The prince crawled through an endless lake of gore. The heavens wrapped him in its casket-black embrace. Rusted blades, stuck in the ground, gleamed under the ever-present light of a crimson moon. Corpses in varying stages of decay festered within the bog of the dead. A thousand tattered banners were raised on poles like trees in a forest of misery.

The prince swam through the stew of rotting innards and organs. He gasped for air. His flesh had turned scarlet. His highborn blood mixed with the soup of corpse gull. His arms shook as he struggled to muster strength. His muscles liquidised. The nobleman stopped and collapsed into the lake of scarlet. The wounded man clawed at the waters.

A darksome shadow fell over the prince. A six-winged angel blocked his path. The seraph bore golden locks framing his face, and dulled blue eyes without their pupils. He walked on talon-like feet. A crown of mayweed was mounted upon his head.  

“Once more we meet, Azrael, angel of progress.”

“My name is not Azrael. I don’t know who you are talking about.” He raised his head. His body trembled.

“Then, what is your name, he who has not tasted life’s pleasures and pains?” The seraph twitched its head like a curious bird. The man pondered. He attempted to remember his name. Nothing came to mind. “With the death of the last prince, the end has come to the roses. You are the rose bitten by early frost and unable to bloom. You have suffered a thousand deaths, and yet still you dream of life.”

“Who are you? A god? A demon?” The nobleman began. He winced in pain, unable to contain his anguish. “Are you me?”

“I am not you. I am your reflection. I am a collection of you, your memories, your deaths, and all your suffering. I am your cosmic opposite. When you raise your right hand, I raise my left. Like a mirror’s image, I watch you from behind the glass. I see your suffering. I see your determination. I see your dream.”

 “W-what do you want?”

“It is not what I want. But what I can offer you.” The seraph extended its hand to the young man. A raven landed on the god’s shoulder with a shrivelled peach pit inside its mouth. “You wish to live. I can give you more than life. I can give you a crown over the gods.”

A snake shiver darted up the keys of his spine. The seraph took the seed of the peach from the blackbird. He presented it to the wounded prince.

“When you are reborn into a new host, you will have no memories of this cursed foretelling of a possible future. It will be up to you to reclaim what memories you have sacrificed to be reborn. But know this, great old spirit, you will suffer for your greatness. Scars will be your robes, feathers your crown and death your shadow,” the golden one proclaimed. Azrael took the seed into his cold hands. The crevasses on the seed formed into the image of a dragon and a phoenix.

“But what is the price? There is always a price.” 

“Immortality.” A grin cracked the porcelain face of the seraph. “You will regain your memory, or at least a mere sliver, when you are gifted with this seed. It is from the tree of life, from the fruit of the mother who has granted you a second chance. But if Fortuna leads you here in the future, then I will shatter the glass between us.”

“You are saying then, that only a piece of me shall live on. But if I die, then you will be born into flesh, not I?” Azrael wondered. “Why not take over my soul now?”

“The children have not earned their marks. They are but mere saplings before an oak. Twilight has not broken and the bloodletting of kings has not begun. I am bound by fate, bound by the thread of time. If fate wishes you to follow the same road to death, then I shall carry your dream to the end. Rest assured that I will not fail. I will bleed everything that stands in your path. I will carpet the earth in blood, wash your feet in the sacrifices of thousands, and anoint your head in their tears. You will have a crown. I will give you the throne. I will give you a kingdom beyond this realm.”

Azrael stared at his shaking hands, which still held the pit. The prince stood to his feet. He straightened and stared at the seraph, no longer quivering.

“I want to live.” He held the dried peach pit, pressing the seed against his heart. “I want to bleed.”

Next Chapter: AERYN