She was a grain of dust before all of it. Ignorant and terrifyingly weak.
The shock refused to leave her, the terror would never end, this hell would never end—
And then, it was lying next to her. A book made of pure sapphire, its cover emblazoned with an Eye that nearly matched the Grail around her neck in size. But this Eye was gray in color, more sad than terrible, and without thinking, Angela stretched out a hand and brushed it with her fingertips, causing the eyelid to shut.
“Yes,” Tileaf’s voice continued like a whisper, “there are rumors that the Book still exists. That it was not destroyed, as was commonly thought, but, that of its own free will it followed Lucifel . . . to Hell.”
Angela leaned closer, trying to pick up the Book. But the sapphire was far too heavy, leaving her with the option of opening the cover or walking away.
She touched it, rubbing her hand across the blue rock.
It had a heartbeat. It was alive.
“Do not be fooled. What you are seeing is only a representation, a symbol, of the Book passed down in legend and myth . . . There are perhaps none living besides Lucifel herself who have seen its true form. And, of course, opening it is impossible.
“Those who try to do so, but do not possess even one of the Supernals’ spirits, are stricken with insanity.
“Besides . . . the Key and its Lock have yet to be found . . .”
The Book vanished, curls of blue ether wrapping around Angela’s fingers before disappearing. Light illuminated the darkness, and she rocked back to her feet, still standing on a void that seemed solid as real earth but glassy smooth. Perhaps this was the foundation of Tileaf’s mind, firm despite so much torture. Angela stared out into the space she’d been granted on it, and a wind sighed from the nothingness, blowing through her hair, full of voices that sounded like a million souls speaking at once. Beseeching her.
The light continued to brighten.
“The Archon, known mistakenly to humankind as the Ruin, is said to be the reincarnation of Raziel’s soul. The Supernal’s Book, which contains both a power and a knowledge beyond the comprehension of most creatures, must be opened, and only by Her, because with Israfel vanished into the highest reaches of Heaven, there is no other able or willing to do so without suffering severe consequences.
“Lucifel is not an option . . .”
There was a sun peeping over the unnameable horizon, but it gave off a sallow glow that barely revealed the rifts and valleys of Tileaf’s mind. Angela now stood on a cliff with a jagged edge, her boots scraping it precariously, and within the barren valley below her, human beings stood in rows of silence, their souls gray as the sun was gray, looking up at her with a sense of need and longing. Angela gazed out at them, overcome by their numbers, their misery.
“Even the dead are aware of the looming threat of the Great Satan. Lucifel, she who was prophesied as the one who would confront God in order to become a god herself, is now crazed to the point of utter darkness. Seeking to open the Book of Raziel, she would only use its power to end the universe she believes has wronged her . . . and her cult, which makes up half of Hell, wishes for the fulfillment of her ideals.
“The omens are there, and her most fanatical believers now move to assist her . . . to open her cage . . .”
Storm clouds gathered in the far distance, echoes of Tileaf’s pain and her warning. Lightning sliced the sky like a pitchfork of crimson.
“For there is only one Archon . . . but there are two who can be the Ruin.”
The clouds boiled, saturating the atmosphere with a new and painful blackness, taking the life that remained to the souls below her and turning their spirit bodies to ash. A violent wind gusted through the valley, and their symbolic selves dissipated, disintegrating in the new breeze blowing through Tileaf’s mind. Little by little, the terrible image stripped away into tatters, tearing off to reveal the same space where the Book had lain next to Angela, alone.
But now Tileaf stood before her, beautiful and untouched by the priests’ greed.
Her lovely face held the bleakest expression, and she stepped softly toward Angela, holding out her hand.
She didn’t have to ask.
Angela slipped the chain over her neck and handed her the Grail, now more an Eye than a stone. Green, and horribly alive.
“This,” Tileaf said, cradling the Grail in her palm, “must never find its way back to Lucifel. Whether or not it was a lover’s gift, Raziel eventually gave it to the Jinn, and thus to the true Archon, for a reason, and once it finds Her hands, it must never leave them. It is cursed, certainly, but also important, though only he might have known why or how . . .”
Angela nodded, accepting the Eye as it was passed back to her.