***

- MUMIAH - The Angel of Rebirth.

***

- YOUR ATTENTION, EVERYONE.

The guardian speaks, cutting me off and interrupting the ambient murmur that fills the room, leaving our conversations suspended. All eyes turn to him, and a respectful silence settles.

Being at the back of the room, near Hailey, and despite my effort to focus, it is difficult for me to fully grasp his words, especially with the sound echoing through this vast hall. The others seem captivated, hanging onto his lips, attempting to do the same, letting themselves be carried away by this solemn atmosphere.

I can't help but think that this resembles a consecration I have heard of in my world, where one kneels to receive a blessing, offering the host and chalice as an offering.
That's what I've been told, anyway, since I have never been to church and have never practiced this ritual. Yet, this image imposes itself upon me.

When the guardian finishes his explanations, one by one, the angels step forward toward him, kneeling with an angelic grace. I observe them, intrigued by their devotion.
The false priest, with a precise gesture, places something in each angel's mouth and speaks words I cannot grasp.
After this gesture, each angel rises and stands to the side of the room. Aligned, as if they have been marked by this scene, evoking a moment of transition, an initiatory rite, where each angel, by submitting to this ceremony, marks their belonging to a community or a higher order.

This ritual seems to be a normal step in their world.

Hailey, what will happen once the ceremony is over?

We will discover our specialty and our powers, as well as our wings, which will unlock and reveal themselves on their own.

Our wings, I repeat in my mind.

Do not show your wings to anyone if you want to live.

My arm begins to itch again, convinced that this snake is actually venomous. When I glance at it, I see dried blood. How can a dream become tangible? After all, everything I am experiencing feels unreal, so why couldn't imagination take form?

Finally, my turn comes, and I feel a surge of anxiety mixed with insatiable curiosity. The guardian looks at me intently before asking me to step forward.

All eyes are on me. I can't help but recall the words of the dark angels who replaced my family in this dream. "We are far from being angels," he had said. So, who are they really? Have I been living with these creatures all along?
So many questions remain unanswered, starting with: What am I, really?

As I reach the guardian, dressed in a false cassock, I snap out of my daze and stand before him. His incessant smile unsettles me. The bite on my wrist burns with such intensity, but I pretend nothing is wrong so that no one notices the holes in my skin or the dried blood I tried to wipe away with my saliva.

I glance around, tense, before taking a deep breath and kneeling. Once positioned, he lifts the chalice, his lips murmuring words in a strange and mysterious language.

That language again, I think, unable to tear my eyes away from the vessel he holds.
I notice that it is very old, marked by time and use, with scratches that bear witness to many past ceremonies. On its surface, an angel is depicted, wielding a sword that seems to radiate celestial light—but the scene is disturbing. The angel is killing another with unparalleled violence.

Drink, and let your true nature reveal itself.

He leans toward me, chalice in hand, and I feel my heart race. With calculated slowness, he brings the edge of the vessel to my lips, tilting my head back slightly to let the contents flow into my mouth. The texture is unsettling—it is both liquid and viscous, as if a mixture of substances had merged into this brew.
A metallic taste invades my mouth, and a thought strikes me: Metal... I instinctively run the tip of my finger over my lower lip and stare at it, my eyes widening in horror. I am convinced I see blood, a vision that paralyzes me on the spot.

At that moment, a muffled laugh echoes in front of me. I look up and see him, a predatory smile illuminating his face. A smile that leaves no doubt about his intentions.

He heard my thoughts, just like Enry, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Who is he, really?

I straighten up, a shudder of anxiety running through me. I move towards the group gathered at the side of the room, awaiting the end of this macabre ceremony without taking my eyes off the guardian for a second.

My instinct screams at me to stay away from him—my instinct, but also my body, which reacts differently whenever I approach him, like this dizziness or... My wrist—the bite starts bleeding whenever he touches me or whenever he gets too close. Suddenly, everything falls into place in my mind.

My mark burned for the first time in my dream, when my so-called family was near me, just before they entered.
And now, my arm ignites every time I am near the guardian. Is this truly a coincidence? Is he also something other than an angel?

"We are far from being angels."

NOW THAT EVERYONE HAS PASSED, YOU MAY LEAVE, he shouts loud enough for the entire hall to hear.

As soon as these words are spoken, several dark angels reveal their blazing wings. I wouldn't be able to tell, just by looking at them, which specialty belongs to each angel, as their talents seem so varied and fascinating.

However, I know perfectly well that I should not linger in plain sight, as this could put me in delicate situations when my own wings begin to manifest, revealing my true nature.

My body starts to feel numb, as if the liquid I ingested is beginning to take effect.

Panic rises, and I know I absolutely must get out. Suddenly, I feel a hand firmly grasp my arm. It's Elise. She stops me and launches into a conversation that seems completely inappropriate at this moment. I really wish she could understand that I'm in no state for this.

— Where are you going? Tonight is the ceremony ball. It's an evening specially for us, the newborns.

— The newborns? I ask, trying not to tremble in pain in front of her.

— Yes, that's how we consider ourselves when we transition from a powerless state to a powered one, she explains, taking her sweet time.

Damn it, I don't have time for this.

— Ah, okay, great, see you there, later! I exclaim, striding toward the exit.

Sweat drips down my forehead as I fight the urge to scream, forcing myself to get away from the castle and all those heavy gazes. I rush through the hallway, but I can't move fast enough in my heels. I kick them off, leaving them behind, and keep going as fast as I can, barefoot. Each step brings me closer to freedom, but panic urges me to push even harder.

It's broad daylight—where can I hide?

The forest.

I stumble forward, each step drawing a silent cry of pain that feels like it's tearing at my soul. My back is the epicenter of my suffering, a searing burn. It feels more like thousands of tiny needles pricking me all at once, relentless and unforgiving. I manage to cross the training grounds, my thoughts locked on the forest looming ahead—a refuge where I might finally feel safe.

I repeat to myself over and over not to stop, a mantra to keep me moving, even though every fiber of my being screams to collapse right where I stand.

Once far enough, I slow my pace until I reach a massive tree, leaning against it for support, finally allowing myself to rest. I let the pain consume me completely, no longer holding back. A guttural roar escapes my throat, my teeth clenched as agony rips through my back, as if my muscles are tearing apart.

My wings—they feel like they're trying to break free, but something unusual is stopping them. The times when Hayden forced their emergence with his blood, it had always taken only a few minutes. But now, everything feels different. What was really in that cup?

On all fours, the pain pinning me to the ground, I clutch at the grass, gripping it tightly, my teeth grinding together to muffle my cries. Something is wrong. My tears spill over, mixing pain with panic.

"Aéphyra," I call out in my mind, hoping she will hear me—but nothing happens. I call again, this time out loud, but still, nothing. My back begins to bleed profusely, and I wonder why I am experiencing such unbearable pain.

The other angels didn't go through this. Anxiety tightens its grip around my chest.

Suddenly, I hear twigs snapping in front of me. Expecting to finally see Aéphyra, I lift my head with a half-smile of relief.

My heart races with the hope that she's here to help me, to soothe this excruciating pain eating away at me.

— Aéphyra, I whisper, too weak to say it any louder.

— I finally found you.

I squint, trying to see more clearly. The figure becomes sharper, and I recognize that deep voice.

— My pretty one, you don't look so good.

I narrow my eyes, struggling to fix my blurred vision—probably from all the blood I've lost.

— What... are you doing here? I murmur, my voice barely audible as I fight to stay conscious.

— I followed you.

— For... what...

As my body gives way, a wave of warmth washes over me. In my fall, I don't feel my head hit the ground, and I glimpse a shadow enveloping me entirely.

It's as if the earth itself is embracing me, promising a well-deserved rest. But deep inside, a small voice screams at me to stay awake, to not give in.

— Don't fall asleep, stay with me, Laïla, he says, his voice trembling.

In a final moment of clarity, I feel the softness of his hands against my skin and the warmth of his gaze wrapping around me. His deep black eyes glisten, as if he's afraid I'll slip into unconsciousness. As my eyelids grow heavy, a single question echoes in my mind: Who is Laïla?

I let the world fade around me, drifting into sleep, with the image of Hayden burned into my mind and my body in his arms.