Calum was given a white shawl to wear around his shoulders.

One of the High Council, a lady on the younger side, explained to him in a half-hearted mumble it represented his innocence. Calum didn't care, it kept him warm. It made him imagine Edwin, wherever he was now, shivering and scared. It's just fear, Calum reminded himself. His-yes it felt appropriate-his delikiae was a strong young welf, he'd figure out how to be free. He had already done it once.

Edwin would be safe now, because of Calum's choice.

It was strange to think of the times before it all happened. It had been a strange feeling when the lawyer's words sparked Calum's memory, if I do so in such a way that defames my character, let the Council know I submit to Hostia Law. It came to him then, the memory of Edwin burning through all the reading material they had at Calum's request. He'd been bored by it then, but the bit about Hostia Law had stuck. What a fascinating rule, he'd thought, strange to think anyone in the welven culture of self-idolatry would throw it to the ground for another. As he was paraded through the streets decorated in his white robe of innocence, Calum understood it now.

He saw wing-less parents point to him and whisper to their children, who in turn watched him with wide eyes. He saw elders nod theirs head as he walked by. Some of them told him things in welvish he didn't understand, but didn't need to when it was always followed by a bow.

This was the fast-path to renown at the highest price.

A little girl ran out of her mother's arms, crashing through the snow on the ground, and caused the guards to stop. She reached up and tugged on the edge of his shirt, apparently requesting something in welvish.

"She is asking for your name." One of the guards supplied in rough English.

"Calum," he told her.

The little girl's face lit up and she ran back to her embarrassed mother, chanting the same phrase over and over again. He understood his name, Caelum, but not the other words, moxut moriatur. Her mother repeated it solemnly, staring at him with mixed expression. Her child's hand was clutched in her own. The girl's fingers were so small in comparison.

He'd held Tarif's hands like that once.

Word of the white-shawled deadwing spread like wildfire. At one-point flower petals were thrown at his feet, thrown by a young welven man with golden hair. He kissed his knuckles as Calum walked by. He had no idea what it meant, but it was appreciated. A crowd gathered in front of the prison, all hoping to catch an eyeful of the feathered creature that burned like fire in winter sunlight. All that approached him made obvious effort to stay away from his wings. He considered asking one of his chaperones what the full story of the curse was. He didn't care, but he was already going to die.

A young welf in a black robe and a plain red chasuble pushed through the crowed and whispered something quick and quiet in welvish to one of his guards. They argued for a moment, the one who approached seemed at a loss to give any more information. A path started to form in the crowd, the air buzzed with whispers and late morning insects. Calum realized he wasn't to be put back in the prison, they were taking him somewhere else.

They group led him towards a massive tower looming over them and casting a shadow across the colony. At its base were white wooden structures resembling a blooming flower. Calum felt chills run down his spine, the architecture struck a distant, uncomfortable, nostalgia in him. He didn't want to go to that place.

"Where are you taking me?"

No one answered.

There were two large, slice-shaped wooden doors at the base of the tower. It was situated in a pavilion filled with sweet smelling flowers that somehow still bloomed in the frost. Calum found the scent overwhelming, even more so when he realized there was another smell hanging over the area. Something rancid and decayed. He didn't doubt for a second that it came from the tower.

Two more robe clad welves opened the doors from the inside. His legs started shaking. He remembered this place because it was reminiscent of the High Welf's quarters at the Black Hunt Campus. They were delivering him into her maw.

The guards led him inside a room filled with tapestries, candles, and cushions where he saw regular welves praying. Was this really a holy place? How could it be when he felt so scared?

They plunged in a dark stairway lit only by the occasional window or sheltered torch. They climbed for what felt like forever. Every second took too long when there was another step. Until finally a door opened in front of him. Calum was left at the mercy of a room scalded in white light, ever reflected by its taller and narrow windows, they were like fingers reaching towards the sky.

Calum had flown higher.

There was a long red carpet cutting across the room like a wound. At its end, nestled within a nest of cold marble floor, thick books bound in leather and the hazy scent of expensive oils, was High Welf Opaling. The guards had left, he was alone. With his hands and wings bound too tight, he was at her mercy.

"There are a lot of things I'd like to learn about you, Calum Colliste." She started, turning to face him. "Come, sit down."

He didn't move.

Her eye twitched, ever so slightly. "Gods, I hate your insufferable kind."

Calum almost went to ask whether she meant deadwing or human, but she cut that thought off when she strode across the room and curled her nails into the soft flesh of his injured wing. Right where it had just begun to scab over. He cried out in pain and was helpless as she dragged him across the room. She shoved him into a kneeling position in the center of the thick carpet. His knees burned. Calum didn't get up.

"You must have thought your trick back at the beast's trial was clever. It doesn't matter. It's still in prison, waiting for freedom that doesn't exist. We'll keep it there for as long as I want, if you won't cooperate."

"Why don't you just kill us now? Why have a trial for any reason other than show?" Calum spat.

Her eyes narrowed. "I do not kill for no reason. I'm not a human, we have laws."

"Then honor them." Calum looked up at her. "Hostia Law means he goes free."

"It is not a citizen; you are a not a citizen. The High Council made a stupid decision-they have before-but I'll fix this. I always do. If you want to keep it safe, you'll give me whatever information I want. You have my word it will walk free when we're done-but only if you are completely obedient."

The worst part was Calum thought about it. He knew she would ask him about the Crow's Nest, about Fardown, the rumored haven for deadwings, but he didn't know anything about them or their rebel plans. He was just a boy caught up in a war than wasn't his. If he agreed, he could jeopardize everything, but Edwin would be free. It wasn't a decision he should ever have to make, High Welf Opaling knew to be bound by love was blinding. She was relying on it.

Holly would have fought back.

His head hung from his shoulders. "I'll do whatever you want."

Calum was not as strong as her.

Her yellow eyes flashed. "Excellent.

She walked over to a pearly cabinet filled with bottles and yanked several off the shelves. Calum watched her through the gaps in his curls as she took them to a bowl and emptied their contents. It started smoking. She laid the bowl at his feet and Calum saw it was filled with liquid so black, he couldn't see the bottom the bowl, there was no reflection in the water.

"It important that you do exactly as I say, this is a scrying bowl that I've manipulated to allow us to see into the past. If something goes wrong, we will not be able to wake up. Your delikiae will be killed and your souls won't even be able to meet in the afterlife, because we won't be able to die. We will be stuck together for eternity. Do you understand?"

Calum nodded, feeling his throat go dry.

"Why?" He croaked.

She grimaced, and knelt down across from him. "Because there's no way something like you should exist. Sure, some welves are pale, with stubby ears, or even red hair, but they are still welves. They were raised here, in the colony, by welves. I want to know how you came to be. I want to know the names of the first deserters who defiled their bloodline. I want to know the ones that spawned you so it can become a lesson and curse among us today, this is what happens when you break our no contact laws."

He frowned. "What are you talking about? You made me grow wings with your magic. It's just a really powerful illusion."

The smooth skin of Opaling's nose crinkled with disgust. "You honestly think that's what happened?"

He stared at the bowl, nursing a growing sick feeling in his stomach. "You...you didn't-?"

"Your ancestors are welves. Calum Colliste, a boy with no last name who was taken in by the Black Hunt when his criminal parents dumped him there. No doubt to infiltrate the organization until he could be collected by his own kind when the time was right. Only deadwings are cold-hearted enough to put children on the frontlines. To think I thought Tarif was exaggerating when he warned me how stupid you are."

His parents might have been deadwings too. The thought sent Calum's mind reeling. All of a sudden, he was unable to feel the carpet under his legs or the binding biting into his skin. His body was spinning out of control. He was falling to the ground and accelerating with each second.

High Welf Opaling snapped her fingers in his face, breaking him out of his trance. Calum's body was slick with sweat. He was shivering.

"Keep sniveling and the deadwing dies."

He shut up. Calum felt a cool blade press up against his wrists, she cut him free. He rubbed his sore wrists quietly, too meek for words. She held out her knife to him, the black was made of black metal and Calum could smell old blood on it.

"It has to be your blood." Opaling glanced down at the scrying bowl.

He could refuse. His hands were free. He could run, undo the binding on his wings and fly away. No, not with his injury, not with Edwin's safety in jeopardy. Part of him was desperate to see what awaited him in the black pool. He took the knife.

The leather handle was damp with the High Welf's sweat.

"How much?" He asked.

"Just a few drops."

He nicked a spot on his finger and watch three drops fall into the ebony soup before sticking the finger in his mouth. Nothing seemed to happen, except for Opaling taking a deep breath. Calum waited.

Her hands shot out from her body like a striking snake, clutching Calum's face and shoving him directly into the bowl. Calum cried out at the liquid burned into his skin. The only sound was bubbling liquid and the thumps of his fists against the floor.

Then he was falling.

Instinctively he went to spread his wings, but then the ground was underneath his feet and he stumbled to his knees. He felt blades of grass dig into him, he could smell the earth. A lazy breeze drifted across his feathers. He was in a field, a mountain loomed over him.

Everything he could see was void of color.

Idris Opaling appeared in front of him, standing poised and unruffled. She looked down at him and frowned.

"Where are we?"

"Why would I know?" Calum bit back, he stood up dusted himself off.

"It's the past, we need to figure out how far back we went-"

Idris stopped in her tracks, staring up at the incline before the mountain.

Calum followed her gaze and saw there was a large crack in its side. Smoke was drifting lazily out of the top. He felt something in his chest, like being struck with a small stone. He wanted to get closer. Calum shook out his wings and took the air.

When he landed on the mountain, Idris was already there. For a moment, it made him angry. If this was his past why should she get to manipulate it so easily? The thought was quickly drowned out by the sound of a massive creature's breathing coming from the cave in the mountain.

"Gods above," Idris breathed, "It's Woden, alive. This is centuries ago."

"What...what is that?" Calum took a few steps back.

Just then two welves shot from the cave like they were on fire. One of them, a young man with curly black hair, was projected fully in color unlike everything else in this world. Calum realized with a start, this was it, that was one of his ancestors. High Welf Opaling was right, he had welven blood in his body.

The welf in question was holding a bulging knapsack and occasionally shooting quick looks over his shoulder. When the two of them reached the edge out the outcrop, Calum couldn't contain the gasp that escaped him when big, beautiful, black wings unfurled from the welf's backs. He threw himself into the air, and dipped down again to pick up his companion.

"They told me about this," he said under his breath, looking to Idris. "Everyone used to have wings."

Her skin was unnaturally pale, beads of sweat poured down her face.

"Until this day." She muttered, backing away from the cave.

A scream wrenched itself from the crack in the mountain. Calum froze with his hands clutched to his ears as more cracks formed in the ancient granite and the ground started to shake. A massive shape broke free, shedding boulders and wails of pain. He caught a glimpse of two burning, golden eyes before everything was engulfed in fire.

He was surprised when he was still alive, uncrushed and not crispy, a few moments later. The scene changed. Now he was standing the center of a dirt plaza, surrounded by houses made of brick and mud. There were no intricate buildings, no looming towers. Children and dogs played in the open spaces and adults communed under straw roofs. He saw their pointed ears; his heart grew heavier when he realized their beautiful wings were gone.

Calum couldn't spot anyone in color, his ancestor hadn't showed themselves yet.

"This a few decades later." Idris supplied, peeling from the shadows. "See that welf there?"

She pointed towards the only welf donned completely in white, he had a long beard and a sour look in his eyes.

"That's High Welf Gilliwizer, one of my ancestors and the first High Welf. He created the position to research the curse and to hopefully break it. He was alive long enough to watch our wings be taken and help us come to our senses. To think there was a time when we wanted them back, incredible."

Calum stared at her. She didn't notice. Her hair was frayed now, threatening to come loose from her bun. It reminded Calum of a startled pigeon, with feathers sticking up all over but still trying to act calm. To think just a few moments earlier she'd been terrified-of what?

Calum's body was struck once more with that strong feeling. He turned around, and came face to face with the full-color welf he's been looking for. Her skin was olive, spattered with stains of hard work and a long life. He couldn't stop staring at her bright green eyes and silt-colored curls.

"If we're going to leave, we have to do it tonight." She whispered to her partner, a welven man with straight black hair and freckles that covered his entire body.

He didn't look at her, their conversation was meant to be secret. "You're sure?"

"I'm positive," she rested a hand on her extended stomach. "He won't be safe here."

"You're so sure it's a boy." The man mused.

She tapped her head, and leaned in to kiss him. "Visions are never wrong my darling. He's going to be a beautiful baby boy. He'll have my eyes and your kind spots. His heart will burn with fire and magic, he's going to end our suffering."

Calum watched as High Welf Gilliwizer broke off from his peers and started towards his ancestor. He watched as panic crossed the woman's face. He couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Interesting." Idris mused, as the scene faded considerably less dramatically this time. "I know who they are. The woman's name is Mari, if I'm right, she's arrested three days after for attempting to flee the colony with her husband. She disappeared that night and was never seen again. Books never mentioned she practiced clairvoyance, although I suppose that was because she was obviously unskilled."

Calum glanced at her. He hated the way Idris was looking at him like he was a bug in a jar.

"What does that mean?" He asked.

"The night she disappeared she gave birth. We have records of the child, a girl, who looks nothing like described. She was right about one thing, it wasn't safe to keep that in the colony, as it eventually returned as a deadwing. One of the first in history, it was assumed Mari fled to the human kingdom and that was the reason for its mutation. They dealt with them differently in these days, if they'd been smarter times wouldn't be so awful now."

"Are things really that bad?" Calum mumbled under his breath. "What have a bunch of children done to hurt you?"

"They're not children, they're products of the curse, tools for us to end it with." She snapped. "Death upon touch isn't the end of it, we've tried to keep deadwings in the city countless times in history, but they bring an illness with their presence. We call it mortesifine, the endless suffering. I'm sure you've been told about my school, or at least a warped perception of it, yes? It's ten miles from the gates. I take care to make sure I'm clean when traveling back and isolate myself, to make sure it never harms my people again."

Calum understood that perfectly and still felt no sympathy.

The mono-chrome world faded back into view, now the two of them were looking at the inside of a dimly-lit stone room. There was a young welven girl bent over a washboard. Her blonde hair was less curly than Mari, but it wasn't straight. The fact that it was such a defining trait in his bloodline left Calum with a warm glow in in his chest. He was connected to this stranger in a way he'd never felt before.

She was much younger than the others. Calum estimated she couldn't be older than fourteen. He walked closer to her, and kneeled. She couldn't see or hear him; Calum knew he wasn't really there. He saw her eyes were red and she had discolored spots of skin just underneath the short sleeves of her apron dress. The sight of them sent a pang of empathy through his body. He brushed his fingertips against the rough patch on the side of his head, then lingered on the raised skin of his neck where a star shaped brand flashed like a warning sign. The edges of it were marred by his own restless hands.

A pair of beautiful, tawny wings sprouted from the girl's shoulders. Calum stretched out his right wings and compared the two of them. Her body was smattered with the same freckles. She had the same thick black stripe at the tips of her primaries. She had the same pale under-wing. Almost the same patches.

"This is one of the containment territories for deadwings." The sound of Idris's voice shocked him for a moment. "They were all torn down after the mortesifine pandemic, by my predecessor."

"We're getting closer to the present." Calum realized.

Idris Opaling wasn't facing him or the girl, her hand rested on the open doorframe. She gazed down the hallway. There were several sounds coming from the outside, the harsh clanging of soldiers' sandals on eroded stone. There were a few screams. Idris stiffened suddenly, and a figure moved through her intangible form.

The girl looked up when a boy with wings as white as snow knelt down next to her, out of breath. She moved to wipe away the blood from a cut on his cheek.

"It's time," he gasped.

Her eyes widened. "You're sure?"

"If we don't get away now, they'll keep us here forever," he squeezed her hand.

She bit her lip. "I'm ready."

The next thing Calum saw was the brilliant night sky, and two deadwing-shaped silhouettes in the distance, only visible by stars displaced for just a moment.

"They flew east, towards Colliste, it was them."

"What happened to them?" Calum asked, more towards his own ancestors then the High Welf seething behind him.

Turns out he didn't need to ask, the next scene the came into focus was painfully familiar for Calum. It was barracks of the Black Hunt. There were the nostalgic rows of bunks, with clumps of teenage boys gathered around them. Friends talked, some picked on the smaller ones, Calum spotted a young man sitting alone almost immediately. His breath caught in his throat.

The boy sitting alone with his nose in a book had a head full of flaming red hair.