Some time had passed since Michael's confrontation with Lucifer. Escape was futile, as suspected. Every time he believed to have discovered a way out, he found himself right back in the darkened room with the poppy-shaped hole in the ceiling. He managed to grow his wings, yet gravity always pulled him back before he could reach the light.
Michael tried to reach the unknown Archangel a few times, but whenever he thought he had found them, the connection broke. It infuriated him. He couldn't understand why he didn't share a bond with this Archangel. 
Frustrated, Michael dropped to the floor. Lucifer hadn't bothered putting him in a new trance, but some part of Michael wished he had. He would've forgotten about his imprisonment in the Dream Realm and being stuck in an stuck in an empty room. Still, the loneliness gave him ample time to devise a way to defend himself. 

First, he attempted to summon an object like a weapon, without result. Then he recalled dreams drew from memories. He brought Gabriël to mind. That nearly worked. He saw his friend for thebriefest moment before the figure vanished again. It was a small victory, though. 
Michael wondered how he had tricked Lucifer with that fake memory of his conversation with Joan. Perhaps he needed to be inside the memory to do whatever he had done. But if that was the case, it meant he had to wait until either Lucifer or Morpheus meddled with his mind again, and he was less keen on that prospect. There had to be some way around it.

The Archangel lay down and closed his eyes against the light above. He prayed and wished as he had done before. He let his heart fill with the desire to be anywhere but here. To be with anyone but himself. He willed his mind to think of a place, a person, a thing that could help him. Then he felt something drop near his hand.
Carefully, and with eyes still shut, Michael reached for it. He recognised the shape of the object. And he smelled something. Fresh air. Nature. He was no longer on the cold floor, but on something else. His fingers stroked the ground beneath him — grass! 
Michael opened his eyes. He was in a field, holding a shining red apple. Nearby stood a tree bearing fruit. Not only apples but also pomegranates, pears, oranges... All hung on the highest branches. On the lower ones grew berries and cherries amidst their blooms. Was this... the Tree of Life?

Michael quickly scrambled up and looked around. He believed he saw hills and a stream or river further ahead, but it was unclear. Patches of black floor peeked through the green. He was still in the room, but he had finally managed to bring up a very lifelike image. This was his earliest memory of the paradise known as Eden.
His heart nearly leapt with joy. He leaned back against the tree, gasping at the feel of the callous edges of the bark, and brought the apple to his mouth. The sweet flesh tasted so good, just as he remembered. He didn't know how long this illusion would hold, but he would savour every minute and be at peace for as long as it did. 

Suddenly, Michael sensed something. Someone else was with him. It wasn't Lucifer nor Morpheus (though he couldn't be sure of the latter), so maybe... He dropped the apple into the grass and focused. It was faint, but Michael perceived a voice humming a lullaby. He stepped around the tree.
A little girl of five or six years old sat against the tree trunk, diligently working on a crown of blue, white, and yellow flowers. Her hair was a light chestnut colour and hung loosely around her shoulders. She wore a simple white dress and brown sandals. 
Michael grew suspicious. This place drew from his memories and dreams, yet he was certain he had never met this child before. Was this Lucifer's next trick? He knelt on one knee with enough distance between himself and the girl.

"That is a nice song you are humming," he said. "Is it something your mommy sang to you?"

"Yes," she replied without looking up from her floral crown.

"What is your name?"

The little girl finally met Michael's gaze. He froze. She had a cute little snub nose, full pink lips and piercing dark-blue eyes. But those eyes weren't what had made his blood curdle. A clean-cut wound ran from the corner of her left eye down her cheek. It still bled and looked like it had been made by a knife or dagger. What happened to her? Was she attacked?

"It's all right," the girl said as she wiped some of the blood away. "It will only hurt for a little while. Then it'll just be part of me until it fades. That's what scars do, right? They fade?"

"Um, yes, they do. Given time."

She beamed at his reassurance. Michael felt a sense of calm wash over him. He moved closer and sat down next to the girl. Their eyes locked on each other. Hesitantly, Michael reached for the wound but made sure not to touch it out of fear he might hurt her.

"Who did this to you?" he asked.

The child shrugged. Michael regarded her warily. He didn't know if he could trust her. In this world, he couldn't trust anything. Not even something that seemed as innocent as a child.

"You trusted me before when I warned you about the bad man."

Michael stiffened again. She could hear his thoughts?

"That was you?"

She nodded and put the flower crown on top of her head. The blooms melted together in a bright symphony, creating a halo around her hair.

"What are you?" demanded Michael.

"You know what I am. You've been trying to find me." The girl pursed her lips to one side, her expression quizzical and far too mature for a child. "But I think I'll be something else, too. I'm not sure yet. I have to wait until I am born, and God tells me what to do."

Michael's eyes widened. He shook his head in disbelief. It couldn't be. But... it had to be. He drew back until he saw it. The girl's eyes were... Gabriël's. And the shape of her face, her nose, her lips... She was the spitting image of Joan of Arc. This was their unborn child. Their daughter.

"Maman will find you," continued the girl. "She knows which door to open. She's closer than she thinks, but doesn't know what she's looking for. And she's in danger. So is Pappa. It hurts when I feel their pain."

Gabriël's eyes looked up at him. Michael broke down. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, silencing a strangled sob. The child reached for his hand and then put her own on his cheek.

"Don't cry." She stroked away a tear. "It'll be okay. We'll find you. Then you can keep Maman away from the witch and the bad man. You can take us home. Have faith."

She disappeared. The grass, the tree, the fruit, it all vanished. Michael was back in the empty room. A single white flower lay in his hand — a Bethlehem Star. He clutched it and held the delicate leaf to his heart, thanking God above for the saviour He sent him.

***

Morpheus's maidservant took it upon herself to be Joan's pregnancy coach. At first, it seemed like a good idea, since Joan wasn't sure what Lucifer had planned for the birth, but she was beginning to regret allowing Leonora to mentor her. She felt utterly ridiculous as she followed her example of breathing during labour. She was a seasoned warrior and didn't need anyone telling her how to control her breathing during a heavy and strenuous act. All this huffing and puffing made her feel like the wolf blowing the three little pigs away from their house. Or was it the house he blew away to get to the pigs?

Mental note number six; brush up on bedtime stories. Even if I'm not the one who gets to tell them. Oh, and the negative thoughts are back. Great.

Joan really wanted to trust Lucifer would somehow ensure she would live to see her son or daughter grow, but she couldn't shake the ominous feeling inside her. It ate at her. Deep down, Joan knew her dream was much more than a nightmare. She just hoped that by eliminating the immediate threat — or at least having Bathory somewhere else — she could change whatever fate had in store for her.

"Joan, concentrate, please!"

Leonora's irritated voice snapped Joan out of her musings.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

It was the second time Leonora scolded her for not paying attention. The first time, Joan had been thinking about the lullaby her mother used to sing to her, which had also resulted in the painful reminder she might not be able to show her baby the same love her mother had shown her.

"Can we take a break and go for a walk in the garden?" she asked. "I just want to clear my head. Soak in some invisible moonshine and let the non-existing wind go through my hair."

"You're hilarious." Leonora smirked and helped the expectant mother up from the floor.

"I'm fairly certain I won't be needing this," said Joan when she draped a shawl around her shoulders.

"You'll thank me later. I always needed something extra to cover myself as my pregnancy progressed. I lived in... the south of Europe, where it's toasty warm in Summer. People thought I was suffocating my unborn baby when I put on a cloak or blanket in the middle of the day."

They kept chatting about this and that during their walk through the palace corridors. The young boy, whom Leonora had baptised 'Ragazzino', stalked them from pillar to pillar, keeping his distance. Joan had got used to his looming presence. Strangely enough, she felt more at ease when he was around. He almost felt like a miniature guardian angel.
Keeping Leonora distracted with their chit-chat, Joan made sure they headed toward the door near Morpheus's chambers. She didn't understand why she was so attracted to it, but she just knew that room held something important. When they walked past it, Joan halted and placed her hand on the wooden frame. Leonora froze as she saw her doing this.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a panic-stricken voice.

"Wondering if there's something I should put in storage. Or someone?"

Joan watched Leonora's reaction from the corner of her eyes. The maidservant didn't disappoint. She tugged at her arm, trying to get Joan to come along. But Leonora's panic couldn't compete with the Fallen Angel's determination.
Joan tried the doorknob, and the door swung open. She walked in. Candles flickered on in each of the four corners of the small room. She looked around and sighed. If this room was used for storage, she was the next Queen of France. There was nothing but drapes hanging on the walls. She moved some aside, but all she uncovered was stone.

Maybe there's a secret passageway like those in the French castles.

Joan tapped some stones, but nothing happened. She turned to leave, but then her eye fell on a small wooden table with a bejewelled crystal case on top. Slowly, she walked toward it. There was something inside the case.

"Thr — be—s."

Her head snapped in Leonora's direction, but she hadn't said a word. The maidservant stood fretting at the door, wide eyes constantly flashing into the corridor, afraid they would get caught. 

"Three bells!"

"What?" 

"Joan?" Leonora looked at her. "Wh-Who are you talking to?" 

Joan didn't answer and closed her eyes to focus. She was certain the voice she heard was a child's. The baby stirred in her belly, giving three hefty kicks. Her eyes opened, and her hand was on the crystal case. The jewels were in a different place now, and she saw a tiny bell inside it.

"Joan!"

She staggered back, eyes widening in surprise when the child's voice was replaced by the deep baritone of a man. One she knew all too well.
Suddenly, Ragazzino grabbed Joan's arm and dragged her outside. He pulled her to the far end of the corridor, into another room, and pushed her into a chair as Leonora shut the door. Quickly, the boy covered Joan's mouth with his hand and brought a finger to his lips. She nodded in understanding. He took his hand away and crouched on the floor to look through a gap in the door. Joan put herself in an uncomfortable position between him and Leonora to peek through the gap as well.

Morpheus came around the corner of the corridor and entered the room with the drapes and the crystal case. He stayed inside for a few seconds, then rushed back out, looking up and down the corridor. Joan felt Leonora's breathing stop beside her. Morpheus went into the room again. The door locked behind him.
The trio remained silent for a few minutes before deciding it was safe to sneak out. They tiptoed into another corridor and then broke into a sprint, going straight for Joan's room. Leonora stumbled inside and dropped onto the bed, panting heavily. Joan steadied herself against the bedpost, her entire body shaking from the adrenaline. Only Ragazzino remained standing on his own two feet, his cheeks flushed lightly from the exertion.

"Thank you for warning us," said Joan.

The boy looked up at her with big grey eyes. He then did the most unexpected thing — he hugged her.

"Trust the voices." He let go and turned to Leonora, who was leaning onto the bed with her elbows. "You will see your brother again."

Joan and Leonora gaped as the boy bowed and left without saying another word. The maidservant broke into a sob, and Joan hurried to sit with her. As she calmed her friend down, she thought of Ragazzino's words to her.
The child's voice — a girl's, she believed — had been unclear, but the baby reacting to those two simple words had to mean something. And then there was that other voice. Joan had heard it last at Resia, in the library with Gabriël. It seemed her earlier suspicions were confirmed.
The Lord Protector of the Vale was here.

***

She was so close. So awfully close. Michael thought he was dreaming or losing his mind at first, but Joan really was right there in front of him. He tried to touch her, but his hand went straight through her.

"That won't work."

Michael looked down and saw the little girl standing there. She was gazing up at Joan. At her mother.

"There must be something we can do to get her attention," Michael said, searching his surroundings for anything he could use. "We need to let her know we are here. We need to —"

"Look!"

The pair watched as Joan stood under the light. Something else had appeared as well. A table with something on it. A box, maybe?

"That's what the weird man uses to hide you," said the girl.

"What? How do you know this?" questioned Michael.

"I can feel it. It tickles when he uses it. Everything trembles then."

"Do you know how he uses it?"

She nodded and put her tiny hand over Joan's belly.

"Three bells," she said.

Michael understood what she was trying to do. He knelt at her side, placing his hand on top of hers.

"Try again, but louder this time. Let my power unite with yours."

The girl closed her eyes and breathed in.

"Three bells!"

Her voice echoed through the darkened room. It worked. Joan looked around, trying to find whoever had called out to her. Michael didn't hesitate a moment longer and yelled out with all his might, "Joan!"

She recoiled. Had she heard him? She must have. Suddenly, something grabbed Joan, and she was pulled back into the shadows. Michael tried to go after her, but the girl stopped him.

"The man who is keeping you is coming. She has to go."

Michael dropped to the floor in defeat. He couldn't believe it. So close.

"She'll be back," said the girl. "Maman knows you're here now. She'll get you out."

"I hope so, little one. But I fear your mother may not want to help me. I have done her and your father a great wrong. Several wrongs, in fact. I would not blame her if she stayed away."

Joan's daughter sat on her knees beside him and put her head against his shoulder. She hugged his arm. Michael smiled weakly at her attempt to comfort him. He took hold of her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on her skin. The girl jerked up.

"What was that?" she asked curiously. "It felt nice."

"It is called a kiss," explained Michael. "People give it to someone when words cannot express what they feel. I gave you one because I wanted to thank you. Most of the time, a kiss is a mutual sign of love for each other."

"Love?" The girl scrunched her nose. "What is that?"

"I... I fear I am not the right person to explain that to you. I thought I knew what it was. I thought I... understood. But I was wrong."

Michael met her gaze. He was happy she had her father's deep blue eyes. His friend's daughter seemed as calm as him, too. Not as intemperate as her mother. But it was that raw temper and stubborn determination that was needed now. To have his fate rest in the hands of the woman he had banished from the Vale... The irony did not escape Michael.
A sudden clicking sound caught Michael's attention. He gasped when he saw Morpheus standing where Joan had stood before. The Lord of Dreams waved his hand. An hourglass appeared before him. Michael rose to his feet and picked up the girl, prompting her to put her arms around his neck. When they drew closer, he saw it wasn't sand running through the hourglass but thick, dark blood. Gabriël's daughter groaned and winced in Michael's arms. He quickly put her down.

"Are you all right?"

"I feel dizzy. Like I'm walking fast but not moving."

Michael looked from her to Morpheus. His eyes widened as he understood what was going on.

"Dear God. He is making time go faster, so you will be born earlier."

"Then the bad man will take us away," said the girl fearfully.

"I will not let him." Michael gritted his teeth and turned back to her. "We have to warn your mother. But we cannot wait for her to come back here. Is there anything you can do?"

Before she could answer, the girl faded, her voice echoing in an inaudible whisper. Michael was once again left with the shadows and light as his only companions. Yet as he took out the Betlehemen Star from his rolled-up sleeve, he realised there was cause for hope. For the first time in a very long time.