EverenVale

  Malrath snorted at the philosophical musing, but fell into step beside him anyway, matching Opharel’s stride with zy confidence. The neon lights of the city reflected eerily in his golden eyes as he cast a sideways gnce at the angel.

  “How poetic,” he drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets. The burned one still smoldered faintly, but he ignored the pain. “We’re all the same, yet here you are...stealing souls while preaching unity.”

  A sardonic smirk tugged at his lips.

  “Hypocrisy suits you, angel.”

  They passed beneath a flickering streetlight. In the brief pockets of darkness, Malrath’s voice lowered, less teasing now.

  “If you don’t enjoy it… why keep doing it?”

  There was a razor-thin thread of genuine curiosity beneath the sarcasm.

  Opharel looked at him sideways, smiling faintly. “Walk with me tonight, and you’ll understand.”

  He didn’t say anything more as they moved along the night street. When they passed a dark alley, he slipped into it and walked behind a dumpster. A dirty, homeless Sut undeniably gorgeous, young man sat on an open box, hugging his knees. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-something.

  Hidden from the boy by Opharel’s gmour, the angel turned to the demon and asked, “Look at him and tell me... What do you see?”

  Malrath followed without protest, though his posture radiated skepticism. At the sight of the homeless youth, his expression hardened for a moment. Something flickered in his golden eyes, too fast to name.

  He studied the boy clinically, then scoffed.

  “What do I see?” he said ftly, devoid of sympathy. “Weakness. Another fragile human destined to rot in the gutter.”

  There was a pause. His fingers twitched at his side, restless.

  “Why?” he asked, the words sharper than before. “Pnning to snack on him next?”

  The jab cked its usual bite. There was an odd tension in his jaw, like he was bracing for an answer he didn’t actually want to hear.

  Opharel smiled at Malrath and said, “I didn’t ask what you think. I asked what you see. Look at him again.”

  He pointed to his head, then to his heart. “Not with this, or this.” Then he gestured toward Malrath’s eyes. “Open your eyes and tell me what you really see.”

  Malrath scowled at the cryptic instruction but reluctantly turned his gaze back toward the young man. This time, he forced himself to observe beyond surface judgments, the trembling hands clutching worn fabric, the hollowed cheeks, the uneven hitch of his breathing.

  Something tightened in Malrath’s chest. Unfamiliar. Unwelcome.

  After a long silence, his voice emerged quieter than intended, rough-edged with reluctant realization. “…Pain.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Fear. Exhaustion.”

  He tore his eyes away abruptly, gring at Opharel.

  “What’s your point, angel? That misery exists? Newsfsh... We live in hell already.”

  But there was no real venom in the words now. Just quiet frustration, at the situation, at himself, maybe even at the universe. His fists clenched unconsciously.

  Opharel offered him a sad smile. His tone remained calm. “Yes, we do. But we don’t have to.”

  He dropped his gmour and crouched before the young man. The boy jolted, pressing his back to the wall in arm. Opharel smiled at him warmly and spoke in a soothing voice. “Don’t be afraid.”

  He rolled his fingers through the air, and the relic reappeared in his hand. He brought it up to the boy’s face. His voice shifted, becoming a warm, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate within the young man’s chest and mind.

  “If you need help,” he said gently, “all you have to do is ask.”

  The relic began to shimmer brightly, the light reflecting in the boy’s wide eyes... His soul id bare. The center of the orb shone like the sun, while its edges churned with dark smoke.

  The relic wasn’t just a tool. It was a mirror, drawing out what they refused to face and giving back only what they had forgotten they could hold.

  “Tell me,” Opharel asked hypothetically, “what do you need?”

  Malrath stood rigidly nearby, watching the interaction unfold with narrowed eyes. His first instinct was to scoff at the angel’s softness, but something kept him rooted in pce.

  The glow of the relic cast eerie shadows across his sharp features as he focused on the boy’s reaction.

  When the orb pulsed, banced between light and dark, Malrath’s breath caught, barely audible. His fingers twitched again, itching to act… but whether to stop Opharel or join him, even he couldn’t tell.

  Finally, he gritted out in a low voice, barely more than a whisper, “You’re feeding on his suffering either way. What difference does it make if you dress it up in pretty words?”

  But doubt had crept into his voice. Real doubt.

  Opharel gnced at him briefly. Fire, smoke, and sunlight danced in his eyes before he turned his attention back to the boy.

  He spoke softly, holding the orb closer. The boy’s eyes shimmered, transfixed by the relic’s light. Opharel murmured again, voice calm and weighty.

  “Choose wisely, Riley.”

  The boy didn’t flinch. He didn’t question how the angel knew his name. He just kept staring at the orb, breath caught, silent. The light and the dark within the relic danced together in a flickering fight... Until the light won.

  Opharel smiled gently. “Well done, my boy.”

  He leaned in and murmured something into the young man’s ear. The boy nodded. Then Opharel kissed his forehead.

  Bck smoke began to pour from Riley’s mouth, nose, and ears.

  Opharel opened his own mouth... And inhaled.

  Malrath watched the exchange with growing unease, his golden eyes tracking every movement, the way the boy’s fear melted into trance-like acceptance, the way the smoke coiled from his body into Opharel’s waiting mouth.

  His earlier bravado felt hollow now, repced by something uncomfortably close to… concern?

  “That wasn’t just taking his pain,” he accused, voice rougher than intended. “That was rewriting him. Pnting suggestions in his fucking skull.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stepped forward aggressively.

  “Don’t pretend this is mercy, angel.”

  Yet even as he spoke, his gaze drifted to the boy, now standing straighter, as if some invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The sight made Malrath’s stomach churn, caught between disgust and grudging admiration.

  Opharel patted the boy’s shoulder and stood up. His voice trembled slightly as he said, “No. This is the new beginning.”

  With a flick of power, he veiled them both in gmour once more. The young man gasped, and began to sob. The relic vanished between Opharel’s fingers, and he tucked his hands into his pockets.

  He stood there silently, head tilted, observing the boy. It took a while, but eventually the young man calmed, then stood and exited the alley.

  Malrath remained eerily still, his golden eyes burning with conflict as he watched the transformed human walk away. After a long silence, he finally turned to Opharel with a sneer that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Congratutions,” he spat, his voice thick with sarcasm but cking conviction. “You’ve created another puppet. How very merciful of you.”

  He stepped closer suddenly, invading Opharel’s space once again. His damaged hand twitched at his side.

  “But tell me this, oh benevolent one... What gives you the right to decide whose strings to pull?”

  His voice cracked with genuine anger now, ced with something perilously close to desperation.

  “Who made you judge, jury, and executioner of human free will?”

  Opharel smiled at him, calm but tired. “Is that what they told you I do? That I take away their free will?”

  He shook his head and began walking after the boy. “Come on, little demon. Let’s follow him... And you’ll see.”

  Malrath gritted his teeth but followed, his long strides easily matching Opharel’s. The silver rings on his fingers caught the dim streetlights as he flexed his still-burned hand absentmindedly.

  “This had better be good, angel,” he muttered darkly, golden eyes fixed on the former homeless boy ahead of them. His voice dropped to a warning whisper.

  “Because if this is just some eborate con to prove your bullshit morality py...”

  He cut himself off as they rounded a corner. The young man stood hesitating outside a rundown shelter, then squared his shoulders and stepped inside.

  Something unfamiliar tugged at Malrath’s chest, making him shift uncomfortably.

  “…Fine,” he muttered gruffly. “Show me your grand revetion.”

  He crossed his arms tightly over his chest like armor.

  “But hurry up... I’m losing patience.”

  Opharel simply smiled at the demon and stood before the shelter, waiting. Several moments ter, the boy emerged. He still wore the same dirty clothes, but it was clear he’d taken a shower.

  A rge bag hung over his shoulder, and a young child, barely five years old, clung to his free hand. The boy smiled down at the kid, and together they began walking toward downtown.

  Opharel expression warmed, eyes soft with ancient weariness.

  and said, “Come on. We don’t want to lose them.”

  Malrath walked beside him, posture rexed but alert, his golden eyes fixed on the pair ahead. A faint frown creased his brow, a blend of concern and irritation.

  “So, are we tailing them all night or what?” he asked, tone dry and clipped. Despite the nonchance, there was a trace of worry in his voice he didn’t bother to hide.

  Even as he grumbled, he kept their distance, careful not to spook the two boys. His gaze never left them, curiosity warring with caution.

  “All right, let’s hear it,” he muttered, arms crossing over his chest.

  Opharel chuckled. “Would you believe me if I told you?”

  At Malrath’s skeptical look, a whisper of amusement ghosted across his face. “It’s not too far. Be patient.”

  They followed the pair for nearly an hour. At one point, the older boy hoisted the child onto his back, carrying him as he drifted off to sleep.

  Eventually, the boy stopped in front of a two-story house, panting, face flushed with exertion. He stood at the edge of the porch for a long moment, staring at the door.

  Opharel’s eyes never left him.

  At some point, he even reached out and pced a hand gently on the boy’s shoulder, still hidden from view. A quiet surge of light flowed from him into the young man.

  The boy took a deep breath, then stepped forward and knocked.

  A moment ter, the porch light flicked on, and a middle-aged man and woman opened the door. The woman gasped and pulled the boy into her arms. The man joined them soon after, wrapping his arms around them both.

  Opharel smiled with quiet satisfaction as he turned to Malrath. “This… is the new order.”