Page 209 of Interion

“Thank you,” I whispered, picking up the book. Zion walked toward me, but before he could touch me, I moved toward Serguei. The man gave me a suspicious look as I approached.

“I’m just going to say goodbye, okay?” I said, getting closer. Then I hugged him, and he didn’t move—didn’t even put his arms around me, just stood there like a statue. I kissed his cheek too and pulled away quickly, my cheeks flushing, because nothing about that hug had been reciprocated and the psychic was looking at me, a bit shaken.

“Good night, Serguei,” I said awkwardly, joining Zion, who put his arms around my waist for the first time that night, looking satisfied. Serguei touched his cheek. He seemed to have entered a catatonic state. Finally, he responded:

“Good night, children.”

Zion transported us home, and soon I was in the living room with a living book in my hands. I sat on the sofa and flipped through the pages desperately. There were many blank pages, but the last section was written. Zion sat beside me, curiosity dancing in both our eyes as I searched for the first paragraph. Then I settled the book into a comfortable position and began to read.

Δ

Love. War. Death. Among the divine goddesses, the sovereign of battles did not possess the most beautiful features, yet she was the most voracious and insatiable of them all, for she was also known as the goddess of Pleasures. Forged by violence and combat, her explosive nature kept her from being loved, but never from being desired. After all, her conquests extended far beyond wars fought with blades.

And so, not even Seijhe, the god of Knowledge, whose mind knew the paths of time, could keep his thoughts from her. Against all predictions, he found himself drawn to War. When they united, it was not out of tenderness, but out of desire that defied both logic and destiny.

There was no silence in the universe that did not tremble during their encounters. They were voracious and insatiable in their nights of pleasure, and the worlds erupted into storms with each climax the goddess reached. Fearing the catastrophes their tempests might cause, they often avoided meeting.

When Calistra decided to become a mother, Seijhe opposed it, foreseeing that descendants of War and Wisdom could threaten existence itself. Yet in refusing her request, he forgot that it is not in pleasure's nature to accept being told no.

So, in an attempt to fulfill her desire, Calistra began creating children on her own, in a way only divinities could. The result was not what she expected, and frustration soon consumed the goddess. Instead of children, she birthed winged creatures resembling scaly serpents with two legs and wings so vast they could wrap around great trees. They were named wyverns—incomplete souls, devoid of intelligence and driven by insatiable hunger, which is why their mother imprisoned them in the dungeons of the Divine.

But Calistra had not given up on having children of her own, so she turned to Seijhe, determined to make him relent. She knew the Lord of Intelligence would not be easily swayed by words, but desire was a weapon she wielded with skill. So she pleased and seduced him until he finally gave in.

When she finally became pregnant, the two chose a distant world to serve as a nursery for their many children, who inherited varying measures of their mother's strength and their father's intelligence, resulting in proud, ambitious natures. And so, while Calistra recovered from childbirth with Seijhe at her side, the children awoke in the nursery-world. Naive and unable to coexist, they turned on one another, destroying each other and absorbing the powers of the siblings they slew in battle.

When the two gods returned to admire their creation, they found only a black-haired boy and a girl with hair of fire facing each other with immense wrath, each vying for the glory of being the most powerful descendant of War and Wisdom. The celestial beings were filled with fury, and for the first time in their short lives, the children knew a fear beyond death. Yet gazing into those eyes full of dread and innocence, the gods restrained themselves, for neither child understood the atrocity they had committed.

And so they saw the need to separate them. Seijhe took the girl with him and named her Angel. As for the boy, Calistra dragged him by the hair and named him Oriel. With the absorbed power of tens of thousands of siblings, Angel and Oriel grew strong and graceful, subjected to rigorous training to keep them true to their parents' principles—parents to whom they were devoted. They competed for the attention of the divine beings in eternal rivalry.

As children of the gods, they were named archangels. When they battled, they entered a frenzied, savage state capable of threatening even a divinity: the Fury. At first, only Calistra was strong enough to fight them and force them back to reason before they destroyed everything within reach. Fearing the disastrous consequences this could bring, Seijhe spent years devising a way for his children to regain focus on their own when taken by the Fury. He completed his studies only when the youngest reached adolescence. He developed a breathing technique that, if applied correctly, could elevate the warrior spirit, grant his children rationality, and ensure control of their powers, even in Fury.

It didn't take long for the archangels to master the breathing technique, and each began to protect and mediate the affairs of the god who had trained them. Yet they remained apart, for the rivalry between them kept them wary of each other, as if they might finish what they'd started in childhood at any moment.

To avoid living alone, they adopted Calistra's wyverns and began teaching them the art of war, showing them how to control their hunger so they could live outside the dungeons of the divine. When the voracious began spreading throughout the universe, the archangels were sent to contain them and finally had the chance to vent the Fury that had accumulated over the years. They were tasked with exterminating the creatures, for arcane power and wyverns were the only things capable of killing the children of Death.

Just as hurricanes are born for destruction, the archangels were born for battle. They were lethal, magnificent, and insanely powerful. For the first time, the siblings joined forces against a common enemy.

When attacking, Oriel was a tornado in motion—cold and violent. Angel, however, could only be compared to a golden bolt of lightning. The two complemented each other without need for words, fighting as one. If Oriel was the boat, Angel was the rudder. If he was the sword, she was the strength. If he embodied action, she became vision. Together, they led the dance of battle, and worlds crumbled beneath the Fury. Thousands of voracious and carniceals were exterminated by their hands.

In combat against the voracious, many wyverns died, but their deaths served to strengthen and evolve the survivors. Their incomplete souls became whole enough to govern themselves. They structured and organized their forces, choosing the largest and strongest among them as their leader.

Over time, the archangels came to coexist in harmony, with war as the only bond between them. They continued protecting the gods and destroying every enemy who dared stand against the celestial beings. Loyalty and glory above all. Then, when their powers finally reached their peak, they were crowned as divinities, and the gods proclaimed them guardians. The two swore to rise whenever the worlds stood on the brink of chaos.

They were hounds of the divine.

Children of the Apocalypse.

Δ

I finished reading and sat there on the sofa, my heart pounding. Children of the Apocalypse. My mind spun as I tried to process the information. Were they children of the apocalypse because they were children of the Goddess of War? Or were they called that simply because they were archangels who destroyed planets? There was an image just below, depicting... I recognized that face—I had dreamed of it. The angel I saw was Oriel, and the body I was in, the one who shot the arrow, must have been Angel.

I sat motionless for a few seconds, spinning a thousand theories about what it all could mean. Then Zion stood up beside me, pulling me from my swirling thoughts, and headed toward the stairs.

“Wait,” I called out, standing up and reaching toward him. But when he turned to me, his eyes shining like the surface of the ocean, I didn't know what to say. The words vanished. I lowered my hand but held his gaze.

“What do you want, Kyller?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“I don't know.” It was true—I didn't know where we stood, didn't know what to do now. I just stood there, staring at the man who shook me to my core.