First Light

28th of Lunis, 959 A.D.

Over the past few months, the Order of the Lost, once quiet and half-forgotten, had become filled with life - refugees from scorched villages and cities, scattered soldiers and survivors of demonic attacks with nowhere left to run. All had arrived with ash on their clothes and a fire in their eyes. They came not seeking rest, but purpose. A chance to stand between the world and whatever horrors lurked out there. The Order had taken them in, growing in size faster than Arani could ever dare hope for or anticipate.

Now, as the first rays of sunlight at dawn slowly crept their way over the mountains, the Order was already alive. Not with the usual buzz of activities - initiates training in the yard, quiet study or other such activities. No, it was the hum of restless footsteps, hushed voices and the occasional clatter of something dropped in a panic. Esme had gone into labor in the night. 

Arani stood in a high corridor, watching the courtyard fill with golden morning light. She hadn’t slept. Her stone fingers were wrapped around a sealed scroll - one she had rewritten at least a dozen times and signed with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Her other hand rested on the railing, the cold stone grounding her. The scroll was a formal request, phrased in every single respectful term she could think of, addressed to Tyr, the God of Justice. Inside was a request for his celestial agents to help the initiates to embrace the Order of the Seraph, much like Arani and her siblings once had. Nothing was set in stone yet, but she had been granted an audience. A chance.

Behind the door to the infirmary, Esme cried out again, and Arani flinched. She had faced countless fiends, met with gods, even killed a Dawn Titan. But here, now, with a child about to be born and nothing more she could offer than her presence just outside the door, she had never felt more powerless.

The door behind her creaked open, and Arani turned around to see Taman stepping through the door. His hair was a mess, his tunic half-buttoned and his eyes rimmed red. He looked terrified. And yet, utterly in love with whatever future waited behind the door.

“Is it-” Arani began.

“No, no. But she’s still okay,” Taman responded. “Rehael’s with her. He’s… calming everyone, like usual.”

Arani gave a nervous laugh. “Thank the heavens for Rehael.”

“Yeah.”

Silence filled the air between them. Not awkward. Just full. Taman moved to stand beside her, leaning on the railing. For a long moment, they stood in silence, side by side, watching dawn pour slowly across the courtyard stones. Then Taman nodded towards the scroll in her hands.

“That the one for Tyr?”

Arani blinked, then looked down at the scroll like she’d forgotten she was still holding it. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s the final draft. Or, at least I think it is. I’ve rewritten it so many times it barely feels like mine anymore.”

Taman gave a small, tired smile. “I imagine it’s hard to write a pitch to a God.” He chuckled, but it faded quickly, and the quiet filled in again.

Arani turned the scroll over in her hands, looking at it. “I promised I’d make the world better,” she whispered. “I promised. And he’s going to be born into this. Into everything we’re still fixing. Everything we haven’t done yet. I at least wanted this thing done before he was born. Not just the draft. The whole thing. Signed, sealed. Real.” She exhaled through her nose. “I just wish I’d done more.”

Taman was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “You’ve still done more than anyone I know.”

“Not enough.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But it matters.”

He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I keep worrying that I’m not ready.”

He glanced towards the infirmary door.

“I mean - he’s going to be part celestial. He might glow when he cries. He might tear down the walls when he’s angry.” He gave a short, shaky laugh, and his hand tightened around the railing. “And I’m just… me__. I don’t know how to protect him from any of that. But I can love him. I can be there. That’s all I’ve got.”

He paused for a second, turning back to face Arani.

“And I think, maybe, that’s enough. For now.”

A lump rose in Arani’s throat as she took in the words. Then she reached out, resting her hand briefly over his.

“You’re going to be a good father,” she said.

He gave a laugh that was almost a sob. And then, from behind the door was the voice of Rehael, calm and sure as always.

“Arani. Taman. You can come in now.”

Taman didn’t wait. He pushed off the railing and moved, fast, toward the door. Arani followed.