Throne Hunters Book 4, Chapter 24

The angel’s abode was sprawling, a domain of azure ponds that cascaded into ever larger pools until at last they flowed into a great lake that extended into the distance of the cavern, passing under archways into the gloom. Raw stone was buttressed by dressed blocks of pale ivory, all of it elegantly carved, masterfully assembled, all of it radiating out from the central alter or focal point.

The highest point in the chamber, a great arch set against the wall in which a riot of golden branches, leaves, and indeterminate shapes arose. Concentric arches expanded upward and away from this altar or art piece, each ever larger and inscribed with runes, while the platform before it ended in a score of broad steps that descended to the first pools.

Gold glowing patches were nestled amidst the cracks and crevasses in the rock walls, without torch or lantern but simply radiating subtle light as if the angel had touched that spot and blessed it with permanent illumination. The air was cool, the sound of rippling, pouring water a gentle susurrus in the background, and all felt serene, pristine, beatified.

Seraphina stood on the platform with Sam, but there was no sign of Alabenthos. “Welcome.” She seemed to hesitate, check her natural sternness, and forced a smile. “I mean it. Welcome to one of the truly safe places in the Dungeon.”

Sam’s heart rose in her throat as the full implications of where she was, whom she was with, and what she was doing began to hit her. “I—thank you. For inviting me. I’m more honored than I know how to say.”

“Don’t be. Nobody comes here without earning the right.” Seraphina paused to consider. “Or forcing their way in, I guess. But you’re here at my invitation because you’re…” Seraphina searched for the right word. “Special, I suppose. Just as I was. But come.”

Seraphina led her to the side of the nested arches, right toward a blank stretch of natural wall.

Sam gazed at the golden effigy within the arches, the center point of this entire chamber, but still couldn’t make out what she was looking at. An aureate globe held between verdant branches? A great torch that burned with leaf-like flames? Around its base stood small figures, arms raised in supplication or worship.

But Seraphina passed clear through the wall as if it were insubstantial, and Sam forced herself not to linger.

Beyond was a very different room. After the austere grandness of the pool complex, the space was small, almost cozy. The floor was checkered in faded slate blues and ivory, the walls rough as if inexpertly chiseled into a crudely circular shape. A battered setee of dawn blue was set against one wall under a large oil painting of the Fallen Angel. This was gilt framed, and what it lacked in skill the painting made up for with energy, vitality, and passion. Twin alcoves flanked the setee and painting in which shelving had been inserted and which now practically groaned under a mass of books.

Seraphina turned almost shyly to Sam, and that’s when it hit her: this space was Seraphina’s own. The badly worn sunburst yellow rug, the old armoire, the heavily dented chest of drawers. Light came from a chandelier that burned with magical lights instead of candles, and in all Sam received the impression of a place fitfully decorated, of large, beautiful pieces dragged here, but a sense of incompleteness, of a home that never quite managed to receive the full attention of its owner.

“I love it,” said Sam, and realized that in this she was Seraphina’s twin; the memory of her own room above the inn came back with startling clarity and force, and she felt her heart squeeze when she recalled her pride and fear and need to own such a space, to carve out a small corner of the wide world which she could call without hesitation her own. “This is wonderful. You decorated it yourself?”

Seraphina chuckled and moved to one side, looking about herself as if seeing it for first time. “I inherited it, and some pieces were already here. I don’t… well. There isn’t enough time in the day, the month, in one life, to spend much time here. I keep vowing to do more with the space, but so did, I think, my predecessor.”

“Another angel-kin?”

Seraphina nodded as she perched on the cylindrical arm of the setee. “I never met him, but yes. Alabenthos’s previous protegee.”

Sam crossed her arms and peered through the glass doors of the armoire at some of the shadowed objects contained within. A small statue of a spider, a tiny leatherbound book, a free-floating dagger. “I had a place like this. Minus these treasures, of course. It was… everything to me. Even if it was nothing to look at.”

“I can understand that,” said Seraphina. “Sometimes it all feels like… whenever I emerge from this room, it’s as if I am diving into a white-frothed driven current. All becomes intense activity and purpose. It’s only when I return that I can take a breath, take stock…” Seraphina trailed off as if reflecting on the exact words she’d just spoken, then shrugged. “But tell me more about yourself. I can’t believe you’re only making yourself known now. How have you not caused a stir before with your Divine Soul Rank?”

Sam smiled self-consciously. “I’ve only been raiding for the past few months. Up until then I was a 3rd Level Majordomo for Harald.”

Seraphina raised a sharp brow. “You were what?”

“His family butler, yes.” Sam moved to sit on a spindly blue chair set beside the chest of drawers. “Harald lost his father, Darius—”

“Darius?” Seraphina’s manner became intent. “Darius Darrowdelve?”

“Ah.” Sam grimaced. “You’ve heard of him.”

“Heard of him? I’ve fought him numerous times. He’s a beast, a monster, he’s—” Seraphina caught hold of herself, cut off the sudden stream of words. “Harald is his son?”

Sam nodded apologetically.

Seraphina pinched the bridge of her nose. “And I saved him?” She laughed bitterly. “What a world. What a messed up world.”

“Harald isn’t his father. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s a profoundly good man. Or has always wanted to be. And is now fighting to remain one. I trust him with my life, I—” love him “—trust him.”

“Hmm.” Seraphina’s stare had turned dour. “So you said before. And I believe you, so.” She blew one of her black locks of hair away from her face. “But you were saying?”

“Right. Um. I was his Majordomo, but when he returned from the Dungeon with the Demon Seed…” And so Sam told her. About those first days, Harald’s transformation, his new drive, his new clarity. How she’d begun training with him, their descent into the dungeon, how Vorakhar had cast them into the 47th Level where she’d earned her Class, new Soul Rank, and Soul Ability.

“Celestial Guidance?” asked Seraphina. “What is that?”

“Your light transcends mere physical radiance, becoming a beacon for souls adrift in both darkness and doubt. Your journey illuminates paths not just through the world, but through the hearts of all your encounter.”

“Oh, Sam.” Seraphina’s eyes shone. “That’s incredible. You received that from the Fallen Angel herself.”

Sam’s breath caught. “I had thought—guessed that had to be the case, because who else, right? But—you really think so?”

“Yes.” Seraphina’s confidence was total. “You’re paired as Harald’s opposite. For you both to receive your Class at the same indicates just that. But it could also indicate your light is meant to counter Harald’s darkness. That you’re the Fallen Angel’s attempt to mitigate the damage he’s going to do.”

“I hope not. We’ve been raiding, fighting, doing everything together since then.” Sam felt warmth in the pit of her stomach. “But that’s why you haven’t heard of me. I only became, well, this, a few months ago. And you? Did something similar happen to you?”

“No. I was born with a Divine Soul Rank.” Seraphina spoke matter of factly. “But I was an orphan and gutter rat. Nobody noticed. I was ill suited to the streets. I couldn’t stand by, even as a child, in the face of cruelty and injustice. When I was little it just resulted in my being beaten, but as I grew older, my looks drew far worse attention. I was forced to flee, and decided to enter the Dungeon to get away from everything.”

“How old were you?”

“I was eleven when I first entered.” Seraphina nodded. “I was lost in more ways than I can count, but Alabenthos saved me and brought me here. For several years I trained under the guidance of the Investiture, a sentient Artifact, and eventually started raiding by myself.”

“You were here, alone?”

Seraphina smiled. “I’ve proved to be surprisingly self-sufficient. It was hard, but I’d already developed a… dislike for children my age. For people in general, I guess. My experiences hadn’t been positive. I relished the good food, the safety, the training.”

“Wow. So you started raiding when you were thirteen?”

“I did. Alabenthos would transport me to the uppermost levels, and there I’d kill rats or goblins or the like. Eventually I earned the Eclipse Edges and given free reign of where to go.”

“But you’re known above.” Sam gave her head a little shake. “You’re Seraphina the Skyward Blade. The most powerful raider in all of Flutic.”

Seraphina’s smile turned rueful. “Yes.”

“Yes? What do you mean, yes?” Sam allowed her tone to grow incredulous and teasing, both. “Was that a mistake?”

“I was sixteen.” Seraphina said that as if it explained everything.

And maybe it did.

“Oh. You… I guess you became curious?”

“Curious, lonely, defiant. It was a hard time.” Seraphina looked away contemplatively. “I thought I could do more above than I could here below. Could inspire, could lead. But I was a fool. Humanity cares very, very little for such insignificant things like the truth or demonic wars.”

“You spoke with the Houses?”

“More like they spoke at me.” Seraphina narrowed her eyes slightly and stared at some memory. “It was amusing. They chased me because I was strong, unlike anything they had seen, but treated me like a child. As if I didn’t or couldn’t understand what I was capable of, and needed their help so as to not accidentally cut off my own leg.” She returned to the moment, her smile growing sharp. “It would have been hilarious if I wasn’t so mad.”

“I can imagine.” Sam rubbed her thumb into her other palm. “So you gave up on Flutic?”

“I gave up on its leadership, yes. There is plenty below here to keep me busy.”

“The demon war.” Sam leaned forward. “I’ve heard that most of the Thrones are now in the hands of the demons?” Suddenly the questions bubbled up within her without end. “Is Alabenthos the only angel? Is he one of the four main angels? Why are we losing the war? How are you fighting?”

Seraphina slid down off the arm onto the setee proper, and crossed one leg over the other, the white fabric of her simple gown flowing like silk. “We’re losing the Crusade because the Servitors—that’s what Alabenthos and his kind are called—cannot agree on how to fight it. They aren’t the main angels, no, but each is beholden to one of the Archons. Alabenthos serves Nenya of the Depths, for example.”

“Ooh,” said Sam, eager and nervous and marveling all at once. “Is there one Servitor per Archon? So four in all?”

“More than that, though some we haven’t heard from in so long they might as well be dead. But yes.” Seraphina began to bounce her foot in irritation. “The Servitors fight amongst themselves almost as much as they fight the demons. Who aren’t united either, but are more subtle in their rivalry.”

“Why do we fight ourselves?”

“The Servitors are…” Seraphina sought the right word. “They are incredible, obviously, almost abstracted. Beyond comprehension. They can commune directly with the Archons.” She shook her head in wonder. “But on the other hand, they’re prey to the same weakness we are. Pride being the worst. They strive to fight for their Archon’s glory, and are willing to lose a battle if it means preventing a rival from scoring a victory.”

“Oh.” Sam tried to square away this truth. “But the Archons… they’re aware of this?”

“I don’t know. That’s like asking if a forest is aware of a new farm being cut into its far western border, or… or if the ocean is aware that a harbor is being closed off by a breakwater. Alabenthos is frustrated, but…” Again she shrugged.

Sam chewed this over. “So we’re fighting each other as much as the demons? Are there other angel-kin?”

“There are,” said Seraphina, tone guarded. “Though none of them chose to introduce themselves to the city above. They’re fully focused on the Crusade, now, just like I am.”

“The Crusade. To win back the Thrones. What’s to stop Alabenthos from simply marching up to one and taking it? Is he more powerful than Vorakhar?”

“I think he is?” Seraphina hesitated. “But it’s less checkers, more like a house of cards. Everybody is watching everybody else and edging around for enough advantage to make a move. Think of it this way: if Alabenthos took Vorakhar’s Throne of Shadows, he’d leave himself weak to, say, Seraphex, who’d kill him. That might prompt another Servitor to assault one of her strongholds, which, I don’t know, Silenthros would be anticipating, so that he’d then swoop, and it would keep going, a sudden blood bath that would result in one side winning.”

“And that’s bad?”

“It is when you can’t tell which side would come out on top. So instead everyone maneuvers, watches, fights their battles by proxy—”

“Demon and angel-kin.”

“Exactly. The demons corrupt, they wheedle, they steal. The Servitors reinforce, they inspire, they marshal the forces of the Dungeon, they make alliances and break them.”

“But the demons have been actively taking thrones.”

“They have a greater tolerance to risk.” Frustration bled through Seraphina’s words. “They are more willing to gamble than the Servitors. I think… my theory is that Servitors are undone by their own nearly immortal lifespans. There’s always another day, another year, another decade in which to act. But the demons. They’re just as long lived, I guess, but they’re by nature far more impatient. So they take advantage of the Servitors hesitancy. Silenthros in particular is really good at knowing just how much he can take without prompting retaliation.”

“You sound… frustrated.”

“Because it is frustrating.” Seraphina took a breath. “Which is why I’m so happy to have met you, Sam. You could help shift the balance of what’s going on. Do you know how hard it is to find a candidate for an Angel Seed?”

“Wait, what?” Sam sat back. “An Angel Seed? Me?”

Seraphina looked at her curiously. “Of course. What did you think this is all about?”

“I—I thought maybe you just wanted to talk, see how I could help, I mean, I’m not, I just barely—”

“Sam.” Seraphina’s certainty cut off her babble. “You are a prime candidate. Moreover, Alabenthos has already approved.”

“He has?”

“Would you be here if he hadn’t?”

“I…” Sam didn’t know what to say. It was too much. It was all too much. All her life, all those years she’d spent scrubbing dishes, mopping floors, dusting mantlepieces, shopping at dawn at ever cheaper markets, chopping onions, scrubbing pots, dusting tables, cooking, picking up after Harald, over and over again, her hands growing coarse, her life a blank slate without friends or hopes other than exactly this, the fairy tale dreams of being special, being chosen out of the millions to help in a grand struggle…

Her? Despite everything that had happened, her new Soul Rank, her adventures, her victories, her powers, the Artifacts, the battles, the power—somehow she’d never quite been able to see herself in the starring role. She was Sam Tuppins, Majordomo 3rd Level, and—and—

Seraphina watched her with a mixture of sympathy and impatience.

“I’m sorry.” Sam sat up straighter. “I just never thought this would come to me.”

“Which is part of what qualifies you for it. You don’t know how many holy men and women I’ve investigated that turned out to be farces. In my experience, the more someone claims to be good and devout and righteous, the deeper the rot. It’s those who make no claims, who just act, who just give without expecting reward and acknowledgement that are the true saints.”

“I’m no saint.”

“Compared to the jackals and hyenas I’ve met?” Seraphina raised her brow again.

“All right.” Sam forced her desire to babble and protest away. “I… all right. An Angel Seed. Harald’s changed him. Changed his Soul Nature, gave him a new Rank. Will… will I still be myself after?”

“The Angel Seed has very little in common with its perverted counterpart. Don’t worry. Where the Demon Seed empowers to corrupt, the Angel Seed liberates so that you may grow into your best self.”

Sam nodded as if she understood. “So it won’t change my nature?”

“No. Only those already worthy are gifted a Seed. It’s not just about potential. Everybody has potential, to some degree or another. It’s about character. What you did with that potential. The choices you’ve already made. The person you’ve chosen to become. And the Seed doesn’t try to change that person, but instead empower them.”

“All right. Phew.” Sam slumped. “I was worried that… never mind. So it will just…?”

“Think of yourself as a mirror. When you were born, you were whole, and reflected back your true self without problem. But life throws stones at you, and slowly crack after crack breaks the surface. By the time you become an adult, you’re split into so many different selves, and can only see the world indirectly through the pain and loss and assumptions you’ve been forced to make.”

Sam nodded slowly.

“Most people spend the rest of their lives trying to heal those wounds. To make their mirror whole again. To reconcile, to overcome. So that they can become whole and good again. The Angel Seed quickens that process. It helps you gather your broken parts together, it helps you heal them into a singular whole. You become your truest, best self.”

“Like Harald,” said Sam softly. “Vorakhar said he didn’t change him, just brought to the fore the very best version of himself that he could have ever been.”

“Well, perhaps.” Seraphina frowned. “The Demon Seed might do that, too, but it warps as much as it enhances. It emphasizes greed, the lust for power, arrogance, cruelty. In time, every demon-kin becomes a dark reflection of themselves, a monstrous shadow of the person they might have otherwise been. The Angel Seed instead elevates, clarifies, simplifies.”

“That sounds better,” laughed Sam, and she realized she was rubbing her thumb anxiously into her palm again. “And then… will I be expected to fight in the Crusade?”

“Of course.”

“I can’t leave my friends.”

“You won’t have to.” Seraphina considered. “You are bonded by fate, by the Fallen Angel, to Harald. The way you were both elevated at the same time, that doesn’t just happen. I can’t speak for Alabenthos, but I know him well enough by now to guess what he’ll say: that you must continue as you were, but now firmly on the side of Good, empowered to do what needs doing and help Harald manifest his best destiny. If that’s even possible.”

“It is,” said Sam firmly. “I know it.”

Seraphina smiled. “So you say. The Angel Seed will also hasten your growth. You’ll level faster, your stats will climb faster. It will influence what Abilities are offered to you, as the Fallen Angel takes not of your allegiance.”

“Like Harald,” said Sam again.

“So.” Seraphina sat up straight and clapped her hands on to her knees. “Are you ready?”

“What, now?” Sam blushed, aware even as she said the words how foolish she must sound. “I—yes. Of course.”

“Good.” The angel-kin’s eyes blazed with conviction. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have met you, Samantha Tuppins. It’s… it can be a lonely war. And the Servitors are often terribly inhuman. But… I can tell that you are going go grow fast, and together, in time, I know that we’ll make a difference.”

Sam allowed herself to smile. “Thank you. For believing in me.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s like I said. You’ve earned this.” She stood. “Let’s go to Alabenthos, then. He’ll make the formal offer and set the terms. And once you agree, we can look into finding you a suitable Artifact to replace the Edge you returned me.”

“A new sword?” Sam stood and felt a flutter of excitement in her gut. “I thought…”

“Of course!” Seraphina beamed. “Alabenthos has an incredible armory, accumulated over the centuries. You might not be given an Epic ranked blade, not yet, but I’m sure we’ll find something perfect for you. But first the Seed.” She held out her hand. “Ready?”

Sam took it. Seraphina’s grasp was strong, her palm callused. “Yes.”

“Then let’s start changing the course of the Crusade. Together.” And with long strides, Seraphina led Sam back toward the wall through which they entered.

Sam allowed herself to be pulled along, her thoughts whirling, her heart riding high, her joy matched only by her terror.

An Angel Seed.

For her.

For Samantha Tuppins.

She wished that her poor father could see her now, and as she followed Seraphina through the wall, she thought of Harald, tall, strong, fearsome, and amazing.

And how with this she might finally be his equal, and what that might bring them both.