The bite of betrayal will always hurt more than any physical wound.

It settles in my stomach, heavy and unmoving as a mountain, pinning me to the dungeon’s floor; I had long since grown numb to the permanent chill emanating from the stone cell. I shiver, the fetters on my wrists and ankles clinking on the ground. It amazed me how similar it was to the chinking of wine glasses off one another in toast, a sound I was more than familiar with. A sound that I had grown to despise.

How many nights has it been since that fateful one? The night in which I was stripped bare of my identity, prodded, poked, and examined like a pig on a spit. I recalled clearly how Raguel’s face preened at the attention he got upon revealing something he swore to keep secret with his blood smeared on a feather of his wing. An unbreakable oath, according to my kind, punishable by death. I did not know that such a crime would be overlooked when my former friend broke his oath in front of the Council and our fellow angels.

Raguel’s hands burned into my skin as he voluntarily held me down, forcing me on my knees as the Council’s Archangels surrounded us. The unbearable pain that left me on the border of unconsciousness when they dragged my unwilling wings out from my back. How they held me to the floor, searching for one thing: the dark blemish that dotted a feather that labeled by as one of the Fallen.

The spot was no bigger than a small ink spill. With time, it would grow, consuming each inch of the wingspan, slowly decaying each feather until they fell off, one by one, enabling me flightless. Such is the supposed fate of the Fallen; no one knows for sure. All the Fallen are banished from the Holy Lands; the Archangels believe such a ritual could dispel the sin in hopes that no one else would fall subject to this curse.

No matter how many times they eradicate the Fallen, there will always be another to take their place. This time, I was unlucky enough for it to be me.

Since the examination of my wings, I had kept them sealed away in the tattooed lines etched on my back. When I saw the first black smudge, marking me Fallen, the world closed in on me. Trapped within my own body and the confines of my soul; I could not escape this fate. The crushing realization of knowing this fate is not something I can escape.

Footsteps echoed with the jingling of keys. I did not bother to sit up and look—my gut told me he wasn’t here for the other criminals.

Raguel stopped in front of my cell. “It is time.”

I did not move. “How does it feel, I wonder, to kill a friend?” My voice was thick from lack of use.

“No friend of mine shall be inflicted with sin. You are an angel no longer,” he hissed, unlocking the cell door. “Move. Your judgment awaits.”

With a mocking expression, I lifted a manacled wrist. “I’ve already tried that, but you see, one can’t move when they’re chained to the wall.”

Raguel yanked my wrist forward, nails digging into my skin as he roughly freed the fetters. My limbs did not feel any lighter with them gone. He tied my hands together with rope—one could not waste iron on a dying man—and led me out into the hall. Weak torches flashed grotesque shadows on the walls and the faces of other chained angels in cells. They do not have the faces of criminals but faces full of pity. One reached past the bars of their cell, pressing their hand to my leg. It was calloused and dirty, but warm. The touch was gone before it even arrived, but the imprint remained. I held onto it as Raguel dragged me along behind him; it was my lifeline as blinding pale sunlight pierced my eyes, as my legs trembled like the fancy dessert Seraph Gabriel so dearly enjoyed.

I searched for her face among the growing crowd, but heads without faces flashed past me. if it were not for Raguel forcing me to walk, I am sure I would have collapsed long ago. I told myself I had prepared for this. That I knew this would happen from the moment I first saw the spot of decay. But I did not think it would happen like this.

Please. Not like this.

I did not notice we had stopped walking until Raguel pushed me to kneel. The sharp sting of gravel digging into my knees brought me back to the present.

Raguel bowed to the gathered Archangels with a flourish of his wings, the white feathers gleaming. He must have just preened them, something that angels do to share intimacy between friends, family, and lovers. Once, we had preened each other’s wings. My mind was disturbed at the thought, like it had been laid bare and picked at. Betrayed.

Raguel cuffed my shoulder. “Wings,” he ordered, “or I will tear them out myself.”

I nodded, my eyes staring holes into the ground. Refusing would only bring more suffering and pain. Something I did not wish to have on my deathbed. My wings were stiff and unwilling as I called on them, slowly squeezing from their tattoo on my back. Raguel snatched my right wing, twisting it at a painful angle to show the watching crowd the darkening spots before binding them together tightly.

I glanced up and immediately wished I hadn’t. Towering over me were the seven Archangels of the Holy Lands, with Seraph Michael in the middle of their semi-circle. His powerful build alone was enough to tell him as the patron of justice and warriors, his sharp, cutting eyes even more so. I dared not to let our gazes clash, so I sought for a familiar face—Seraph Gabriel.

Her usual caring look was slashed through with hysteric panic. She did not even attempt to hide the single tear that rolled down her cheek. My master’s rose-quartz eyes met mine, hopeless. She could do nothing. I had not expected her to.

“Messenger Cassius, by rule of the Council, shall be banished from these blessed Holy Lands, forevermore,” Seraph Michael’s voice boomed, deep and commanding. “On the terms for which you harbor sin, this punishment shall carry out at once. By the grace of His hand, you will be allowed your last words.”

I hadn’t planned for this, but I found out I didn’t need to; Seraph Gabriel kneeled before me, taking my face in her slender hands. “Cassius.” Her whisper was strong, urgent. Good. If she had cried, I would have broken down. “You must listen and listen carefully. As the Messenger Seraph, I have heard many things. Things about what lies below the clouds. Hear me, Cassius. You must find Eden and her people. They save the Fallen. You must find them.” Her lips were cold when they pressed my forehead. “Be safe, my child. May the wind bless your back.”

“And may the stars bless your soul,” I managed to choke out. I hated how terrified I sounded. How my voice quivered like my trembling hands.

And then she was gone, her faint traces of warmth tossed to the breeze.

“Let the trial commence,” Seraph Michael ordered, waving his staff, the golden plating flashing in the sun.

My legs refused to function. I was hauled up by two guards, skin burning with humiliation as they half-carried, half-dragged me to a marble platform, veins of gold shot through the stone. I focused on the gold, forcing myself to think of them as rivers or roads or—

I shut my eyes.

“Judgment be upon you,” Seraph Michael murmured.

At the thundering drop of his staff, I was kicked off the edge.