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Calithra steps forward, and the mist around her thickens. She reaches into her veil and pulls out a small iron key that hangs from a chain of pale bones. She holds it out to me. “You cannot sit here. Take this key. Leave Hell. Walk through Limbo to wake Kael.”
I stare at the key, my confusion rising. “Wake him? Why? How? What does he have to do with this?”
The queen presses the key into my hand first, and her touch chills my skin. “You want answers? Stop roaring at the shadows. Go to his tomb. As you walk through Limbo, the memory will return. I promise. Every mile will pull a memory back into your skull. By the time you reach Kael’s resting place, you will remember all of it.”
The key lightly burns against my palm, but I close my fingers around it. “How will I find his tomb?”
She inclines her head. Her next words cost her great effort, as if she has to force the words out. “Like calls to like.”
I glance at both her and Lucifer, but they say no more.
She waves her shrouded hands. A fog thickens and dissipates, revealing a shrouded doorway. She motions to it. “Go now.”
I turn toward the threshold.
The air shifts, and the light bends. Framed by the doorway, a vast plain of pale ash drifts and reforms with every breath of the wind. The sky hangs low, weighed down by a gray haze. Rivers of pale light run through the distant ground like veins under thin skin. Far out on the horizon, towers stand half formed. Half dissolved. As if they are trying to remember their shapes. Some tilt or float. Some break apart and reassemble at new angles before my eyes.
A cold current rolls out from the doorway and brushes across my face. It carries the scent of old paper, frost, and forgotten prayers.
I grip the key in my pocket and step forward.
“Hold on.” Vyxia steps between me and the door. Her expression is sharp. “You are not thinking of going alone, are you? You can barely stand upright, Remiel. Limbo will eat you alive.”
Eryon moves to her side, rubbing the spot where I slammed him earlier. “She is right. You go through that door without support, and you will forget which way is forward. You’ll end up wandering in circles.”
“Eryon,” I mutter, “this is not your fight.”
He snorts. “It became my fight when Kael saved me. Besides, someone needs to keep you from grabbing the wrong corpse and waking the wrong angel.”
She places a hand on my arm, her touch steady. I look from her to Eryon. Both stand ready, and neither looks willing to step aside. I breathe once. Resigned. The plain beyond the doorway pulses again as if acknowledging our decision.
Yet the heavy study doors swing open, and a blond angel strolls in. Jareth strides through the debris like a sudden burst of chaotic energy in the tomb-like stillness. “You didn’t think you coul—”
His crystal-blue eyes sweep the room, taking in the scattered books, the king of Hell, the shrouded queen, and the swirling maw of the portal to Limbo. The silence that follows is dead and heavy, broken only by the portal’s low churning.
“Why do I always walk into some sort of apocalyptic crisis?” He rubs the back of his neck, where his leather jacket creaks against the strain. He then takes a deep breath, the air hissing through his teeth. “Read the room, Jareth… Got it.”
His gaze drifts and lands on Vyxia. The playfulness vanishes from his face, and I see a raw, naked wound—a betrayal. Or perhaps longing so deep it mimics pain. I cannot decipher it, nor do I have time to unravel the knots of their history.
He tears his eyes away and snaps his attention to Eryon with a curt, somber nod. “Brother!”
I break the tension, my voice a blade. “We are going to wake up Kael.”
“I’m coming with you.” There is no hesitation in his voice. Just determination. A loyal friend till the bitter and most likely bloody end.
Eryon looks down, his shoulders slumping. The defeat in his posture is more painful than his physical scars. “I’ll stay behind,” he murmurs, his voice hollow. “Take Jareth instead.”
Vyxia shifts, visibly uncomfortable. She looks at him, all her previous bravery and steel forgotten and replaced by a soft, awkward pity. “I think you’ve had enough trauma, Eryon…” she says softly. “I think it would be good for you to stay here.”
The air thickens once more. What happened between the three of them? What jagged history is buried beneath their glances?
Lucifer nods, his expression unreadable. “No offense, Eryon, but I would trust someone who can fly my daughter out of danger more.”
Eryon flinches.
She lifts her chin, her violet eyes flashing with a spark of her father’s defiance. “I can fly myself out of danger, thank you very much. And he has many other qualities than just wings.”
“Okay. Enough talking.” I step forward and give Eryon a firm pat on his shoulder, a silent thanks and a silent apology. I then turn to the swirling gray vortex. The icy breath of the void kisses my face, and I step over the threshold into Limbo.
