The Enthroned Angel

3rd POV

---

Council of Elders

The village of Arkaneth had been on high alert for an entire week. The arrival of the "angelic" boy—marked by light and wonder—was both a blessing and a burden. Within the Council Hall, a chamber of circular design, five figures sat in silence around a weathered wooden table. The walls were adorned with carvings depicting the village's history—survival, unity, and defiance against a hostile world. Lamps flickered gently, casting elongated shadows that danced against the stone walls.

The heavy oak door groaned as it opened, and the assembled council turned toward the figure entering. Gram, the head scout, stepped in with measured precision. His gear, lightly dusted from the wilderness, bore the marks of an experienced tracker. The pistol at his right hip glinted faintly in the warm light. His black hair was slightly disheveled, and his emerald eyes carried the weight of a long week's work.

As he approached the table, the five elders—each bearing unique marks of age, wisdom, or battle—watched him intently. Their anticipation was palpable.

Gram halted, standing tall as he delivered his report. "Head Scout Gram, reporting, Chief and Elders." His voice was steady, his tone formal. "After a full week of observation and scouting along the edges of the Great Forest and the Devouring Desert, I can confirm that the boy does not seem to attract danger beasts directly. If there was an anomaly, it likely occurred during his arrival—the moment he struck the earth and created that crater. That event alone may have disturbed the balance." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. "However, there remains a significant gathering of danger beasts near the crater. They appear restless but show no signs of moving toward the village. For now, there is no immediate threat."

The council sat in contemplative silence, weighing Gram's words. Finally, Elder Kaelith, a frail yet sharp-eyed scholar, leaned forward. His fingers tapped the table rhythmically, and his piercing blue eyes—still bright despite the years—narrowed in thought. "As I suspected," he murmured, his voice calm but laced with intrigue. "The celestial nature of the boy's arrival must have unsettled the beasts. It seems, Elder Dagrim, that your fears remain... unsubstantiated."

Across the table, Elder Dagrim huffed audibly. His large frame, a stark contrast to Kaelith's, was built of pure muscle honed from decades of battle. The silver-haired warrior tightened the knot on his ponytail and clenched his mechanical left hand, its ancient servos clicking faintly. "Unsubstantiated?" he growled, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. "I call it preparation. You may see this as a simple anomaly, Kaelith, but I see a threat—one we are woefully unprepared for."

Kaelith arched an eyebrow. "Preparation? Or paranoia, Dagrim?"

"Call it what you will," Dagrim retorted, his voice rising. "What if this boy—this so-called 'angel'—is a beacon for more danger beasts? If that's the case, then every man, woman, and child in this village is at risk. And let's not forget the boy's powers. You all saw what happened. Teleportation on that scale? Not even the Ordo Lucis Ardentis—who claim divine favor—can boast such feats. We don't know what he is, or what he's capable of. That ignorance could cost us everything."

The mention of the Order brought an uncomfortable stillness to the room. Elder Lysara, a striking woman with streaks of gray woven through her braided black hair, broke the silence. Her voice was sharp, each word cutting through the tension like a blade. "So what do you propose, Dagrim?" she challenged, her dark eyes narrowing. "Hand him over to the Order and pray they don't raze Arkaneth to the ground in their self-righteous zeal? Is that your great plan?"

Dagrim bristled but held his tongue as Lysara pressed on. "The boy landed in our territory. He saved the Chief and his men. Are we to repay that by turning him over to zealots who see heresy in every shadow?" She crossed her arms and leaned forward, her voice growing more impassioned. "I'll remind you, Dagrim, that the Order has conquered villages far larger than ours in their so-called crusades. You think handing the boy over will earn their mercy? It'll only justify their claims."

Thalrik Orenda, the village chief, finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the brewing argument. "Enough," he said, his tone firm but measured. "Both of you make valid points, but we need solutions, not infighting."

Lysara fell silent, though her glare remained fixed on Dagrim. The hulking elder folded his arms, leaning back with a grunt of displeasure.

Thalrik continued, his gaze sweeping the room. "We cannot hand the boy over to the Order. That much is clear. Their crusades leave no room for negotiation, and if they suspect we've been harboring him... we'll all pay the price. But neither can we ignore the risks. Dagrim's concerns are not unfounded."

Kaelith nodded thoughtfully. "So, what is your plan, Chief?"

Thalrik's expression hardened, his voice steady. "We fortify the village. Train every able-bodied villager to fight. Keep the boy hidden, but watch him closely. If the Order comes, we will defend ourselves. But we'll do so on our terms."

Dagrim grunted in reluctant agreement. "It's a gamble," he muttered, "but better than handing him over."

Lysara folded her arms, her fiery demeanor softening slightly. "Then it's settled. The boy stays, and we prepare for the storm."

The room fell silent, each elder lost in thought. Finally, Thalrik turned to Gram. "What's the boy's current situation?"

---

Veritas Orenda

In a modest home within the village, laughter filled the air. Serenya Orenda, a bright-eyed girl of seven, giggled as she played with the infant. The boy, swaddled snugly in a soft cloth, reached for her hand with tiny, glowing fingers.

"Mom, look! He's smiling!" Serenya exclaimed, her emerald eyes sparkling with joy.

In the kitchen, Valaith Orenda, her mother, smiled as she prepared a bottle. Her long brown hair framed a kind, gentle face, though her emerald eyes carried the weight of recent events. "Yes, he's a happy little one, isn't he? Now, how about you give him his bottle?"

Emerging from the kitchen was Tara Caelthara, Valaith's younger sister. Her short black hair and sharp features contrasted with her sister's warmth. "Have you named him yet?" she asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Valaith paused, her expression thoughtful. "Not yet. But it'll come to me."

Tara arched an eyebrow. "You know the Order will demand his prophesied name. If we call him anything else, they'll see it as defiance."

"Good," Valaith snapped, her voice suddenly sharp. "Let them. The Order is blind—blind to the destruction they cause in the name of prophecy. They won't take him. Not while I breathe."

Tara sighed but said nothing more.

Valaith approached the baby, scooping him gently into her arms. The boy cooed softly, his golden eyes meeting hers. "Veritas," she said softly, a smile touching her lips. "Your name is Veritas Orenda."

---

The village of Arkaneth stood as a beacon of resilience amidst the desolation of Terra's unforgiving sands. Nestled on the fringes of the Great Forest, it clung to life like a stubborn plant growing from cracked, arid soil. Its towering wooden walls, reinforced with scavenged metals and weathered stone, loomed protectively over the settlement. The villagers had built these fortifications through years of labor, using every scrap of material they could find. Outside the walls lay a world of hostility—irradiated deserts with toxic winds, and forests teeming with creatures evolved for predation.

Inside, however, the village thrived in its peculiar harmony of old and new. Huts made of treated wood stood beside towers constructed from ancient, pre-catastrophe alloys, their once-polished surfaces now dulled with age. This juxtaposition of primitive ingenuity and forgotten technologies gave Arkaneth an otherworldly charm, as though it existed outside the constraints of time.

Winding paths of compacted dirt crisscrossed the village, connecting homes, workshops, and communal spaces. The heart of Arkaneth was the bustling central square, where the marketplace buzzed with activity. Despite the lingering tension of recent events, villagers moved with cautious optimism. Merchants shouted over one another, hawking their wares—brightly colored fruits from the forest, bundles of medicinal herbs, handmade tools, and trinkets that glittered faintly in the sunlight. Farmers carried baskets overflowing with harvested mushrooms and root vegetables, while blacksmiths worked tirelessly at their forges, the rhythmic clanging of metal echoing across the square.

Children darted between the stalls, their laughter a rare melody that seemed to push back the shadow of uncertainty. Even in the harsh world of Terra, their innocence shone brightly, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

At the edge of the square, near the ancient shrine, a group of women knelt in silent prayer before an intricately carved relic. The centerpiece of the shrine was a weathered statue depicting the Light Eternal—a guiding force that the villagers believed had shielded them through countless trials. The statue, though cracked and worn, radiated a sense of serenity.

Among the worshippers, a young mother whispered fervently, her hands clasped tightly. "The child is a sign. He was sent to save us, to lead us to a new era," she said, her voice trembling with hope.

Nearby, an older man sat on a bench, leaning heavily on his cane. His weathered face, lined with decades of toil and hardship, twisted into a skeptical frown. "Or he'll bring ruin," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Powers like his... they always come with consequences."

Despite the whispers of doubt, a spark of hope had begun to spread through the village. The boy, with his luminous presence and miraculous arrival, had become a symbol—an emblem of possibility in a world often overshadowed by despair. For some, he was a gift from the heavens; for others, a question mark that threatened their fragile peace.

---

While the villagers cautiously embraced this newfound hope, the warriors of Arkaneth remained ever vigilant. Along the perimeter of the village, patrols paced the walls, their eyes scanning the horizon for movement. The defenses of Arkaneth were formidable but far from impenetrable, and the warriors knew better than to grow complacent.

Beyond the walls, at a makeshift outpost nestled within the trees of the Great Forest, a group of seasoned scouts and soldiers had gathered. The outpost was a simple structure—a raised wooden platform surrounded by camouflage netting. From this vantage point, they could monitor both the forest and the desert's edge, ensuring no threat went unnoticed.

Among the gathered warriors were Bismarck, a grizzled veteran with a face that seemed chiseled from stone; Gram, the head scout whose sharp emerald eyes missed nothing; and Vesimir, a younger warrior known for his quick wit and even quicker blade.

Bismarck leaned against a tree, chewing on a piece of dried meat. His battle-worn helmet rested on the ground beside him, revealing a face etched with scars and weariness. "Been too quiet," he muttered, his deep voice like gravel. "Don't trust it."

Gram, crouched near a map spread across a flat rock, glanced up. His eyes glimmered with a mix of exhaustion and determination. "We've scouted every inch of the forest near the crater. The danger beasts seem content to linger there, but they're not moving closer. The boy's presence isn't drawing them in."

Vesimir, perched on a low-hanging branch, smirked as he twirled a knife between his fingers. "Maybe they're scared of him," he said with a chuckle. "Did you see him in that crater? Wings out, glowing like a bloody god. If I were a danger beast, I'd run the other way too."

Bismarck snorted, shaking his head. "God or not, he's still a boy. And boys don't survive this world without someone looking out for them."

The group fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of their responsibility pressing heavily on their shoulders. They weren't just protecting the village; they were safeguarding the hope that the boy had come to represent.

Gram broke the silence, his voice low and thoughtful. "You think the Order knows about him yet?"

Bismarck's jaw tightened, and he shifted his weight uneasily. "If they don't, they will soon. Word travels fast. And something like this?" He gestured vaguely toward the horizon. "They'll come sniffing around before long."

Vesimir hopped down from the branch, landing lightly on his feet. "Let them come. We've handled worse."

Bismarck fixed him with a hard look, his gray eyes narrowing. "This isn't some band of raiders, Vesimir. The Order of Burning Light isn't just dangerous—they're fanatical. They don't stop until they get what they want. And right now, that's the boy."

Gram nodded, his expression grim. "Which is why we need to be ready. The Chief's orders were clear: no one gets in or out without our say-so. We protect the village, no matter the cost."

The conversation was interrupted by a rustling in the underbrush. Instantly, the warriors drew their weapons, their bodies tensing as they prepared for an attack. Bismarck gripped the hilt of his sword, while Gram unslung his rifle, the barrel aimed steadily at the source of the sound.

A moment later, a scout emerged from the trees, his face flushed with exertion. He saluted quickly, his breathing heavy. "Report," Gram commanded, his tone sharp.

The scout nodded, his words coming in short bursts. "Nothing unusual to report, sir. The forest is quiet... too quiet, if you ask me."

Bismarck relaxed slightly, though his hand remained on the hilt of his blade. "Quiet's better than the alternative," he muttered. "Keep your eyes open."

The scout nodded and disappeared back into the trees, leaving the group to their thoughts.

As the sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows across the forest floor, the warriors of Arkaneth prepared to return to the village. The tension of the past week had begun to ebb, but vigilance remained their watchword. They knew that the peace they currently enjoyed was fragile—a thin veneer over the chaos that always threatened to erupt.

As they walked back toward the safety of the village walls, Vesimir glanced at Gram, his smirk fading. "You think he even knows what he is? The boy, I mean. You think he understands the weight of it all?"

Gram's expression softened for a moment, a rare glimpse of the man behind the soldier. "No," he said quietly. "And I hope he never has to."

The group fell into silence once more, their unspoken fears hanging heavy in the air. They didn't know what the future held, but they knew one thing for certain: the boy had changed everything. And whether that change was for better or worse... only time would tell.

---

The grand halls of the Basilica Solaris, the heart of the Ordo Lucis Ardentis, shimmered with ethereal light. Golden murals of celestial battles adorned the towering walls, depicting the eternal struggle between light and darkness. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense and the low hum of chanting priests, their voices weaving a sacred hymn that resonated through the vast, cavernous space.

At the center of the Sanctum Solaris, illuminated by the glow of an ancient relic, stood Pope Aurelius Solis. His tall, calm figure, draped in flowing robes of white and gold, exuded an aura of serene authority. The Solar Concord—a massive golden disk etched with celestial symbols—pulsed faintly before him, its surface shimmering like liquid light. His gentle yet commanding face reflected both reverence and determination as he knelt before the relic.

Aurelius's fingers hovered over the surface of the Concord, the ancient mechanism humming faintly as it began to pulse more rapidly. His eyes closed in solemn prayer, his voice barely a whisper as he sought divine guidance.

The light of the relic intensified, and a vision unfolded in his mind. A golden comet blazed across the heavens, splitting the darkness with its radiant tail. The sky, once shadowed, glimmered with the promise of hope. The comet descended, its golden flames like the birth of a new sun. With it came a voice—a quiet but unyielding whisper that resonated in Aurelius's soul.

"He is coming. The flame of hope reignites."

Aurelius's eyes snapped open. His breath caught, though his composed demeanor betrayed little of the awe within. He rose slowly, his posture tall and commanding as he turned to face the attendants who waited in silent reverence.

"The Savior approaches," he announced, his voice calm but carrying the weight of prophecy. "The golden comet has marked his descent. The time foretold in the Lumina Scriptura is upon us."

The gathered clergy exchanged glances, awe and unease flickering across their faces. Some dropped to their knees, whispering fervent prayers, while others remained frozen, their expressions a mixture of wonder and fear.

Aurelius raised a hand, silencing the rising murmurs. "Summon High Priestess Elethia Luxora," he commanded. "Her unwavering devotion and insight will guide us. And have her bring Custodes Flammae Teryn Vestra—this mission will require more than faith. It will require strength."

An attendant bowed deeply before hurrying from the chamber, her hurried footsteps echoing through the grand hall.

---

In the Chapel of Radiance, a smaller but equally resplendent hall within the Basilica, High Priestess Elethia Luxora knelt in quiet prayer. Her golden robes, embroidered with rays of light, flowed elegantly around her slender form. Her silver hair cascaded down her back, and her amber eyes remained closed as she whispered a hymn to the light. Her calm exterior belied the fire of zealotry that burned within her heart.

Behind her, ever-vigilant, stood Custodes Flammae Teryn Vestra. Teryn's bronze armor shimmered faintly in the soft light of the stained-glass windows, her twin plasma blades resting across her back. Her dark eyes swept the room, her stoic expression betraying nothing. She stood like a sentinel, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

An attendant entered, bowing deeply. "High Priestess, His Holiness summons you. The comet has been divined."

Elethia's amber eyes opened, her calm demeanor giving way to fervent passion. She rose with fluid grace, her hands clasped against her chest. "The comet... the Savior's arrival foretold. At last, the prophecy begins."

"Yes, High Priestess," the attendant confirmed. "The Pope awaits you in the Sanctum Solaris."

Elethia turned to Teryn, her voice trembling with conviction. "The Savior comes. The world will be reborn in his light."

Teryn's dark eyes met hers, steady and resolute. "If he has arrived, there will be those who seek to harm him. We must act swiftly."

Elethia nodded, already striding toward the door. "Come, Teryn. The time for waiting is over."

---

When Elethia and Teryn entered the Sanctum Solaris, they found Pope Aurelius standing before the Solar Concord, the light of the relic casting a golden glow over his features. He turned to greet them, his expression serene but purposeful.

"High Priestess Elethia," Aurelius said, his voice calm yet filled with authority. "The comet blazes across the heavens, marking the Savior's descent. The time foretold has come."

Elethia fell to her knees, her amber eyes shimmering with fervor. "Praise be to the Light Eternal. The Savior comes to cleanse this world of its darkness."

"Rise," Aurelius said, extending a hand. "There is much to be done."

Elethia stood, her hands trembling. "Your Holiness, we must act at once. We must bring him into the fold and shield him from the shadows."

Aurelius's gaze softened, though his tone remained firm. "Patience, Elethia. The Savior is not a child to be sheltered. He is a divine force—a harbinger of change. We must approach him with reverence and understanding."

Teryn stepped forward, her voice measured. "What are your orders, Your Holiness?"

"You will accompany Elethia," Aurelius replied. "The comet's trail leads to the edge of the Great Forest, near the sands of Arkaneth. Find the Savior and ensure his safe passage to the Basilica. But tread carefully. The forces of darkness will not remain idle."

Elethia placed a hand over her heart. "I will not fail you, Your Holiness. His light will shine brightly under our guidance."

Aurelius nodded, his gaze turning toward the towering stained-glass window behind them. Beyond the glass, the night sky shimmered with the glow of the golden comet.

---

Later that evening, Aurelius stood atop the Celestial Spire, the highest point of the Basilica. The twin moons bathed the desert sands in pale light, but all attention was drawn to the heavens. A golden comet blazed across the night sky, its radiant tail illuminating the desolation below.

Aurelius's voice broke the stillness, a solemn prayer carried on the wind. "He who descends in golden fire shall bear the burden of light and shadow. Through him, this world shall find renewal, and the eternal flame shall burn anew."

The comet's light faded as it disappeared beyond the horizon. Aurelius turned to an attendant waiting behind him. "Send word to Elethia. She is to depart immediately. The Savior must be found."

The attendant bowed deeply. "Yes, Your Holiness."

As the Pope returned his gaze to the heavens, a faint smile graced his lips. The prophecy was in motion, and with it, the hopes of an entire world.