Ignariel

The city greeted us in silence.

Not the silence of peace, but the silence of something recently emptied.

Shops stood open, shelves stocked, and bakeries still exhaled the scent of bread. But the people—if you could call them that—moved like wind-up dolls. Blinking in slow unison. Speaking in hushed, identical phrases. Faces blank. Emotions absent. It was a city lived in but not alive.

"You can probably grab a slice of bread here without paying," the Compass whispered connivingly in my head.

"Don't give me ideas. We're in the presence of two angels," I snapped.

"Come on. One wouldn't hurt," the Compass urged.

"Damn it," I thought as I sneaked over to grab a loaf of bread. But before I could get my hands on the loaf, something snapped at my wrist. Stillveil, scolding me before slithering back to Kazuha who flashes me a mischievous smile. I then pointed at the Compass clipped on my belt, which earned a chuckle from her. Gosh, that sweet, childish sound of her chuckle.

"Sorry," I said, marching up to her.

"That was for last night," she whispered mischievously.

"Last night?" I blinked. "What did I do?"

Kazuha leans in close, "For Sakura's kiss," She whispered before walking ahead with a smirk towards Sakura, leaving me frozen and blushing.

"Kazuha - 1 : Seren - 0." The Compass mocks.

"At least, I got kissed by two angels. How are things going with Stillveil?" I mocked back.

"Asshole." The Compass bites back.

"Seren -1 : Compass - 0." I mocked triumphantly.

"What is this city called anyway?" I asked as we passed a florist who offered us a bouquet of wilted lilies and said, without inflection, “May your truth be pure.”

“Creepy,” I muttered as I caught up with the two Fallen. The Compass hums in agreement.

Sakura flourished a hand, sand swirled around the wilted lilies before regaining their color and springing back to life — the florist however, gave no reaction whatsoever.

"Dazkora," Kazuha replied.

"The Stone City in the old tongue. Also known as the city between two mountains," Sakura added.

It was indeed, both of those things. A stone city with towering walls and spires dwarfed only by the mountain ranges it is situated in between.

"This was a major trading city as it held the only direct mountain pass between the central plains and the eastern coast," Kazuha began, "if you are going from the west, passing through Dazkora is the fastest way to get to the coast without encircling the Altarian mountain range to the south."

"And traveling around north means passing through the barbarian tribes," I remarked.

Sakura and Kazuha nodded.

"What's wrong with this city anyway?" I asked as we passed a group of children who are swaying eerily in a circle.

“This city is under a hymn,” Sakura said softly, her fingers tightening around the Temporal Vow. “A passive verse. Low-frequency sanctification.”

"I can feel it, like a dome cast all over the city," the Compass remarked grimly. "Scratch that, it's a sphere, reaching even below the city sewers."

I echoed the Compass's words to the two angels.

Kazuha narrowed her eyes. “I feel it. It permeates the space all around us. Like a blanket of purification over every mind.”

"More like a prison," Sakura remarked.

"Still better than a tomb," I replied, earning a smirk from Kazuha.

"Could be yours if you're not careful," the Compass interjected, which I chose to ignore.

As we walked deeper, the air grew colder. Paler. Even the shadows recoiled.

Then we saw it.

A Purity Wraith.

It stood at the end of the street, robes stitched from pages of scripture, face featureless but luminous with sickly devotion. And it was watching us. Eyeless, yet we knew, it was staring right at us.

I reached for the Compass.

But it didn’t attack.

Instead... it bowed?

Then it turned, and walked.

“That’s... new,” I said.

“It's a trap,” Kazuha said.

“Let’s spring it,” Sakura finished.

We followed.

The Wraith led us past rows of frozen people who turned in eerie synchrony to face us. Some mouthed prayers. Others wept soundlessly. None intervened. And still the Wraith walked.

"Broken Enlightened?" I asked. "But they don't look burned." I remarked.

"Probably due to their proximity to Ignariel," Sakura deduced.

"You think he's really here?" I asked.

"If Yunjin is here, Ignariel's here. Only one of our Counters can hold us in place." Kazuha replied, Stillveil wrapping slowly around her protectively.

The Wraith led us to a clearing, in the middle were wrought-iron gates tangled in ivy and flame-blistered thorns and surrounded by a tall weathered stone wall that looked charred as if burned from the inside. Behind them loomed a manor—not grand, but solemn. Like a place built not to impress, but to kneel with your lips kissing the dirt.

The Wraith dissolved into ash as soon as the gates creaked open.

We all looked at each other. The angels immediately clasped at their relics while I tapped the Compass once before placing my hands on my daggers.

"Ready when you are, Seren," the Compass whispered in my mind. Its uncharacteristic seriousness makes my hair stand on edge a little straighter.

The manor loomed like a tomb. Its walls were veined with cracks that seemed to crawl with liquid fire, its windows stained with soot. The air shifted—not hot, but heavy. Like when ash falls after a volcanic eruption, soft, but with a weight that bears down on the skin and soul alike.

"Well, Seren. You got your tomb," Sakura comments dryly.

"Bad joke, Miss Angel of Memory," I quipped back.

"Yeah. Sorry."

We stepped through the threshold.

And the silence shattered.

Flames danced along the walls—pale and whispering, like they were souls remembering someone they used to be. The hymn swelled on our ears, strong, loud, and from all directions, like a chant that saps through our emotions. The interior was cathedral-like: high ceilings, flickering chandeliers, and an altar of scorched obsidian at its center.

And chained to it—

Her. Yunjin — once the Seraph of Flame, now the Seraph of Scorched Truth. The Ashen Flame, for she was indeed as white as ash. Only her hair remained red, defiant. She made being bound and tortured achingly beautiful — which just strengthened my resolve to rescue her.

Kazuha and Sakura tensed to rush - but we all knew it was a trap. She is the bait, and we'll fall hook, line, and sinker if we don't stay cautious. So we buried every instinct screaming at us to run at her and shatter her chains. We walked slowly inside the hall, our steps measured, deliberate.

Yunjin knelt at the altar, bound in bands of white flame that crawled across her limbs like reverent vines. Her head was bowed. The Ashen Ember Ring glowed faintly on her left ring finger, resisting, but barely. Stillveil uncoils, almost ready to rush towards the Ring, but Kazuha keeps her in check. The Ring itself flickered and sparked - like it remembered joy, then dimmed, like hope surrendering to ash.

Then the hymn reached a crescendo.

Louder. Harder. Choral. Mechanical. Hotter.

“Ignariel,” Sakura breathed.

The flames in the room seemed to gravitate as if to genuflect towards a figure stepping from the shadows beyond the altar. It was tall, cloaked in layers of white and bronze, it wore an ashy greyish red doublet, its face a porcelain mask cracked down the middle. It looked androgynous, the crack on its face wreathed in cold green fire that casts no heat. The same green flames wreathed its gloved hands, but it did not burn. It cleansed. Cold and slow.

Stillveil immediately unfurls protectively around Kazuha. The Temporal Vow shines and pulses consistently, ready for a battle. I drew my daggers and felt the Compass's encouraging hum.

Its voice rang out—not loud, but absolute. The flames around Yunjin flinched at the sound of Ignariel's voice, yet the Fallen remained unmoving.

“Welcome, deviant children. You are just in time for the sanctification.” Ignariel’s voice settled over the cathedral like a burial shroud—neither loud nor harsh, but final. Absolute. The kind of tone that didn’t seek to be believed, only obeyed.

The flames in the hall stilled.

Yunjin remained silent, her head bowed, as though caught between reverence and rebellion. The white flame that bound her pulsed in time with the hymn, like a heartbeat not her own.

Kazuha stepped forward. Stillveil hovered protectively around her like a serpent poised to strike.

“You’ve always been dramatic, Ignariel,” she said coldly. “Chains. Choirs. Fires. That mask.”

Ignariel tilted its head. “Dramatic?” It echoed, almost amused. “No. I am precise. I am necessary. You mistake sanctity for spectacle.”

The Compass growled in my mind. “Pompous asshole.”

I clenched my jaw. “Let her go.”

“Why would I?” Ignariel asked, hands folding serenely. “She was lost. I gave her clarity. Fire without purpose is just destruction. But a flame tempered by obedience—that becomes holy.”

“She’s not yours to mold,” Sakura stepped forward, her tone was calm, but not soft. “No one is.”

Ignariel regarded her with something akin to curiosity, “You of all people should understand. Memory is control. What we remember shapes what we believe. You, Angel of Memory, are a warden of perception, multiple perceptions. So why resist what I do?”

Sakura’s grip on the Temporal Vow tightened, “Because I remember what you did to the others. Seraphs turned to cinders for thinking, for feeling. For having memories that warm the heart.”

A flicker of fire passed through Ignariel’s mask crack, but its voice stayed level.

“They were weak. Fractured. You call it feeling—I call it rot. We were made to be more than emotional messes clawing for comfort in a broken world. I offer transcendence. You cling to chaos.”

Kazuha took a step closer, voice sharp, “You offer sterilization. A hymn that strips emotion, feeling, identity. A dance without thought, revelry, joy — love. What good is purity, what good is sanctity, if it means forgetting — losing, who you are?”

There was a silence then—brief, thick.

And then Ignariel replied:

“Peace.”

One word. One poison.

It echoed through the walls of the hall like a doctrine written in flame.

“You confuse peace with apathy,” I said, stepping forward now. “There’s no life in your kind of peace. Just obedience. Just emptiness wearing a smile.”

Ignariel’s head turned slightly. “You speak boldly for a mortal.”

“I’ve faced worse things than you.”

“You haven't faced anything like me and there are no people like me,” it corrected. “What you faced were fanatics drunk on righteousness. But I am not them. I do not scream my gospel—I whisper it, and the world leans in — and they bow," Ignariel raosed its arms like he was expecting us to bow to him.

"Say, Seren Solari," I can feel the smile beneath its cracked mask. "I can make you lose all the pain in your heart, the pain of losing everything, the shame of being useless, the dishonor of not being able to execute the duty you've trained all your life for. Just say the word, and with a snap, you won't feel the hurt anymore." It sounded gentle it was almost convincing — and I admit, I was nearly tempted to accept.

Suppressed memories clawed out, as if pulled out by Ignariel's words. I heard the words of a man with a great axe as he swings at me, "Dodge, nephew! Watch your step! You are your brother's shield! It does not mean you should take every swing head on!"

Another voice, sonorous and gentle, and I saw a man with a whetstone polishing a long sword, in its pommel was what looked like an amber gem with the image of the sunset, "You're the second son of our House, Seren," he said tenderly. "Your brother shall inherit the High Chair and you shall protect him, not just from any threats, but from himself as well."

Another image, another voice, youthful, energetic, intelligent, "King Julius Iskandar is a conqueror, brother, but also a savvy statesman. I can't wait to meet him!"

I was then pulled out of my thoughts when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I blinked and turned, Kazuha met me with an expression of alarm and concern. "Seren," she whispered cautiously. "You're walking towards it."

I swiveled my head, I was indeed a few steps ahead from where I was before.

"Don't let it get in you head, kid. It won't just strip your pain, but everything that makes you feel. And you'll be left as a shell of who you were," the Compass said.

"Thanks," I muttered, both to Kazuha and the Compass. Thankfully, Kazuha kept her hands on my shoulder.

Ignariel, watching the scene unfold, sighed in faux frustration. "Why did you have to do that, Kazuha? Just as things were getting... how would you describe it? Exciting," it said, and the flames in its mask seemed to grin wickedly.

Sakura suddenly raised a hand.

“Ignariel,” she said, more quietly now, “You weren’t always like this. I remember. I held your name in my Archive. Before you burned it. Before you sanctified yourself.”

A pause.

Even the hymn faltered for a breath.

“I remember the Flame of Compassion,” she said. “The way you knelt beside the broken, not to purify them—but to mourn.”

Something cracked—not in Ignariel’s mask, but in the air. Like heat bending light. The porcelain surface trembled for the briefest moment.

Sakura mentioned a name and Ignariel flinched.

“That name is ash, burned in an era where memory and time is inconsequential and irrelevant. I was reforged, given a purpose, to sanctify this world, to remove the curse, the blight that is passion and emotion, for it does nothing but cause pain! Pain and conflict. Tell me Sakura, isn't that what we all wanted? An end to conflict? An end to needless suffering caused by this... this human trait called 'feeling'! I made a vow when I burned that name, and that is to see the world burn if it does not bow to order, to the peace that I offer,” it growled.

“No,” Sakura whispered. “You buried it. But you still hear it. That’s why the hymn has to be so loud. It drowns the whispers, the whispers of who you once were, it is still there, underneath your mask.”

Another silence. Another crack.

Yunjin stirred.

A flicker of red flared in her hair. The Ashen Ember Ring pulsed once like a heartbeat.

Ignariel raised a hand—and the hymn surged again, louder, suffocating.

“You remember wrong,” it said, more brittle now. “I have nothing to mourn. Ashes do noy deserve to be mourned.”

“You lie,” Sakura replied, voice rising with sudden fury. “You lie to us, to her, and worst of all—to yourself!”

Stillveil coiled tight. The Temporal Vow thrummed like a war drum.

I felt the Compass shake on my belt, not in fear—but anticipation.

Ignariel stepped forward.

“If you will not kneel,” it said, “then you will burn, and no one, not a single thing in this world, will mourn your ashes.”

White flame bloomed from its palms like blooming judgment.

And Yunjin opened her eyes.

They burned—red, gold, and something deeper. Not holy. Not pure.

Defiant.

She stood, still bound by the altar.

And for the first time, Ignariel’s voice wavered:

“…You should not be able to stand.”

Yunjin smiled. “Then maybe you should sit,” she taunted with a voice so dry and hoarse it hurt my throat just listening to it.

She faces her sisters. "To me, Kazuha, Sakura, free me from these bounds!"

The two angels rushed beside their sister.

Ignariel moved to intercept, but I threw my dagger at it, teleporting to its location just as it was about to swat it away. Caught by surprise, I scored a hit with my other dagger squarely on its mask.

Ingariel staggered before facing me. Its mask broken by the left eye, exposing a socket filled with cold, gray, flames.

"Your opponent is me," I stood in between Ingariel and the angels, holding both my daggers. The Compass humming alive in my belt.

"You know we can't beat him," he said.

"Yeah. We just have to hold him off until Kazuha and Sakura frees Yunjin," I replied.

"Well, that we could do," The Compass says back with confidence.

"So, shall we go to battle, partner?" I grinned.

"Gladly, partner," the Compass replied as Ingariel summoned blades made of green flame in his hands.

"Dramatic asshole." The Compass and I said in unison as I threw a dagger at him and prepared for the tug in my gut before I teleported.