Mydaiel prodded at the contents of her plate; the blood pears oozing ruby juice. Despite the rampant hunger pains gnawing at her gut, she had little appetite and a once favored Avalon delicacy seemed to turn to ash in her mouth.

“Something amiss?” Charmeine’s warm shoulder pressed against Mydaiel’s side and she glanced up into her sister’s questioning gaze. Around them, conversation bloomed and no one seemed to be paying her any mind any longer, which suited Mydaiel fine.

She shrugged in response to the inquiry. “I seem to have lost taste for this meal,” she murmured back and heat flamed her cheeks at so petty a problem.

To her surprise, Charmeine’s response was an amused giggle, airy and haunting, and she nudged Mydaiel. “It is the wings,” she responded. “You have endured many changes this day and are half starved. You will feel more normal, whole, after a hunt; after you have truly fed. We are not far off now. I would have thought it wiser to delay your ceremony until only a night or two prior, but the choice was not mine to make.”

Mydaiel did not respond right away, unsure of how to answer, and Charmeine seemed to read her own interpretation of her silence, for her sister’s hand came up to rest on Mydaiel’s back, between where her new wings met her shoulder blades. The site was still tender and Mydaiel flinched, not anticipating the contact. Charmeine’s fingers danced effortlessly over her back, kneading tiny knots free of the new appendages and smoothing down the feathers. Mydaiel relaxed instantly, a content hum rumbling in her throat as her wings shuffled beneath Charmeine’s attentions. “Eat,” her sister instructed, her tone tender. “It is not satisfying, I know, but you will need the strength.”

Mydaiel was disappointed when Charmeine’s hand dropped away, leaving only a fading warmth lingering behind, but she acknowledged the validity of her words, much as she did not care for such a truth at the moment. Three bites of the fruit was enough proof that no matter her attempts, the pears that practically drooled juice from every pore were doomed to feel dry and flaky in her mouth. She dutifully choked down the meal despite the churn of her stomach as it gurgled in protest.

“You look as though you just had a blood feather ripped free,” a deeper voice sliced into her wandering thoughts. Mydaiel glanced across the table where one of her brothers in arms leaned back on the bench. The hilt of a blade peeked over one dark shoulder from the sheath strapped to his back, and dark brown hair was pulled into a short tail at the base of his skull to keep the bangs out of his face. Eyes like liquid coal stared at her and he had his arms crossed over the chorded vest he wore. The silver cuffs he wore stretched up each forearm glittered as they caught the light.

Mydaiel did not know his name, but she blushed at the implications of his words; others had noticed her discomfort. She chewed on her lip, not certain of a polite response.

“We have all experienced this,” he continued, dipping his head towards her. “It will grow easier.”

Another of the sisterhood sat beside him and nodded in agreement. “This feast is not truly for you, Mydaiel,” she added. While Mydaiel had hair like strung gold, this woman’s was softer but somehow equally brilliant, like the locks had captured pure sunlight, and her eyes were a pale ice blue, while her smile was full. “Here, try this instead,” she offered as she cradled a goblet and held it out to Mydaiel, shaking it as if to entice her further.

“Do not give her that, Jefischa,” Sarielle protested at the same moment Mydaiel accepted the cup with a quiet ‘thank you’. Her sister’s protest gave her pause and instead of drinking, she stared into the vessel at the thick, near black liquid inside. It had a strong smell that burned her senses.

“A sip will hardly harm her,” Jefischa argued with a wave of her hand. “Would you rather she learn at the hunt?”

Sarielle pursed her lips but said nothing and Charmeine bumped Mydaiel again. “Drink,” she urged with a nod. “Jefischa is right; it may do you some good.”

Mydaiel hesitated once more, then brought the rim up to her lips and tilted the goblet so the liquid flowed into her mouth and down her throat. Instantly, taste burst against her tongue and scalded her throat as every cell seemed to ignite at once. She coughed, nearly dropping the cup, fluid dripped down her chin. Losing momentary control over her body, Mydaiel’s wings snapped open. A cackling Charmeine managed to duck out of the way, but Sarielle was not so fortunate and Mydaiel could hear her eldest sibling sputter as a face full of feathers crashed into her. Mydaiel gripped the goblet hard enough that it shattered in her hands, soaking the table in juice and raining shards down on the nearest plates.

Her chest heaved and her vision narrowed as the hunger flared like tinder to a blaze. She felt powerful and the desire to fly, fall, rip into flesh was a raging inferno within; she wanted more of the drink.

“Easy, Mydaiel,” Sarielle’s calm tone cut through the haze as her sister forcibly refolded the wing closest to her. “Do not be controlled; breathe.”

The air whistled between Mydaiel’s teeth as she inhaled sharply through a clenched jaw. She coughed again and shook herself. She carefully shuffled her wings so they lay folded against her spine once more. “What is that?” she gasped.

Charmeine was still chuckling beside her. “That is the best reaction I have seen in a long time.” Her words caused Mydaiel to shrink on herself a little.

“Do not worry, Mydaiel, all untried have a strong reaction. It is three parts human blood and one part everberry wine; a powerful drink taken before the hunt,” Jefischa explained, though humor equal to Charmeine’s glimmered in her gaze. “It is taken in controlled doses, as it can be addictive, but those untried can have an extreme reaction so it is better to introduce them prior to unleashing them on Earth.”

“I can see why,” Mydaiel muttered.

“Indeed,” Sarielle agreed. Her sister was rubbing a red mark on her cheek. “For one so new, you have quite a bit of power in those wings of yours.” Her sister rose from her seat, stepped fluidly over the bench and stared across the table at the brother beside Jefischa. “Hofniel, would you attend us?”

At the request, Hofniel rose silently and moved around the table. Charmeine stood as well. “I would come as well.”

Mydaiel glanced between them and hesitantly followed in suite. There seemed to be no ill will or consequence and it was not disapproval in Sarielle’s gaze, but satisfaction and Mydaiel released a breath; she was not cross over the unintended attack. Sarielle glanced to the head table and dipped her head and there was an unspoken exchange between she and Astarte. “Come, Mydaiel,” she beckoned as she made her way toward the hall entrance. They were joined by another brother, this one built more lean than bulky, with the same darker contrast of skin than Mydaiel and her sisters. His hair was a red-gold shade like the murky veins in quartz, and he bore a spear rather than a sword on his back. It quietly unnerved her that they seemed to be always armed, but she supposed if she shared their tasks, she may never part with a blade either.

Mydaiel followed dutifully as Sarielle led them down the twists and turns of the cathedral hallways. The city had several courtyards, but there were closed tunnels to travel to every part of the compounds, and fledglings were rarely permitted to leave, so when Sarielle headed for an exit, Mydaiel’s breath hitched with excitement. She had yearned for the chill of fresh air on her flesh since the last time she had been allowed to venture out for a few moments, many years ago.

As they stepped into one of the grassy courtyards, Mydaiel glanced to the sky, where stars twinkled against the inky indigo. The air was crisp on her tongue as she breathed deeply; it felt wonderful caressing against her new wings. Charmeine stepped up beside her, her sister’s wings beginning to pull from her flesh. Mydaiel watched in wonder as they snapped open and Charmeine’s feathers ruffled. The backs were a soft red, nearly a rose pink shade, with darker tipped flight feathers. She had rarely ever seen Charmeine’s wings and they never ceased to be beautiful. They were angular, smaller and more delicate that Sarielle’s broader sails.

Mydaiel glanced back and got her first glimpse of Hofneil’s. The insides were not white like those of the sisterhoods’, but a deep blood red so dark they were nearly black, and the tops were similarly dark. They were massive, easily twice the size of her own. The other brother had wings just as large, but a rich, dark brown instead of red. They were definitely an intimidating pair, and Mydaiel supposed that was the point. As if by some unspoken consensus, both took off in unison, bathing the courtyard in gusts as they rose on powerful appendages.

Mydaiel watched in awe as they circled in a tight formation above her head. Charmeine followed them, her wings carrying her easily despite their smaller size and it quickly became evident that her sister was built so delicately for agility, as she zipped in a quick figure eight and then hovered in place, staring down.

Sarielle stepped up and unfurled a wing to curl around Mydaiel’s shoulders. “Are you ready?” she inquired as she held out a hand.

Mydaiel took a deep breath and nodded sharply. “Yes,” she agreed, taking the offered hand. Sarielle’s wing whapped her atop the head as her sister sprung from the grass and took flight, nearly yanking Mydaiel’s shoulder out of place as she was dragged a foot off the ground.

“Mydaiel,” Sarielle’s voice turned sharp and strained. “You have wings,” she reminded.

Shaken from her daze, Mydaiel nodded and spread her wings. They caught the air easily, and though her strokes were wobbled and uneven, Sarielle never faltered in helping her remain aloft. Charmeine dipped down on her other side, each flap of her wings smacking against Mydaiel’s until her strokes evened out and she began to rise on her own.

A wide grin flowed across her face as confidence surged and she released her tight grip on Sarielle’s fingers. She let instinct take over and soon her strokes were tight and straining as she rocketed up towards the stars. Charmeine fell behind, but Sarielle kept pace and Hofneil remained overhead. For a few moments, Mydaiel got to simply enjoy the freedom of flight, a joyful howl ripping from her throat as she defied gravity for the first time. The feeling could not last forever and Sarielle reminded her of that with a tap of her feathers against Mydaiel’s wing. “This is for you to learn,” she reminded before her voice raised. “Baxtz, if you would.”

The previously unnamed brother needed no further prompting as he hurtled towards them. A deft push of her wings took Sarielle away, leaving Mydaiel on her own. A frown twisted on Mydaiel’s face at what was going on. She got her answer as Baxtz slammed into her feet first. The blow landed between her wings and Mydaiel cried out at the abuse and Baxtz forced her down. The test became clear and Mydaiel took a breath into constricted lungs, hoping that she could put as much trust into her feathers as she could her other limbs; she was so new to flight.

Trusting her first instinct, Mydaiel folded her wings and dropped towards the ground. It was dizzying, watching things rush back into focus. She could feel Baxtz following her, and forced herself to hold the dive despite the desire to pull up and avoid spattering against the ground. She drew closer and closer and her pursuer was now calling out her name with worry instead of attacking. At the last possible second, she spread her wings again and threw her weight. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her wingtips brushed the ground on the down stroke as she struggled to bring herself back up into the air; it was a challenge and she nearly lost control a few times. Glancing back, she seemed to have stunned Baxtz just long enough to give herself a moment’s reprieve and she heard Charmeine’s breathless whoop of joy.

Baxtz larger wings granted him the advantage of power and he easily caught up, this time an arm reaching to grab her wing. She rolled to the side and smacked him with the same feathery arm but the next stroke brought her too close and he wrenched her wing behind her. Mydaiel grit her teeth and accepted the pain for what it was; a message to do better. She let him yank her backwards only to plant her feet against his chest and shove with all her strength. It knocked the breath from him and sent him flipping backwards, ripping some of her down free in the process. He was stronger and in the open air she could not match him in speed, so Mydaiel dropped again, choosing instead to weave between the trees where his wingspan was a hindrance instead of an aid.

Her idea was strong in theory, but she was still far from experienced and each time her feathers tore against rough bark from a narrow miss reminded her how easily this minefield choice could turn against her.

She had managed to leave Baxtz behind, however, and pride swelled in her chest moments before another weight landed on her, driving her into the bark of a thick tree limb. Charmeine was only crouched on her for a moment, weight crushing Mydaiel’s breath from her lungs. “Sorry sister,” Charmeine purred. “But this test is not one you will pass so easily. You must adapt to anything if you are to survive a hunt,” she warned. Mydaiel kicked her feet in open air, managed to get her hands beneath her to roll Charmeine off. Her sister was already back in the air, waiting, by time Mydaiel managed to take flight again. Charmeine zipped in for another blow to Mydaiel’s wings.

What had been an advantage against Baxtz was a death trap against Charmeine. Her sister was far more nimble and at home in the maze of branches and leaves. Her muscles burned from the strain of the blows she’d taken and the effort of keeping herself aloft. Panting, Mydaiel rose above the trees, trying to buy herself time to rethink her strategy. She could outmaneuver Baxtz and outrun Charmeine, but she would never have the advantage over both, and quietly hoped Sarielle would not get involved, as she knew her sister was far more ruthless, skilled, and experienced than she could ever hope to compete against.

Her heart was racing as Baxtz flew towards her once more. She was beginning to feel like a cornered mouse between a stalking cat’s wicked claws and the comparison caused a surge of indignation; she was not prey and it was time she ceased acting like it. She could not run forever. Twisting midair, she dove towards her pursuer. Slamming into Baxtz was like smashing into a rock, but her momentum and the element of surprise aided her and they flipped in the air in a tangle of limb and feather. She bared her teeth and hissed at him before shoving him away and ducking behind, kicking at his wings like Charmeine had done to her.

She quickly found that if she stayed just behind him, he could not turn fast enough to reach him. For a fatal moment, she forgot about Charmeine, who had needed a little time to catch up, but charged the battle with a vengeance, her weight dragging on Mydaiel as she hung onto her wings. “Pay attention, sister,” she hissed in warning as they began to plummet. Mydaiel twisted and flapped as the tailspin began, but she could not shake Charmeine who had clung tightly. This time, as the ground rushed closer, Mydaiel felt true fear and her efforts became more frantic.

At the last moment, Charmeine released her and helped pull her back up into the sky, but the message was clear; she had lost that fight. Mydaiel sagged, bruised and tired, and it was Sarielle that caught her. “You must never forget to be alert,” she spoke sternly. “You are difficult to kill, but not invulnerable, and weakness will be exploited. No single target is so important that you can afford to forget your surroundings. Fights will not be one on one.”

“Lesson learned,” Mydaiel wheezed. Blood was dripping from her left wing where feathers had been torn out and she was certain she would be plucking slivers from her scraped arms and torso tonight.

“That aside, you did well for your first flight.”

“I thought you were done for in that death drop,” Charmeine added as she caught up and patted Mydaiel on the shoulder. “It was an impressive feat, but perhaps avoid taking such a risk if not absolutely necessary; Sarielle is right, you have superior strength and can survive things many mortal creatures cannot, but you can still be badly injured.”

“You have good instincts,” Hofniel praised. “But your talent is raw and unbalanced, it needs refining.”

“But you hit a lot harder for your size than expected,” Baxtz muttered, rubbing his shoulder. Mydaiel beamed and found herself straightening up a little, despite her exhaustion, and a little of her former doubts and meek demeanor began to melt away.

“Come,” Sarielle interrupted with a jerk of her head. “I think you will appreciate a good rest; you have a lot to learn to prepare for the upcoming hunt and very little time to fit it all in.”

Despite the grueling session, Mydaiel was almost reluctant to land as the group angled their wings toward the ground and began to descend as a silent unit. Her legs shook when she finally touched down and folded her quivering wings behind her. Flight had felt so wonderful, but it left her equally exhausted.

There were more questions burning in her mind and on her tongue. She would never shy from a test or training session, but its purpose eluded her; humans did not fight in the sky or in hand-and-wing combat, nor would it be a battle field with anticipating opposing forces. So what was the purpose of learning against her own? She kept her thoughts to herself, knowing now was hardly the time to voice them. She trusted Sarielle; her sister and clutch elder may be younger than many of the others, but Charmeine and Mydaiel had never lacked any of the skills needed to succeed in their training. Sarielle’s methods had proven effective thus far and she had no reason to question them, even if she longed to inquire more about human tendency. She knew very little and wanted to better understand the enemy. Ignorance could be a fatal weakness, one she did not want exploited.

They parted ways with the two brothers shortly after and on instinct, Mydaiel turned for the shared dormitory the hatchlings slept in. “Mydaiel,” Sarielle’s calm tone gave her pause as she remembered it was no longer a place she would stay.

“Come,” Charmeine beckoned with a wave of her hand. Her folded wings peeked out over her shoulders and the feathers ruffled as she shook herself. “Join us, sister.”

Mydaiel crossed her legs as she sat on the thick carpet of expertly woven quilts that were hers to nest in. The fabric was soft and warm, in mottled shades of brown and gray, they were woven from heavy fibers and animal hairs, and smelled faintly of the musty scent the clung to northern courtyards, where herds gathered in the spring. It was soothing. Next to her, Charmeine’s own sleep space was a tangled knot of blankets, patted down in the center to a rough outline of her body, and Mydaiel could not help but smile, finding is suited her sister nicely.

Charmeine dropped bodily into her nest, wings half extended and gestured to Mydaiel. “Turn, let me see your wings,” she requested.

Mydaiel decided she loved the feeling of hands on her wings, as her sister combed through her feathers, smoothing bent tips and plucking slivers and broken shafts from the earlier scuffle. She winced as Charmeine pulled a particularly sensitive one, but said nothing about it.

“Quite the day,” Charmeine broke the silence as she patted down another ruffled patch of feathers. Mydaiel nodded in agreement. She had one arm curled in her lap and was examining the row of flight feathers dangling from the sleeve. They alternated in order between Sarielle’s and Charmeine’s. Though the white side showed more blatantly, the soft tones of red-pink and ashen gray showed on the alternate sides of the feathers, identifying which had originally belonged to whom. It was a truly selfless gift. “You are finished,” her sister added, her hands pulling away.

Mydaiel carefully folded her wings and twisted to face Charmeine. The woman’s own wings had folded as well, melted down safely along her spine, back beneath the flesh and hidden away for another time. “How do you tuck them in?” Mydaiel inquired, uncertain of how to do the same. The Nephilim did not walk with their wings out all the time, and Mydaiel had never really inquired as to why, but assumed there was a reason to conceal them.

“Leave yours out,” Sarielle cut in as she walked over to join them. “Mydaiel, would you?” she requested as she turned her back to Mydaiel. She rose instantly and unhooked the back button holding Sarielle’s dress closed. It slipped easily off her body and Sarielle shook herself, her tail feathers fluttering as she did. Stooping, she picked up the swath of fabric and folded it over her arm. “Your wings will encourage your desire to hunt, your hunger will grow, but it is worse to call them in and back over again, and I would rather you better adjust to having them out the next few days. I am afraid that it does not matter if you pull them in or not, you will no longer find much comfort laying on your back.”

“You can always feel them then?” Mydaiel inquired. She turned at Sarielle’s gesture and held still as her own dress was undone.

“Always,” Charmeine agreed. “They are who you are now, Mydaiel. I have little doubt you will shine as the gold in your feathers does.”

“Indeed, just as Charmeine’s feather mime her bloodlust,” Sarielle added. Charmeine grinned, showing her teeth at the quip. “She enjoys toying with her prey.” There was a soft smile on Sarielle’s face, the sort that Mydaiel loved, but seldom got to see. Charmeine was chuckling and made no move to deny the claims. They all knew Charmeine took great pleasure in her role in the hunt.

“Sarielle, I would know more of the hunt,” Mydaiel began hesitantly. “So little is actually discussed with regards to expectation. Does humanity anticipate us on the hunt? Is there great battles to fight or merely frightened beasts to run down?”

Sarielle’s smile wavered, then grew and she brought their foreheads close, her hands cupping Mydaiel’s face. “In time, Mydaiel, I promise,” she vowed. “Now get some rest; it has been a long day and tomorrow you train in arms. This time, you will train with me.” That statement was her final as Sarielle backed away towards her own nest to settle in.

Unsettled by the words, Mydaiel glanced at Charmeine, who merely shook her head and placed her hand on her chest, then tipped the palm towards Mydaiel, as if to wish her a pitiful form of luck. It was not reassuring. Charmeine had nothing further to say, however, and instead shifted on her quilts and tucked herself into a tight ball to seek out slumber. On her opposite side, Sarielle was stretched on her left side, her left wing stretched out behind her, the right tucked up so the feathers draped her arm and side. She had not pulled her wings in either and for a moment, Mydaiel wondered why. It did not truly matter, though, Sarielle’s ways were her own.

Deciding to take her sister’s advice, Mydaiel rolled onto her stomach so her wings could droop to either side, and folded her arms in front of her to rest her chin on the muscle. She was sore and tired and hungry, and knew she could look forward to more of the same in the morning. But for now, it was quiet and the dark beckoned, so she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax into the embrace of a dreamless sleep.