Trepidation marred Nethron’s every step as he approached Mount Hetras. He had not objected to the imprisonment of Gorondos and Myrvaness. They had not erred to assist the mortals. They had erred to harm them. Gorondos out of lust. Myrvaness out of some desire that Nethron did not even understand. Omonrel, however, had convinced the Aura Liberator to engage in one more act of emancipation.

In the fiery chambers underneath the volcanic mountain, the air was filled with embers and acrid smoke. Nethron had chosen this location for the prison as no mortal could have possibly survived it. Indeed, there was not the slightest indication that either prison had been disturbed. It was, of course, a needless worry. His aura fields were impervious to any other than himself. Even Omonrel, Parlon, and Jagreth could not hope to breach them.

First, he turned to the darkened vault in which he had sealed Myrvaness. He recalled that she had declared with fiery resolve to avenge her imprisonment. Nethron did not know whether this meant retaliation against himself or against Forynda for declaring the judgment on her. Perhaps both. Myrvaness and Nethron had rarely spoken. Nethron knew her only as one of Elaous’s acolytes, an unremarkable entity by any measure. When he considered that fact, he understood why she might have sought out the mortals. They would have viewed her as extraordinary.

With a simple pulse from his body, he destroyed the opaque barrier and saw Myrvaness resting while floating in the air. She was so far into her sleep that she did not rouse when the barrier was broken.

“Myrvaness, you are free,” Nethron said. “Truly. I promise you that this is true.”

Her eyes opened. She moved forward, floating in the air toward him. She examined him carefully, as though to make sure that he was not a mirage.

“This is not some cruel jest of Forynda’s?” Myrvaness asked, squinting.

“A cruel jest? No, and certainly not Forynda’s.”

“Then whose plan was this?”

“Allies we have in common,” Nethron weakly smiled.

Myrvaness’s head lurched back in surprise.

“You are serving Omonrel now?”

“Serve… That is not how I think of it. More that we follow a common interest.”

“Is that what Omonrel told you?” she laughed. “I would advise you be careful about that.”

“Why?”

“Deception is a mortal art, but he has great affection for it. His motivations are an enigma. Do not assume you know what he wants,” she cautioned, waving a finger in Nethron’s face.

The Aura Liberator nodded warily, unsure who was truly engaging in the deception, but considering the possibility that it was indeed both Omonrel and Myrvaness. The very fact that Omonrel wanted Myrvaness released confused Nethron. Transparency was not one of the Sculptor’s strengths. Nethron surmised that Omonrel simply wanted to have more angels allied with him to face Forynda’s inevitable fury.

After some further dithering, Nethron decided to move to Gorondos’s prison. The Fire Bringer was situated closer to the surface than was Myrvaness, as Nethron had not foreseen the chance that two of his brethren would need to be confined for misdeeds.

A blue pulse emanated from his hand and shattered the barrier locking Gorondos in his prison. Gorondos, like Myrvaness, floated in the air, asleep with his arms folded. He had a lifeless quality to him, as though he had not moved a single inch in months. Nethron had a moment of pity for Gorondos that he had not felt when he consigned the Fire Bringer to his prison. Experiencing what he had in Zarmand had granted him an appreciation of why Gorondos had so strayed. Gorondos’s eyes, the fiery orbs that they were, opened with astonishment before Nethron could address him.

“Why have you come?” the Fire Bringer asked in his crackling voice.

“To correct an error, my friend,” Nethron said with a cheery lilt. “I do hope you will accept my most sincere apologies.”

Gorondos examined his surroundings with a gaze as though they were new to him.

“The Auras, you…” Gorondos started slowly, but Nethron interrupted.

“Freed them, yes. There is much to explain, and I will be more than pleased to tell you all of it.”

“You had better,” Gorondos rumbled, his eyes shifting toward Myrvaness. “And you as well?”

Myrvaness acknowledged the question.

“Imprisoned, just as you were, before I was freed by Nethron.”

“I should say that it was Omonrel that strongly insisted that I free both of you immediately, to give him the credit he is due,” Nethron offered humbly. “I would have considered…”

“You mean you would not have on your own?” Gorondos growled.

Nethron was surprised by the ingratitude of the question. He had fully expected unrestrained joy out of the Fire Bringer that his sentence had so greatly reduced. He was supposed to be locked away for a millennium. Instead it had generously been a mere handful of years.

“That is not important,” Myrvaness interjected in the conversation. “Our freedom is what matters now.”

Nethron bowed graciously to Myrvaness for her assistance. Having spoken to her so infrequently, he did not expect her to be a useful ally.

“Where is Omonrel?” Gorondos asked looking upward toward the mouth of the caverns.

“Just outside the mountain,” Nethron motioned.

Gorondos moved onward, not acknowledging either Nethron or Myrvaness. Myrvaness moved closer to Nethron after the Fire Bringer left.

“I am sure that Omonrel wanted Gorondos freed more than he wanted me. Is that the case?”

“More… No I could not say,” Nethron responded, confused. “We spoke little about it, now that I think of it.”

Myrvaness smirked.

“Be watchful. They are our allies at this time, but that may yet change. You are useful to Omonrel for the moment and he will use you as long as it benefits him,” she said warily. “The instant you cross his purposes, he will dispense with you.”

An anxiety Nethron had never felt before roiled through his spirit.

“When would I know I have done that?” he asked.

“Never. Telling you is not his way, and that is an unfortunate trait the mortals have, I am afraid.”

All that Myrvaness said introduced a dimension of complexity Nethron had never seriously considered. He knew that deception existed among the mortals and that his own brethren could be evasive, but he had never known any of them to speak a complete untruth. Omissions, yes, but never anything more than that. Whatever her other faults, if anything the High Angel was too honest. She did not let a single irritation pass unstated.

“Thank you for the advice,” Nethron said uneasily. “Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

“No, my dear Nethron, you have done plenty by freeing me,” Myrvaness said warmly, grasping his hand. “When I need anything else, I will ask.”

She swiftly departed after that, leaving Nethron alone in the caverns of Mount Hetras, an arrangement he did not necessarily find disagreeable as he was less than eager to speak with any of his other brethren. When he finally did emerge, he found, blessedly, that they had all left.

On his return to Zarmand, he found that legions of mortals demanded to see him to attempt to better understand the powers he had granted them. The thought had never crossed his mind that the mortals would be unable to wield the Auras without some manner of guidance. He supposed that stood to reason. Mortals had existed for millennia without any knowledge of the Auras, or the ability to control them. Simply obliterating the barriers between the mortal world and the Auras would be insufficient. He recognized that now. Still, he was unwilling to meet with the mortals just yet.

In order to separate himself from both the mortal throngs in Zarmand and Omonrel’s cluster of angelic allies, he asked King Duronaht if he could be given a refuge in one of the many palatial estates Duronaht owned on the city’s outskirts. The grateful king agreed. After all, Duronaht owed Nethron much for the Aura Liberator’s interventions on behalf of Queen Torhess.

Nethron cared little for the amenities themselves. It was a charming enough home, made of striking red stone mined from near Zarmand. Its windows were mostly stained glass in elaborate patterns while the grounds were well-maintained by a crew of servants the king had attached to Nethron. Apparently, Duronaht had never so much as set foot on the estate’s grounds, preferring the majesty of the castle in central Zarmand itself. For Nethron, all of it, regardless of how splendid, grew tedious quickly.

His need for such a location stemmed not from any desire to accumulate lands and great estates as Omonrel appeared to desire. Rather, he simply needed quiet. He had not yet grown accustomed to the frenetic and unsettled nature of the mortal world. Long silences in his sanctum in Ceuna were necessary for his examinations of the Auras.

Within a walled garden to the rear of the manor house, he contemplated the Auras and how they now flowed with their restraints eliminated. Their vibrancy was unlike anything he had witnessed before. They were a more tangible presence, their invisible tendrils laying on top of him. Day went and night came several times as he stayed at the estate. One night, he achieved a particular sense of bliss as he could feel the Silver Aura, the most tantalizing of them all, in exquisite form as the souls of the dying wandered toward their eternal rest in Ceuna. From the mortal world, with the benefit of placidity, he saw these happenings as he had not before.

That insight was soon shattered. A commotion sounded out behind him. He spun to look at it, his vision still blurred with the argent lines of mortal souls journeying to Ceuna. Two mortal men tumbled into the moonlit garden, squabbling. They fell silent, however, as he loomed over them. One man had pale skin, blue-greenish hair, and a plump body while the other was quite thin with bright red skin with the customary white hair of a Kyosok.

“Who might you two be and why are you here?” Nethron asked coldly.

The plump man’s eyes shot open wide and his lip quivered while his friend crouched behind him.

“Are… are you Nethron?” he asked in a deep, yet squeaky, voice.

“That is so,” Nethron replied with irritation. “And you are not supposed to be here. What are your names?”

The plump one bowed and motioned out his open hands.

“Forgive me. A thousand pardons! I’m Galdrehln and this is my friend Renkyk. We’ve been looking all over Zarmand for you!” he said.

“And why?” Nethron asked, curious at the apparent earnestness of the two.

“We’ve been trying to wield the Auras,” Renkyk said, stepping out from Galdrehln’s shadow. With milky white eyes danced all around, obviously trying to avoid looking directly at the angel. “We’re not… We haven’t been able to do much. Others are the same. We’re trying, but we need help! Will you help us, my Angelic Lord?”

Galdrehln looked surprised, as though he had not thought Renkyk capable of such a plea. Nethron looked at the two in silence for some time before breaking his momentarily stern demeanor with a smile. This chance happening was a pleasant surprise.

“It would be my pleasure, my friends,” he said. “Now, let us find a proper place to begin your studies.”