trailing along behind them like he did every day. He caught her eye and jumped a little. With a sheepish expression, Sune averted his gaze, blocked his face with one hand, and held up the other in a gesture that said 'just ignore me'.

Frowning, she turned back around and tried her best to do just that.

Eliah had never paid Sune Clanschild much attention before. Not because she was intentionally ignoring him; rather, the middling warrior-trainee just didn't seem to have any presence at all. But after having him follow her and Balint home for the last few days, she'd actively started keeping an eye on him during training, and what she'd discovered was frustrating.

As far as she could tell, Sune Clanschild was as swift and agile as Iliana, as tall and lean as Loker – when he actually stood up straight, anyway – and if he just tried to win, he'd probably prove to be stronger than Loker too.

The problem was that he didn't try. For some reason, Sune seemed to believe he belonged at the bottom of the rank. He was as meek and jumpy as a helot, and if it looked as if he was about to come out victorious in training against someone he believed to be stronger than him, he'd flail in panic and inevitably let them win.

Eliah was convinced that if it weren't for that shy and self-depreciating part of his personality, Sune Clanschild would have been deemed worthy of a parental claim on his name years ago.

The thought made her mood sour. 'Wish I could trade...' she muttered.

'Trade what?' asked Balint, glancing at her.

Bodies with Sune, she thought, but she knew better than to say that out loud, especially to Balint. 'Nothing,' she replied. 'You wouldn't get it.'

Balint shrugged. 'If you say so.' He paused, then tilted his head a little. 'Shall we head straight into the forest or did you want to bathe first?'

Eliah stopped in her tracks. 'What do you mean?'

'We have to collect offerings for the Feast. Some people like to wash off after training, however, even if they're going hunting.'

'No, not that part.' Eliah's brow furrowed. 'Why do you want to go together?'

'Our sun rank has always gone hunting together.'

'It has?'

'Yes,' replied Balint with a blink. 'We promised Mother Helene that we'd never go into the forest alone after Iliana's accident.'

'But that was years ago.'

'It was.'

'So why are you asking me now?'

'Because you're part of our sun rank.'

Eliah's face contorted with confusion. She'd been part of their sun rank since she was ten.

'Sune will come too,' Balint added, misunderstanding her silence.

'No, that's not...' Eliah trailed off with a sigh. She didn't quite get it, but something told her that continuing to question him would not result in any further clarity. 'Never mind. Hunt now and bathe after, I suppose.' She glanced back at Sune. 'Is that okay with you?'

Sune hid his face and frantically tried to wave away her concern. 'I'm fine with anything. You can just pretend I'm not here.'

This time Eliah couldn't suppress the twinge of annoyance. Her forehead crinkled with irritation. She glanced over at Balint. 'Is he always like this?'

'Yes. You get used to it. But don't worry, he's a good hunter.'

'I'm not really...'

Eliah massaged her forehead. She could feel a headache coming. 'Fine. Let's just go.'

Letting Balint lead the way, she suddenly felt a wave of feelings she couldn't quite describe. The only person who'd ever gone hunting with her in the forest before a Feast was Aramir and they'd done that less and less frequently since he'd become a Titan.

Shaking the melancholy away, she glanced over her shoulder towards the village. There was no point in feeling lonely. She would see him tonight. Him, and the Aeren.

─ ☼ ─

In the unwalled, open halls of the Aerie – the cold, crystal tower that served as home to the Aeren – Aramir Regischild swallowed and steeled himself as he followed Ylva and their Aeren host to the great, winding staircase that spiralled around the tower's edge, connecting every floor.

If there was any sign that the winged immortals were disconnected from the reality of those who walked on land, this was it. The staircase was uncomfortably narrow and there were no rails. All that awaited if one were to trip and fall was an infinitely long plummet off the tower's edge, into an inky black void that had seemed to have no end.

Fortunately, unlike at the cliffs at the ends of the Seras Mountains, there was no wind whipping about to knock one off the edge. Instead, the air in the Aerie was eerily still. There was no sun, no moon, no stars in sight – not a single construct, natural nor magical, to indicate the passage of time.

The entire tower lived in perpetual light, surrounded in neverending darkness. Its translucent blue floors shimmered with silver runes, the magic keeping it afloat fed by a glowing, iridescent waterfall that streamed from the tower's apex, through the tower's heart and spilled out onto the platform at its base. A ring of massive oblong aeonite crystals spread from the platform like the leaves of a budding flower. Beams of silver arced out from their points, forming a glittering, silver dome over the Aerie – much like the one that was supposed to cover the Arena.

That, of course, was why Aramir and Ylva were there: after three long Seren years of negotiation, their host had finally agreed to help restore the ward.

Ylva's white cloak glimmered, billowing behind her as she followed the Aeren down the stairs. Time felt like it moved differently on this side of the Gate, and unlike the Titans, whose ranks rotated as the seasons passed on the Mountain, the Tyrant of Shieldmaidens had not left the Aerie since the negotiations had started. Watching her knuckles tighten on her spear as they got closer to the lowest floor, Aramir wondered if she knew just how long she'd been away.

'Nafriel,' said Ylva quietly, addressing their Aeren guide. 'Is this really the only way?'

Beneath his long silvery hair, Nafriel's folded metal wings fluttered a little at the address. Smiling slightly as he turned to face her, he averted his eyes skyward and nodded.

Ylva exhaled heavily. 'And if it escapes?'

Nafriel rubbed his chin, reflective silver eyes thoughtful as he considered his response. 'Alimon and Amaliel will be with us,' he said, still careful not to meet her eye.

Eyes closing briefly in silent contemplation, Ylva left it at that, and gestured for Nafriel to continue down the stairs.

Aramir, however remained on alert, his hand drifting subconsciously to the hilt of his sword and to seek reassurance from the wolf's head carved into the crossguard.

The Aeren as a whole set him on edge. They were too perfect. Too calculating. Too... timeless. Every single member of their race looked as if they had been chiselled from smooth, white marble, adorned with halos of shimmering silver hair, wings of unbending feathers carved from a metal as sharp and shiny as steel blade, and voices that sounded as haunting and melodic as the echo of a song resonating across the valleys of the Floating Mountain.

But the eyes were the most uncanny part. Black sclera ruined the white perfection. They flickered with twinkling white lights, constellations unseen, surrounding pupil-less, silver irises filled with ever-drifting shadows like the face of a full moon. They were reflective. Mesmerising. One glimpse at one's own reflection within them and it became hard to look away.

And they never seemed to blink.

'"Stare not into the winged blasphemers' eyes, for they will captivate your soul, steal your secrets and fill your mind with lies." Do not let the Aeren turn you into one of their puppets, Aramir.' That had been Regis's send-off three years ago, the night before Aramir's first crossing through the Gate.

Aramir didn't realise the first part was a line from the Teachings until Ylva had repeated it quietly in his ear when his contingent of Titans had gathered to meet her the next morning. At first he had been confused; the Seren were supposed to be protected from Aeren mind magicks. But then he'd crossed the Gate and learned the truth:

Everything the Tyrants had taught him about the Clan, the Treaty, and the Titans was a lie.

The Titans were no elite soldiers; they never crossed the Gate to protect the Mortal Realms. They were sacrifices – playthings, offerings to stave off the boredom of the immortal, timeless Aeren, and indulge them in blood experiments and debauchery in exchange for leaving the Mountain alone.

Aramir's fist tightened, bile rising in his throat as he remembered that first night, watching in horror as his fellow Titans succumbed to the spellbinding gaze of the Aeren and carried out their every whim. Then he'd found himself surrounded, each of the perfect, pale predators determined to be the first to bend the new offering to their will. But none of them could, and that only served to make them more curious. More persistent. It had been decades since they'd met a Seren of pure golden blood.

Fortunately Ylva had intervened by stating that he had been assigned as her guard. But from what Aramir had seen, the Aeren held no respect for her, nor for her position as Tyrant. They were afraid of her Aeren escort – Nafriel.

Nafriel was odd. He chose to walk instead of fly, took great care to never look Ylva nor Aramir in the eye, answered with gestures where he could and chose his words carefully so that the words that came out of his mouth could never be interpreted as a command. Unlike the other Aeren, whose expressions felt like mockeries of true emotion etched on their stone-like faces, the hidden smiles, gently teasing tone, and curious quirks of an eyebrow Aramir sometimes caught when Nafriel spoke to Ylva looked genuine – and strikingly similar to that of a certain rebellious menial who never seemed to age.

Had he been born to the Seren, Nafriel's differences would have resulted in him being feared and despised. Yet, his people feared and respected him. That made Aramir wary. If the gaze of the common Aeren could sap another of their will, he dreaded discovering what kind of power Nafriel wielded to keep his kin afeared.

Nafriel's quiet voice snapped Aramir from his reverie. 'I will speak with Sathariel first.'

They'd reached their destination.

Aramir looked up and winced as his eyes were met with walls of pure white. He frowned. He'd thought that the platform with the light pool was the bottom floor of the Aerie, but judging from the deafening splashing noise coming from above, this floor was beneath even that. Even stranger was the fact that it was enclosed.

Three Aeren dressed in silver-embroided black robes hovered around the empty chamber, halberds crafted from aeonite in hand. The nearest glanced at them and scowled. Thick white smoke obscured the top half of his face, billowing behind him like a cloud of hair, but the disapproval in his expression was clear. Nafriel unfurled his metal wings, white runes lighting up across each individual feather as he drifted into the air towards him.

The two Aeren stared at each other in silence, their mind-spoken conversation betrayed only by the briefest of twitches in the stony expression on what little could be seen of Sathariel's face. Lips pulled tight, the assistant glanced at Ylva and Aramir, tightened his fist on his spear and turned back to Nafriel. After a few more minutes, he seemed to sigh and shake his head. He glanced over at his compatriots and they snapped to attention, as if called by a shout.

Bowing his head to Sathariel, Nafriel descended and returned to the Aeren. 'He will do it. Grudgingly.'

Ylva nodded, glancing upwards to incline her head in thanks.

Sathariel simply looked away, his nostrils flaring.

'Still doesn't like me, I see,' she mused.

'I do not think he likes anyone,' replied Nafriel, the corner of his lips curling slightly with amusement. The smile vanished as he turned to Aramir. 'Has she warned you?'

Aramir glared back. 'Of what?'

Ylva pursed her lips. 'You'll understand when you see. Do not believe what you see, and know that its mouth only drips lies.'

The warning was disturbingly similar to the one he'd been given about the Aeren.

The black-robed Aeren landed in a line before them, the runes on their wings dimming as they folded. Sathariel stood in the centre, a woman with coiled braids pinned tightly to her head to his left, and the last man to his right. They kneeled to Nafriel.

Nafriel gestured for them to stand up. 'There is no need for that. The portal, if you'd please, Sathariel,' he said aloud, for the benefit of the two Seren.

The smoke-covered Aeren hesitated.

Nafriel did not back down. 'If you'd please, Sathariel,' he repeated.

Reluctantly, Sathariel stood and moved towards the centre of the room, rune-covered wings glowing as they unfurled.

The two remaining Aeren, Amaliel and Alimon, exchanged glances and nodded to each other, gliding across the floor to form a triangle around Sathariel with Nafriel as the third point. Wings spread wide, they waited.

Taking a deep breath, Sathariel spread his hands. Hundreds of threads of light sprouted from his feathers and fingertips, forming a glittering lattice cocoon of threads and runes in the centre of the room. Wisps of white smoke rolled down his shoulders, coiling along the threads until all that was visible was an orb of swirling white smoke. Then, without warning, he clasped his hands together. The clap echoed. The threads broke. The smoke disappeared.

Aramir froze.

In the centre of the room stood a golden-eyed Seren – and he looked just like Taiten.

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All content and illustrations ©Jax L. P. (@JaxCreation) on 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒑𝒂𝒅. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you are reading this on another site or under a different account name.