Archangel's War

17 The Legion

The Legion saw searing light pour out of every window of the Tower suite that was the aeclari’s and they saw angels all over the city land on any available surface. High on the Tower, the Blade ran inside from where he’d been standing on the balcony, and the Viper ran in with him.

In the streets, mortals looked up, and froze.

But the Legion didn’t rise, didn’t head to the Tower. Instead, the Primary stretched his mind and spoke to the Blade. Stop.

No response, but thirty seconds later, the Blade returned to his balcony. Hard, dark eyes landed on the Primary—who had flown on silent wings to crouch on the edge of that space.

“Why?” the Blade asked, a device in his hand that the Primary had learned was used for communication. Others in the world did not speak to their brethren as the Legion did. Others were not always together even while alone. It was a difficult thing for the Legion to grasp and had been since their inception.

The Primary considered his words. “Elena and Raphael are not afraid.” That which tied the Legion to the aeclari had become stronger in the aftermath of their return. The Primary could not hear their thoughts and did not know what they were doing, but he felt a visceral peace at this moment, a sense of acceptance without boundaries.

He understood joy in its purest form.

He struggled to put this knowledge into words for the Blade, who was as loyal to the aeclari as the Legion. Then he understood. “They are home.”

The Blade’s jaw worked, but he gave a curt nod and began to bark orders into the phone. “No one approaches the suite. Cordon off that level until we hear from Raphael or Elena.”

The Primary swept off the balcony and back to his perch on the building which was the Legion’s. We must make many seedlings, he said to his brethren.

The voices that returned to him were his and theirs both.

For her. For Elena.

Her growing things are gone.

We will make more.

Aeclari. We hear their song.