Even with much of the city still in ruins, Aerion was slowly coming back to life a week after the attack. The sound of hammers and chisels echoed everywhere, along with the calls of street vendors trying to bring a sense of normalcy back to the once-bustling markets.

News of the victory against the Black Societies, along with the return of Archbishop Ralph, even though he was severely weakened and needed a long time to recover, helped to soothe the fear and brought a glimmer of hope to the people.

But for Henry and Sophia, the pain in their hearts lingered, a dull and persistent ache. Henry returned to the Investigation Bureau, burying himself in small cases and mundane paperwork. He tried to act normal and professional, but his observant colleagues could still see the fatigue and sadness hidden behind his usually sharp eyes.

Work, though it offered a temporary distraction, could not fill the void left by Jacobs' death and the disbanding of Unit 18. Every time he saw a familiar uniform or heard footsteps in the hallway, the image of his respected captain would come back, clear and vivid.

Sophia also sought peace in the sacred space of the Estath Cathedral. She participated in charity work, helping the homeless and taking care of orphans. She listened to the sermons of the monks, trying to find solace in her faith.

Even though Archbishop Ralph was still in a long-term healing process and couldn't perform his daily duties, his presence, even through messages, was a great source of encouragement for Sophia and the believers. She would often sit for hours in the ruined library of the cathedral, trying to rearrange the remaining scrolls, finding a bit of order amidst the chaos.

In the long nights, Henry would often wake up from nightmares. He saw Jacobs fall, his comrades turn into monsters, and Aerion engulfed in blood and fire. Cold sweat would pour from him, and his heart would pound as if it would burst as he tried to shake off the haunting images. Sophia, lying next to him, couldn't sleep peacefully either.

She could feel Henry's unease, and she, too, was struggling with her own pain. On this night, like so many others in the difficult week that had passed, Sophia broke down crying again. She buried her face in Henry's chest, her tears soaking his shirt, her sobs inaudible. Her shoulders trembled.

"Why them, Henry? Why did good people have to suffer such terrible things? Jacobs didn't even get to see his child's face," she said, her voice catching in her throat.

Henry could only hold Sophia tightly. He felt her pain and his own. He stroked her hair gently, letting her hot tears fall onto his chest.

"I'm here... I'm still here by your side, Sophia." he whispered, trying to give her a little warmth and strength. His presence and the warmth of his body were Sophia's only anchor in these moments of weakness. But on this night, the pain seemed to have become too much for both of them to bear. All their bottled-up emotions and their efforts to stay strong came pouring out.

Suddenly, Sophia looked up, her tear-filled eyes looking straight at Henry with sadness and longing. Without a word, he leaned down and kissed her deeply, urgently.

Her tears mixed with the kiss, making it salty. Sophia was stunned for a moment, then instinctively responded to the kiss, a strange connection of shared pain. There was no longer any tenderness or romantic gestures. Instead, there was a fierce, possessive, and almost brutal intensity.

Henry didn't want to hurt her, but he needed to feel her, to feel this vibrant life, to drive away the painful grief that was haunting him.

Sophia didn't resist; she responded passionately, her fingers scratching his back, leaving red marks. She bit his shoulder, a release for the negative emotions that were tormenting her soul. The small room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, the friction of their naked bodies, and the creaking of the wooden bed.

Henry held her hair tightly, pulling her head up to meet his eyes filled with longing. They found comfort in each other, a way to release their pain, fear, and helplessness. It was not just desire, but a way to hold on to a little warmth and life that remained in a world full of loss and separation.

Now, with the intense emotions behind her and her reason slowly returning, Sophia questioned herself. Why had she done that? Why had she sought pleasure and release when the pain of loss was still so fresh, when Aerion was still in mourning? She wasn't breaking any laws or morals.

But she felt she had done something wrong, that she had failed the fallen, her comrades, and the innocent people who were suffering. She didn't know how to deal with this guilt or how to explain it to herself.

Henry could feel Sophia's unease. He held her tighter, burying his face in her hair, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry, Sophia... I shouldn't have..." He couldn't find the words, only repeating, "I'm sorry". Sophia shook her head in his arms. "It's not your fault, Henry. We're just trying not to drown."

"Then let yourself go, Sophia. Don't torment yourself anymore. Don't let these negative feelings swallow you. We will get through this difficult time together, I promise," he said.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Thank you, Henry," Sophia whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. "I don't want to deny my true feelings. I will accept that I was wrong, that I had a moment of weakness, that I sought pleasure while everyone in Aerion was still in pain".

She held Henry even tighter, as if to find more strength and stability from him. "But I also feel much more comforted and soothed because at least I still have you by my side, a shoulder to lean on, arms to protect me," she said.

And for the first time after many long, restless nights, she truly fell into a peaceful sleep in his arms. Henry remained still, not daring to move for fear of disturbing Sophia's rare sleep. That night, even though he was more exhausted after the intense emotions, he still couldn't sleep soundly.

The next morning, when the weak dawn light crept through the window, shining on their two naked bodies tangled together on the messy bed, the marks of a long, emotional night were clear. Sophia's fair skin was covered in bruises, marks from his tight grip.

On Henry's back and shoulder were long scratches and a deep bite mark that was still swollen. This time, both of them had crossed the line of gentleness and self-control. But strangely, after a night of passion, their emotional pain seemed to have been a little relieved. The gloom that had been building up for so long seemed to have been released, at least in part.

Sophia woke up first, nestled in Henry's arms, her head resting on his muscular arm. She could feel his warmth and the beat of his heart. From his heavy and uneven breathing, she knew he had been awake for most of the night. She sat up, trying not to make a sound, and picked up the torn pieces of her nightgown. She then went into the bathroom, hoping the cool water could wash away some of her fatigue and the scent of their bodies after a long night.

When she came out, she saw Henry still lying there, his eyes closed but his brows furrowed. Sophia gently stroked his weary but determined face, then her fingers moved down to his strong, toned body, a silent and soothing touch.

Henry seemed to feel her gentleness. He opened his eyes, looked at Sophia, and gave a tired smile before getting up and following her into the kitchen. That morning, Sophia made Henry a larger cup of coffee than usual and added a little sugar.

She hoped the sweetness and warmth of the coffee could help him stay awake and drive away some of the gloom and fatigue that was consuming him. The scars might still be there, and the pain might still linger in their hearts, but the dawn, no matter how gray and gloomy, always brought with it the promise of a new day, a new beginning, a chance to keep living, loving, and hoping.

Inside the imposing Silver Wing Castle, the atmosphere was heavy with the tension of grim decisions. Karatyr, Alfie, and Vincent sat in silence around the round table of ancient oak. Each was lost in his own thoughts, yet all shared the same deep anxiety about the uncertain future of Zephyros.

Suddenly, without a word of warning or a sign of spatial displacement, a warm, brilliant, yet not blinding, light slowly gathered in the center of the great hall. The light carried a feeling of absolute peace and sacred power, causing even the three most powerful Demigods of Zephyros to instinctively rise, their eyes filled with both shock and deep respect.

From within the halo, a figure slowly appeared. It was the Archangel Gabriel. He wore a simple, unadorned robe of off-white. His golden hair swayed gently, even though there was no breeze in the hall.

His face had a androgynous beauty, flawless in every detail, and his eyes were as deep as the cosmos, holding a profound understanding and a gentle sorrow. He did not carry the overwhelming dignity of a judging god. Instead, his presence exuded a sense of approachability, comfort, and reliability.

"Hello, brave children of Zephyros," Gabriel said, his voice warm and melodious like a hymn, carrying a strange power to soothe and ease the tension in the room. "Archangel Gabriel..." Vincent was the first to speak, his voice filled with shock. "Why would an Archangel like you descend in person?". Gabriel smiled gently. "I sense that certain matters have gone beyond your control, and I need to know," he replied.

He said nothing more, slowly walking towards Grand Marshal Karatyr. The powerful Demigod, who had faced countless powerful enemies, instinctively took a step back from the overwhelming presence of one of the four Archangels of legend.

Gabriel gently reached out, his flawless, slender fingers touching Karatyr's right wrist. On his skin, the mark of the Life-Death Pact, a dark purple magic circle with the image of two dragons biting each other's tails, still faintly showed beneath the skin.

A warm white light radiated from Gabriel's hand, enveloping the dark mark. The mark, as if meeting its nemesis, slowly faded and then disappeared completely. The temporary pact was suppressed. Karatyr felt a sense of relief spread through his body, and the invisible burden that had weighed on his soul seemed to have been lifted.

Gabriel did not need to touch his forehead or use any complex magic. His deep eyes simply looked straight at Karatyr for a moment. And in that moment, everything Karatyr had witnessed during his secret meeting with Laurent, all the secrets that the Life-Death Pact had sealed, appeared clearly in the Archangel's mind.

He saw Laurent standing in the desolate forest. He saw the three tokens being offered, proof of an unthinkable alliance.

A silver ring intricately crafted with the sigil of a majestic sword embraced by widespread eagle wings.

A platinum bracelet with a motif of thorny vines coiling around a honed spearhead.

And finally, a jet-black iron gauntlet with a crimson greatsword engraved on the back, exuding a cold, frenzied killing intent.

Gabriel knew who their owners were, but he did not show any emotion. After gathering all the necessary information, Gabriel gently withdrew his hand.

"I understand now. Leave the rest to us. You have done well. Continue to protect this land," he said. Then, he turned around, and the warm halo of light once again enveloped his body.

"Take care" he said, before disappearing into the air, as gently and silently as he had arrived, leaving no trace behind.

As soon as Gabriel's aura completely disappeared, the mark of the Life-Death Pact on Karatyr's wrist slowly reappeared, along with the heavy burden of secrets and grim choices. The three Demigods of Zephyros stood there in absolute silence.

They looked at each other, their eyes filled with a shock and worry that was even greater than before. They had not expected that the battle for Aerion, though horrifying and brutal, could have prompted an Archangel to descend in person.

"This..." Alfie finally said, his voice no longer calm. "This has gone far beyond the scale of a nation, even of a conventional war".

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