Rithys’s angelic dominion stood among the oddest of all of the angels. Spherical, black, and nearly featureless, save for four silver rays running at regular intervals and meeting at the top and bottom of the domain. She levitated just above the chamber’s center where two celestial orbs glowed with brilliant white light. These were astral projections of her moons, her contribution to the enterprise of the mortal world to provide a brilliant spectacle at night. The mortals called the moons so many varying names depending on their language and traditions. None of these interested Rithys. To her, the moons were always simply her children.

She had crafted the moons at the outset of the creation of the mortal realm and never bothered to venture onto the surface of what became known by the mortals as “Vorlanys.” Little on the surface interested her. She found she far preferred her serene existence in Ceuna that passed by centuries at a time without incident. Indeed, pondering the inevitable tumult of a mortal existence sickened her.

Just behind her, she felt a familiar presence manifest. It was a fluid presence, one that sounded like the constant flow of a slow-moving river. Rithys smiled and turned to greet her guest.

“Cyrona,” Rithys said and continued to smile. Cyrona’s body emulated her own contribution to the lands of Vorlanys, the rivers, lakes, and oceans that the mortals relied upon for their very lives. It was a translucent, vibrant blue liquid that flowed in a gentle current from the top of her body to the bottom, constantly shimmering as though the sun beat down upon it. Rithys could see her own reflection in Cyrona’s waters, with her white robes draped over her abyssal black skin, milk white eyes, and hair that phased from ivory to black in a regular pattern.

“Do you know what they have done now?” Cyrona immediately launched into her aggrieved tone. Rithys had heard countless laments from Cyrona over the millennia relating to the treatment of her beloved waters. “They have a new city alongside my favorite river, the Nehal they call it. Like all of these lamentable settlements, where the buildings come up their… leavings come out, right into the current.”

Rithys continued to smile, which prompted Cyrona’s sapphire eyes to squint angrily. “I do not believe that this is unusual. They do this regularly, do they not?”

“Yes, but do you know what they call this awful little city?” Cyrona leaned forward pointing at Rithys.

“I could not say. I do not follow these happenings.”

“Cyromand! They named it after me! The sheer nerve of it!” Cyrona screeched.

Rithys’s smile only broadened.

“They think that they do you an honor. You shall have to make your peace with it,” she said, nodding.

“My peace? My peace?” Cyrona angrily laughed. “That is very easy for you to say since they cannot reach the sky and despoil your precious moons. What would you say if they did that? A whole gaggle of them squatting over that lovely pearly ground and leaving the most disgusting things you have ever seen.”

Rithys no longer could smile. That was a particularly noxious thought.

“Please do not say things so foul.”

“Now perhaps you understand,” Cyrona laughed. “Maybe there is a reason you stay up here at all times.”

Rithys nodded, smiling again, and turned about to examine her moons. She imagined what they must have looked like from the surface of Vorlanys at night, brightening the otherwise lonely night sky. Among the various contributions of the angels, she took silent pride in the fact that hers alone never drew the faintest scorn of the mortals. The rivers flooded, the beasts threatened, the sun beat down oppressively, but her moons never did anything displeasing.

“Will you rest with me?” Rithys asked.

“I suppose it might be to my benefit,” Cyrona grumbled and levitated to Rithys’s right. “There is nothing to aggravate me here.”

“There is almost nothing here,” Rithys smiled and nodded.

The two remained in place for some time, though Rithys could sense great unease from Cyrona. She crafted the vibrating sounds coming from her moons to more closely approximate the trickling of a fountain.

“Is that more to your liking?” Rithys queried.

Cyrona huffed.

“It could use some improvement, but I appreciate what you are trying to do,” she sighed. “At some point in the future, hopefully soon, you will have to come down and try to appreciate what I have done. It is very rude that you have not.”

“What you say, ‘soon,’ is not a relevant concept. You have been with the mortals too long,” Rithys sounded a whimsical note, broadening her smile.

Cyrona stared back with icy contempt, but did not indulge Rithys in a rejoinder. They continued to sit silently until Rithys heard a familiar ringing. Cyrona appeared to hear it as well but did not respond.

“Forynda is calling the council,” Rithys said distantly, fearing its purpose.

“So she is,” Cyrona responded with a lilt.

Rithys continued to listen, but heard little more.

“It apparently is an urgent matter.”

“Forynda never summons us without a powerful reason. Leave it to Vorlan for councils that are without purpose. If it is urgent, we should be off then.” Cyrona sprang up and disappeared.

Rithys followed reluctantly, sighing at the fact that she had to even momentarily abandon her beloved sanctuary.

The High Angel Forynda appointed her dominions in Ceuna in a very different manner than Rithys. Unlike Rithys’s dark sphere, the council chamber was a harsh, bright, cubic structure in which the council members stood on a glassy floor in a half-circle around a small golden square in the center from which one would address the council.

Rithys appeared at her designated post at the far left of the line. Looking down the line, she saw the angels already gathered or soon appearing after her.

Immediately to her left was Tathyk, with his face of moist soil, seed-like eyes with pronounced hard ridges down the middle, and root-like hands. He rarely set foot on Ceuna after establishing his own farm on the surface and becoming enraptured with the daily duties of the mortal farmers. To his left was Aberos, whose dark grey stone face nonetheless moved fluidly under his emerald green eyes. He, too, spent much of his existence with the mortals alongside Vorlan tending to the beauty of the mortal world. To Aberos’s left stood Vorlan, often called “the Earth Angel” by the mortals. It had been Vorlan who established the foundations of the mortal world and made the broad strokes in its initial creation before all of the other angels contributed their fine details. He wore earthen garments that complimented his wispy amber hair, deep verdant skin, mossy beard, and dark brown eyes. Rithys counted herself as one of Vorlan’s disciples, as did Tathyk, Aberos, and scores of other angels.

The opposite side of the chamber consisted of Forynda’s disciples. Nethron, the Aura Keeper, stood at the far end. As was his usual affectation, he hung his head low, hiding his crystalline eyes that flashed in alternating blues, reds, yellows, greens, and any number of other hues representing the various auras. Far less remarkable than his eyes, he wore a simple, yet elegant, robe of dark blue with golden patterns over his sleek silvery skin. To his right was Cyrona and to hers was Elaous, Guardian of Ceuna. A hulking angel, Elaous wore brilliant white enameled plate over his metallic white skin. Aside from the glorious jewel-encrusted patterns on his plate, his armor and skin were hard to distinguish from one another. His head was utterly devoid of hair and instead had the polish and shine of his armor.

Finally, to the right of Elaous and left of Vorlan stood the High Angel Forynda. Tall, thin, wearing a majestic shining white robe over her silver skin while her flowing white hair sat upon her shoulders, Forynda’s appearance was both fierce and serene. With her translucent gold eyes, the High Angel languidly scanned the chamber, briefly glancing at each of her fellow angels to ensure that her council was properly assembled.

“We are convened,” Forynda spoke slowly in her high and strong voice. As the law giver, the duty of ruling over the council always fell to Forynda. “Our brother, Omonrel, wishes to address our council regarding a great disturbance in the mortal world. Omonrel, enter.”

A figure began to materialize on the golden square in the chamber’s center in a series of whirling white wisps. Omonrel appeared wearing a dark burgundy robe embroidered with fine golden thread in a series of heraldic designs. Rithys did not recognize any of them, but she presumed that they represented Omonrel’s own house that he had founded in Vorlanys. Of the angels, Rithys always considered Omonrel to have among the fairest appearances with pale ivory skin, crystal blue eyes, and a thin, angular face. On Vorlanys, he served as a sculptor and artist, giving the world much of its beauty. He regularly carried a pensive demeanor and before the council at that moment was not an exception. After sheepishly looking at each of the council members, he turned his focus on Foryda.

“I come before you, my beloved friends, to relate the unhappy news that one of our brethren, Gorondos, has strayed,” Omonrel said. His voice, as ever, was silky smooth and serene. “I have always promised that, should any of our brethren living among the mortals behave in a manner injurious to the mortals, I would be the first to raise the transgressions and seek the appropriate punishments.”

“This is not the first time,” Cyrona scoffed as Omonrel paused. “What foul deed has Gorondos done?”

Omonrel politely nodded in Cyrona’s direction, not showing offense at her interruption.

“Two murders. A husband and his wife. He had relations with the wife and when she decided that those should no longer continue, Gorondos became consumed by jealousy and slew them both, lighting their home ablaze as well,” Omonrel announced dispassionately. The other angels, save Forynda, all demonstrated some manner of dismay with Vorlan and Tathyk both shaking their heads mournfully in precisely the same pattern. Rithys shuddered as she contemplated the horror. Forynda, however, did not react. Omonrel then continued, “He willingly surrendered himself to me and I am keeping him under my own guard until the council determines an appropriate punishment. He is prepared to accept your judgment.”

Forynda scanned her fellow angels after Omonrel finished speaking. She then turned to Vorlan.

“He is one of yours,” Forynda said. “What is your opinion?”

Vorlan tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe and turned his head toward the ground.

“Passions often obscure and confuse the true intentions of the mortals, and so it seems to be with us,” Vorlan said, his words choked and his voice customarily raspy. “Even among the mortals, they try to ascertain the state of mind of the accused so as not to assign more responsibility or a greater punishment than they deserve. A deranged soul is not as guilty as a serene one in committing the same crime. I believe that we must apply an analogous standard in the instance of our dear brother Gorondos. He would not have done such a vile thing had his mind been in a placid state. Our sentence should be tempered by that fact. We must not surrender to a harsh impulse.”

Cyrona gasped from across the chamber, drawing the attention of the whole of the council.

“You yourself have said that the mortals live in a manner so far apart from our own that they should not attempt to emulate our lives, yet you are saying we should adopt their sensibilities? What madness is this?” Cyrona bellowed. “A higher standard must be applied than simply granting a greatly reduced sentence due to a whim of passion. There is nothing so dangerous as passion in the world of the mortals. This…”

Forynda calmly raised her hand to command Cyrona to cease. Rithys knew, however, that Forynda’s displeasure was only that propriety had been violated and not at anything Cyrona had said. Indeed, the High Angel’s views on this matter were clear without her having said a word. Nonetheless, she next turned to Elaous.

“And your view?” Forynda queried.

“I concur fully with what Cyrona said,” Elaous rumbled in his heavy, blunt voice. “Our sentence must be firm. It cannot be blinded by emotion.”

Rithys saw Cyrona form a reserved smile. Elaous was typically modest in his judgments; always an immaculately fair arbiter. Now that he had sided Cyrona, there was little doubt of the outcome of the council. Omonrel’s placid stance began to weaken after Elaous’s pronouncement. Forynda’s eyes set on Omonrel as he began to wobble before turning to her right and motioning toward Aberos.

“Aberos, what is your judgment?” Forynda asked, maintaining her stiffly calm tone.

Aberos’s stone face tightened, forming the slightest trace of a frown. He turned his head enough to see Vorlan almost desperately trying to communicate a silent plea for mercy. Aberos swiftly turned his attention back toward the center of the chamber.

“The crime is severe and so must be the punishment. With our perspectives, we should not be so easily seduced by the burning urges of the mortals. Gorondos was not watchful.” Aberos paused to look again at Vorlan. “He will suffer for it, as he must. Leniency will yield more tragedy.”

The harsh tone of Aberos’s judgment caused Omonrel’s tension to increase radically. Rithys observed that Omonrel nearly blurted out to stop what he heard, his mouth popping open for a moment, but he restrained himself. Forynda again icily stared at Omonrel as if to draw a question from him. She then turned her gaze down the line to Tathyk.

“And you, Tathyk?”

His seed-like eyes twisted in his face. He turned toward Rithys. She felt he must have been trying to gauge her thoughts, but she had almost none on the matter. He made a whimpering noise before turning back to toward the center.

“I would urge the greatest compassion and the greatest caution. Mortals far too often cause endless cycles of grief with their desires for retribution. Those of us who live among them know this well,” Tathyk spoke slowly in his wheezing voice. He nodded toward Omonrel. “You must separate what is an appropriate punishment for a transgression from a punishment that satisfies you.”

Rithys held no surprise that Tathyk would add his voice to Vorlan’s. The two only rarely diverged on any point. Forynda showed no response to Tathyk’s pleadings and turned her gaze toward Nethron on the opposite end.

“Nethron, what is your judgment?” Forynda’s constant and unwavering tone was a marvel to Rithys.

Nethron appeared distracted and restless. Rithys rarely spoke to Nethron, but she knew from the few times that she had that the Aura Keeper never enjoyed council gatherings. He liked even less having to contribute to them.

“Leniency… Compassion… Harsh… Tempered…” Nethron mumbled, looking down at his feet. “I might not have as clear of a sense as to what these words mean. What do you think is appropriate, Vorlan?”

Vorlan agonized under the collective gaze of the council members.

“A century in confinement, isolation from what he prizes, would be appropriate,” Vorlan managed.

“A century?” Omonrel gasped. “You might not fully appreciate just how long a century is to those who live with the mortals.”

“I do often walk among them and understand your meaning,” Vorlan said.

“It would be quite harsh,” Omonrel cautioned.

Nethron raised his head and cocked it to the left as Omonrel spoke.

“A century hurts, does it? Perhaps it should be a millennium,” Nethron said coldly. Cyrona nodded approvingly while Omonrel appeared dumbfounded. “Those two mortals will never know their world again. Gorondos will be freed and will enjoy its bounties long after any memory of what he did is gone from the world. It seems fair that his punishment should be severe.”

“I endorse Nethron’s judgment. A millennium would be appropriate,” Cyrona eagerly joined.

“I agree,” Aberos said indifferently.

Omonrel shook and offered open hands to Vorlan and the others, but Forynda raised her hand to command silence while she heard from the remainder of the council. She first turned to Elaous, who nodded stiffly in agreement.

“It would be just,” Elaous pronounced in his deep rumbling voice.

She swiftly turned back to Vorlan and also eyed Tathyk, both of whom wobbled. Vorlan’s mossy beard pulled upward as his face tightened. Rithys had seen before Vorlan’s tendency to prefer unanimity in the council rather than dissenting to make his own voice heard. His desire to not break with that pattern was plain.

“I can accept this judgment,” he murmured with palpable reluctance.

Tathyk soon followed. At last, Forynda’s gaze shifted toward Rithys, as did the eyes of the rest of the council.

“Rithys, you have been silent. What is your judgment?” Forynda said, almost fully disguising her often vocal disdain for Rithys’s perpetual timidity.

Even though she had listened to the council deliberations through that point, Rithys had not formed a firm opinion on the matter. It did not interest her. A millennium or a century were irrelevant concepts as far as she could reason. Gorondos’s punishment could have been a thousand millennia and it would not have fazed her.

“Yes,” Rithys said.

Forynda glared back at her.

“Yes? You mean to say that you agree with the punishment?” Forynda queried, failing to mask her annoyance.

“Yes,” Rithys said again, barely audibly.

Forynda shifted back toward Omonrel. By that time, Omonrel had lost any ability to appear calm. He looked as though he wanted to scream. Forynda again commanded his silence with her hand. The time had come for the High Angel, the final arbiter of all judgments in Ceuna, to voice her decision. For Rithys, it was a tedious moment since there was never any doubt how Forynda would rule.

“I have never thought it wise for our kind to live among the mortals, yet I relented at the urgings of those who wished most fervently to enjoy the fruits of their labors. I warned then, as I warned in the following millennia, that our lives and the lives of mortals are irreconcilably divergent and would corrupt one another in time,” Forynda boomed. “Gorondos’s vile deed is not the first confirmation of my fears, but it is the most tragic moment we have seen thus far. Our duty is to aid and protect the mortals. That we have come to such a point where our brethren are slaughtering those we are there to aid proves that the natural order favors our separation. Such a catastrophe as this should cause us to consider this point.”

Forynda paused for some moments as Omonrel displayed escalating outrage.

“Forynda, I beg you. Please, let us not shatter what so many of us hold dear over a few deviations. The mortals do far worse to one another on a routine basis. Surely this does not warrant such a severe collective punishment,” his voice cracked as he pleaded.

“We shall consider the larger question at a later time with the full consultation of all of our brethren. I promise you that I will not make such a decision alone,” Forynda declared. “As for the judgment of Gorondos, he is sentenced from this moment to a millennium in confinement, removed from our world and the world of the mortals. Omonrel, Nethron, and Vorlan, I task you with devising the appropriate conditions for his imprisonment.”

Nethron’s eyes ceased alternating colors, settling on an icy blue as the Aura Keeper nodded to accept his task. Vorlan meekly acknowledged his own agreement. Omonrel stood shaking, but also signaled his acquiescence.

“I accept the will of the council and do not question its judgment,” Omonrel weakly offered contrition.

Forynda did not respond to Omonrel’s offer. Rithys presumed that the High Angel thought little of Omonrel’s attempt to appear agreeable. Forynda was never one to graciously accept hollow gestures.

“The council is dismissed,” Forynda announced. The High Angel then disappeared with a wisp of light. Most of the others followed, including Omonrel, Nethron, and Vorlan. Rithys saw that only she and Cyrona remained within moments.

Cyrona floated toward Rithys, her watery body reflecting the harsh light of Forynda’s council chambers as she moved across it. Her previously pleased expression had faded, but Rithys could not determine why.

“I was glad to see that you did not disagree with a just punishment,” Cyrona said. “I worried that you might vacillate as Vorlan did, or rather as he always does. We do not have the luxury of the laxity he always seems eager to show. You might not realize the simple truth, and clearly Vorlan does not, but we stand near the edge of oblivion.”

Rithys frowned. She did not know whether she agreed with Cyrona’s warning or if it was yet another instance of Cyrona’s alarmism run wild.

“For us or for the mortal world?” Rithys asked.

“Both.”

~~~

Vorlan always marveled at what Omonrel had crafted in the eastern mountain ranges, especially the towering spire of Mount Hetras. Gorondos had added volcanism to the already imposing mountain, causing a constant stream of lava to pour down the northern slope of the mountain. On occasion, it would spew violently in a captivating display of smoke and fire. Now this beauteous work would be his prison.

With Nethron, Vorlan waited on the southern slope of the mountain while Omonrel escorted Gorondos into an abyssal cave near the base of the mountain. Omonrel offered to craft the seal for Gorondos, a grim duty that neither Vorlan nor Nethron wished to take upon themselves. Vorlan always hoped to never raise a hand in any capacity against one of his brethren and Nethron simply did not have the interest one way or the other. The two merely held a vigil outside as heavy hot gusts blew down from the mountain, causing their robes to flap about wildly.

“It will not end with this,” Nethron said at last, his eyes focused on the glassy rocks below. Vorlan curiously looked at the Aura Keeper. “Gorondos’s imprisonment… The mortals… There is nothing inimitable about Gorondos. Others will follow his path. Even a millennium of punishment will not dissuade them.”

“This is your first journey to the mortal world, is it not?” Vorlan asked, hoping to draw Nethron toward a different conclusion.

“Yes it is,” Nethron said, raising his head and looking at Vorlan with his flickering eyes. “I rather enjoy it. You and the others must take great satisfaction in what you created here. It is fascinating to feel the auras flow around me rather than merely studying them from afar. I feel them in Ceuna, but they… It is a rather different sensation.”

Vorlan smiled warmly at Nethron.

“You must see that one would have to be deranged to risk being shut away from it for even a century. One would feel every gnawing pulse of time in maddening isolation,” Vorlan said, motioning to the sprawling mountain ranges to the south and east of them.

Nethron shrugged lazily.

“It all depends on what they think that they can gain. There is an uneasy aura that runs through this world at its very core. It pulses… quivers… twists,” Nethron moved his hand through the air, causing ripples of varying colors to radiate from it. The waves of different hues spread far before dissipating. “Forynda thinks it vile, but it is not. It is merely volatile and we are serene creatures, our kind. The two are naturally at odds.”

The Earth Angel laughed and continued to smile at the Aura Keeper.

“And you have determined all of this from such a cursory examination?” Vorlan asked.

Nethron shook his head and shrugged again.

“These are not complicated matters. Maybe it is clearer to me as I have not lived here.”

Vorlan began to speak, but his eyes caught sight of Omonrel reemerging from the cave, folding his arms into his robes and hanging his head low. Omonrel glared upward at Vorlan and Nethron as he approached. None of the three said anything for many moments while the blistering winds continued to whirl around the base of the mountain.

“Gorondos cried when I sealed him,” Omonrel said bitterly. “Yet he sustained his punishment far better than I have.”

“It was the collective judgment of the council,” Vorlan mumbled with contrition.

“A wise judgment, too,” Nethron said, his eyes flashing fluorescent red.

Omonrel glared at the Aura Keeper. “Time will tell on that.”

Nethron’s eyes phased back toward a dull yellow and moved toward the cave to apply the final seal to Gorondos’s prison. He gave a small motion of one of his hands and a shimmering translucent golden shell fell over the cave, impenetrable by any except the master of the auras.

Their duties concluded, the three departed. Vorlan was the last to leave as he looked back at Mount Hetras, pondering Omonrel and Nethron’s pessimism that far worse was to follow. Despite his every hope that it was not true, he could not slay his own doubts. After watching one more powerful volcanic blast spray lava far into the ashen sky, Vorlan left for Ceuna.