The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The UnFallen

Cornelius eyed Kitara and his son with an open—if wary—expression. “What can I do for you, Kitara?”

“I’m not a traitor,” she said quietly. “Or a threat.”

He clasped his hands in front of him. “I know that.”

“Baylen asked me to be his right hand,” she said. “The Maker’s right hand.”

Cornelius hesitated. “And you agreed?”

She didn’t answer that question, glancing at Storm. “That’s not all.”

“Right.” He squared his shoulders to face his father. “He’s invited me as well. As Kitara’s Guardian.”

That raised the High Councilor’s eyebrows. “Her…Guardian?”

“I want to switch professions,” Storm elaborated. “I may have been a lousy handler…but she is my mission. Somehow, she always has been. Declan already agreed to put in a good word for me with William.”

“And in the interim?” Cornelius asked. “You’re Warrior-trained, but you’ll still need to go through the Guardian program. That will take some time.” His gaze shifted between them. “What will you do in the meantime, Kitara?”

“I’ll be training, too,” Kitara replied, her voice steady. “I need to learn more about my abilities and Baylen’s…operations.”

“And what of your role as a Sleeper?” Cornelius asked. “I intended to offer you the High Sleeper position, after Saoirse’s…” He trailed off. “I didn’t want to ask so soon after her passing.”

Kitara shook her head. “I wouldn’t have accepted it. What I am…who I am…I can help more than just the Valëtyrians, High Councilor. There are dozens of wrongly Felled angels out there.”

“They could be Valorn already,” Cornelius pointed out.

“Then maybe I’ll find a way to undo that too.” Her green eyes met his blue ones. “If I can, I want to unFell them all.”

“Some were Felled for good reason,” he countered.

“But none were Ninthëvels. The purpose of the formula—my father’s original purpose—was to keep his family from subjugating Valëtyria and Myragos. Not this.”

“Even Phoenix?” he challenged.

“Even Phoenix. That’s not to say I forgive him or want him to go unpunished,” she added flatly. “But you should seek the remaining Myragnar’s advice for appropriate consequences for one of their children.”

The corners of his eyes tightened. “Are you renouncing Valëtyria, Kitara? To become our enemy?”

“No,” she replied honestly. “I am extending my loyalties beyond the constraints of ancestry and duty.” Her gaze never wavered from Cornelius’s face. “I want to help everyone, regardless of their lineage or status. And I am no longer content to be used as a tool in someone else’s hand. I want to make my own choices and be seen not for my bloodline, but for my actions.”

Cornelius regarded her for a long, tense moment. “Those actions may occasionally pit you against the AIDO.”

“Only if you give me a reason. But the Maker already assists you—I think, for the moment, we can agree our ongoing relationship will be a mutually beneficial one.”

The High Councilor turned again to his son. “And you, Storm?” he asked, his voice grave. “Do you share her sentiments?”

Storm held his father’s gaze without flinching. “I do,” he answered. “We want to be more than byproducts of someone else’s legacy. We want to define our own identities, not be defined by someone else’s standards.”

Cornelius sighed. “And you’re sure you don’t want to pursue an ambassadorship instead?”

Storm snorted. “In a way, it kind of is an ambassadorship.”

The High Councilor almost rolled his eyes. Almost. “This still doesn’t mean I trust your judgment.”

Storm grinned. “You don’t have to. Because whether or not you like to admit it, you trust her. She brought me back from Ostragarn and worse, after all.”

The High Councilor studied them both. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” they replied in unison.

Cornelius took a moment to consider, folding his arms across his chest as he studied them. “Very well,” he said at last. “I agree, but not lightly. We will be watching to ensure neither of you endanger Valëtyria. Do not expect leniency because you’re my son and his soul bond.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Storm said wryly. “Honestly, Dad, I don’t think you’re capable of special treatment.”

The High Councilor’s lips twitched in a smile. “Considering the two of you have frequently been recipients of my ‘special treatment,’ I beg to differ. Do you know how much paperwork I’ve needed to do when it comes to you two?”

Storm laughed. “You sound like Declan.”

“Kitara? Storm? Neil?”

The three of them glanced up at Ilythia’s serene face in the doorway. “They’re all waiting on you.”

As Storm and Kitara moved to the door, Cornelius gripped his son’s shoulder. “Storm…” he began hesitantly. “I—” He broke off, frowning. “I hope you know…”

“I know, Dad,” Storm said, resting his hand on top of his father’s. “It’s okay.”

Cornelius cleared his throat, his voice gruff. “Good. Okay.” He patted his son’s shoulder awkwardly before splitting off to walk with his wife.

Kitara and Storm walked side by side behind the High Councilor and the Myragnar.

The silverblood leaned down. “Do you need anything? Food? Coffee? What can I do?”

“Just stay close,” Kitara told him, squeezing his hand. “I’ll feel better if you’re nearby.”

“Wherever you go, I will follow.”

He and Kitara walked into the room the Healers had designated: one typically reserved for advanced, complicated Healing procedures, complete with an observation area behind a sheet of glass.

“That’s good,” Kitara murmured, observing the small gathering clustered behind it as Cornelius and Ilythia joined them. “That way I won’t be distracted.” She turned to Storm. “Will you stay in here with me, though?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Three others stood in the room with them.

“Sorry for the delay,” she told Robert. “Had some…Sleeper business to address.”

He snorted. “I’ve learned not to ask.”

Kitara regarded him and the angel at his side. “You need to know—I can’t make any guarantees this will work. I’m fairly confident, Baylen is too…” She spared a glance for the impassive white-haired Ninthëvel leaning against the far wall, a silent source of support. “But…maybe temper your expectations, just in case.”

“We’ll do our best,” Kenric said, nodding. “And even if it doesn’t work, if Baylen could restore my wings…who knows? Maybe in a century or two you can try again.”

“Here’s hoping it won’t take that long.” Kitara gestured to the gurney in the middle of the room. “Rob?”

He sat gingerly on the edge of the table. “What do you need me to do?”

Kitara shook out her hands as Storm drew forward two chairs. “Try to relax,” she said. “You and I are about to get really well acquainted. I’ll be submerged in your aura.”

If the idea gave him pause, Robert didn’t let it show. “I trust you.”

“Good luck,” Kenric whispered, cupping Robert’s jaw and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “No matter what happens, I’ll be waiting for you on the other side, okay?”

The High Engineer nodded, but the muscle jumping in his jaw betrayed his anxiety.

After a beat of hesitance, Kenric retreated to the observation room behind the glass with the others, leaving Storm, Kitara, Baylen and Robert in the room.

“Get comfortable,” Kitara told the latter. “We’ll probably be here a while. And you’re conscious. Storm wasn’t.”

He nodded. “I’ll be fine. Do what you need to do.” With that, he laid back on the table and closed his eyes.

Before Kitara sat down to get started, Storm touched her wrist. «I love you,» he told her privately. «And I believe in you. No matter what.» At her nod, he leaned down and kissed her, threading a hand through her hair. «I’ll be right here the whole time.»

She took a deep breath and offered him a smile more confident than she felt. «I love you, too.»

“Here goes nothing,” she murmured,

With her jaw set, she sat down beside the exam table and put a hand to Robert’s arm.

The High Engineer’s aura felt foreign to her, but it materialized in her mind’s eye all the same, like a labyrinth of circuitry. Frowning, she surveyed the damage. Corrosion tainted every surface like rust, thicker in some places than others. Unlike with Storm, the corrosion had set. There wasn’t a source of continued deterioration she had to staunch first. No, in Robert’s case, she had to simply…unmake the damage.

It didn’t come as easily with Robert as it did with Storm and Kenric. Kitara spent hours that felt like centuries traversing his essence. The rust corroded away little by little, disappearing as if dissolved in a powerful acid, revealing bright silver and gold pathways.

All the while, in the back of her mind, Storm’s presence hummed: gentle, reassuring, solid.

The connection between Kitara and Robert flared, a faint spark of energy originating from him. Encouraged, she surged forward.

Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, Kitara took a deep breath and withdrew. His essence shone like new—strong and unbreakable and beautiful in its complexity.

As she pulled away, exhaustion washed over her. She braced herself against the side of the exam table, her head spinning. Storm wrapped his arms around her, supporting her. “Are you okay?” he asked, his concern evident in his voice.

Kitara managed a weak nod. “Just tired,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “How long?”

“A little over twenty-four hours,” Baylen murmured from across the room.

Storm tightened his hold on her. “It was like you were both in a trance after you got started. Kit, it was…astonishing. Incredible. Just…incredible.”

Kitara jumped when Kenric burst into the room. The Commander took Robert’s hand, staring down at him with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. The others came in behind him, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

Robert’s eyes fluttered open before he slowly sat up. He blinked a few times, appearing surprised to find Kenric at his side, then glanced at Kitara.

His irises no longer bore the darkness of the Fallen, instead flashing a mesmerizing hazel.

He looked over his shoulder.

Slowly, apprehensively, his wings unfolded. The dusty brown tarnish had disappeared, leaving his wings a soft, almost silver gray.

Robert’s words strangled with emotion. “I didn’t dare hope, but…my god, Kitara…”

“Thank the stars,” Kenric choked out, pulling the High Engineer into an embrace.

Over the Commander’s shoulder, Robert met Kitara’s gaze again. Thank you, he mouthed.

Excitement, awe, and joy rippled through the room then as the others approached, exclaiming over a reality they had previously thought impossible.

All but Baylen, who still stood quietly off to one side and took in the scene, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

In Storm’s arms, Kitara took a deep breath, allowing the harmony of camaraderie and excitement to wash over her like a healing balm as the others crowded around them, chattering, laughing, even crying.

The woman with golden wings had subdued her adversary in a dance of glorious restoration.

Seen.

Here, now, they saw her. Witnesses to something that would change everything.

A new role, additional responsibilities, a challenge that would test the limits of every skill she possessed. A new family, new and old friends.

Accepted.

Storm leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You are my everything. Wherever you go, I will follow.”

“And no matter where you are, I will always come for you,” she whispered back.

His hold on her tightened. “Even if I accidentally stumble into Ostragarn or take on a pack of Netherlings by myself?”

Kitara lifted her head from his shoulder to meet his gaze. Quicksilver collided with emerald fire. “Especially then,” she assured him, her lips curving into a faint smile.

He returned the smile, then closed the distance between them to claim her mouth with his.

The quiet moment shared between them seemed frozen in time, an indelible snapshot amidst the chaos unfolding around them.

From across the room, Kitara felt Baylen’s sapphire gaze. When she met his eyes, he gave her a single nod of approval, then silently disappeared.

A Ninthëvel, the Maker.

A silverblood, the Guardian.

A Sleeper, the UnMaker.

With a wry smile, Kitara returned her focus to the small group of immortals who had somehow become her family.

Whatever they were, whatever lay ahead…it could wait until tomorrow.

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