The first thing Angel saw was rock.

Plain grey rock, curiously jagged, as if it had been hacked at and carved by many a frustrated set of claws. Speckled with paler greys. Covered with a fine layer of dust which curled upwards as she breathed, swirling and floating in a slow, mesmerising dance.

A cluster drew closer, until one gentle inhale sent them spiralling towards her, dancing into her nostrils. They itched. She sneezed, and the dusty cloud scattered to make way for the burst of air.

The action seemed also to release some of the cobwebs clogging up her mind, allowing a few, disjointed thoughts to escape to the surface.

Am I dead?

She closed her eyes for a moment. Aches were beginning to lace their way along her left flank, and throbbing pain stabbed into limbs she couldn't put a name to, somehow. The exact words were still wrapped up in the more murky sections of her mind, still unreachable in this strange state.

When she opened her eyes again, the dust was still there. Still dancing. It was illuminated by streams of light that didn't quite appear natural - it felt more like streaks of pale flame, like the light that painted the forest as it pushed back against the night. The light from Fiammetta's fiery lamps.

Fiammetta. Was she here too? Had she won the battle, or had she also fallen? As much as Angel searched amongst the dust for some fragment of memory, she didn't know. All she remembered of the time before she'd fallen to the dark's embrace was a rush of claws and blood.

Black fur. Black wings. Piercing blue eyes, flicking from strangely soft to eerily dark. Then the fall, and the last fight. Morgan, running. Fangs, drawing closer, swallowing her whole.

But they hadn't. She didn't remember them reaching her. They'd been close, so close... and then the dark had taken them too, as it had taken everything.

Maybe she had simply chosen not to remember the final moment of her death. Maybe the memory had been locked away from her. Or maybe, just maybe, death hadn't claimed her after all.

After all, this place of dust and stone didn't feel like the shimmering beauty of the stars, or any sort of mystical afterlife. She doubted she'd earned that sort of death, anyway - it was much more likely that she would be reborn, and in that case she shouldn't remember a thing. She shouldn't still be Angel. But she was.

Turning her eyes from the dust, she tipped her gaze upwards, only to find a ceiling of more grey rock. A single stalactite stretched downwards above her, like one enormous fang. As she stared at it, she watched something sparkle at its tip, growing in size until its weight grew too much for the rock to bear. It fell, glittering in the flame-like light as it approached, before coming into contact with Angel's snout with a chilling splash.

The ice-cold droplet awoke another part of her mind, and she decided that she was very much alive. This sort of clutching pain was something only felt when down on the earth.

So where am I?

Pulling in her paws, she pressed the pads against the cool stone, then pushed upwards. Almost immediately, one of her back legs crumbled, and she thumped back into the ground again. But she couldn't give up. With a grunt, she forced her other three paws to scrabble for a stable position, and then heaved upwards once more.

She bit back a yelp, her fangs clenching together against the sting of pain etched like a complicated map under her fur. It felt like it was everywhere.

No. Bowing her head, she focused, breathing deeply. It wasn't everywhere. If she concentrated, she could pinpoint maybe a dozen scratches, none too deep. Nothing to worry about. The wounds that truly screamed were the gouges cut into the hind leg she kept lifted, and the punctured bones in her wing.

Even the thought of her injured wing made tears prick her eyes, but she blinked them away. It would heal. Besides, regardless of flight, the clammy air of this place seemed to press into her with a trapping sense of its own.

Raising her head, she finally examined her surroundings.

Rock formed every nook and cranny. Pillars of stone rose from the ground in front of her, creating a tight barricade. As she crept forwards, stumbling on a jut of rock at its base, she saw only a wall of more rock beyond.

This is a prison cell.

The wing not already hanging limp now sagged at her side, weighed down by the mere thought. Imprisoned. Trapped.

She slid her left forepaw forwards until it rested against one of the bars. Leaning into the stone, she poked her snout through. The gap was just big enough for her to press her head through, until she could glance both ways along the corridor outside.

Her gaze flicked left first. The sight confirmed her suspicions. The rock tunnel reached the wall and narrowed into a passageway, darkening as it ascended. This was a cave. Nefaris Cave, unless the Shadewylves had a second base she didn't know about.

Shifting her snout, she looked the other way. A similar, stretching corridor greeted her, travelling further than it did in the other direction, only stopping as it reached a blank wall of yet more stone. That wasn't the difference that caught her eye, though - Angel was much more fascinated in the black wolf that patrolled the deserted tunnel.

As her eyes rested on him, he spun around, turning to march back in her direction. His tail twirled curiously as he did so, as if performing an extravagant pirouhette. For a few moments, he scanned the row of cells, until his eyes flicked up and locked onto her gaze.

Flinching backwards, she tugged away from the bars, twisting her head to shrink back into the cell. But the Shadewylf wasn't done. His uneven pawsteps echoed in the empty space, making her creep further back, until he skipped into view.

The action made her blink. He really was skipping, his bounds morphing into some strange dance. As he halted in front of her cell, he finished with another twirl, before finally stilling on his paws.

Her confusion must have been visible, because he shrugged. "Hey, don't judge. Guard duty's incredibly dull. Got to entertain myself somehow."

If the black-winged Airewylf's voice had surprised her, this Shadewylf's tone left her stunned. He spoke with a cheery lilt, as if even his words were dancing and twirling around each other, teetering on the edge of laughter.

"Of-of course," she stuttered, staring at him curiously. His eyes didn't leave her. They glowed with a bright amber, she realised - a gentle flame, not a roaring fire.

Stepping closer, he tilted his head sideways. "You're Angel, aren't you? One of those Twilytra wolves?" She nodded slowly. His eyes sparkled. "Uncle Monty's been talking about you wolves for ages. He's super annoyed at you. Guess that's one thing we have in common."

Every word felt like a punchline, yet Angel had no idea where to find the joke. "Uncle Monty?" she asked tentatively.

"Montasir. Well, General Montasir if you want to be formal, but who likes formal?" He bounced on his paws. It suddenly struck Angel how much his actions mirrored those of a small pup.

"And who is this Montasir?" she tried. If a Shadewylf was going to be so abnormally friendly, it was worth grabbing some information while she could.

"He's sort of the boss around here. He's the one who ordered Jaser to go and find you. You've been so difficult to find, you know. Do you live underground or something?"

The rapid pace at which he spoke wasn't helping Angel's sluggish mind. She took a few moments formulating an answer to his question, but by the time she opened her snout, he'd already lost interest.

"My name's Lucifer, by the way," he said. "Captain Lucifer, technically. Because I'm that amazing." He flicked his tail before rising up on his hind legs and spinning a full circle. Angel shook her head slowly, briefly wondering whether being kept in a cave like this made wolves go insane. It certainly seemed that way.

"Do you have ranks in your Twilytra thing?" he added, settling on all fours again. He answered his own question before she could. "Probably not, because you're all about anti-war. Still don't see the fun in that."

Fury stirred up at that statement. Even the wolf's light tone couldn't take away her deep rooted passion. Was that what all this was to them? Fun?

"I don't see the fun in murdering wolves simply because their Pelt is coloured differently," she growled. "If you enjoy such a thing, you really are the bloodthirsty monsters our stories tell you to be."

Much to her surprise, he laughed. "Luna Almighty! Take a joke, Angelina!" Though his eyes twinkled, her alert ears detected the slightest faulter in his tone.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was all a part of his words' dance.

"My name is Angel." The growl didn't leave her tone. Whether he was joking or not, Lucifer had pushed just the right buttons. Not that he seemed to care, from the way he shrugged - though, thankfully, his chuckles faded.

"Angelina sounds cooler." Leaning sideways, he peered into the cell to her right. "Wow. That Earthwylf looks like she tried to comb herself with Jaser's fangs."

Before Angel could ask what he meant, another wolf's voice pierced the emptiness of the cave. "Lucifer! Get your idiot backside over here and stop chatting up the prisoners!"

"Coming, my sweetheart!" Lucifer replied, in the direction of the ascending tunnel. He shot Angel a wink. "That's Harisah. She loves me really."

Then, with another skip, he was gone.

With a sigh, she slumped back down, a sudden relief settling over her. Talking was difficult as it was. Battling through a conversation with Lucifer had been especially tiring.

She stared through a gap in the bars. After a moment, more black paws, moving at a much steadier rhythm, marched into view. They stopped for a moment. Lifting her head slightly, Angel glanced upwards to meet the new Shadewylf's eyes. They glowed with a fierce glare.

"Twilytra scum," she hissed. The same voice that had yelled at Lucifer. Her tail swished dismissively as she turned to continue her patrol.

Strangely, Angel felt her shoulders relax as Harisah prowled away. Something about a wolf fitting the picture her parents had painted many a time of Shadewylves made the world feel a little more predictable.

Her bottom jaw lowered again, resting on stone once more. The dust rose up to make itself visible again. Her peace was restored.

Except it wasn't a peace. The longer she lay there, the more she realised that. This was a silence and loneliness, and while she considered both to be her prefered states, this was a silence of a different kind. This one pressed into her, smothered her in shadow, made her feel every chill of the cave's cool air. Not even the flaming lamp that was lit in the corner, providing a flickering warmth and gentle light, could supply her the comfort she craved.

No flight. No open air. Not even a sun, save the yellow patch edging its way across her back fur. But, most unusually, the thing she craved most was company.

Growling under her breath, she dug her claws, scraping them uselessly against the rock. Why did she not fly away when she had the chance? She could have gotten help. That Airewylf couldn't have chased her forever. Her wings were the only thing she'd trained consistently, exercising them every day. They were strong enough. Until she let them fall into the claws of an enemy.

With a final snarl of irritation, she flung out her able wing, sending it skidding across the cell's floor. The resulting sound made her snarl cut off instantly.

Something crinkled. A sound she knew only paper produced. But why would there be paper in a prison?

Taking care not to put weight on her injured leg, she lifted herself slightly, shifting around to face the object. As her wing slid away from it, the fold she'd created released, leaving behind a yellowing crease. It looked dangerously close to breaking in two.

She reached out to clasp her claws around one corner. Carefully, she slid it towards her, then unfurled it, flattening it out against the stone. The paper was stained with ink, smudged in places, but surprisingly still legible. As old as it seemed, this paper had been left alone for quite some time. After tilting it so that the inked words stood upright, she examined its contents.

It looked like some sort of letter, like the kind Dawn used to write to the Wylfrost, before she'd established a connection between their minds. Angel remembered many a journey flown from their base in the forest to one of the outposts in the Frigyce region, clutching a scroll very similar to this one. She'd quite enjoyed playing messenger, she remembered.

She'd always thought that Dawn's writing was neater than most - a claw dipped in ink often produced a loopy scrawl - yet this wolf seemed to have mastered the art even more so than the prophet had. Each word was perfecly formed. Bending over the letter, Angel began to read.

My dearest Melaena,

I have told the guard that this is a letter of last goodbyes. It is a partial truth.

I know they plan to kill me. It's clear in every glance they give me, whether scowling or sympathetic. But I do not plan on letting that happen. I didn't come here to die. I came to be with you.

For the past few days, I have been formulating a way to leave this cell. Not an escape plan - I wouldn't leave you so quickly. A plan that I hope will convince General Montasir of my life's value.

For the longest time, I thought that every one of you was evil. But ever since I met you, I have seen how wrong I was. I see no reason for my own stubborn loyalty to send me to the stars prematurely.

So, tell Montasir this: I have a way for the Shadewylves to triumph. He will not learn of it unless he releases me. For it to work, he needs me alive.

I know how desperate your general is to claim victory. I also know how impossible victory feels for you all right now. Tell them to trust me. By the light of Luna's moon, I swear to them that my words are not lies.

It was only when Angel's wide eyes flicked to the next paragraph that she saw that the rest of the letter had been badly smudged, the darker quality of the paper showing the wide, blurred circle one drop of moisture had caused. She squinted, trying to make out the merging black lines, but only made out a few solitary letters. It wasn't enough to form even recognisable words.

Only the very final line of the letter had escaped the damp. She drank it up, desperate for some part of this to make sense. But it solved nothing.

Yours forever, Vasco.

Curiosity burned in Angel's veins. She read what was visible of the letter for a second time, and then a third, yet still no answers revealed themselves. Who was this wolf? Why did he speak of Montasir? Did he have anything to do with why Shadewylves were recruiting different Pelts?

Dawn would know.

Dropping downwards, she tossed the letter aside, her claw tearing through its corner as she discarded it. The thought weighed down on her, sitting heavily in her heart.

If Dawn, or Fiammetta, or any of the others were here, they'd be able to figure it out. They might at least know where to start. But she, Angel, the Twilytra whose only uses were spying and carrying messages, didn't stand a chance. She didn't have Alvis's brains, or Dawn's wisdom, or the skills of Fiammetta and Katana. She couldn't even fly.

She growled to herself. "I might be more useful dead."

"Angel?"

She was on her paws in seconds, pouncing towards the voice, shooting to the right to press her ear up against the wall. Her misery drained away, melted by the warmth that voice brought. Opening her snout, she spoke as loud as she dared.

"Fiammetta?"

A small yelp of celebration followed from the other side, and Angel couldn't help but smile. Perhaps she wasn't alone after all.

"I'm so happy to hear your voice," Fiammetta whispered, her tone mirroring Angel's emotions exactly.

"Same here."

Pawsteps from the corridor outside made her flinch away from the wall, just in time to see the scowling guard patrol past her cell. She stayed rigid until she had passed before shifting closer again. "Are the others here too?"

"I think so. We were all losing quite badly." Fiammetta's voice grew tight. "Unless they managed to get away somehow."

"I hope they did." Now she didn't feel quite so alone, Angel felt more able to pray for her friends. "Dawn would have teleported away, if she could," she added, realising.

Both of them fell silent, thinking. Fiammetta's voice broke it soon enough. "Ask at your other wall," she said. "See if one of us is in the cell next door."

She nodded, even though she knew the action was unnecessary. "Alright. Come back." The last words slipped out before she could stop them. But she meant it. She didn't want to be left with silence again.

"I will."

They moved away at the same time, the sound of Fiammetta shifting away merging with Angel's light limping. She had to pause as the guard strolled past again, but as soon as she was out of sight, she shot to the left wall. If she recalled Lucifer's comment correctly, she already knew who to expect - unless there were other Earthwylf prisoners here.

"Katana?" she whispered.

There was no reply.

A panic built up in Angel's chest. Of course. Katana had been struggling as it was. After another battle, she'd have lost a lot of blood... and Shadewylves weren't known for being medics. Trying not to let the anxiety get to her, she asked again. "Katana?"

Still nothing.

She opened her mouth, preparing to shout if needs be, not caring if the guard heard her anymore. But before she could, a faint voice reached her pricked ears.

"I'm here, Angel."

Her tone held nothing of its usual fierce sharpness, instead falling soft, like leaves drifting in a breeze. Except those leaves were dried and brittle, ready to break at the slightest touch. This was merely a shell of the wolf Angel had come to know.

"Thank Luna," she breathed back, relieved regardless to hear the voice. "Katana, it's alright. Fiammetta is in the cell on the other side of me. We'll find a way to get out of this, I promise." Though the confidence was fake, she willed it to sound strong. Hope, however false it was, needed to be voiced.

"Good." Katana croaked a laugh. "We'll show those dirty Shadewylves what we're made of," she added, a hint of her former growl creeping in amongst the words.

"Definitely," Angel said. "Can you-"

"Thea is on my other side," she replied before the question could be asked. "She's ok. More than me, anyway. Just out of magic energy. Tried to heal me through the wall regardless, sweet as she is."

Angel found herself laughing alongside her friend, her chuckles barely audible but making her smile all the same. She cast a glance at the cell's bars before saying to the wall, "I'll go and tell Fiammetta. I'll be back later with more news," and then pulled away. Katana's quiet goodbye drifted after her.

She spent the next hour - or however long it was - dodging between the two walls. As she suspected, Fiammetta reported an empty cell on her other side, making it just the four of them. That meant that Morgan had managed to run away and Dawn had most likely teleported. Katana reported that Toivo and Lexi had been a part of the battle, so they had escaped too. She hoped alongside Dawn. The prophet would be able to guide them and stop them from doing anything stupid.

The revelation didn't entirely sit easy with her, though. When Fiammetta suggested that they might be being kept alive here for a reason, the source of her uneasiness suddenly hit her. With a nervous glance towards the corridor outside to check for the guard, she leaned into the wall, for once able to voice a theory of her own. One that sent shivers down her spine.

"What if we're being held here as bait?"

The words hung in the air, as heavy as the stalactite looming above Angel's head. When Fiammetta spoke again, her voice was low and laced with foreboding.

"Then we best hope for a tactful rescue."