It had become painfully clear Joan was long gone. Even Anne had to admit it was no use to continue the search. She insisted Thomas and Hypatia continue their efforts to track Joan down, though, hoping that maybe they'd be allowed a small miracle. The magicians took turns every few hours to keep the locator spell going. They would know the minute it locked on to the Fallen Angel's position.
When her husband wasn't in the Vault, he was right at Anne's side, helping in whatever had to be done. She loved him dearly for wanting to aid her, but the growing circles under his eyes betrayed his weariness. Still, Thomas refused to rest. There was too much to do. Like instructing and training their guests, for example.

Though not a descendant of a magician herself, Salomé had a knack for the craft. It had been a long time since Thomas had a student, and he revelled in teaching her. She quickly grasped the fundamentals of spell casting, much to Thomas' amazement, and even managed to throw him across the room (to the great delight of her grandfather). Juan paired with Carlos, showing him how to fight with a sword, whilst Richard instructed Fleur and Esperanza.
The real surprise, though, was the children declaring they also wanted to fight. Anne admitted that learning the basics to defend themselves wouldn't be bad, but she wouldn't allow them to go anywhere near an actual fight. On the sidelines, with bow and arrow, was close enough. Yet she warned them to always go for the kill — a wounded animal was more dangerous, after all.
Everyone was focused hard on their training when a sudden ruckus outside made them pause. The doors burst open, and in stormed Adeline, quickly followed by Hypatia and Remy.

"Adeline, for God's sake, stop!" exclaimed Hypatia. "You're going to hurt yourself!"

"Whoa, where do you think you're going, young lady?" Thomas jumped in front of his daughter before she could go any further.

"I've come to train with you," she stated, out of breath. "Uncle Richard, give me a sword."

"You'll do no such thing," said Thomas sharply, quickly glancing at Richard to ensure he wouldn't hand her a weapon. "Adeline, you're still recovering from your wounds. You're in no condition to —"

"For God's sake, I'm fine! I heard auntie Hypatia and auntie Olympe talking about the Horsemen. They've already struck in Asia and South-America, so it's only a matter of time before they come to Europe. If you're training to go up against them, I should too. You need everyone."

"But this is not about the Horsemen, is it?" asked Anne.

She watched Adeline closely as her daughter pressed her lips together. She believed she knew what this was really about and held her hand out.

"Vient ici. C'est lui qui tu veux, non? Borgia? C'est pourquoi tu veux te combattre."

"He came into my home." Adeline's voice quivered with rage. "He came after me, after Remy. Je veux lui détruire, maman. Je te promets que je suis en ordre. Laisse-moi, s'il te plait."

Anne looked deep into her daughter's eyes. Though Adeline had survived Borgia's attack, the demon had destroyed the peaceful life she and her son led in France. She wanted to decimate Borgia for killing so many of her family, but she wasn't the only one entitled to vengeance.

"Richard, give her a sword," Anne said calmly.

"Anne, no!" exclaimed her husband.

"She needs to do this, Thomas. And if we can't stop her, we will help her. Pair with your father, darling. Everyone else, resume your training."

Thomas spluttered another objection as Adeline took the sword from Richard, but it was no use. Neither she nor Anne would relent. 

"Oh, for the love of—fine!" He grunted in exasperation. "Salomé, keep working on the spell I just taught you. Focus on your breathing. And you; take a proper stance. You're way too easy to disarm like that."

Hypatia threw her hands in the air, muttering something in Egyptian, and walked back to the infirmary. Remy stayed in place, having watched the entire scene in silence. Anne walked over to him, smiling reassuringly as she lowered herself to his level. The resemblance the boy bore with Thomas was quite remarkable.

"You know," she said, "I think we have a slingshot somewhere that you can play with. You can stay here with the other kids and me. Would you like that?"

Remy nodded eagerly. Then, his expression changed and his mouth formed a silent 'o'. He beckoned Anne to come closer.

"J'ai trouvé quelque chose," whispered the boy as he plucked an envelope from his sweater.

"A letter? Where did you find this, mon amour?"

"I was in the room with the books, looking for treasure, and it was under a closet."

Remy turned around to take the slingshot and pallets Alejandro had retrieved for him, going off the play with the teens. Anne rose to her feet and opened the envelope. She gasped, immediately recognising the handwriting. Her eyes darted across the letter as she read its content. Thomas came to stand with her.

"What is it?"

"I must see Gabriël," she said. "You're in charge, Thomas."

"What? Anne, wait a minute, what—Anne!"

***

Gabriël had barely recovered from his run-in with Lucifer when Peter informed Anne Boleyn came up to see him. He immediately went to the Gates to meet her. She gave him a paper her youngest grandson had found in the library — a message from Joan. The leader of the Resia Nephilim promptly returned to her family, but not before promising Gabriël that if he were to call, she would answer. The moment she was gone, he sat down at the table in Peter's home and read his lover's message.

𝔐𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔊𝔞𝔟𝔯𝔦ë𝔩,
𝔒𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔴𝔢 𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯. ℜ𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔞 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔥𝔬𝔴 ℑ 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔫𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔦𝔠𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 ℑ 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰. 𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔲𝔰 𝔟𝔬𝔱𝔥, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫. ℌ𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔶.
𝔈𝔱 𝔱𝔲 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔧𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰 𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔫 𝔠œ𝔲𝔯 — 𝔘𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔢.
𝔖𝔢𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔴.
𝔍𝔬𝔞𝔫

At first glance, the letter appeared a brief note between two lovers. But Gabriël knew Joan better than that. She would not send something that trivial. The Archangel read the sentences over and over again, wishing he had paid more attention when Michael had been Joan's guide. He taught her several codes to use for messages between her and the other armies, and even the Dauphin. Gabriël had actually come up with some of them, but he didn't immediately see anything stand out in the text.

Joan, what are you trying to tell me?

She must have wanted the letter to be dismissed in case it fell into the wrong hands, because the way she'd written her words made little sense. Gabriël crumbled the paper in frustration and put his head between his hands, resting his elbows on the table. He forced himself to think, but sudden fatigue fell over him. He shook his head and moved away from the table, which helped. In fact, his mind instantly cleared. How odd. His gaze shifted back to the letter. Maybe... it wasn't about the words at all. 

"Here you are." Gabriël's head snapped to the door when Raphael came in. "I've been looking all over for —"

"Rafe, what do you make of this note?"

Gabriël interrupted the physician and handed him Joan's message. Raphael's eyes widened as he read it, but then he frowned. He sniffed at the paper and nearly keeled. Gabriël hurriedly steadied him on his feet.

"Whoa, easy. What happened?" he asked. "You okay?"

"Poppies," muttered Raphael.

"What?" Gabriël tilted his head questioningly.

"Poppies. Or, more accurately, poppy extract. In the ink, I believe. Or maybe the paper? Next to valerian, it is one of the most effective natural elements for a good night's sleep. I can barely make out the scent, but it's there."

Raphael carefully held the paper closer to Gabriël's nose. He caught a whiff and got another dizzy spell. So that's what had made him feel tired. He voiced his thoughts to Raphael, "So perhaps Joan's code isn't in the words, but in what she used to write it."

"That's one option," said Raphael. "Yet, her particular choice of words is very peculiar. Like here; and you always remain in my heart. Why the 'and'? And why write only that sentence in French?"

"I'm not sure." Gabriel returned the note to Raphael and made his way to the door. "See if you can find anything else. Ask Isabelle to help you. She knows her daughter better than..."

He fell silent. A dark mist greeted him outside. Raphael came up behind him, but Gabriël stopped him when he saw a figure approaching. The physician nudged him with his elbow, pointing to Peter's trident near the door. Gabriël nodded. Neither had brought a weapon with them, so it would have to do.

"Forgive the intrusion, but I must speak with the Lord Protector," the figure spoke, his face yet hidden by the mist.

"Who are you?" demanded Gabriël.

The figure drew closer. Raphael crept closer to the trident, but Gabriël remained motionless, eyes fixed on the stranger. Sharp aquiline features became visible. Shoulder-length black hair, and neatly trimmed moustache. Penetrating, green eyes, showing the horrors this man had suffered but had also inflicted on others.

"Tepes?" Gabriël hesitantly spoke the name of the former Prince of Walachia. "Vlad Tepes, is that you?"

"At your service." The man halted and bowed to the Archangels.

"What are you doing here?" asked Raphael angrily. "You have no business here, you turncoat! And how did —?"

"Rafe, quiet!" hissed Gabriël.

Tepes was a formidable opponent, even on his worse day. He was notorious, and not just because of his actions in life. Never had an angel asked for his wings to be taken, only to join the Circles, nor had it happened since. The man was one of a kind, and therefore, the most dangerous of their enemies.

"I have come to warn you," said Tepes.

"Warn us?" repeated Gabriël incredulously. "Why would you do that? How did you even get past the guards and Peter?"

"A powder Michael provided me when I left the Vale. He instructed me to use it only when I had to."

"Hold on, Michael instructed you?"

"I see he has not told you. My departure from the Vale was voluntary, that is true, yet not without purpose. A scheme developed by the Lord Protector. I would offer myself to the Circles and be the wolf among sheep. If you require further proof, then here."

Tepes uncovered his chest. A golden rune was carved into his skin, making it only visible to Archangels — Michael's rune. Gabriël exchanged a glance with Raphael, but the physician just stared at the tattoo with wide eyes. The idea of Michael sending a spy to the Circles was hard to believe, yet only those blessed by an Archangel could bear the rune on their skin.

"All right then," Gabriël finally said. "We'll hear what you have to say."

"The Devil, he..." Tepes hesitated for a moment. "Something happened. I don't know what, but he has ordered an attack on the Nephilim. He has someone working on a way to get us into their homes."

Both Archangels gasped in shock. Gabriël felt a chill wash over him. This was on him. He'd pushed Lucifer's buttons, and now... Dear God, no.

"You must stop him," said Raphael. "If you really are on our side and can get to Lucifer, you cannot allow this."

"I have no choice, Raphael. I am nowhere near strong enough to take on the Devil himself, or those from his inner circle. Borgia's team falls under my command now, but I can only try to keep the casualties low. If I do not carry out the order as instructed, I am certain the Bastard will take my place again. And he will not spare a single soul."

"He's right," said Gabriël. "Better to keep up pretences."

"All right, we'll warn the Nephilim then," said Raphael. 

"No, you cannot," interjected Tepes. "Not right away, I mean. If you give alert them before we begin our attack, Lucifer will know there is a spy in the Circles."

"We understand." Gabriel raised his hand before Raphael could object. "Thank you for warning us."

"Stay safe, Archangels."

The demonic Fallen Angel evaporated with the mist before their eyes. Gabriël turned back to Raphael, who returned Gabriël's intense look.

"Please tell me you will not stand back and let this happen." 

"What do you think?" Gabriël beckoned him. "I'll have Peter send a message to the Sanctums and have everyone evacuate to the Castel Sant'Angelo. I don't care what Tepes says or what his deal was with Michael; I won't sacrifice the Nephilim for his sake. Rafe, give Isabelle Joan's note and then come to the Villa. I'll be there shortly, and we'll—aargh!"

Gabriël gripped his arm and fell to his knees. He hurriedly rolled up his sleeve, feeling his skin burn. His eyes widened. A run not his own had appeared on his skin. 

The bright gold shimmered a few seconds, but then turned black as coal. Gabriël looked up at Raphael, but the physician was just as perplexed as he was. Carefully, Raphael carefully stroked his thumb over the rune. It flaked off Gabriël's skin. 

"Ah!" He winced in pain. "Rafe, what the hell is going on?" 

"I think... When we were trying to stop you from leaving, Michael had something similar. His own rune appeared and burned him. He told me he feels our pain when one of us is hurt. Maybe, since you're the Lord Protector now, you took over that ability. But it's peculiar another Archangel's rune would show. And the way it just changed colour like that... That can't be good, can it?"

"Right now, I'm more concerned about whose rune that was. Didn't it look like... Azrael's?"

"Azrael? No, that's impossible. She disappeared centuries ago."

"I know." Gabriël slowly rose to his feet as a thought suddenly occurred. "Coincidently, around the same time the current Angel of Death got the job."

"Gabriël, no." Raphael dismissed the notion with a firm shake of his head. "I know what you're thinking, but Samael would never —"

"Betray us? You sure about that? He was the last to see Michael, lied to us about it, and I found his feather in Michael's chambers. What more proof do we need?"

"But it can't be. The Angel of Death is neutral, serving both the dark and the good, leading souls to Heaven and Hell. Why would he do this? What motive could he have for choosing a side and hurting Azrael?"

"That's what we have to find out. Go to the Hospitium and tell every Archangel you pass to come to the Villa. We're going to need everyone."

This was it. The cards were showing, and the endgame was in sight. Gabriël only hoped he could save them all.

***

Michael dropped to the ground, screaming in pain. That burning sensation in his arm... An Archangel was in grave danger. He looked down, watching in silent horror as the golden rune blackened in mere seconds. That had never happened before. Nor had anyone else's rune ever appeared on his skin. Whose was this one? Who was—wait...

Azrael? No, it cannot be.

He touched the symbol with trembling fingers. Ashes fell off his arm, leaving nothing but a few jagged scars. A memory flashed through Michael's mind. This had happened before. He had had someone else's rune on his arm a long time ago. But that Archangel fell. And Lucifer's rune had simply ceased to exist. Something else was going on now. Something far worse than any Archangel had ever endured. 

***

Samael's footsteps echoed through the dungeon of the Devil's palace. He ignored the screams around him and closed his senses to the foul smells and sights that greeted him as he travelled down the stairs. Deeper into the darkness, to a room he'd kept hidden for over six hundred years, even from his own father. His accomplice's magic truly was marvellous.
The green eye in Samael's fair half allowed him to see through the shadows. His gaze fell upon the pitiful figure huddled in the corner. He stalked toward her and knelt at her side. A pair of golden eyes looked up as he tugged at the Archangel's chains. She yet managed to unnerve him with her all-knowing, divine gaze, even after all these years, after everything he had done to her.
Samael flicked his wrist, making a cup of water appear in his hand. He offered it to her, but Azrael didn't take it. With a sigh, he placed the cup on the floor and lowered his eyes. Not for the first time since taking Death's hand was he having second thoughts. If he did this, there'd be no turning back. A part of him begged not to proceed. But the other part, the one nurtured by the darkness, urged him to finish it.

"The time has finally come, Azrael," Samael said, despite his trepidations. "This is the beginning of the end. The dawn of a new era. My era."

He glanced up to learn her reaction. She shut her golden eyes. A single tear glistened as it rolled down her cheek. Samael pressed his lips together and averted himself so he wouldn't have to see the woman he had once considered a mother cry.

You can't let her get to you. She's been your prisoner for centuries now. What does she mean to you? Nothing.

But Samael still couldn't forget their past. Were it not for Azrael, he would not be the Angel of Death. God had ordered her to save him from the Circles after Michael had ripped him from his mother's womb with poison. Azrael raised him as her own, and Samael had aided her in her divine duty as soon as she had deemed him ready. At times, he wished she had saved him sooner. Things might have been different. Alas...

"Samael..." Azrael's faint, imploring voice shook Samael to the core. "Please stop this. You can still undo what you have done. You need not fear the others. I will help you, I promise. Please, I beg you, don't cross the line."

The all too familiar struggle within Samael shouted at him to come to his senses. He heard his mentor's words and wanted to do as she asked because of the love and kindness she had shown him. But the pull of the Circles was stronger. The tenebrous whispers had been part of him since he was an infant. And their promises were far more alluring than any absolution Azrael could offer.
He pulled at a pouch on his belt and revealed its content, making sure the part he held remained covered — a skeleton hand. Azrael's eyes flickered from it to Samael's face. Even though her fate was now made clear, she showed no fear. Perhaps it was some last defiance. Or perhaps she had already come to terms with death a long time ago. Would she be relieved at the sweet relief of her suffering? Would he? 

Just get it over with already.

"I wish I didn't have to do this, Azrael. Not to you. You were my mother and only friend for so long. But my path is clear. And I must be rid of every bit of good within me if I want to embrace my true destiny."

"This was never your destiny!" exclaimed Azrael. "Destroying Michael and the Vale will not change what was done to you. It will not correct the mistakes we made."

"We?" Samael's eyes narrowed. "Any regrets you wish to share, Azrael?"

She sighed. The sudden gentle caress on Samael's cheek made him stiffen. Azrael stroked away a lock of hair from his deformed half. His heart twisted inside his chest again. Never had Azrael shunned away from him. The other angels saw him as a beast and an abomination, but she never had.

"My only regret is that I was not able to save you," she spoke quietly. "But another still might. I hope you find peace, my sweet, darling boy."

Do it!

Samael pressed Death's hand to Azrael's chest. Her breath caught as the infection spread rapidly across her body, and Samael felt her life drain. He completely forgot about the bond they shared. A unique togetherness that God had created in an attempt to draw him back to the light. To feel that slip away now... it actually scared him.

"I... I love... you."

Azrael's last words seemed to echo through the dark, even though they were barely audible. Samael dropped the skeleton hand and reach for her. His fingers were mere inches away from her face.

"I'm... I'm sorry." His voice broke.

Azrael's body crumbled to ashes. Samael seized some of it and held it close to his chest. The dark's beckoning call grew louder with each heartbeat. But he would allow himself a moment. Just one moment.
For her.