4. Sariel

4

SARIEL

" S tupid fucking humans," I whisper, watching as they struggle to follow along with the physical exercises administered by Zephyr. She leads the cohorts, directing them on what to do, and they still flail like a pack of idiots.

I lean against the railing of the glass platform I stand upon, arms crossed, watching the pathetic display before me. Zephyr's voice rings out, clear and commanding, as she guides the humans through their exercises. Most of them stumble and pant, their faces red with exertion. Pitiful.

My eyes scan the crowd, landing on a familiar blonde head. It's her—the clumsy girl who ruined my uniform a few days ago. Lyra, I think her name is. She's in the front, determination etched on her face as she follows Zephyr's instructions.

I hate to admit it, but she's not doing half bad. When Zephyr calls for a quick change in exercise, Lyra drops down and pops back up with surprising agility. Her form isn't perfect, but it's better than most of these sorry excuses for candidates.

"Pick up the pace!" Zephyr yells. "You think this is hard? Wait until the real trial begins!"

A few humans collapse, gasping for air. Not Lyra. She grits her teeth and pushes harder, sweat glistening on her brow. When she stumbles during a particularly difficult sequence, she doesn't stay down. She's back on her feet in an instant, rejoining the exercise without missing a beat.

For a moment, I almost feel impressed. Almost. Then I remember what she is—just another weak human grasping at power she doesn't deserve. She might be doing well now, but she'll break like all the rest. They always do.

I scoff, shaking my head. It doesn't matter how hard she tries or how determined she looks. When the real trial starts, she'll crumble like dust in the wind. They all will. And I'll be there to watch it happen, savoring every moment of their failure.

I retreat from the observation platform, growing bored of watching these pathetic humans struggle with basic physical exercises. Their weakness disgusts me. What a waste of my time.

I make my way to my office, my wings twitching with irritation. As I enter, I notice a letter on my desk, sealed with the official crest of the Praexa. My interest piques immediately.

Settling into my chair, I break the seal and unfold the parchment. As I read, a slow smile spreads across my face.

Commander Sariel,

It has come to our attention that the number of human candidates for this year's trials is unusually high. This presents an opportunity to cull the weak and unworthy more aggressively than in previous years.

You are hereby directed to increase the difficulty and lethality of all trial stages. We expect a significant reduction in candidates by the end of the first round. Be ruthless. Be merciless. Show these humans the true meaning of xaphan superiority.

Your performance in this task will be closely monitored. Exceed our expectations, and you may find yourself rewarded with a promotion upon completion of the trials.

Do not disappoint us.

By the grace of Solas,

Praexa Azrael

I set the letter down, just as a smile forms along my lips. This is exactly what I've been waiting for—a chance to prove myself, to rise higher in the ranks. And all I have to do is what comes naturally: crush these pitiful humans beneath my heel.

I stare down at my desk, mind already racing with ideas. Increased gravity during physical tests, hallucinogenic compounds in their food to mess with their minds, maybe even some "accidental" equipment malfunctions. The possibilities are endless.

Let them think they have a chance. Let them push themselves to the brink, believing their pathetic efforts might be enough. And then, when they're at their weakest, we'll show them how truly insignificant they are.

This is going to be fun.

Do these humans really think they're ready for our trials? They have no idea what's coming.

First things first: the physical endurance test. I pull out the layout for the obstacle course on my display. It's challenging, sure, but not nearly enough. Time to add some spice.

I mark areas where more traps can be added, spells to increase gravity can be cast, and the platforms can be modified. As I make the adjustments, I can almost hear the screams of surprise when these fools plummet into darkness. It'll be music to my ears.

But physical torment isn't enough. No, we need to break their spirits, too. So many of them come from poverty, desperate for a chance at a better life. How naive.

That's when an idea strikes me. I can cast a spell that will affect each person differently. It will react to the candidate, forcing them to hear the voices of their loved ones begging them to give up. To come home. It's a cruel touch, but necessary. They need to understand that they don't belong here.

As I work, I can't help but think about the blonde girl, Lyra. She showed some spark during training. It's almost a shame she'll fail like the rest. Almost .

I shake my head, banishing the thought. This is why we can't let humans earn wings. They're weak, emotional creatures. Giving them power would upset the natural order of things. We xaphan are superior for a reason. It's our duty to maintain that superiority, to protect our way of life.

These trials aren't just entertainment, not in my eyes at least. They're a reminder to humans of their place in the world. And the ones that will die in the process? Well, that's just natural selection at work.

Cracking my neck as I work, I take a moment to sit back and admire my decisions. These wing trials will be one to remember, at least for the xaphan. For the humans? Not so much. No way to remember anything when you're six feet under.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. The day's work is finally done. I've designed a trial that'll crush these pathetic humans like the pests they are. Yet, as I close my eyes, an unbidden image flashes through my mind.

Blonde hair, matted with sweat. Blue eyes, fierce with determination. Lyra.

I growl, sitting up straight. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about her?

But I can't shake the memory of her during training. While others collapsed, she pushed on. When she fell, she got back up. There was a fire in her eyes that I rarely see in humans.

"Damn it," I mutter, standing up to pace. My wings twitch with irritation.

It's... admirable, in a way. Her resilience. Her spirit. Most humans break at the first sign of difficulty, but not her. She's got fight in her.

For a fleeting moment, I wonder what she could accomplish if she actually became xaphan. If she had wings of her own.

I freeze, horrified at my own thoughts. What am I doing? This is dangerous territory.

"Get it together, Sariel," I snap at myself. "She's human. Nothing more."

I force myself to remember my duty. The impossibility of a human truly becoming xaphan. The natural order of things. We are superior for a reason.

But still... that fire in her eyes. It's rare. Special, even.

I shake my head violently, trying to dislodge these traitorous thoughts. It doesn't matter how determined she is. She'll fail like all the rest. She has to.

Yet a small part of me, a part I desperately try to silence, wonders what it would be like if she didn't.

I retreat from my office, my mind still churning with conflicting thoughts. The walk to my quarters feels longer than usual, each step echoing in the empty hallway. Finally, I reach my door and push it open, eager for some peace.

My quarters are a sanctuary of luxury. When juxtaposed with how the humans are living, the differences are clear. They deserve squalor. The xaphan deserve the best of the best.

Sinking into the plush couch, I let out a deep sigh. But as I try to relax, an unbidden image floods my mind.

Lyra. Here. In my quarters.

I grit my teeth, my hands clenching into fists. I'm starting to believe there's seriously something wrong with me. She's nothing but a human, a pathetic creature unworthy of my attention. And yet...

I can't shake the image of her standing before me, those fierce blue eyes challenging me. In my mind, I see myself rising from the couch, towering over her. She'd have to crane her neck to meet my gaze, and I'd relish every second of it.

"Fuck," I growl, running a hand through my hair. This is insane. I shouldn't be thinking about her at all, let alone like this. But the thoughts keep coming, relentless and maddening.

I imagine grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at me. Making her acknowledge my power, my superiority. The way she'd tremble under my touch, with a twinge of fear and... something else.

My wings twitch. I want to see her again, to watch her squirm under my gaze. To make her bend to my will.

It doesn't make any sense. She's a human. So why am I drawn to her? Why does the thought of her consume me?

I stand up abruptly, pacing the room. I'm an overseer, tasked with making these trials as difficult and lethal as possible. I can't afford to be distracted by some human girl, no matter how intriguing she might be.

But even as I try to push the thoughts away, I find myself craving another encounter with her. I want to see that fire in her eyes again, to test how far I can push her before she breaks.