Fatigue had settled into her bones, paralyzing her since she had been forced before His throne. She tried not to think about it, but there were few distractions in the chamber.
She had slept for a while, but even if her soul would have liked to find some more refuge in the embrace of the dreamless darkness, her mind had become restless.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed, her head hanging and aching, trying to ignore the fact that her clothes still smelled of ash and something more unpleasant.
What will happen now?
Tired. Sore. Shattered. Empty.
So far, she had always found some confidence in herself. And when she ran out of it, defiance and stubbornness had taken over, building her a bridge to the next island of hope despite all the setbacks.
But right now, she didn't know what else to cling to. Cut off from the steady stream of affection and support. Alone. Only enemies around her. In a few cycles, a decision was due that she basically couldn't make if she didn't want to lose herself. And then He.
It was a mercy that she could barely remember what had happened to her before His throne. Decomposition. Dying. Hers, that of other angels, of all feeling, of life itself. Veidja trembled again, every time the shreds of memory caught up with her.
Why not just give up? She couldn't win here, couldn't make a difference. Maybe if she gave up, the demons would quickly lose interest in her. She would have to suffer for a while, but then they would kill her. Or just forget about her... It didn't matter.
Her head was heavy in her hands, her elbows dug into her knees.
Heavy. Lonely. Dark.
Veidja's breathing was shallow. She was aware that panic lurked at the edge of her perception, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to push it back.
How long she sat there like that she didn't know and she barely reacted when the door to her chamber was opened.
She was called to take a bath and change her clothes as if she had just been fighting in the arena. What lay behind her was worse. She didn't mind the routine, but this time she couldn't feel even a hint of pleasure as the warm water cleansed her skin. Absentmindedly she washed herself, stood in the stream of air and put on the clothes that had been laid out. Pants, bands, a shirt with a stand-up collar, all in muted gray. How appropriate.
She was ready faster than usual, so she sat on the floor, head and back against the wall, and waited, trying not to think. She stared into the water of the pool, counting the tiny ripples that formed for reasons she didn't feel able to care about.
When the door opened, she simply remained seated. Why hurry? Mildly surprised, she caught the scent of the demonlord. Not your servants this time?
"Come."
Sure, why not. Following orders took the least of her energy right now.
Slowly, the battleangel stood up. Her body obeyed without a murmur, but her gaze remained fixed blearily on the floor. She trailed after the demon, following his soft noises without looking up. She could not muster the will to find out where he was leading her.
Only when N'Arahn stopped did she look around without interest. The corridor was carved or shaped from the same black stone as all the other corridors in the warmonger's fortress, but it ended in front of an intricate lattice gate. Swirling shadows prevented Veidja from seeing what lay beyond it.
N'Arahn placed one hand on the bars and with the other drew his sigil on a metal plate embedded next to the gate. The shadows between the metal bars receded and the angel involuntarily took a step forward so that she could see better.
The demonlord turned to the side and beckoned her closer.
"I want to show you something."
Glancing at him fleetingly, she let the inquiring gaze of his bright green eyes slide off of her. She didn't want to lose this feeling, this curiosity. She had been convinced that she could no longer feel this way, that nothing would bring her out of her inner darkness. But now... This was something special, something important. She could just sense it.
And there was this smell. Foreign, aromatic.
She was past the demon in a few steps. Behind the gate, the corridor opened up into a wide, high-ceilinged room. Perhaps as large as the arena, the actual dimensions of this cave were difficult to estimate, as plants grew everywhere.
A garden!
Veidja looked around in bewilderment. She didn't know any of the plants; they were all strange colours, from red to purple to gray and brown; green was only a splash here and there. Some of the plants seemed to be bearing fruit. The air was humid and not too warm.
She had almost forgotten that N'Arahn was standing behind her. The soft click of the closing gate reminded her abrupt.
She only half-turned towards him, not wanting to take her eyes off this abundance of life. Greedily, with a sudden thirst, she sucked in the air that carried the scents that had lured her to the gate. If she had to describe the aroma in one word, it would have been vivid.
"How...?" How had he done that? How was it possible? But she couldn't wait for the demonlord's answer, had to get closer.
Before she could start running, N'Arahn held her by the arm.
"'Easy." He smiled. "Not everything here is safe." Then he let go of her.
Veidja looked at him for a moment, her vision suddenly clear again. She breathed freely. The demonlord looked over her head into this strange forest. He seemed... content, perhaps even happy. And relieved? Why did he just let her go?
Later.
Veidja let herself be swallowed up by the plants, their colours and scents, didn't use any of the paths, but instead ventured further off into this oasis deep in the stone. The light did not come from torches or fires, but from crystals and moss-like plants that covered the walls. It couldn't replace the sun, but life in this cave apparently didn't need that much, was used to meagre resources. And yet it was glorious. The battleangel laughed as a drop from a giant leaf shattered coldly on the back of her neck. Life always finds a way.
Her feet slid over the soft cushions of moss on the ground. Veidja was almost dancing. The blackness and hopelessness that had taken hold of her receded before these small, unclouded specks of joy. The angel felt increasingly stronger and lighter.
In front of her, the plants opened up into a clearing, overshadowed by a huge tree that seemed to reach up to the ceiling of the cave. Veidja gaped in amazement, walking slowly around the imposing trunk. The bark was rough and cracked; she could well imagine climbing up it. How would the view from its crown over the garden be?
A rustling sound made her turn around. Something had moved between the large leaves at the edge of the clearing. There, again; this time she could see some branches swaying.
Suddenly a small animal shot out, a swirl of gray shadows. It chased with long, frantic leaps to the nearest cover, its long ears tucked close to its outstretched body.
How can...
Veidja had barely processed the sight of the fleeing hare when another shadow jumped out of the bushes. The lithe hunter stopped abruptly when he saw the angel. The hare was not forgotten, but the wolf looked at her with watchful amber eyes. Only a moment of frozen time, then the predator disappeared into the undergrowth, after its prey.
