Arc En Ciel Novels & Stories

Chapter: 23 ****** In the realm of ethereal beauty and boundless wonder, cerulean unfolds before the restless angel's eyes. As he walked down the long, winding path, a symphony of colors danced in the air, painting the sky with hues that defied earthly imagination. Wisps of iridescent clouds drifted lazily, casting shimmering reflections upon the glistening surfaces of crystalline structures that rose majestically from the cerulean ground. Azrael, the Celestial Prince, admired its pristine perfection, finding each new detail more magnificent than the last. He paused in front of an archway of blue flowers and reached out, placing his hand on the wall. He traced the petals with delicate finger

Aerie Academy just declared war. I step forward onto the broken balcony, wind tearing at my hair, Hellebore Mist singing. Above us, the citadel opens like a mouth. Winged figures in storm-silver armor pour out (hundreds, maybe thousands). I raise my katana to the sky. Lightning answers, splitting the night in half. Celeste (voice carrying to every corner of the academy): “This is Aerie soil. You want the sky? Come and try to take it.” Remy steps up beside me, dire-coyote form towering, golden eyes blazing.

But because of the spell, that was impossible. “Arcanios exist in three kinds,” Alistair explained, sipping his coffee in the dim glow of the room where we had first spoken. The curtains were drawn shut, allowing no sunlight to filter in, leaving only the flickering candlelight to cast shadows against the walls. “The Caelites bear snowflake-shaped marks on their nape. The Ardorium have an infinite symbol on their arms. And the Hexling carry a crescent moon mark along the pulse of their neck.”

When the arrow disappeared between the dark clouds, the sky gurgles. Cain is startled by the sound of it. Altarria smiles when she sees her power is working. Bright circles with ancient symbols carved around it emerge on the sky. They are scattered to every corner of the sky. The downpour suddenly stops and everything becomes quiet.

Night vision goggles covered her eyes, and a Bluetooth headset covered her ears. “How does it look from up there?” Warren asked. He and the remaining members of the Arcane Seekers trudged through the ankle-deep snow, spring may have come to Alberta, but Fort Vermillion didn't get the memo. Not that it matters with the town under siege by ravenous dog people called Adlets. Which brought the Scald Crow to a remote location. “We're clear. How are you doing?” air rushed against Therias microphone as she floated through the air. It didn't hide the worry in her voice.

And a man stands before an arcane storm. A man with silver hair. Eyes like dying stars. A smile like a blade. The architect—alive, human, and crowned. Kael’s voice pierced her mind from somewhere distant. “Alessia! ALESSIA!” She couldn’t answer. The vision swallowed her. She saw the architect reaching toward the sky—pulling luminousness into his palm. The city trembled. The storm cracked. And Arcana fell. Not destroyed by war. Not swallowed by sea.

“He’s got cover. Work fast, witch.” Silas sank to his knees, palms pressed to the ground. Arcane glyphs flared in a circle around the gate, glowing and humming. Rio, Lucien, Adonis, Claude, Odessa, and Celine circled him, their bodies moving faster than the eye could track. Shadows and lightning. Claws and steel. Above them, clouds churned blacker and thicker than before. The first drops of rain fell, cold and heavy. Thunder cracked so loud it seemed to split the sky.

Marcus gave her a small, respectful nod, his gaze steady but unreadable. Beside Marcus was a woman with dark, flowing hair and striking green eyes, who regarded Lune with a quiet intensity. “This is Celia, my cousin,” Arlo continued. Celia offered a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, her expression measured and cool. Next, Arlo introduced a man who looked somewhat younger than the others, his bright blue eyes filled with curiosity. “And this is Rowan, another cousin of mine.” Rowan smiled warmly, the most welcoming expression Lune had seen so far. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lune,” he said with genuine kindness.

It carried a tray with three glowing vials—one green, one red, one black—each pulsing with unnatural light. The figure approached the cage and uncorked the green vial first. With terrifying gentleness, it held the glass to the wolf’s mouth. Circe thrashed violently, her white fur catching the torchlight like moonfire. This was the first time Lydia had seen her wolf in full color. Circe had always been a deep brown—large, strong, grounded. But now… she was massive. Nearly twice the size Lydia remembered, her fur a rare, glistening snow-white. An ancient color. A sacred one.

Arc's icy facade cracked for a moment, revealing a glimmer of emotion before he quickly masked it. "Why would I be?" Arc replied defensively, his voice a little too sharp. Chelsea's eyes sparkled with amusement as he took a step closer to Arc. "Are you sure?" he pressed, his voice low and teasing. He took another step, his face inches from Arc's. "Are you sure you don't want me the way he wants me, Archie?" Arc's eyes widened, and Chelsea caught a glimpse of the unusual right eye, its peculiarity making it all the more captivating. In that moment, Chelsea yearned to rekindle the spark they'd shared in the pen, to see who would surrender first.