Joan awoke to a pair of whispering voices nearby. Her nose picked up on a faint smell of incense. Lord, Raphael and her mother really needed to find something else to fragrance the Hospitium. It was positively nauseating. She groaned as she tried to sit up. Her body protested loudly against her movements, forcing her to sink back against the pillows, having raised herself but a few inches. She opened her mouth to call for her mother, but choked when she noted her surroundings.
There were no windows, yet somehow, warm sunlight illuminated the room. Other beds were neatly made up on either side of her. Medical equipment was displayed in glass cases at the far end of the room, opposite the door. Further ahead was what she could only perceive as an operating area. The instruments appeared modern, while the poultices and concoctions in the vitrines resembled those of old-time apothecaries.

Where am I? I've never been to this ward in the Hospitium. Is it a new wing or -?

Joan stiffened. Wing... Michael had cut off her wings. This wasn't the Hospitium. Hell, this wasn't even the Vale! Wait - Hell... Borgia and his cronies! Did they take her? Was she in the Circles? No, she never took his hand. Something had prevented her from doing so. 

The falcon! It swooped in, and... there was an archer. Who was -?

"Thank God you're finally awake." A woman suddenly appeared at Joan's bedside. "You've been sleeping for two days straight. We were getting worried. Here, let me help you."

She helped Joan sit up and handed her a cup of water. Joan tilted her head curiously. She seemed so familiar. Long brown hair, almost black, hung loosely around her shoulders. Her face was sharp yet soft, her eyes dark as night, yet inviting and kind, too. The woman wore a white linen blouse, a dark green bodice, brown skirt, and laced boots. A brown glove covered her left hand.
And then Joan spotted the pearl necklace with a golden letter B. And right above it, a thin red line at the woman's throat as if a blade had cut through the woman's pale alabaster skin - cutting her head off.

"Anne Boleyn," Joan whispered.

"Je suis contente de te revoir," the former Queen of England spoke in flawless French. "Though I'll admit, I had wished it were under better circumstances."

"How are you feeling, Joan?"

A man came behind Anne. He'd been in the woods with her. Though he seemed nothing like the great magician that had dared to attack the Blood Countess, yet it was him. He had messy brown curls and soft brown eyes. His trimmed beard failed to hide a scar just above his lips and the charming smirk on them. The ink on the sleeve of his shirt and the knee-torn trousers showed him to be more aloof than one would make him to be. 

"You look as though you hardly recognise Thomas anymore, Joan." Anne chuckled at her stunned silence.

But Joan did remember him. Thomas Wyatt had fallen in love with Anne in their youth. He had always believed her family pushed her into 'presenting herself' to Henry Tudor VIII of England. She was made to attract his attention while avoiding the same mistakes her sister Mary had made. Anne eventually married Henry after some years, but had always kept Thomas close as a dear friend.
He had never admitted openly to loving her and hid his feelings in his poems. These little hints and his constant presence around her had resulted in false charges of adultery with Anne. But unlike the others who had been taken (Anne's brother George amongst them), he had left the Tower with his head still attached to his body. He'd witness the French executioner of Calais behead the only woman he had ever loved, mourning and praying they would be reunited in Heaven. And so they were.
Not wanting to risk another separation, they went to Michael together, asking for clemency and understanding. It had surprised all he had agreed to their request. He'd even allowed them to regain their youth before they descended to Earth, reverting them back to their mid-twenties. 

"I suppose I have changed a bit since we last saw Joan, my dear," said Thomas.

"You've both changed," Joan said. "And yet, now that I look at you, it seems only yesterday when we said goodbye in the Vale."

Her voice faltered as she spoke of the place she had called home for six hundred years. She hung her head. Anne sat beside her on the bed, placing her hand on top of hers.

"Joan, what happened?" she asked

"I... I can't." Joan pressed her lips together.

"You can trust us," said Thomas. "I mean, who are we going to tell? Besides, you're not the first Fallen Angel we've taken in. We know the drill."

Joan sat silent for a moment, then looked up at them. They seemed so worried about her. She sighed and spoke of everything that had happened the last month. The attack at the Gates, the effects of the poison on Gabriël, his imprisonment... The only thing she kept to herself was her affair with the Archangel.
When she got to the part of her banishment, her eyes were filled with tears. Anne caressed her hand with her thumb. It was funny how much that simple, comforting gesture reminded Joan of her mother. She sniffled and wiped her tears away.

"How did you know?" she wondered aloud. "That I was banished? And that I was going to be at that exact spot?"

"Whenever an angel has their wings taken away, the Nephilim are alerted by Peter," answered Thomas, leaning against the nightstand.

"But Peter wasn't there when it happened."

"Don't ask me how he knows; he just does. He sends us a message, images in our minds of who the angel is and where they'll appear on Earth. The closest order will immediately retrieve the Fallen Angel before those scumbag demons do."

"It's not very often that demons even get the chance to take someone," continued Anne. "But it does happen, unfortunately. When Peter sent us the message, he warned us that someone was already waiting for you, though he couldn't see who. We were already geared up for training, so we didn't waste any time. Thomas opened a portal for us further away from your location so we could take them by surprise."

"We never expected a witch like Bathory, though," said Thomas. "They're clearly very interested in you if they pull out the big guns. We'll have to come up with a strategy for the next face-off."

"We can do that later, Thomas." Anne turned back to Joan. "I'll let the others know you're awake. Do you feel up to meeting them?"

At her nod, Anne walked out of the infirmary. Thomas moved away from the nightstand, arms crossed over his chest, until he stood with his back to her. 

"Joan, is there something else you want to share?" The unexpected sharpness in his voice made her heart clench.

"I don't know what you mean," she answered carefully.

"Don't take me for a fool." Thomas turned to face her, his kind face suddenly stern and unyielding. "You can't expect me to believe that Michael banished you on a whim just because you disagreed with him on how he was treating Gabriël. Michael is a lot of things, but impulsive? No."

"I never said he was! It was... things combined, I suppose."

"Like what?"

"Michael and I were at odds, constantly arguing over everything we discussed. I guess me helping Gabriël against his orders was the final straw."

Thomas' brows narrowed. He regarded her with scrutinising eyes, trying to read through her words.

"For Pete's sake, what else do you want me to say?" she exclaimed, annoyed and frightful at his expression.

"The truth. We can help you better if we know everything, Joan. You were set upon by extremely powerful demons. They rarely come topside unless they're ordered to do so. And no other Fallen Angel ever warranted such a welcome party."

"I am... was one of the strongest warriors in the Vale. Perhaps they believed regular spectres wouldn't stand a chance, even in my weakened state. And I was privy to Michael's war room. Maybe they wanted me for information."

"Hmm, maybe." Thomas stood and hovered over her, looking straight into her eyes. "But mark my words, Joan. If I find out that there is something else that could endanger us all, you'll wish those demons had taken you with them. Their torture will be nothing compared to what I will do if Anne gets hurt because of you."

Joan looked back at Thomas in defiance. He could threaten her all he liked; it wouldn't make any difference. She had already lost it all. What did it matter to her what he or anyone else did? 

"Drink up." Thomas retreated and gestured to the cup in her hands. "You'll need whatever strength you have left."

She put the cup to her lips just as the door to the infirmary opened. Anne walked back in, followed closely by four others. The Fallen Angel looked at each one of them, vaguely remembering their faces from their time in the Vale. Even though some had died at an older age, they had all been given a more youthful appearance by Michael. These Nephilim had not attempted to hide their affairs but had stepped forward, earning some respect from the Lord Protector. Their honour and loyalty were why Michael believed this faction to be the best among all the Nephilim.

Hypatia was another magician, like Thomas. Though she was Egyptian, her skin was fair, a lighter tone than her people usually had. Her black curls were bound in a bun with ribbons. Like Anne, there was something mysterious about her dark, almond-shaped eyes. She wore a simple white gown down to her knees, made from Egyptian cotton, and sandals. A silver bracelet with hieroglyphs adorned her wrist.
She sat next to her husband, Richard, once King Richard I of England, better known to history as Lionheart. He was taller than Hypatia, but only by a few inches. His copper beard was well-kept and accentuated his strong cheekbones. Richard was dressed more modern, looking like a businessman with his baby-blue shirt, dark blue vest, and trousers. If you met him for the first time, you would never believe the man was once a King and warrior in the Crusades. He wore the same silver bracelet as Hypatia, but with different hieroglyphs.

Joan's fellow countrywoman, Olympe de Gouges, looked like she had stepped out of a storybook. She appeared a princess, wearing a beautiful red dress that flowed about her as she walked. She had a black diadem with roses on one side in her long, blonde hair. A silver necklace with a single tear-drop pearl hung around her neck. She wore matching earrings as well.
Olympe's hand was held by her lover, Juan Ponce de Leon, a conquistador who travelled to what is now known as Florida and Puerto Rico - though, he was probably most (in)famous for the rumours of his search for the fabled Fountain of Youth. A mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes showed Juan was definitely the playful one of the group. He and Richard looked like twins, though his hair was black and his face sharper. They had the same hair and clothing style, though Juan wore his vest open, revealing a rock band T-shirt underneath.

"How are you feeling, ma chère?" Olympe spoke first. "Je m'imagine que tu es fatigue."

"Je ne sais pas comment me sentir," Joan answered, glad she could speak to someone in her native tongue.

"You have nothing to worry about now," said Richard. "You are quite safe here with us."

Joan tried to smile at them. She saw Thomas moving from the corner of her eyes. He walked over to where Anne was sitting and stood behind her, watching Joan like a hawk. His glare made her uncomfortable, but she refused to show it.

"Where is here, anyway?" she asked. "No one has told me where we are."

"Lago di Resia," replied Anne. "A Nephilim Sanctum needs to be near water, preferably a lake or the sea, as it is one of nature's purest forces. We used to live in Scotland until a few decades ago. The villagers wanted to make an artificial lake here, so it seemed like a good place to create our new Sanctum, below the water this time. Thanks to Hypatia and Thomas's spells, the villagers were convinced the church was completely torn down when only part of it truly was. All we had to do was wait until the lake was made and then take up residence. With a few minor adjustments here and there, of course. An existing building is rarely used as a Sanctum, but this place gave us all the advantages we needed. It's actually much deeper than it appears to the outside world."

"Plus, it's great fun to keep the locals on their toes," added Juan with a smirk. "The only thing still visible above the surface is the church tower. We like to make people think the lake is haunted by making it sound like someone is ringing the church bells. It scared them half to death when they discovered those were taken out decades ago."

The three men (yes, even Thomas) grinned at each other whilst Olympe and Anne rolled their eyes at them. Hypatia seemed indifferent to the fact that the guys liked to tease the humans. Joan quickly gathered that she was the mature one, even though Anne was the leader.

"We'll try to help you as much as we can, dear," said Hypatia. "It's difficult at first, but you'll find your way around soon. We don't have anyone with us now, so you have your pick of the rooms. Most Fallen Angels stay with the Nephilim, but if you really want to leave, we won't stop you. Though, considering what happened a few days ago, that might not be the best idea right now."

"Agreed," said Anne. "Better to stay here for the time being. You're welcome to join us in training when you feel up to it. All areas of the Sanctum are open to you, though the Vault is usually only for the magic wielders among us."

Despite the haven so generously offered, Joan couldn't help but feel that, even among the Nephilim, she would never truly belong. For what was the point of belonging when there was no purpose to even go on?

***

As the group left Joan to rest and walked through the corridor, Anne turned to her husband.

"Did she say anything to you when you were alone with her?"

"Only that she and Michael were at odds with each other," said Thomas.

"We all know Michael is a proud and stubborn man," said Richard. "But to condemn an angel simply because she disagrees with him? He would have to banish half the Vale."

"I agree. She's hiding something. Something involving Gabriël. I believe he plays a more prominent role in this. Perhaps you should speak with her, Anne? You knew each other well when you were in the Vale. She may open up to you."

"I can try, but I actually think Hypatia should speak with her." 

"You noticed it too," said the Egyptian woman.

Anne nodded

"She sees a mother figure in you. It might just be what she needs right now. Thomas, see Peter at the Gates. Tell him we have Joan and find out whatever you can from him. We need to sort this out if we hope to keep her from the Circles."