Serafines Y Querubines Novels & Stories

"But let's see how you handle this." She pulled out a dagger. Ornate, glowing with the same silver light. And drove it into her own chest. Blood poured out. Silver blood. It hit the floor and ignited. Not white like Lyra's. Silver and black. The flames spread. Rose, formed their own crown. Twisted, dark, a mockery of Lyra's Crownfire. Seraphine stood with the dagger still in her chest. Smiling through the pain. Her own crown hovering above her head.

I squint against the glare. The leader descends from the sky. An Angel. His wings are folded behind him—massive, snowy white, every feather looking as soft as a cloud. He has a face of absolute perfection. A straight nose, full lips, lines carved by God himself. Skin like pearls under moonlight. Eyes that glow with a faint, holy light. Silver-white hair flows down to his ankles. Cherubim. One of the Upper Three Orders of Angels. I know my mythology. Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones. Cherubim are known for having "many eyes" and the ability to gaze directly at the light of God. They accept the light without emotion, purely and openly.

Moving through the group one face at a time with the methodical patience of something searching for a specific frequency among many. He found me. His gold eyes locked on mine and held there with a steadiness that had nothing human in it and everything Nightshade. The air between us felt different. Charged in a specific direction. Like the fragment of my power inside him recognized its source and was orienting toward it the way a compass needle oriented toward north. "Seraphine," I said. Very quietly. "What is he?" "A Risen," she said. Her voice had gone to the particular flatness it took on when she was processing something significant and containing her response to it with deliberate care.

Since the witches returned to her body, Seraph was able to hog on her spiritual energy alone, letting her experience the joy of a spirit with a complete and concrete form. When Seraph raised her head back up, her features were seen and if someone saw them together, they would probably mistake them as sisters as they looked so much alike. Seraph was floating, exuding an orange light. Her long, flowy hair was also gently swaying as she hovered in the air. She looked like a free spirit, and this was true, because she and Amaryah were not equals yet. Seraph was waiting to be branded as she looked at Amaryah with expectant eyes, so Amaryah immediately began chanting.

Around her, the celestial thrones of the five Seraphims stood tall, as if the echoes of betrayal were but a farce. Each throne was a reflection of its master’s essence, forged from the first lights of creation — now dimmed beneath Luna’s cold dominion. On the right of Luna’s dais sat Sariel, the Seraph of Discipline and Secrets. His throne was carved from obsidian glass veined with silver light, the glow of distant constellations flickering faintly across his armor like the trapped breath of the cosmos. His gaze was sharp and detached. The eyes of one who had seen too much and judged too little. The lunar brilliance traced the severe planes of his face, his folded wings like midnight forged

“Everything... about Vespera Nightingale.” Logan nodded, hurrying to keep pace. He pressed the elevator button as they reached the lobby. “I’ll get on it right away, sir.” But as the doors slid open and they stepped inside, Logan hesitated, the name feeling oddly familiar on his tongue. “Vespera Nightingale... Vespera...” His eyes widened as the elevator began to descend. “Hold on... isn’t she the newly announced female lead for Jerry Gray’s series? The Darkness Behind Me? Wait... is that her? That’s Vespera?”

“What did you say?” A figure stepped from the shadows behind the throne. Graceful. Poised. Seraphine. Her long silver-blonde hair flowed in waves over her shoulders, her smile soft and subtle. She wore the traditional Luna robes—a gown embroidered with the Wolfe crest and lined with mating runes. Lucian staggered back a step. “You can’t be serious.” Seraphine tilted her head, amusement flickering in her icy eyes. “It’s nice to see you again, Lucian Wolfe.”

Was this reunion truly as innocent as it seemed? Before I could voice my concerns, a hush fell over the room. The air crackled with anticipation as an elderly figure, adorned in ancient robes, stepped forward—a revered seer who held the power of prophecy within his ancient bloodline. His voice carried a weight of knowledge as he addressed us all. "Seraphina," the seer intoned, his voice grave yet laced with a hint of foreboding, "your path is intertwined with both light and darkness, and the choices you make will shape the fate of not only your own heart but the entire werewolf lineage."

Unitedly, he and Lira initiated a synchronized assault, combining their abilities of brightness and shadow. Seraphine was taken aback when their joint attack hit her. She stumbled, her energy field wavering. "Do you believe you can disturb the equilibrium that effortlessly?" she whispered angrily. "I represent balance in its purest form!" However, Lira and Marcus continued forward, their assaults unwavering. Eldon and Selene contributed as well, their weapons and magical abilities contributing to the attack. The battlefield crackled with energy as light and dark forces clashed, each side vying for dominance.

Power surged upward in violent columns, tearing open a gateway between worlds. And within that light Seraphine stepped through. She did not look human anymore. Her eyes glowed silver-white, pupils dissolving into pure radiance. Her hair floated weightlessly around her, threaded with strands of light. Her skin shimmered faintly, inscribed with glowing sigils that pulsed with each heartbeat. She looked like a goddess descending into hell. “Seraphine,” Lucien breathed. Her gaze snapped to him instantly. For one fragile moment, the chaos faded.