Chapter Text
Pain is the first he would remember. The burning of his back splitting open as four coracoids forced themselves out of flesh with bloody feathers staining the bed he lay on. Yet it was not the crimson he thought would leak through his skin. Gold. It shimmered in the light as he reached under his arm to feel the cold liquid.
How can blood be cold?
Pulling the hand toward his face, seeing how it looked.
What.. am I?
One by one, the drops pooled onto the bed in front of him. The gold trickled down his pale skin, oozing into the cracks of his nails and tracing paths with the very thing that kept him alive. He could feel the steady thrum of his heart beating in his chest, the rhythmic pounding of the blood rushing into his back.
He’d hunch over, arms crossed over his chest as he clawed at his back, trying to tear those foreign objects from his shoulders.
It hurts.
Why would someone create me just to feel pain?
The shallow creak of metal and echoing footsteps followed closer, a stark white door opening to reveal a strange being. Silver hair braided nearly down to the floor, a set of wings neatly folded behind them.
“Welcome.” They spoke softly, hands politely in front of their body. “Welcome to creation.”
The one on the bed took in their appearance, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Where am I?” He’d hesitate, “What.. am I?”
The being in the doorway approached swiftly, seemingly not even touching the floor.
“I am Archangel Raphael.” He glanced to the other’s back, seeing the four wings growing. “It seems you have been created as a Virtue.”
Raphael stood straight, taking their hand and gazing to the golden blood. “Altan.”
“What?..” His head tilted, pulling away from the Archangel in disdain.
“You have been named Altan. Clothe yourself and I will be outside.”
Altan continued to hold his arms close, unable to move due to the pain still striking his chest.
Raphael had left a folded pair of clothes on the side of the bed, Altan’s dirtied hands reaching out to pick them up gently. The silky fabric felt like water on his fingers, the white and gold detailing almost blending in with his skin.
He stood, finding a mirror as he gazed at the reflection.
Pale—nearly white skin—covered his entire self, all except for a small star shaped scar on the centre of his chest, no bigger than his palm. Altan tried to trace his index finger over it, his chest hitching at the touch. A shiver ran down his spine, the wings on his back twitching and falling limp.
Strange..
Altan hummed and slipped on the shirt, his wings stuck under the fabric, causing him to wince. The raw skin was vulnerable under the cold fabric, and the utter lack of control he had over the wings didn’t help. He undid a clasp at the back of the shirt, letting it fall free around the coracoids before he clasped them back together below.
It was an open backed piece, with a diamond cutout in both the front and back. There was a gold trim around it all, loose pants that were tied around his waist with a golden loop. All the clothing seemed to have been tailored to him, allowing him to move properly with a full range of motion. He’d swing his arms out, trying to control the strange new limbs he gained on his back. They flailed and knocked a chair over, causing a loud crack from the wood breaking and him to flinch.
Altan turned his body, glancing at the back once more to see how the wings had protruded. Disgusting golden dripped from the bottoms, coating some of the feathers’ hairs to have a shimmering look. They flapped slowly as he admired the scene, feeling the bones that shifted underneath.
His feet were bare and steady against the carpeting, flexing all his muscles individually to get used to the body he was in.
Was I someone before?
Was I even something?
All these thoughts ran through his head, each step causing his legs to wobble. The sharp sting tugged at the back of his eyes every time he thought too hard about what he was before or why he was here, causing him to hold the side of his head and shut his eyes.
Altan was too confused and felt like a newborn. Everything was new. Something undiscovered to him.
The first thing that met his eyes was a blinding light when he opened the door, wincing and covering his face—yet it wasn’t with his hands this time. Two wings on either side of his head had shifted to cover the eyes, their feathers tickling his nose which earned a small scowl.
What are these?
Raphael had spotted him come out, approaching just as swiftly as the first and taking Altan by the hand.
“You will learn fast. It is how we are designed.” He said, looking straight ahead with an iron grip.
“Learn what?” The Virtue questioned.
“Your role. How you will serve God.”
Raphael took Altan to a grand hall, the walls made of a solid marble and glass. They shimmered in the light, leading to a wide expanse with a single being in the centre.
Long hair once again, yet this one’s only reached to their hips and was not tied—except for a small strand that had been braided right behind the left ear.
“Metatron,” Raphael began, “this is the new Virtue.”
The one named Metatron turned their head, six wings flaring in a sign of dominance and power over them both as he stepped strong. His hand reached out to inspect the newer body, touching the fresh wounds on Altan’s back only to see them hiss in pain and back away.
“The pain fades quickly once you settle in.” Metatron spoke, voice low and commanding. “I am Metatron, the Dominion.” His hand waved Raphael away, the door shutting with a hollow echo. “These books are what you must study before you can do your part. Understand, and then we will begin.”
Altan watched as the much larger angel left as well, not even having to lift a finger to open and close the large doors.
The walls were all lined with shelves, towering up further than Altan could see.
He started up the large winding staircase in the centre, admiring the view and how small he felt compared to it all. The millions of pages, stories, rules. He would learn it all and understand why.
The young Virtue had spent many cycles in the library, reading while he gained an understanding of his own body. He’d fly to reach some books, training the muscles and how to utilize them properly. He would often feel as if someone was watching him, but he could never see who it was.
The texts contained all the knowledge that the angels had collected—all they were allowed to know. Altan had yet to finish it all, but he was nearing the end.
As the Virtue stood with one foot resting on the marble railing and his wings beat to a steady pace, he read in a daze of sorts. One rule had been staying in his mind.
“You must not create life, nor take it.”
He contemplated the means it would take. To take life. What exactly was life? Was he alive?
The angel paused in his step, seeing a floating object in the distance. The book shut quickly, his body propelled forward towards the platform where a small pot stood. A bundle of white prolate spheroids stood on stems, green buds forming on their sides.
Altan extended his reach, resting an elbow on the platform as his wings rested. Just as his finger grazed the tip, it opened up within moments, taking him aback and nearly falling off. It bloomed so beautifully, the petals peeling outwards as the stamen revealed a lavender hue in the centre of it all.
Is this what Life is?
It is beautiful..
Altan observed the flower, seeing a strange light around it that he saw on everything as well. It was weak and barely there, but he could see the colour when he focused. Something he could never touch, but he knew existed.
As he finished the rest of the texts, he stayed by the white lily, seeking comfort in its silence. When it became dark and his energy had depleted, the virtue curled up beside the crystal pot, wings covering them both like a blanket.
Metatron was right about the pain, yet he had not spoken to Altan since. No one had even checked up on him since the day he arrived.
Yet it was not another angel, Altan felt as though there was another sleeping next to him.