They were running out of time. The baby could come any day now, but Joan was no closer to getting Michael out of his prison. She tried to break into the room with the crystal case, but it was impossible. Whatever lock Morpheus had put on the door was a damn good one.
And even if she could get Michael out, how were they supposed to get out of the Dream Realm on their own? If, by some miracle, they could get away from the palace without the slaves or Morpheus discovering them, they would still have to fend off the Blood Countess. That witch skulked at the borders of the Dream Realm on Lucifer's orders, making sure nothing came in and nothing went out.
Michael was undoubtedly weakened from his imprisonment, and Joan was too far in her pregnancy to fight her way out. There was only one thing she could think of that wouldn't end in bloodshed. But it all depended on her conversation with a certain Lord of Dreams. She waited impatiently near the Dream Chamber and cornered him the moment he set foot out of the room.

"Kyrios, how fortunate I meet you here. Do you have a moment?"

He froze, clearly not expecting her in this corridor. His eyes darted to the open door of the Chamber, and it shut, as if pulled closed by magic.

"Certainly," he said then, pretending not to be sweating like a pig. "Are you well?"

"No, I'm not. I know you've somehow manipulated time to move along my pregnancy, so I'm just going to cut right to it; let Michael go."

"W-Wha—How?" If Morpheus's eyes had widened any further, his eyeballs would've popped out.

"Michael is the Lord Protector of the Vale; we can always tell if he's near."

It was an easy lie to tell. There was no reason Morpheus would suspect otherwise, after all. How would he know how the connection between angels worked? The Lord of Dreams overcame the first shock and directed his attention to the two slaves standing behind Joan. His eyes bulged, and he yelled at them, "You two! You told her where to find the Lord Protector, didn't you? Stupid fools! You have damned us all to Hell!"

Ragazzino cowered against Leonora, who held him protectively in her arms but kept her ground. They had followed Joan when she told them of her intent, but they hadn't dared to step closer when Joan confronted their jailor.

"They had nothing to do with it," said Joan. "I just told you how I found out. You should know better than to underestimate the power of the angels. Now, let Michael go."

Morpheus scoffed and jeered. "Oh, you've got some nerve, girl. You think you can just walk up to me and order me around in my own palace? Who do you think you are? I am Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares! I am the ruler of this land, not you, and certainly not your God!"

"And what of Lucifer? Because from where I'm standing, you're acting more like his bitch than his partner."

"How dare y—?"

"You're a puppet on a string!" yelled Joan. "The sooner you realise that, the sooner you can reclaim what's rightfully yours!"

She met Morpheus's furious glare head-on. She hoped she'd played on fear and pride enough to get him to do the right thing.

"Lucifer and Samael have made your home a secret hidey-hole for them to keep their valuables," she continued. "Me, Michael... I'm fairly certain that there are more like us here. The Devil gives you the illusion of being in control by letting you be our warden and by letting you mark most of us as a prize. But you are as much a prisoner as we are. They tell you what to do, bring a demon-witch in to guard your borders, threaten your very existence even... This is your Realm, not theirs. But hey, if you want to keep bending over and getting screwed by them, be my guest."

Morpheus' eyes narrowed at Joan. She had him. She was sure of it.

"I. Am no one's. Puppet."

He strode away. Joan leaned against the closed door. Her nails scraped against the wood as she clenched her fist.

Dammit! Gabriël, where are you?

***

This was ludicrous. What the hell was he thinking? Attacking the Circles head-on with not even a fifth of the army was the most absurd thing anyone had ever dared to do! Not even Michael would attempt to confront the enemy in such a manner!
But then, that was exactly the reason this was so brilliant. Gabriël was not a warrior like Michael. No one would expect him, of all people, to be so bold and bring the fight to the demons. No one would expect the angels to knock on Hell's door, least of all Lucifer. 

After overseeing the cremations of the fallen Nephilim at the Castel Sant' Angelo, Gabriël and Raphael returned to the Vale with most of the force that Gabriël had led into battle. Some remained to help the Nephilim refortify their defences, whilst a small group searched for Isabelle. Joan's mother hadn't been found anywhere within the Castel, and Gabriël feared the worst. He hoped she was just hiding, but he had to face the possibility that a demon took her to the Circles. Lucifer wouldn't harm the old woman as she posed no threat to him, but he would definitely use her to keep Joan in check. There wasn't another moment to waste.

"Are you certain this is what you want to do?" Raphael asked again.

"If we had more time to come up with another strategy, I would," said Gabriël as he strapped a protective cuff to his arm. "But we need Michael back now."

Raphael sighed. "We are risking a lot on mere speculation, Gabriël. What if Michael isn't in the Dream Realm? Joan's letter omitted him. How can we be certain that letter even came from Joan? You could be walking into a trap, and the Nephilim —"

"Rafe, I get it!" Gabriël rounded on the physician. "You don't have to keep reminding me that all of this can go horribly wrong. The Dream Realm is the best lead we have. I have to believe they are there. I... I have to..."

His breath choked. He steadied himself against the table where Michael's sword was lying on. His eyes locked onto the blade. The thought of carrying it into battle terrified Gabriël beyond anything. He dropped his head and pressed his lips together. He couldn't falter. Not now.

"Rafe, I hate that I have to ask them to risk their lives on the slight chance of getting Michael back. I hate to ask Anne to go on this mission when she's already lost so much. If I could fight Lucifer and Samael myself, I would. I would gladly fight anything the Circles spit out if it meant I could correct my mistakes and end any further bloodshed. I would give my life without a moment's thought to make sure you are all safe. But I... I just can't do this on my own. I need everyone for this. And I need you to... have faith in me."

Gabriël turned his head to Raphael. He had a peculiar look in his half-lidded eyes, and bore the same expression the other Archangels gave Gabriël when he returned to the Vale to become Lord Protector (he had agreed with Raphael to tell the others he had been in the Villa recuperating from Heaven's Fire, as Michael had mentioned in his proclamation). The same expression when he proposed the plan to attack the Circles as a diversion to save Michael. The same expression the Nephilim gave him when they learned of his deal with Death. Silent wonderment and respect. The Messenger, touched by darkness and love, returned home to be an even greater person than he already was in their eyes.

"My faith in you never wavered, Gabriël," spoke Raphael. "It has only grown."

He came up to Gabriël and took Michael's sword from the table.

"If you believe this is what must be done, then do it. But please... Be careful."

Gabriël exhaled deeply. His fingers closed around the hilt of the sword and clasped the weapon at his waist with a stable hand.

"Rafe, if... if I don't make it back —"

"You will."

"If I don't, tell Michael I'm sorry. And tell Joan... Tell her I've loved her from the first moment I saw her until my dying breath. I'll watch over her. Over them. Wherever I am."

"Oh, I am not telling Joan your child will never know its father. So, there, you have no choice but to come back now. Even if only to save me from certain death at Joan's hands when she discovers I let you go."

They chuckled. Raphael put a hand on Gabriël's shoulder.

"Go show those sons of bitches what we're made of," he said.

As they left the armoury, Gabriël suddenly felt a chill on the back of his neck. He raised his head to the sun as it set just above the Lake of Nevaeh and stopped in his tracks.

"Oh, that's right! Uriël's vis—Gabriël?" Raphael glanced back. "Gabriël? Why did you stop? What are you looking at?"

"Rafe, do you see that?" Gabriël pointed to something that had caught his eye. "There, over the Lake."

Raphael squinted and scoured the sky. "See what, exactly? What am I looking for here?"

"You mean you don't...?" Gabriël fell silent. "Hm, never mind. I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

But before Raphael could continue, the three Archangels who would join Gabriël called to him from the road. Everyone stood ready to go at his command.

"You'll handle things here?" Gabriël asked Raphael.

"Don't worry about us. Focus on the task at hand. And for God's sake, take care of yourself."

Gabriël nodded and left, all the while wondering if what he had seen above the Lake had perhaps only been a trick of the light.

***

Cesare looked in the mirror, pondering whether he should cover up the gaping wound where his eye used to be. It had a certain awe in it and would certainly strike fear into all who dared challenge him. It helped deliver the message. Cut him, strike him, take out a very part of him; it wouldn't matter. Borgias could not be defeated.
He was in high spirits despite having been forced to abandon the battlefield and losing his eye. They dealt a crushing blow to the Nephilim. True, the Circles had suffered losses as well. The Ripper and de Rais met their end. And Tepes, that cur, was once again in the Vale. Hundreds of lower demons and beasts died, but thousands more stood ready to take their place. They were merely cannon fodder, anyway. The real legions of the Circles — warriors who had earned back their corporeal vessel — were preparing to strike the Heavens even now. And he, Cesare Borgia, would lead them, as he should.
There was a knock on his door, and Cesare turned to find the Master's newest pet. He narrowed his remaining eye at the Angel of Death, remembering him from the day he died. Had this man, this Samael, known the angels would betray and cast him into the Circles?

"Apologies for the disturbance," said Samael. "Do you have a moment?"

Warily, Cesare gestured him to come in. It was plain as day Samael was a monster. What else could he be with such a gruesome face? What was unclear was what kind of monster he was. There was something ominous about Samael. Something darker than the Circles themselves.
The Angel of Death had only recently revealed himself as a co-conspirator in the Devil's cause, but Cesare questioned if he hadn't been in it from the start. He had certainly proven himself to be far less neutral than he was supposed to be. His true allegiance remained a question mark. With traitors popping up everywhere these days, one couldn't be too careful.

"I just thought you would like to know that Anne Boleyn's daughter is dead," said Samael. "Your poison worked."

Cesare grinned from ear to ear like a malevolent Cheshire cat. Finally, some good news. 

"And the whore herself?" he inquired.

"Survived, unfortunately. Gabriël saved her and other Nephilim."

The grin fell from Cesare's face. He gritted his teeth, jaw clenched in anger. Gabriël, always Gabriël. That fucking bastard!

"Don't worry," continued Samael. "He'll soon get his comeuppance."

"Not if the Devil makes him choose our side again," countered Cesare bitterly.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure he doesn't, won't we? After all, so many things that can go wrong during childbirth."

"You would go against the Devil?" Cesare's eye stayed on the Angel of Death's face.

"You will find, signore, that Lucifer won't be leading us for much longer. His plan has always been my plan. He just doesn't know it."

The corner of Samael's mouth curled up in a smile, making the scars on his face even more horrifying. It was the most unsettling thing Cesare had ever seen.

"Joan of Arc is near to delivering her baby," he said. "Lucifer will soon ask you to take her to Pergamum. When he does, I want you to contact me instead. You stay here and do nothing."

"Why?" demanded Cesare. "I can handle that little bitch. Besides, it would give me great pleasure to see the look on Gabriël's face when he finds out I've let her experience what a real man can do."

"I have other plans for the girl. More... definitive plans. But I assure you, Gabriël will be devastated either way. And as a gesture of good faith, I believe this belongs to you?"

Cesare gasped when he saw the bound lock of golden hair between Samael's fingers. He hurried over to the Angel of Death and grabbed it. The dagger it had been on turned to dust at the Resia Sanctum, and the hair was lost in the fight. It seemed incredible he was holding it again.

"Best keep it somewhere safe," said Samael. "You can return it to Lucrezia when you see her."

Cesare slowly raised his head at the words. "S-See her?"

"Of course. She'll soon be finished with watching over the Fallen Angel in the Dream Realm, anyway. And you're a good soldier. I don't see why you shouldn't get rewarded for your service and your... sacrifice. Do as I asked, and she will be brought to you."

Cesare's fingers closed around the hair. His heart nearly burst out of his chest.

She will be brought to me... Lucrezia...

***

The Resia Nephilim waited patiently, hidden in the shadows of the trees. They were far from the city of Prado del Rey, but it was best to be prudent. Adventurous mortals could be out hiking and camping, and five strangers making themselves ready for a nightly swim would raise questions.
Despite Anne and Thomas' earlier objections that they should be the only ones to go with Tepes to the Dream Realm, Richard and Hypatia had joined them. Anne wanted no more of her people to die, but in retrospect, it wasn't the worst idea to have them come along. Having an extra soldier and mage with them might get them back safely. And Thomas felt more at ease having them there, if only to keep an eye on Tepes.
The Impaler kept to himself, looking sombrely at the sun as it set in the far west. Anne couldn't help but stare at him. She read Stoker's Dracula more than once, and there was only one conclusion; if the vampire was really based on this man, the author had severely exaggerated the character. There were perhaps some minor similarities, but Anne couldn't see a monster in him. And she knew monsters.

"Juan would have loved to be here," Hypatia suddenly spoke. "He would tell stories to keep our minds off the stress of the mission. Of Spain. Or his conquests."

"Typical Spaniard," reacted Anne. "Full of pride in everything."

"I was always surprised how well you two got along. Knowing your own history. And Elizabeth's."

"Juan was not like the Spaniards I knew," Anne said as she recalled Henry VIII's first wife and her pious court. "They were so incredibly narrow-minded, and Juan is... was worldly."

"Exploring will broaden your mind, I suppose. Though I'm fairly certain Olympe may have re-educated him on a couple of things."

They chuckled. Remembering Juan like this felt nice. It lessened the pain, though it would never truly go away. Hypatia's arm went around Anne's shoulder. Like Richard, Hypatia had that amazing ability to say exactly what needed to be said, with no words whatsoever. She grieved with Anne over the loss of Juan and all the others who had died, but gave her friend comfort and hope, too. Something they sorely needed now.
What they were about to do was perilous. Completely insane, even. But considering what was at stake, they had no choice. They had to travel to the Dream Realm and retrieve Michael at any cost. From what Gabriël and Tepes had told the Nephilim, it was safe to assume that Morpheus' world was the most likely place they would find the Lord Protector. But few had travelled to the Dream Realm and come out again to tell the tale. The entire mission was based on hearsay and what Rasputin had compiled from intelligence gathered by his own spies.

There were three ways into the Dream Realm; the first was Mount Hekla. But it would be unwise to just stroll through the main entrance. Especially since Tepes informed them nobody had seen Bathory for well over a week. The witch wasn't dead, so it only stood to reason Lucifer put her where she was needed — guarding his two most prized possessions.
The second entrance to Morpheus' Realm lay in a gorge somewhere in Greece. It was nearly impossible to get to, and Rasputin mentioned a creature living near the gorge in his papers. Without knowing what it was or how to defeat it, the Nephilim thought it better not to take any chances.
So that left them with only one last option — Lethe, the river of oblivion. A few rivers had been known as Lethe through the ages, but only one was the real one; the Guadalete River, high in the Sierra de Grazalema in Cádiz, Spain. A seemingly harmless mountain river flowed down the bay, but nothing could be further from the truth. The waters of Lethe could make a person forget everything and everyone they ever knew. So many had fallen victim to it, never to be heard from again, simply because they didn't even know someone was missing them.
No one who knew of the river would risk their very identity to pass to the Dream Realm, so Morpheus had little to no security there. Why should he? Lethe was the security. Which was why this was the best way in.

"Anne, it's time."

Thomas approached his wife, holding a scrap of paper in his hands. It was a message from Raphael; Gabriël left for the Circles. Anne took a deep breath. She looked at Tepes, the Prince of Wallachia, who had willingly gone to Hell to spy for Michael. She looked at Richard and Hypatia, both determined to see this through to the end if they had to. And she looked at the love of her life. God willing, they would make it out alive.

"Ready?" 

"As I'll ever be," said Anne, taking her husband's hand.

Thomas passed on a flask for everyone to drink from. The simple infusion of rosemary, holy basil and sage, strengthened by a memory charm, would protect them from forgetting who they were and why they were in a river.
Anne shivered as she waded into the cold water. Her eyes met Thomas's. With a last nod from him, she took a deep breath and allowed Lethe to swallow her whole, gripping tight to every memory and every life she had lived.