Keshiema sighed as she looked at the book sitting on her nightstand. She found herself trusting the elders more often. She was still afraid to go near Stolas, and he had kept his distance since the incident. A wave of grief washed over her. She had not even tried to talk to him about it. 'He's my brother, I should reach out. But he hurt me.' Burying her head in her pillow, she growled in frustration as she fought with herself.

  'Let me know how you like the book. That is, if you truly think you want to know what's in there.' Dásos's words continued to bother her. How was she going to tell him she used his power on a different book?

  A flash of green blinded her as a clap of thunder shook the room. Keshiema immediately recognized the aura that surrounded her. She turned to see Dásos falling to the ground holding his chest. He coughed up a black, shimmering liquid as he tried to catch his breath.

  She rushed to him and cradled him in her arms. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she looked over him. The same sparkling liquid flowed from the gunshot wound in his chest. She summoned all her remaining strength and sent a burst of her aura through his injury. She guided it through his left lung, patching the tear and removing the blood that had started to fill it. He gasped for air as his injury healed. "Kesh, I need Merihim." He wheezed out.

  'Ayperos, I need help. Bring Merihim.' She pleaded. Within moments, they were busting down her door.

  "Merihim, your men are here." Dásos fished a paper out of his pocket. As Merihim knelt down to retrieve it, Dásos grabbed him and pulled him close, whispering in his ear. "I'm sorry but I couldn't save Cresil."

  "Thank you, I appreciate your help." Merihim rose and looked to Ayperos. "Will you make sure Phorest gets the best care we can provide? I have an important matter to attend to."

  Keshiema caught the leg of his pants. He looked down to see her hair turning red and black. Her aura radiated from her. "Merihim, is Cresil," she choked on the words. taking a slow, uneven breath, she tried again. "You told me I'd be the first to know!" she shouted. She held tightly onto Dásos as her aura exploded outward.

  The impact sent Merihim and Ayperos flying into the wall. The stones cracked from the impact. "Kesh," Dásos took hold of her hand. "Cresil is still alive." The aura in the room weighed down on him. Forcing himself to sit up, he pulled her into his arms. He held her, gently stroking her hair as she sobbed. When she finally caught her breath, she pushed away from Dásos and glared at Merihim, who was struggling to stand.

  He refused to make eye contact, staring at the ground instead. "I should have told you to begin with, and I apologize for my mistake. I promise I will stop at nothing to bring Cresil back to you."

  "I'm coming with you." She said, rising to her feet.

  "No." Her aura sizzled up around her, and her hair turned completely red. He hurried to explain, fearing another explosive outburst. "Cresil was taken hostage to bait you." Streaks of blue formed in her hair as she tried to ground herself and listen to Merihim's explanation. Her aura still hissed and crackled with her rage. "The on who has him is Tobias Davis."

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  "Tobi is the leader of the rebellion?" Her heart ached. "You're lying."

  "You can't keep treating me like a child! I'm finding Cresil myself." Keshiema held her hand out to Dásos to help him up. Accepting her help, he tried to stand but immediately fell to his knees in a coughing fit. More sparkling black blood splatted the floor. "Dásos..." She sank to the floor and used her aura to sooth his lungs once more. "What's happening to you?"

  "Just a bit of stardust and dark matter." He smiled through the pain. "I'll be fine. I promise. Go save your friend."

  Ayperos struggled to sit up. Blood trickled from the back of his head where it had slammed against the stone wall. "Kesh, please," Before he could finish his thought, she was gone, leaving behind nothing but a streak of aura.

  "Damn it!" Merihim slammed his fist against the wall, cracking it further.

  "Whoa there, little pony," Dásos carefully pulled himself up onto the bed, wincing in pain. "There isn't much you can do. The only one fast enough to catch her would be Lilith and you'd better not let her anywhere near Keshiema again."

  "Merihim?” Ayperos wanted his brother to clarify, but lacked the strength to for the words. His pain made his tone sound more accusatory than he has intended.

  "Don't start with me!" Merihim hissed. "I've done nothing but try to help. Lilith told Kesh I sent Cresil to Asail on a death-mission."

  "By the looks of things, you did." He put his head back against the cold stone. "You had to send Phorest in for a rescue."

  "Cresil is my best soldier. I thought he could handle this. I might have misjudged Tobias."

  "Misjudged Tobias?" Dásos stood "The man's batshit crazy... No offense, Batty." Merihim sighed at the archaic reference.

  "Phorest, is there any way you can track Keshiema?" Ayperos massaged the bridge of his nose. His wings twitched in agitation as he thought about explaining to Stolas how they managed to lose Keshiema again.

  "I've just been shot. What do you think?" He was not about to tell them he encouraged her to leave.

  "How will she know where to look?" Ayperos's slouched posture marked the defeat he felt to his core. He was exhausted. 'Gods, I need a nap.'

  Dásos knew exactly where she planned on going, but refused to tell the demons. They would only use the information to capture and essentially imprison her. The Elders lacked a certain level of empathy and understanding he would have expected from children of Priestesses. A result of their fathers influences, to be sure.

  ***

  Too quick for the sentry guards, she scaled the fence with ease and ran towards Asail. The city remained nearly unchanged since her childhood. Once she left the trees that heavily marked Sector Seventeen, she moved to the rooftops and slowed her pace. While they were riddled with traps and snares set by the rebellion, they were still much safer than the streets for a lone soldier. She picked her way through the rusting, rotting, and battle-worn buildings, carefully avoiding nailed boards and tripwires. When able, she leaped from building to building rather than trust the haphazard bridges connecting them.

  At the very edge of District Eleven sat the orphanage. The building, much smaller than she remembered, barely stood; the walls crumbled with a glance. What remained of the old swing set in the front sat rusted beyond recognition. The front gate hung half open, lopsided and wobbly, barely holding on by its top hinge. Jumping down from the adjacent building, she cautiously approached the old house, listening for any hint of movement. The area felt abandoned, even by the rats and cockroaches that had once infested it.