Arthur sat in his study, his fingers absently tracing the rim of a glass that had long grown warm in his hand. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room. Outside, the night was thick and quiet, the kind of stillness that brought with it a weight—a tension waiting to break.


    He’d been waiting, too. For hours, maybe longer. It wasn’t the waiting that unsettled him, though. It was the thoughts that crept in during these quiet moments, the ghosts of a time long gone, still lingering, haunting him.


    The artifact. Elena. The Watchers. It was all connected, somehow. He could feel the threads weaving together, but the pattern remained elusive.


    Arthur leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the flames, their dance oddly hypnotic. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the Fall. Back when the light had been his purpose, his every breath, and the Creator’s presence had been the very essence of existence. He had been certain, back then, of his path. Certain of the goodness they could bring to the world.


    He had been wrong.


    Lucian’s voice, so familiar, echoed in his mind.


    We can give them something greater, Arthur.


    The memory was sharp, biting. He had believed him. Believed they could change the world, that they could bring something better to humanity.


    But the Fall had been swift, merciless. And he had been the one to lead them into it, blind to Lucian’s true intentions until it was too late. The light they had once carried had turned into a curse that bound them to this earth, and they had become something far from the creatures of grace they once were.


    A soft knock on the door pulled Arthur from his reverie. He straightened in his chair as the heavy wooden door creaked open and a figure stepped into the room.


    “Darius,” he said, not turning to look at the figure who entered.


    Darius stepped forward, his movements equally composed, equally ancient. His brother, once a fellow bringer of light, now a shadow of the being he had once been, just as Arthur was.


    “You’ve been waiting long,” Darius said, his voice as low and steady as Arthur remembered from the days of Heaven.


    “I’ve grown used to waiting,” Arthur replied, his eyes still fixed on the fire. “It comes with the burden of immortality.”


    The silence between them stretched for a moment, heavy with the weight of the past they never spoke about directly. Even now, after centuries, they never discussed the Fall. There was no need to. It lived in every glance, every word, a constant presence that neither could escape.


    Finally, Arthur spoke, his voice quieter. “Have you spoken to any of the others of the shadow figures we discussed?”


    Darius’s gaze flickered. “The council is aware. They’ve been… uneasy about these reports. But how much of it is reliable? Theo’s information is—questionable.”


    Arthur’s jaw tensed, though his outward composure never faltered. “You don’t believe him.”


    “Can you blame me?”


    “He is telling the truth,” Arthur said, standing at last and turning to face his brother. “These shadows aren’t Lucian’s doing. They’re something else.”


    Darius’s brow furrowed, but he remained still. “Lucian is unpredictable, Arthur. You of all people should know that. He moves in ways that no one sees, not even you.”


    Arthur stepped closer, his voice lowering. “These creatures are not of Lucian. I know that. And so do you.”


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    Darius studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “The council is not convinced. Perhaps if your information had come from a less…compromised source they would be more inclined to investigate.”


    “Theo visited me at great personal risk,” Arthur said, his voice softening, though his words carried weight, “Lucian would not have allowed it. He has my trust on this Darius. I owe him as much.”


    “You owe him nothing,” Darius said, his voice firm. “You saved him. Whatever debt you think you owe him was paid long ago.”


    Arthur’s gaze became distant, memories pressing in on him. “If only that were true…”


    Darius’s expression softened, the hard edge to his tone easing. “You’ve done enough for him, Arthur. More than enough. Theo is nearly three centuries old. You can’t keep blaming yourself for everything that’s happened.”


    Arthur remained silent, his eyes flicking back to the fire. The past, heavy and unrelenting, pressed in on him. It always did in these quiet moments. There were decisions he could never undo, mistakes that had woven themselves into the very fabric of their existence. And in the heart of it all was the same haunting truth: his failure. The failure that had followed him from the moment the Fall began.


    Lucian’s voice echoed in his memory, smooth and persuasive, “We are meant for more, Arthur. We can be the saviors they need.”


    Arthur’s grip on the window’s edge tightened, his knuckles pale against the stone. The Fall had been swift, but it hadn’t felt that way at first. No, at first, it had felt like freedom. Like purpose.


    And he had led them into it.


    As if sensing the weight of Arthur’s thoughts, Darius walked over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.


    “ I will do what I can to help you persuade the rest of the council but, as you know, our resources are spread thin.”


    Arthur nodded, his voice distant. “Thank you.”


    Darius gave a measured nod, but before stepping back, his expression shifted slightly, a trace of something more serious. “There’s something else you should know,” he said, his voice lowering. “Have you heard about the human group that’s been moving in and out of the city for the past few weeks?”


    Arthur gave him a quizzical look.


    Darius continued, crossing his arms. “A few of our younger kind have had some interesting encounters with them. We thought they were thralls, but no one has claimed them.”


    Arthur’s gaze sharpened. “Interesting in what way?”


    Darius''s gaze flickered toward the window, as though considering his words carefully before speaking. “ They’ve clashed with some of our strays. Just a few youngsters but I’m told the humans caused them serious damage. It seems they knew what they were doing.”


    Arthur remained quiet, absorbing the information.


    “The council suspects they might be thralls—well-trained, possibly under the control of someone powerful,” Darius continued. “But no one has stepped forward to claim them, and we’re running out of options. The council doesn’t have the time or resources to chase down what could be a small rogue faction of humans. Not with everything else going on.”


    Arthur''s mind was already racing with possibilities but he simply said, “We need to keep an eye on them. Quietly.”


    Darius studied him for a long moment before nodding. “I’ll make sure we do.”


    With that, Darius gave a final, respectful nod and made his way toward the door, his footsteps barely making a sound on the stone floor. "I’ll see you at the next council meeting," he said before disappearing into the hall.


    Arthur remained still long after Darius had left, the flickering firelight casting long shadows across the room. His mind wandered, piecing together fragments of conversations, sketches, and half-formed suspicions.


    The Watchers of the Divine.


    Arthur''s fingers brushed the sketch Theo had shown him days before two fangs in front of a black pair of wings.


    Could they be connected? The Watchers… resurfacing after all this time?


    Arthur''s brow furrowed as he tried to connect the threads. The artifact Elena had discovered, the shadow figures Theo had seen, and now this group of humans quietly moving through the city—there was a larger picture here, something just out of his reach.


    As his thoughts churned, he found himself staring out the window, the distant horizon barely visible beyond the darkened city. The moon hung low, casting a faint glow over the rooftops. He felt a familiar sense of unease settle over him. Something was moving—shifting in the shadows.


    Arthur’s gaze focused on the streets below. At first, it was nothing—just the quiet, empty stillness of the night. But then… there, in the distance, a figure stood.


    Arthur’s eyes narrowed. From this distance, he couldn’t make out much—just a pair of piercing, dark eyes that seemed to lock onto his, and the unmistakable glint of black, shoulder-length hair catching the faint light. The figure didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, yet Arthur could feel the intensity of its gaze, sharp and unwavering.


    A ripple of recognition stirred within him. He knew those eyes.