"I did," Azrael said grimly. "The immortal weapon was there and Luther somehow transported it. Maybe smugglers helped him. But that's not all. I heard whispers among the witches, a tale they revere like sacred scripture. A thousand witches and wizards sacrificed themselves, burning their own lives away to heal her soul during the attack, to save it from final death. They could not kill King Alvone of Spike's power protecting him, therefore, they linked their powers and saved her soul instead. They prayed: 'May her return be stronger, may she rise from ash and blood.'"
He paused, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its movements.
"I couldn't believe it either... until I stepped inside that sanctuary," Azrael continued, his voice fraying. "The moment I crossed the threshold, I felt it. Her soul. Alive."
His wide eyes shimmered with a terror that nothing else had ever managed to carve into him.
