The Fall

For the first time in 499 years, it rains fire.

The flaming rocks hit the earth hard, breaking beneath the surface and erupting everything around it in flames and dust. There were hundreds of them, falling like water droplets all around the Coven. I watched as hellfire pounded the invisible dome protecting us—an intrusive thought snaking its way through my mind...

What if it isn't enough? What if it shatters?

The thought is ridiculous, of course. The shield put in place around the Coven is unbreakable—never once been shattered since it was made thousands of years ago. The Elders made it from their bones and sweat and tears, the third time the prophecy was fulfilled. It was made with a crackling sort of magic, invisible to our eyes until struck with something powerful, in which case it buzzes and shines, alerting us to trouble beyond our grounds.

There were underground tunnels that led to the world beyond, heavily guarded and purposefully made so we could hunt outside the grounds. Purposefully made so those born with magic could pass through and seek our refuge.

Lightning streaks across the sky, bringing with it rain and wind.

From safety, it looks beautiful. The streaks of purple and blue flashing across grey clouds, the blazing fire from fallen rocks swishing past as if in a hurry, as if in a dance. The sound of the rain booming like a pack of wolves ready to devour prey. The whistle of the wind was so lovely and sweet it could put me right to sleep, like a mother singing a lullaby to her newborn babe.

"Of course, smile at the chaos going on outside, what's so weird about that?"

I startle, turning at the sound of her voice.

"You've seen me do it a hundred times, it's a religious ritual by now." A smile blooms on my face, as it always does when I'm near Ana.

She strolls closer to me, black hair fanning her face and blue eyes darting to the fire beyond our grounds.

"It's too early, I thought we'd have more time." She says, with a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes—she's worried.

I know Ana better than I know myself.

We grew up together—raised as sisters. I know very little of my life before I was found wandering outside the dome, outside our barrier. Atlas, Ana's father and Coven leader, was the one who found me. I must have been around nine or ten then—no one knows the exact details of my birth.

There had been blood covering me from head to toe. I assume the blood could have been mine—or my parents. All I remember is a bearded man, black-haired and blue-eyed, extending his hand to me.

So I took it.

Ana is younger than I am—two years younger always seemed to fit our dynamic. We became inseparable as soon as we met.

"I'm not even surprised, are you? It wouldn't be the Coven if things didn't get dramatic." I roll my eyes and look at her, expecting.

Her blue eyes glow in delight, as they always do when she's happy—when she's excited, "I suppose you're right."

I watch as the glow in her eyes brightens.

Her powers never fail to amaze me, I see it every day yet I'm surprised when water dances at her fingertips—when she can stay submerged in water for hours at a time.

Ana can wield Water at will, she is the best of her kind, the Elementals—practicing since she could walk. Those like her are tall and slender, with dazzling blue eyes and hair so dark it could very well be blue. The most common magic within our walls belongs to those who can wield the Earth. They are muscled, with warm brown eyes and brown hair. We have an array of Fire wielders as well—they all have blazing red hair and amber eyes that seem to spark just like their magic does. The least common are those who wield Air. The few I have seen have locks of blonde hair and scrutinizing grey eyes.

Ana's voice shakes me out of my trance, "Do you feel ready?"

"Ready to potentially doom or save us? Of course, I am." I give her a knowing smile but I know she can sense the fear behind my eyes. She knows me better than she knows herself, too.

The prophecy is all I think about. It is in my dreams, in my waking hours.

"The new becomes old, a sacrifice fueled by love shall bring forth an end to hunger and failing crops.

When fire rains from the sky, Lilith shall bring an end to our suffering and the rise of nature. The Fallen shall mark a country's new rise.

When the winds show their true power, Lilith shall cause the clash of demons and the rise of a new evil. The Fallen shall create a world of darkness."

It doesn't make any sense, yet every half millennia Lilith is born and the cycle starts again—poverty and a scarce of food, fire raining from the sky, the Fallen.

I envy those who can wield elemental magic. All my life has been spent wishing I could cause earthquakes, create tornados, summon a wall of water as hard as concrete, turn my body into a blazing inferno. Even now it pangs at my heart, a fresh wound that cannot heal.

There was an incident, the day Atlas found me.

The grounds inside the dome are vast, trees and lakes forming a path to the castle on a hill. Thousands of people—kids, youths, parents bustling about even after dark. Fluorescent flowers and plants adorning bushes, fireflies everywhere, the air reeked of magic and laughter.

A faraway voice reminded me of the legends and stories of the Coven. Oh, even at nine or ten, I knew it had to be real. And it was.

Atlas had me in his arms, settling me down when we neared the lake. A beautiful woman with black hair and blue eyes smiled at me, furrowing her brows at Atlas before recognition set in.

I know words were exchanged, but all I remember was the flower she gave me after. How she made the droplets on the flower rise and scatter all over my face, my clothes, my hair. The sensation was cool and soft, like water running up my body instead of down.

When I looked at my hands, they were clean. No more blood on me.

No more memories of my previous life.

I smiled at her, and she tapped either side of my cheeks with a single finger, embracing me in the process.

Even 15 years later, Petra still touches the dimples on either side of my cheeks when I smile or laugh with her. She's as much a mother to me, as she is to Ana.

I remember she held my hand that night, not letting go as we walked through the bustling crowds. But then, I saw fire.

There was a boy, one hand was tethered to his mother. Another hand was engulfed in flames. He was shaking it as if trying to get rid of the inferno, his mother utterly unaware.

It didn't register that the boy did not cry out in pain. The flames were a reminder of home—they triggered a murky memory I could not shake.

I thought he was in danger, so I lunged for him.

Petra and Atlas did not react fast enough, I was upon the boy in a matter of seconds and to do what? Even to this day, I don't know.

At the first lick of flames, I screamed in overwhelming pain.

As seconds went by, the boy's eyes turned to me, eyes glowing so red I thought myself insane. Soon, my whole arm was engulfed in fire.

I only touched his hand for a matter of seconds before being pulled back but it was enough to make me cry out, and enough for him to latch on for longer.

The smell of scorched skin drifted up to my nose, making me gag and choke on my tears. I could see the tendrils of smoke leaving my hand, my arm. I could see the boy's mother, her expression horrified.

I saw Petra, eyes glowing blue and clear water curling around her temples before settling down on my arm. There was a crowd around us, everyone watching as I cried out over and over again in agonizing pain.

And then, as if a light had gone out, I simply... stopped. I stopped crying. I stopped wailing. I stared at Petra, at Atlas, at the boy's mother. But they weren't watching me, they were watching my arm.

Where torn red flesh should have been, where pain should have been—there was clear alabaster skin and the sweet sensation of gooseflesh. My fingertips still stung, but I watched as a clear shine went over them, I watched as red blotchy skin turned into fine alabaster smoothness.

Everyone around us started speaking at once, there were cries of fear and cries of excitement.

"What—what was that?" My voice was barely more than a whisper.

Atlas looked at me, "I'll explain everything, child. I promise."

"Petra," she turned at the sound of his voice, "let everyone know the healer is among us. Let them know Lilith has arrived."

~

Lilith had not been my birth name, although I cannot remember what that was. But that is the name of the woman in the prophecy, and over millennia, she is the only healer to ever exist.

A sudden green flash races through the sky, jarring my attention. Ana's hand flies up to her mouth, her face stricken with horror.

"That's it—that's the Fallen." My eyes dart back to the green light, the white edges of the comet stark against the dark of night, less visible as the seconds go by.

Then it disappears.

Ana and I wait, my hand now gripping hers.

All at once, there is a blast of wind so hard it shatters the windows in front of us. I have time to register Ana's wall of water placing itself between us and the shards of glass before we're blasted back into the wall so hard it knocks the wind from me.

Her shield was not fast enough.

Pieces still make their way into my flesh, my eyes, my neck, my tongue. I look over to see her hand bleeding, a gash so big I instinctively put my hand over it and will my power to work fast.

Off into the distance, not far from the Coven—maybe a few miles at most—there is a stream of green shooting up into the sky.

Then it gutters and flickers out.

All at once, the rain, the thunder and lightning, the sky full of fire—all of it stops. The clouds part, giving way to a beautiful full moon.

Ana is saying my name. Yelling it.

I look back at her, the world coming back into focus. Her wounds are now healed by my hands and the magic running through them. There is blood in my eyes, my throat, but no wound. Never a wound.

Ana is fine, I tell myself, you healed her.

"We have to tell Atlas. Now." At once, she nods and we sprint toward his quarters.

The castle walls are the same as they've always been—grandiose, fortified walls around us, slacks of stone polished, candles and lanterns the only source of light at night, long corridors and steep stairs leading to common rooms and practice halls.

This is our home. The only place we are safe. The only place the beings that lurk in the night cannot enter—can not harm us.

We're almost at the East wing when familiar paintings line the walls.

The first Lilith.

I look at the painting, her dark brown straight hair fanning around her high cheekbones. Her deep-set eyes the colour of amber—so light they looked like the desert lands spanning the outer edges of our continent. Her mouth is set in rouge so bright it accents a defined cupid's bow and the rubies at her ears. The cloak she wears is black—delicate silver and gold threads make the outline of a barn owl—what became the Coven's insignia.

My eyes dart to the next painting, outlining the same features of the same girl, the second Lilith. There are nine of them—of us.

When I first saw the paintings, it wasn't hard to imagine that I'd one day look just like them. I could see the similarities—the same colour of hair, the same small nose, the same eyes and long brows.

We were the same, Lilith reincarnated. They died to fulfill the prophecy—to restore the lands with magic, with nature.

And so will I.

We finally come across familiar arched wooden doors—doors that were now swinging open.

At the first sight of his open wound, my hands dart out, instinctively covering the gash on his forehead and willing the magic to flow from me to him. Gooseflesh prickle my skin, a sensation like ice-cold water hitting sensitive teeth overtakes me.

I blink.

One second he is bleeding, the next he isn't, the flesh repaired by my powers. Atlas smiles at me, sadly.

"Petra?" I ask, looking inside the room to catch a glimpse—

"She's safe, now gathering everyone in the main hall." He glances over at Ana, noticing the blood smeared on her cheeks, her hands. Relief overtakes him when he realizes the blood has stopped flowing.

Ana is breathing hard but manages, "We saw it. The green light—it looks like it hit near Xiah. The Fallen—we need to go fast."

She's sucking in breaths, excited with what comes after.

"After the Presentation, a unit will leave to retrieve it."

"I will be in that unit." It's not a question, she says it like a challenge, daring him to stop her.

As her father, I know he doesn't like the idea of his daughter putting herself in danger to bring the Fallen into our grounds. As our leader, Ana is the best of them. As skilled in combat as she is in magic.

I see all of this register through his features, and when he doesn't say anything, a powerful gleam crosses her eyes—making them glow once more.

He looks between us, "You both need to attend the Presentation. We are late."

"What if I fail?" The traitorous words leave my mouth before I can reel them in.

"You won't. All the ones before you have succeeded, you will do right." Atlas reassures me.

Ana's words ring out, "If you fail at least no one will ever know you can outrun me. Y'know, since we'll all be dead."

Silence.

Atlas turns incredulous eyes in Ana's direction.

A laugh bursts out of me. The sheer audacity...

"Come on," Ana extends her hand and I take it, "A mad Petra is worse than a sky full of fire."

~

We walk fast through the corridors, making our way to the main hall where everyone is already waiting. There are thousands of us—all of us—on all five balconies overlooking the main hall. This is everyone's favourite part of the castle.

There is grass on the ground level, white polished tiles seen in between the moss that grew over it. It is an open space—you only have to look up to see millions of tiny dots illuminating our nights. The vibrant blues and smears of galaxies so stark against the mossy floors, you'd think it fake.

But it isn't.

There are four columns, and carved into each stone is our emblem—an owl, rubies in the place of eyes. Trickles of water adorn the grounds, the deep streams forming the inner surface of a delicate hand.

The Presentation has been under work for two years—it was made to teach the kids about the prophecy and the legend of the Fallen, to be fully explained in a way that does not frighten them, only when the time is right.

I spot Petra at the same time she spots me.

"Did you see where it landed?" She says in a way of greeting.

"Can't be far from Xiah," I pause, contemplating, "What if it wakes right away?"

It has always been said that the Fallen remains asleep until a day has passed from the fall, but—

"It will wake tomorrow night, Lilith, just as it always has." Her blue eyes shine, her shin is raised. Petra always makes me believe anything she says, with no doubt.

Her gaze cuts towards my sister, "Ana, are you ready? We must do this fast."

"I was ready two years ago," She smirks at me, winking.

"Don't," Petra warns.

Ana grimaces at her disapproving tone.

It was always like this between them, Petra scolding and Ana doing things that would gain a shake of Petra's head in exasperation.

"Let's begin then," Petra smiles, a dazzling grin no one can ever mistake for anything but determination.

There are whispers around us, I only notice the stares now that neither Atlas nor Petra is by my side. They're contemplative stares, pitiful. I've studied with many of them, tended to their wounds, their children's wounds. The notion that I have to die—I guess it doesn't only scare me, but them as well.

All the candles are blown out on a phantom wind. There are hushed whispers.

Ana kisses my cheek before she too leaves.

The crowd waits as green light flashes across the room, landing atop a large rock placed in the centre of the white mossy floors. The rock begins to shake like an egg about to hatch, and then...

There is a crack.

I know it's not possible but part of me thinks it can be heard for miles beyond this vast open room.

The crack begins to deepen until the rock is cracked in multiple pieces, dust and smaller debris scattering all over the floor. Once the dust has settled, a figure can be made from the chaos.

A young man with wild red hair is standing amid the rubble, he inhales in and out, releasing into the air his breath. Giant feathered wings droop behind him—the feathers seeming to turn from pearly white to onyx.

He moves to a nearby water stream and drinks from it. The excess water drips down his perfectly smooth skin, amber eyes fixing on the vast space before him.

He takes a few paces before settling down upon the rubble of rocks. He takes them in his delicate hands and uses them to start a fire.

There is a collective wonder on all our faces. The young man is the Fallen—an angel who fell from the sky. The legend says the rocks upon which he lay created the elemental magic of Earth. His first breath created the elemental Air. Drinking from our ravines caused the elemental magic of Water. And finally, his hands sparking the first flames created the elemental magic that we now know as Fire.

The humans who drank from the same stream, touched those rocks, felt the soot and cinders of his burned wood, breathed in his scent—they became the first Elementals.

There is a pause as a screech fills the room. Flying straight towards him is an animal, its head is white and heart-shaped. Its black eyes are haunting, the golden colour of its feathers seeming to glow in the moonlight.

An owl.

It dives for him, never waning out of its path. He holds out an arm and the animal settles on it, seemingly staring deep into his eyes.

A tear falls from the man, and in turn one from the owl as well.

"Find her," his voice booms across all balconies. He raises his arm and the owl screeches, flying away to find her.

To find me.

The first Lilith was a Fallen too, her wings clipped forever so she cannot rise. Her sin was so palpable that she is forever damned, sent to die as a human. Her memories are forgotten—and soon his would be too.

What happens next is the beautiful part of the story. A gust of wind forms a tunnel of leaves, and behind it—she appears, the owl perched on her shoulder.

I know it is Ana, and I have seen her rehearsing this Presentation for two years now, but it never fails to amaze me. Her beauty and confidence and radiance.

As soon as she smiles, he takes her in his arms and begins to dance, the owl flying overhead. Music fills the room as others join in a synchronized manner. There are flutes—the trails played shaking me to the bone, tears stinging my eyes as I marvel at the haunting beauty of it.

He twirls her to the call of the music, and she spins for him. A downpour of water rains on them, but once the drops reach the ground—they make their way back up as if time slowed them down—as if they have a destination beyond the tiles on the floor.

His hair begins to flame, eyes ablaze with an inner fire. His wings begin to whiten, the dark colour fading. The water droplets around them display their image, display their clasped hands and locked eyes.

The music picks up momentum, the flute now accompanied by violas. He dances faster and takes her with him, everyone around them following suit.

The viola reaches a deafening high note and he kisses her, only his kiss is poison as she is now human—she cannot survive it.

There is utter silence now as we watch her lay in his arms, as we watch his full white wings glow, as we watch his tears trickle upon her face and sink into her flesh, thus creating the first healer.

He lets out a cry that deafens, and he begins to ascend on a phantom wind.

Everything grows dark again.

There's a pause before thundering cheers join in—whistles and claps signalling the end of the Presentation.

The rest of the story is more gruesome and not shown. Lilith was born anew as the only healer to ever exist, only her love was not there when she awoke. In sorrow and madness, she spoke the prophecy then, the only time such a thing has happened. As a blessing and a curse—a blessing because Lilith would see him again in another life and fall in love again, a curse to humans and the first Elementals who had to fear for their fate because of her plausible damnation.

What no one likes to say is that she was angry and vengeful, that she would rather doom a whole people and unleash demons upon them than risk not seeing the Fallen again.

Her love freed him, it made him selfless and allowed him to right his wrongs. But she became selfish. And now I have to die for it.

~

"If you die, I will kill you." I stand with my arms crossed, glaring at her.

"That makes perfect sense, sure Lils." She smiles nonchalantly and makes to pass by me but I block her, again.

"I mean it, Ana" I suppress a smile, "But maybe if I can go—"

"If you follow us I will trap you in a bubble of water and only let you breathe every minute. Or so." Her eyes bore into mine, her expression set in endless stubbornness—meaning she'd do it.

I squint at her. She doesn't budge.

I move out of her way.

"I promise not to die tonight Lils, trust me." She kisses my cheek before joining the rest of them.

There's two from each Elemental going with her, Ana leading them all—naturally.

All she has to do is take the Fallen into the carriage, and make sure he is safe... but going out beyond our walls is dangerous even for the most skilled of them. Some creatures hunt Elementals, feed on their power, take it from nature. It's been happening more lately, just as the 500 years are up.

Right on cue.

Xiah is not far—only a few hours ride—they will be back in the morning if everything goes as it should.

Petra and Atlas make their way to Ana. I can see Petra scolding her, or telling her what to do. I can see Ana disregarding it. Atlas kisses the top of her head and nods at her.

It is time.

A bundle of nerves resurface in my stomach.

I don't want my sister to die.

I have to remind myself that she is strong. That she's the strongest Elemental to have ever been born.

Please, Ana, don't die.

She looks over her shoulder and winks at me, smiling and waving goodbye.

"See you soon," she mouths and I think I smile back.

~

I could not sleep.

I stay up with Petra in the healing wing, treating accidental burn marks on Earth elementals, accidental slashes of swords on the few humans who live within the Coven.

I work throughout the night so I can stop thinking, so my brain can lull and sleep while my hands heal.

"Shouldn't they be back by now?" There is no one else in the room I could've been talking to.

Petra's voice comes from somewhere behind me, "Soon. An hour more before we can start to worry."

I have never been a patient person, not once. I think of all the times Ana chastised me over a game of cards I couldn't understand in five minutes. I think of all the times I lost my patience trying to learn the old language and healing rituals.

My patience is long gone by now, the worry seeping in. Sweat pools at my temples, all over my body. My tongue goes dry.

Where are you?

There is commotion from the corridor, voices calling out and yelling. A look at Petra tells me all I need to know—they're back.

We rush out of the room, her hand clasping mine so hard it hurts. We run through the halls, hurrying to make it down the stairs and towards the entrance.

Please don't be dead.

There are people gathered—Elementals and humans alike, all muttering. There is a nervous energy in the air that I don't like.

Where is she?

I spot Atlas, and then I see her. I scan her from head to toe, no blood. No open gashes anywhere. I lock eyes with her, and she is... sickly pale. The colour completely drained from her face.

I furrow my brows in confusion—but then I see it.

What everyone is murmuring about.

He has eyes of grey so dark they look black.

He is not asleep.

He is staring right at me.

And he is breathtakingly beautiful.

The locks of his hair are flaming red, curls framing his face. His full lips set in a straight line, high cheekbones and straight nose masking him as otherworldly. His wings are barely white, only the outermost tips—and fading fast.

Nobody is that perfect.

It takes a second for it to register.

He's awake. He's not supposed to be awake yet, not until tonight.

Tonight is when we meet and start to fall in love, he does not remember me and I only know the legend of who he is. I die by sacrifice for his love, it ends my life but makes him selfless, returns him to his rightful place as once again humble—modest. To honour my death, he returns the flow of magic to our lands until the next visit.

There is the static buzz of energy all around us, the Elementals holding him back in place.

He looks at me with hatred in his eyes, with vengeance and so much hurt that it makes me stumble a step, two.

"You did this." His voice is deep and rumbly, wet from the tears now disobediently running down his face. He is a lullaby of death and chaos.

I don't know how to reply, but it is evident he's speaking to me.

His nostrils flare—his glare so definite. He raises his arm to shield his face from me, from us, as he hides his tears from our sight.

I can feel his embarrassment.

He repeats, "You did this." His gaze is so strong I can feel my body temperature rising—he isn't Elemental but something far stronger, the one who made them.

My blood runs cold with fear.

This is wrong. He shouldn't know of me, not yet.

He remembers. But I don't.

"What are you called?" My voice rings out, surprisingly not shakey—as if it isn't mine to control at all.

Nobody has ever known his name, it's not in any of our scripture, never cataloged anywhere. He is only known as the Fallen—nothing more.

He opens his mouth to speak it, but I already know the answer deep in my bones, deep in a chasm hidden in the back of my mind.

"Samael."

And then, he lunges for me.