Asher’s brow remained deeply furrowed, the lines etched into his calm features reflecting the weight of his deliberation. He stood before me in the soft, diffused light filtering through the ancient stained gss, the vibrant colours casting shifting patterns on the cold stone floor, a stark contrast to the turbulent emotions churning within me. The silence in the chapel stretched, thick and heavy, amplifying the frantic beat of my own heart as I waited for his judgment, the fragile hope of finally unearthing the truth of my existence hanging precariously, like a delicate thread about to snap. The soft rustling of the morning breeze through the aged gss seemed to whisper promises and warnings in equal measure.
“Luna,” Asher finally began, his voice a low, measured cadence that held both gentleness and an underlying firmness. His gaze, usually serene and unwavering, held a profound thoughtfulness as he considered the enormity of my request and the inherent risks involved. “What you have learned… it’s a seismic event in your life, a revetion that shatters the very foundations of your understanding. No one here, with our… different histories, can truly comprehend the depth of that pain, that sense of dispcement. You deserve answers, Luna. You deserve to understand the tangled roots of your own being, to piece together the fragments of a life that has suddenly become a bewildering enigma.”
A fragile tendril of hope, delicate yet persistent, unfurled within the knot of anxiety in my chest. “So… you’ll let me go? You understand that I need to face them, to hear it from them directly?”
Asher hesitated, his gaze flicking almost imperceptibly towards the deeper shadows that clung to the edges of the chapel, the habitual lurking pce of Sis. A subtle tension entered his posture, a silent acknowledgment of the ever-present threat of my uncontrolled abilities. “It is not a simple decision, Luna. Your… abilities… the raw power that surged within you st night… it was significant, votile. The potential for unintentional harm, both to yourself and to those around you, is still too great for me to ignore. I cannot, in good conscience, permit you to return to a potentially votile and emotionally charged situation without at least some rudimentary control.”
Frustration, sharp and immediate, fred within me, momentarily eclipsing the fragile bloom of hope. “Control? How am I supposed to learn control locked up within these ancient walls, treated like some dangerous artifact to be contained?” I gestured around the vast, echoing space, the very air feeling like a suffocating cage.
“We can begin that process here, Luna,” Asher said calmly, his voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of my impatience. “Just the foundational elements. Enough so that you possess a degree of stability, so that you do not inadvertently… unleash that power and hurt anyone, including yourself, if the confrontation with your parents becomes too intense, too overwhelming.” He paused, his gaze becoming more serious, the weight of his responsibility evident in his steady regard. “And if I do agree to this… Sis will accompany you. He will remain unseen, a silent guardian in the shadows, but he will be there, a failsafe to ensure your physical safety and to extract you swiftly should the situation escate beyond your control.”
The prospect of Sis, the enigmatic and perpetually watchful Nephilim, lurking in the periphery of the most private and agonizing conversation of my life, sent a fresh wave of icy anger coursing through me. “Sis? You want him to spy on me? To silently witness the unravelling of my family, to listen to every painful word exchanged between my parents and me?” The invasion of privacy felt unbearable, a viotion of the raw vulnerability I would be forced to confront.
“His presence would be a necessary precaution, Luna,” Asher expined with unwavering patience, his eyes conveying a sense of weary understanding. “Nothing more. Your safety, in all its facets, remains our paramount concern. We cannot risk a repeat of what happened at the loft, or worse.”
My jaw tightened, the muscles clenching with resentment. It was a bitter, almost unbearable pill to swallow. The thought of Sis, with his stoic demeanour and silent judgment, witnessing the fractured reality of my family, the raw pain of my betrayal, made my skin crawl with a visceral discomfort. But the gnawing emptiness of not knowing my own truth, the desperate need to fill the gaping void in my understanding of myself, was a far stronger, more primal force.
“Fine,” I conceded, the single word heavy with reluctant acceptance and simmering resentment. “But the moment I have the answers I seek, I want him gone. No lingering, no silent observations. Gone.”
Asher nodded slowly, a hint of understanding, perhaps even a flicker of sympathy, softening the edges of his serene eyes. “Before you go, however, you need to understand the nature of what is happening to you. The origins of these… abilities that have suddenly manifested.” He stepped closer, his usual serene expression now holding a weight of ancient knowledge. “You might have encountered tales in your world, fragmented myths about beings who were more than mortal. We are the descendants of unions between humans and… beings of celestial origin.”
I snorted, crossing my arms. “Oh, please. I’ve seen the movies. Brooding, powerful half-angels with a tragic backstory. So, which archangel was my mother, then? Did she descend on a beam of celestial light and decide to shack up with my decidedly un-angelic father?” My tone was thick with sarcasm.
A faint smile touched Asher’s lips. “The reality, as always, is less dramatic. These unions weren’t always… harmonious. And the offspring, us, inherited traits from both sides. Longevity, enhanced strength, and, as you are discovering, certain… abilities. These abilities vary greatly depending on the lineage, the strength of the initial bond, and countless other factors.”
“So, my very human father somehow managed to… what? Charm an angel?” The sarcasm was still there, ced with a healthy dose of disbelief.
Asher’s gaze softened slightly. “Love takes many forms, Luna. And the beings we speak of… their perception of time and connection can be vastly different from yours. Perhaps the connection was brief, yet potent enough to leave a sting… legacy.”
“A legacy of glowing eyes and almost blowing up a loft,” I muttered under my breath.
“Precisely,” Asher continued, his tone regaining its seriousness. “The celestial bloodline can lie dormant for generations in the human lineage, triggered by specific events, emotional trauma, or even a shift in the pnet’s energies. What happened to you at the loft… that was the awakening. The celestial part of you, long dormant, has finally stirred.”
“So, my mother was the… not-quite-an-angel?” The implications of this were starting to sink in, adding a bizarre new yer to the revetion of my parentage. Could my mother’s resentment stem from her own complicated heritage, a secret she had kept hidden for my entire life?
“It is the most likely expnation,” Asher confirmed. “And these abilities… they are powerful, Luna. Beautiful, even. But without understanding and control, they can be incredibly dangerous. Not just to you, but to those around you, including your father.” He turned towards the archway leading deeper into the chapel. “Thorne has a… unique understanding of votile power. I believe he would be the best person to guide your initial training.”
The history lesson, delivered with Asher’s quiet authority, had a strange, unsettling effect. The fantastical suddenly felt pusible, casting a bizarre new light on the mundane reality of my upbringing. The sarcasm hadn't entirely vanished, but it was now tinged with a bewildered curiosity and a dawning sense of the truly bizarre nature of my existence. Training with the votile Thorne suddenly felt like a necessary, if unwelcome, step into a reality far stranger than I could have ever imagined.
Thorne, a figure of barely contained kinetic energy and possessing a notoriously votile temper that often fred with little provocation, seemed an unlikely sensei for the delicate art of emotional control. Yet, as Asher led me to the makeshift training area, a cleared space amidst the clutter of musical instruments and ancient relics, I found Thorne already waiting, his green-streaked hair pulled back from a surprisingly focused and intense expression. A strange stillness emanated from him, a stark contrast to his usual barely leashed energy.
“Alright, newbie,” Thorne grunted, his usual gruffness softened around the edges with a hint of something that might have been reluctant understanding. “First thing you gotta learn is to breathe. Real breathe. Not those shallow little gasps you humans do when you’re teetering on the edge of a damn meltdown.”
Our training began with what felt like an eternity of silence, broken only by Thorne’s surprisingly patient instructions as he guided me through a series of deep, deliberate breathing exercises. His voice, usually sharp and impatient, held a steady rhythm as he corrected my ragged inhales and exhales, his words painting vivid pictures of the storm raging within me and the elusive eye of that storm, a sanctuary of stillness amidst the emotional tempest. He spoke of anchors and roots, of finding a point of unwavering stability within the turbulent currents of my own being.
Then came the far more challenging mental exercises. Thorne, with a deliberate and unsettling precision, would verbally spar with me, his words sharp and pointed, his tone deliberately challenging, digging with unnerving accuracy at the raw, exposed edges of my deepest fears and most votile angers. My initial responses were predictable and frustratingly ineffective: a suffocating tightening in my chest, a surge of defensive fury that threatened to spill over into uncontrolled power, the familiar tremor of my nascent abilities beginning to surface like a warning tremor before a major earthquake.
“Wrong!” Thorne would bark, his own fists clenched but his voice surprisingly even, controlled. “You’re letting it in, absorbing their poison. You gotta build a wall, a damn impenetrable fortress in your mind. Their crap, their venom, it can bounce right off you if you learn to deflect it, if you refuse to let it take root.”
Days blurred into a strange, almost meditative rhythm of breathing exercises under Thorne’s gruff guidance, intense mental sparring sessions that left me emotionally raw yet strangely more resilient, and surprisingly insightful, if often brutally honest, advice delivered in Thorne’s characteristic clipped tones. I began to realize that his own notoriously votile nature had likely forced him to master these very techniques of emotional regution, a hard-won victory over his own inner demons. A strange, unexpected sort of kinship began to form between us, forged in the shared struggle against the overwhelming tide of inner turmoil. He wasn’t judging my anger or my fear; he was teaching me, in his own abrasive way, how to harness and control it.
One afternoon, during a particurly gruelling mental exercise, as Thorne’s deliberately harsh and provocative words echoed in the confines of my mind, something profound and unexpected shifted within me. Instead of the familiar, knee-jerk surge of defensiveness, I felt a strange, anchoring sensation deep within my core. It was as if an invisible, unbreakable anchor had suddenly dropped within me, steadying the turbulent, storm-tossed waters of my emotions. Thorne’s cutting words still registered, I still understood their intent to provoke, but they no longer possessed the power to unseat me, to send me spiralling into a vortex of uncontrolled feeling. I felt… strangely, profoundly unshakable.
A faint, warm golden light emanated from somewhere deep within my chest, a soft, internal radiance spreading through my limbs, a feeling of unexpected solidity and calm. Thorne’s usually guarded eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a rare look of genuine surprise momentarily softening his harsh features.
“What… what was that?” I asked, my own voice hushed with a mixture of awe and a newfound sense of inner peace, an unexpected strength that wasn’t born of anger or fear, but of a quiet, unwavering resolve.
“Feels… solid as bedrock,” Thorne grunted, flexing his own hands as if testing an unseen force. “Like trying to punch a damn mountain. You… you just grounded yourself, kid. And me too, damn it.” A grudging respect, something I had never witnessed in his gaze before, flickered in his green eyes. “Call it… Seismind. Emotional Grounding. You just learned how to become unshakeable. Not just for yourself, but it’ll bleed out to those around you too, anchor them in the storm.”
A wave of understanding, clear and profound, washed over me. This wasn’t about suppressing the tumultuous emotions that threatened to consume me; it was about learning to control their impact, about finding and cultivating a core of inner strength that remained steady and unwavering even in the face of the most brutal emotional storms.
Asher had been observing our training from the edge of the cleared space, his usual serene expression now holding a quiet satisfaction, a subtle nod of approval. “That is remarkable progress, Luna. You have achieved a significant degree of control in a remarkably short time.”
With this newfound ability, this unexpected anchor against the emotional chaos, the daunting prospect of facing my parents, of finally delving into the long-buried, painful truth of my past, felt marginally less overwhelming. The tempest within me had, if not calmed entirely, at least found a point of unwavering stability.
The day arrived, marked by a subtle shift in the chapel’s atmosphere, a quiet sense of anticipation, when Asher finally deemed me ready to confront my past. Sis, a silent, looming shadow, was already waiting near the ancient, heavy wooden doors of the chapel entrance, his presence a constant, unnerving reminder of the precariousness of my freedom. I carried a small, worn bag containing the few tangible remnants of my old life that I had retrieved, my heart a heavy knot of apprehension warring with a desperate, almost frantic yearning for answers.
As I stood at the threshold of the sanctuary, the cool stone beneath my bare feet a grounding sensation, Asher pced a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his touch surprisingly warm. “Remember what you have learned, Luna. The strength you now possess is not just power, but control. And Sis will be there, unseen but ever vigint. If the situation becomes too much to bear… he will bring you back. You are not alone in this.”
I nodded, the weight of his words settling upon me, a mixture of comfort and a lingering sense of being watched. This was it. The first, terrifying step towards unravelling the tangled mess of my life, towards understanding the very fabric of my being. With a deep, steadying breath that felt different now, anchored and sure, I stepped out of the retive safety of the chapel and into the uncertain, fragile light of the day, Sis’s silent, watchful presence a constant reminder of the invisible leash I was on. The truth, I desperately hoped, was worth this heavy price.
TO BE CONTINUED...
