Chapter One – The Lie That Gave Me Wings
I never believed in angels. Not the glowing, halo-wearing, sky-soaring kind that kids dream about. Angels were stories for scared people, bedtime tales dressed up as truth.
Until the day I lied.
It wasn’t a dramatic lie. Just the kind you tell because it’s easier than explaining the truth.
“Did you see Evan last night?” Dad asked, drying a plate with a dishtowel. His hands were steady, precise, like they always were.
“No. I didn’t,” I said, and the words slipped out before I even thought about them.
And then everything changed.
It started with a crack in my spine, sharp and hot, like fire had been shoved inside me. I doubled over, clutching the counter, gasping, my stomach twisting with panic.
Then came the wings.
They burst from my back as if they’d been waiting, coiled in shadows, ready to spring. Feathers—soft and golden-tipped, dusted with ash—unfolded like sunlight caught in smoke. My heart slammed against my ribs, my breath caught in my throat.
I sank to my knees, trembling. I wanted to touch them, but they weren’t solid, not really. They moved with a mind of their own, curling and flickering like liquid light.
Dad didn’t notice. He hummed over the sink, stacking plates, oblivious to the impossible thing happening right behind me.
I didn’t know whether to scream or cry. I did neither. I bolted for the bathroom, slammed the door, and leaned against it, sliding to the floor. My hands went to my back. My fingers brushed a feather. It felt warm, almost alive.
Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the wings dissolved into dust. Gold sparks scattered across the tiles like fireflies.
I sank forward, my forehead pressed to the cold floor. My mind raced. Was I losing it? A hallucination? A seizure?
But the memory of them—soft, shimmering, impossibly real—burned into my brain.
I wanted to call someone. A doctor, a therapist, a priest. Anyone. But what could I say?
“Hi, I grew wings when I lied today. Can you help me?”
Ridiculous.
The next morning, I avoided the mirror. Every time I lied—even a little—I felt the same pulse, the ache along my spine, the ghost of feathers brushing my skin.
It wasn’t just wings. It was a warning. A calling.
And then I found the letter.
I was digging through the attic, trying to understand my mother—the mother I barely remembered—when I found a box she’d left behind. Dusty, old, tied with a ribbon. I opened it and inside was a book. Heavy, leather-bound, with my mother’s name embossed: Arielle Quinn.
Pages filled with symbols, lists of names, drawings of wings—some broken, some whole. One name was circled in red: Malekiel.
Underneath, in shaky handwriting: Do not trust him. Not even if he bleeds for you.
My mother was no ordinary woman. And I suddenly realized: neither was I.
Chapter Two – The Book of Names
The attic smelled of dust, old cedar, and a faint trace of my mother’s perfume—a scent I hadn’t realized I still remembered. Sunlight slanted through the grimy window, highlighting motes of dust that danced like tiny spirits in the air.
I cradled the leather-bound book against my chest, afraid to open it at first. It felt heavy, not just in weight, but with something else—the weight of secrets, of lives lived in shadows, of truths I wasn’t supposed to know.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, kicked a cobweb away, and pried the cover open. The pages smelled faintly of smoke and old paper.
Immediately, my eyes were drawn to the drawings. Angels. At least, that’s what they looked like—but they weren’t the ones from storybooks. These angels were raw and jagged, some with wings full and strong, others broken, bent at unnatural angles. Each feather was drawn with painstaking detail.
And then I saw it—lists of names, dates, and symbols I didn’t understand. Some names were crossed out. Some were circled in red ink, like they carried a warning.
One name made my stomach twist: Malekiel.
Beneath it, in shaky handwriting I instantly recognized as my mother’s, was a single line:
Do not trust him. Not even if he bleeds for you.
A shiver ran down my spine. Who was Malekiel? Why had my mother warned me about him?
I flipped further, hands trembling, and found more clues: a map of the city, a set of coordinates, and a note that said:
"The half-world is beneath the city. You will know them by the dust they leave behind."
Dust? That made no sense—until the memory of my own wings flickered in my mind. Gold dust, shimmering in the kitchen sunlight before disappearing.
The book seemed alive. As I turned the pages, symbols rearranged themselves, almost imperceptibly. I blinked. No, it hadn’t changed. My mind was just trying to catch up.
And then I heard the knock.
It wasn’t at the attic door. It was at the window.
I froze. Heart hammering. Slowly, I turned, and saw a figure leaning against the brick wall outside. A boy—maybe a few years older than me—hood pulled low, face shadowed, but I could see the edges of sharp cheekbones and eyes that glimmered like fading stars.
He raised one hand, not in threat, but as a greeting.
“You’re Ezra Quinn.” His voice was soft, but it carried authority, an undercurrent of something dangerous. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I swallowed hard. “Who… who are you?”
He stepped closer, carefully navigating the cluttered yard. “Malekiel,” he said, almost as if he were testing the name on my lips. “You have the wings. Like her.”
My pulse stuttered. “Like… like my mother?”
He nodded. “You inherited her curse. Or her gift. Depends on how you look at it.”
I closed the book instinctively, holding it like a shield. “I don’t know what you mean. My… my wings? I don’t—”
“They appear when you lie,” he said, cutting me off. “And they’re stronger than you think.”
I wanted to back away, to run, but my legs felt like stone. “Why are you here?”
He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Because Heaven wants to bind you, and Hell wants to burn you. And you’re too valuable for both to ignore.”
My mind reeled. My mother’s death. The strange men at her funeral. The wings.
I realized, with a sinking feeling, that my life—normal life, safe life—was over.
Malekiel extended his hand. “Come with me. I’ll explain everything. But you have to trust me.”
For a moment, I hesitated. My mother’s warning echoed in my head. Do not trust him.
But curiosity, and fear, and the sudden realization that I couldn’t face this alone, pushed me forward.
I took his hand.
And just like that, the world I knew disappeared behind me.
Chapter Three – The Halfway House
The city looked the same from above, but everything had changed. Streetlights flickered in the evening drizzle, cars hummed past, and pedestrians rushed by, oblivious. None of them noticed me—or the boy who led me down a side street, shadows swallowing us as we moved.
Malekiel was quiet, his grip firm but not controlling. I tried to read him, but his expression was unreadable, like he was holding a dozen secrets behind his calm eyes.
“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice barely louder than the rain.
“Somewhere you’ll be safe. For now.”
The alley ended at a rusted, iron door, half-hidden behind graffiti and trash. Malekiel pressed his hand to it. Symbols glowed faintly under his palm, and the door shivered like it were breathing. Then it swung open silently.
Inside was… nothing like I expected.
The Halfway House, he called it.
It smelled of dust, candle smoke, and something metallic that made my stomach clench. The space was enormous, underground, with vaulted ceilings carved from stone and old brick. The air was thick with whispers: laughter, muted arguments, and the occasional sigh of frustration.
People moved through the shadows. Not ordinary people. Their eyes caught the light strangely, glinting gold, silver, and the faintest hints of violet. Some had no wings at all, others had small, broken stubs, like they’d been clipped long ago. Every so often, a figure would vanish into the darkness as if walking through a wall.
“This is…” I began, but no words came close to describing it.
“The Dustborn,” Malekiel said quietly, almost reverently. “Fallen angels who survived the clipping. Stripped of their wings, their memories, their purpose. They live in hiding here, beneath a world that won’t remember them.”
I swallowed. “And why am I here? I’m… just me. I’m not—”
He cut me off with a sharp glance. “You are her. You inherited her blood. Your wings appear when you lie. That makes you dangerous. That makes you… powerful.”
Powerful. The word echoed in my head. Dangerous. I wanted to run, but the walls seemed to close in, alive with whispers of the past.
Then someone stepped forward—a girl, probably my age, with ash-blond hair streaked with gold. Her eyes were like storm clouds. “You’re the one?” she asked. Her voice was sharp, curious, wary.
“I… I think so,” I stammered.
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “I’m Sera. And if they find you, you’ll need to learn fast.”
“Who?” I asked.
Heaven. Hell. Both. That much I’d already figured out. But the reality of it sank in when Sera reached out and pressed her hand to my shoulder. A jolt ran through me—not like electricity, but like recognition.
“You’ll learn,” she said. “Or you’ll die.”
I took a deep breath, glancing at Malekiel. His eyes were steady, unreadable, but in them I thought I saw the faintest hint of warning.
This was only the beginning.
The Halfway House would become my home, my hiding place, my battlefield—and the place where I’d have to choose who to trust and who to betray.
Because in a world where lies grew wings, and the truth could kill, nothing was simple.
Chapter Four – The Rebellion Beneath the City
The first thing I learned about life in the Halfway House was simple: it was chaos with a purpose.
The tunnels beneath the city stretched like veins, carved from old subway lines, abandoned buildings, and forgotten cathedrals. Lanterns flickered along the walls, casting long shadows that made every corner feel alive. Dust—gold, gray, and sometimes black—hung in the air, sparkling faintly in the dim light.
Sera led me through the corridors, her steps quiet and sure. Every so often, a shadow flitted past us—someone disappearing into the walls, someone moving so fast they looked like smoke.
“You’re going to need training,” Sera said, her voice low. “You can’t just hide your wings. They’ll notice them sooner or later.”
I swallowed, nodding. “Training for… what?”
“For survival,” she replied. “For the war you didn’t even know existed until today. Heaven wants you bound, and Hell wants you broken. And somewhere in between, the Dustborn fight to survive.”
We stopped in a large chamber. The walls were lined with bookshelves and crates. At the center, a group of people sparred, their movements sharp and fluid, like dancers or predators. Some had wings, broken or partial, some had none at all. Every one of them moved with purpose, and all of them had eyes that reflected things I didn’t yet understand: pain, defiance, rebellion.
“This is them,” Sera said. “Your people, if you want to call them that.”
A boy with dark, cropped hair and silver-streaked eyes stopped mid-practice and stared at me. Malekiel appeared behind me silently, his presence like a shadow wrapping around my shoulders.
“Ezra,” he said quietly, “this is Lior.”
Lior stepped forward. “I’ve been waiting for you.” His voice wasn’t threatening—it was… calm. But there was a weight behind it, as if he already knew more than I could imagine.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do here,” I admitted, my voice shaking.
“You survive,” he said simply. “That’s step one. Step two… you learn to fight. Step three… you decide who you trust—and who dies because of it.”
I flinched at the last part, but before I could ask, the room went silent. A tall man with half-broken wings entered. His face was lined, his eyes cold. “Malekiel,” he said, voice echoing, “we’ve got a problem.”
Malekiel’s jaw tightened. “What?”
He held up a tablet—modern technology, strange against the old stone walls. Images flashed across it: golden dust trails in the city, faintly glowing. One of them—mine.
“They know you’re here,” the man said. “Heaven’s sent scouts. And Hell… they’re already moving.”
I felt my stomach drop. Scouts? Hell? My head spun.
Malekiel turned to me. “Your wings—they’re more than a sign of a lie. They’re a beacon. And now, they know. There’s no hiding anymore.”
I looked down at my hands. The memory of the wings bursting out of my back the first time, the golden dust scattering, flashed in my mind. I’d thought it was a mistake, a hallucination. But it wasn’t. It was me.
Sera placed a hand on my shoulder. “We fight differently down here. We’re ghosts in the city above, shadows beneath it. And we’re ready.”
I nodded, even though my knees shook. I didn’t feel ready. I felt terrified. But terror was part of survival, Malekiel had said. And survival was all I had left.
The Halfway House wasn’t just a hiding place. It was a rebellion. And now I was part of it.
Chapter Five – Kiss Before the Fall
Life in the Halfway House had a rhythm, but it wasn’t normal. Training sessions, secret missions into the city above, whispered warnings about scouts from Heaven, rumors of Hell’s agents lurking in alleys—it was a strange, chaotic world. And in the middle of it all was Lior.
He had this way of moving through the tunnels like he owned every shadow, every flicker of light. And yet, around me, he was… human. Vulnerable. Protective without being overbearing.
I found myself thinking about him more than I should. More than was safe.
It started small—shared glances in the training room, his hand brushing mine when we passed through the corridors. But today, it became undeniable.
We were on a mission above ground. A stolen artifact from the Dustborn archives had been spotted in a black-market auction, and we were sent to retrieve it. The city streets were wet from a late spring rain, neon signs reflecting in puddles. I tried to keep my wings hidden, but the slightest lie—a denial of fear, a false confidence—made them itch beneath my jacket.
“You’re nervous,” Lior said quietly as we crouched behind a stack of crates near the auction house.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
A soft shimmer of gold dust tickled the edges of my vision. My wings stirred beneath my jacket.
“I see them,” he whispered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Every time.”
I flushed. “You shouldn’t.”
He shrugged. “I told you. I don’t care.”
The auction was in full swing. Wealthy humans completely unaware that the things they were buying—antique trinkets, stolen relics—were sometimes tied to forces beyond their comprehension. Malekiel signaled from across the street. “Get it, and we leave. Fast.”
I crept forward, heart hammering. The object—a small crystal orb etched with golden symbols—glowed faintly. My wings twitched involuntarily. I hated that they betrayed me every time I lied.
Lior moved beside me. “Ezra… trust me.”
I nodded, and for a brief moment, our hands brushed. Electricity. Connection. Something unspoken passed between us, dangerous and thrilling.
I reached for the orb. Just as my fingers touched it, a guard turned.
Instinct took over. My wings erupted, bursting from my back in golden arcs, shimmering with dust. The guard froze, eyes wide. I wanted to hide them, but I couldn’t. They had to exist. And in that moment, Lior’s hand found mine, holding me steady.
“We have to run!” he shouted, tugging me toward the alley.
The chase was chaotic, rain-slick streets blurring around us. My wings stirred constantly, reacting to my lies and fears. Every lie I told myself—to stay calm, to seem in control—made them flare brighter.
Finally, we dove into a hidden tunnel. Safe. Breathless. Wet.
Lior pressed me against the wall, his hands on my shoulders, and looked into my eyes. “You’re incredible,” he said, voice rough with emotion.
“I… I can’t do this,” I whispered. “I lie, and… and they—my wings—they show everything. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
He shook his head. “Ezra… trust me. That’s all I’m asking. Trust me, and we survive.”
I laughed nervously. “It’s not that simple.”
He leaned closer, his lips brushing mine in a whisper of warmth. I froze. The world fell away. Rain outside, the underground tunnels, Heaven, Hell—they all vanished in that second.
I should have pulled away. I knew it. But something inside me ached for connection, for trust, for… him.
And I kissed him back.
The world didn’t end. Not yet. But I knew one thing: this was dangerous. Dangerous because trust and lies had wings of their own—and they were mine.
Chapter Six – The Price of Truth
The morning after the kiss, the Halfway House felt heavier. Shadows clung to corners like sentinels, whispers of dust tickled the air, and every glance felt sharper, more pointed. Even Malekiel moved differently, as if the weight of unseen eyes pressed down on all of us.
I tried to focus on training, to keep my mind from wandering to Lior and the way his lips had pressed against mine in that fleeting moment of reckless defiance. But the wings—it was impossible to ignore them. They pulsed beneath my skin, restless, demanding, responding to every lie, every half-truth I muttered.
It started small that morning. A simple lie, a deflection to Sera about how well I was holding a weapon. My wings shimmered briefly, gold dust spiraling in the air. I caught a glimpse of Malekiel from across the room, and his eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in recognition.
“You’re becoming stronger,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only I could hear.
“I don’t want to be stronger,” I muttered. “I just… want to survive.”
Malekiel’s expression didn’t change. “Strength isn’t a choice. It’s a consequence. Every lie, every half-truth, every decision—you’re building something. Whether it saves you or kills you, that’s up to you.”
Later, in the privacy of the tunnels, I sat alone, flipping through my mother’s old book. Her handwriting seemed to reach out across time: Do not trust him. Not even if he bleeds for you.
Malekiel. Lior. Everyone around me. The lines blurred. Friend or foe? Ally or enemy?
The warning wasn’t just about Malekiel. It was about me, and what I would become.
Then came the first real threat.
A scout. From Heaven. Silent, unrelenting, moving through the Halfway House like a shadow given flesh. I didn’t see it at first, only felt it: a prickle at the back of my neck, a subtle shift in the air.
Malekiel appeared instantly, voice sharp. “Now!”
He grabbed my arm, yanking me toward a hidden passage. I stumbled, heart hammering, wings itching violently beneath my jacket. My lie—saying I was calm—made them flare, shimmering with gold and ash.
The scout caught a glimpse of the light, and I saw it in their eyes: recognition. Fear. Something that said, This one belongs to neither world.
We ran. Through tunnels, hidden alleys, and abandoned subways. Every turn, every shadow, felt alive. I realized, with a jolt, that the wings weren’t just a sign. They were a beacon.
Finally, we stopped in a dead-end corridor, chest heaving, rain from the streets above leaking through cracks in the ceiling. Malekiel pressed his hands to my shoulders, eyes fierce.
“They know you exist now,” he said. “And they’ll come again. Heaven wants you bound. Hell wants you broken. And every time you lie, every time you hide… you’ll draw them closer.”
I shivered. “So… there’s no running. No hiding.”
“Not anymore,” he said. “The price of truth is always higher than you think. And sometimes… it’s death.”
The weight of it settled in my chest. My wings itched, impatient, restless. They were beautiful, terrifying, and undeniable. And now, with every lie I told—every attempt to protect myself or the people I cared about—I was painting a target on my back.
I realized something then: survival wasn’t just about hiding. Survival was about choosing. Choosing who to trust. Choosing who to protect. Choosing who to betray.
And sometimes, survival meant paying a price too high for the heart to bear.
Chapter Seven – The Choir Strikes
The city above was deceptively quiet. Rain-slicked streets glimmered under neon lights, and the hum of traffic masked the tension underground. But we all knew it was a lie. Danger was coming.
Malekiel’s warning echoed in my mind as we moved through the Halfway House corridors. Heaven wants you bound. I had spent the morning trying to ignore the fluttering ache in my wings, the restless gold dust that tickled beneath my skin with every small lie I told myself.
“You feel it too,” Sera said, her eyes sharp as she led me to the training chamber. “The air. The pull.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s like… like the city is holding its breath.”
Sera’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s because it is. They’re coming.”
And they did.
At first, it was subtle. A ripple of light, almost imperceptible, across the tunnels. Then came the music—ethereal, almost hypnotic. I froze. It wasn’t music in the way humans understood it. It was the Choir.
Heaven’s Choir.
They appeared in the chamber like specters, their forms glowing with pure white light that burned at the edges of perception. Wings of silver and crystal stretched behind them, sharp and blinding. Their faces were serene, angelic, terrifying in their perfection.
“Ezra Quinn,” the tallest among them intoned, voice like wind through glass. “You are not to remain in the Halfway House.”
I felt my wings twitch involuntarily. The moment I lied to myself—I’m not afraid—gold dust spiraled out in a shimmering burst.
One of the Choir members stepped forward, wings slicing through the dim air. “Surrender, and you may be spared. Resist, and we will strip you of your gift. Permanently.”
Malekiel stepped between us, calm but tense. “Ezra doesn’t surrender. And neither do we.”
Sera’s hand brushed mine. “Stay close. Trust nothing but instinct.”
I nodded, heart hammering. The gold dust around my wings responded to my fear, glowing brighter, almost violent. I realized then that they were not just wings—they were a weapon. And Heaven’s Choir had underestimated what I was capable of.
The first attack came like lightning. One of the Choir members lunged at me, wings slicing through the air. I twisted, dodging, letting a small lie—I’m faster than I look—flare my wings. Dust burst out in a blinding arc, knocking the attacker back.
Malekiel and Sera moved in sync with me, a trio of shadows against Heaven’s light. Sparks of gold and silver clashed, wings striking wings, dust and light swirling around the chamber like storm clouds given form.
Lior appeared at my side, eyes wide but steady. “Ezra! Focus! Control it!”
I clenched my fists, forcing my thoughts to still. Every lie, every thought I tried to hide, fueled the wings. They weren’t just reactive—they were alive. And now, in battle, they demanded my control.
A Choir member dove again. I braced, letting my wings flare in full. Gold dust erupted, blinding, burning, and for a moment, the world felt suspended. The attacker screamed—an unearthly, fractured sound—and retreated, vanishing into the bright light of the chamber.
Breathless, I stumbled back. My heart pounded. Malekiel’s eyes met mine. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said. “But this is just the beginning. Heaven won’t stop, and Hell… they’ll exploit this chaos.”
I looked at my hands, trembling. The gold dust of my wings settled slowly around me, whispering, waiting. I realized something that made my stomach twist: my choices had consequences. Every lie, every secret, every fleeting moment of trust could ignite this storm further.
And the Choir had just shown me what happened when you crossed Heaven.
The Halfway House was no longer safe. Not for me, not for any of us.
The war had begun.
Chapter Eight – Hellborn Ambush
The Halfway House still smelled of smoke and gold dust from the last battle. My wings, still tingling from the Choir’s attack, ached as if they’d absorbed the fear and adrenaline around me. Every fiber of my being was tense, waiting for the next strike.
Malekiel and Sera gathered the Dustborn in the central chamber, maps spread across tables, glowing softly under lantern light.
“We can’t just wait for them,” Malekiel said, voice sharp. “Heaven isn’t the only threat. Hell has heard of the Dustborn’s activity—and they won’t hold back.”
I shivered. I thought Heaven was terrifying. But Hell… the word itself made my skin crawl. Malekiel’s tone confirmed it.
“Reports of Hellborn activity in the East Tunnels,” Sera added. “They’re ruthless, fast, and lethal. Unlike the Choir, they won’t give you a second chance.”
And then the sound began—a low, guttural hum vibrating through the stone floors, coming from the East Tunnel.
“They’re here,” Malekiel whispered, tense. “Get ready.”
I swallowed, heart hammering. My wings twitched beneath my jacket, gold dust spiraling faintly around me. Every lie I whispered to steady my breathing, to tell myself I was ready, made them flare. I couldn’t control it fully anymore; the power was raw, primal, demanding release.
And then they attacked.
Hellborn poured from the shadows, dark forms that seemed to be carved from smoke and flame. Their eyes glowed crimson, teeth sharp, claws extended. They moved with terrifying speed, silent until they struck. The first hit the wall with a sickening crack, shards of stone flying as Malekiel met it midair.
“Ezra!” Sera shouted. “Now!”
I leapt into action, wings erupting in full. Gold dust spiraled outward, blinding several of the creatures as they closed in. They hissed, recoiled, then attacked again, faster and angrier.
I swung, ducked, and let my wings sweep in arcs. Every lie I whispered to myself—I can do this, I won’t fail, I’m not afraid—fed the shimmer and power. I realized it wasn’t just a defense mechanism. It was a weapon, fueled by the lies we all told ourselves to survive.
Lior appeared beside me, moving like a shadow, blade flashing in the dim light. “Ezra! Focus on them!”
I followed his lead, letting instinct take over. Dust and dark collided, wings clashing against claws, gold sparks flashing against red embers. A Hellborn dove for me, claws extended, and I slammed my wings forward in a burst of shimmering light. It screamed, evaporating into ash before it could touch me.
But there were too many. They surrounded us, moving faster than we could counter. One slammed into Malekiel, sending him crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. I gasped, fury and fear mingling into a surge of power. My wings erupted, blinding and blazing, scattering the Hellborn for just a second.
That second was enough.
Sera grabbed my arm. “We have to retreat! Follow me!”
We raced through the tunnels, Hellborn snapping at our heels. The dust from my wings clung to the stone walls, marking our passage like a trail of fire. My heart pounded—not just from the run, but from the realization that survival came at a price. Every lie I told to protect myself, every instinct I followed, left a mark. Heaven, Hell—they would know.
We burst into a hidden exit under an abandoned building, panting, bruised, and shaken. Malekiel’s eyes met mine, grave.
“They’re learning,” he said quietly. “And now, they’ll target you directly. You’re no longer just a Dustborn—they see you as the key to all of this.”
I sank to my knees, wings fluttering weakly beneath me. Gold dust settled like ash around my shoulders. Lior crouched beside me, hand brushing mine. “We’ll survive,” he said, voice steady but tense. “We always do.”
I wanted to believe him. But the truth—the weight of it—pressed down like stone. Heaven’s Choir. Hellborn. My own wings, my own lies—they were all connected, a chain tightening around my neck.
And the first betrayal was already waiting.
Chapter Nine – Broken Wings, Broken Trust
The Halfway House felt different after the Hellborn ambush. Shadows seemed sharper, walls narrower, and every whisper carried weight. Even the Dustborn moved with a new tension, eyes flicking to corners, hands brushing against weapons, wings tensing beneath cloaks and jackets.
And then came the betrayal.
It started as a subtle change. A glance Malekiel didn’t return. A shift in Lior’s posture when I asked about the scouts. A folded note I found in Sera’s room—unsigned, but unmistakably meant for someone’s eyes other than mine.
At first, I tried to dismiss it. I had to. Survival depended on trust, and I’d learned already how dangerous mistrust could be. But the signs were undeniable. Someone had tipped off Heaven—or worse, both sides.
I found Lior in the training chamber, pacing. His eyes were stormy, jaw tight. “Ezra…” he began, but stopped, as if weighing the words.
I swallowed. “Who?”
His hands clenched into fists. “I don’t know. I thought I could—” He cut himself off.
My wings flared, gold dust spilling into the air as I took a step back. “I can’t—every time I lie, they show! Every time I hide something—”
“Then stop hiding!” he shouted, frustration and fear mingling. “We can’t fight them if we can’t even trust each other!”
The room fell silent. Only the faint hum of dust in the air moved between us. I realized then that the betrayal wasn’t just about others—it was about me, about the lies I told to keep them all safe.
Sera appeared in the doorway, eyes hard. “We have no choice. One of us is feeding information. We need to find out who before more Dustborn die.”
Malekiel’s voice was calm but lethal. “Ezra, your wings—they respond to lies. Use that. Detect the truth.”
I hesitated. The weight of it pressed down on me. Using my wings to reveal the betrayer meant revealing myself. Every flicker of dust, every shimmering feather, would scream to the world above and below: This is who you are.
But we had no choice.
I focused, letting my fear and anger guide the power. The wings stirred beneath my jacket, itching to unfurl. Gold dust leaked from my back, tracing arcs in the dim light. I moved through the chamber, eyes locked on the Dustborn. One by one, I asked questions, half-truths, little deceptions, and let the wings react.
They flared, fluttered, and twitched.
Finally, they stopped on a figure I never expected—Sera. My chest tightened. The wings flared violently, dust erupting in a swirl around us. Sera’s eyes widened in shock, then anger.
“It’s not what you think!” she shouted, stepping forward. “I’m trying to protect you all! I gave them false leads—just enough to keep the Halfway House safe!”
The wings shimmered again, calming slightly, but the tension in the room remained.
Lior stepped beside me, jaw tight. “Then we need to trust each other. All of us. Lies won’t save anyone anymore.”
Sera’s shoulders sagged, but she nodded. “Agreed. For now. But the moment we falter, the moment anyone lies again… we’re done.”
I sank to the floor, wings settling like molten gold around me. I realized then that survival wasn’t just about fighting Heaven or Hell. It was about trust, about choosing carefully who to believe. And sometimes, even the people closest to you weren’t entirely trustworthy.
I looked at Lior, at Sera, at Malekiel, and whispered, “We survive… together. Or not at all.”
The Halfway House had endured for centuries, hiding in shadows, sheltering the Dustborn. But the betrayal had shown me the truth: even here, in the safety of our underground rebellion, nothing was certain. Not trust. Not loyalty. Not survival.
And my wings? They would always tell the truth—whether I wanted them to or not.
Chapter Ten – Choosing Sides
The city above was alive with light and shadow, oblivious to the war raging beneath its streets. But down here, in the tunnels of the Halfway House, every sound, every flicker of dust, every whispered breath carried weight. Heaven and Hell were closing in, and the Dustborn were exhausted.
I stood at the center of the chamber, wings unfolding in golden arcs behind me, shimmering with every unspoken fear and lie I’d tried to hide. Malekiel’s eyes held mine, steady, unflinching. Lior hovered just beside me, tense but unwavering. Sera stood slightly apart, watching, her expression unreadable.
“This ends tonight,” Malekiel said, voice low but commanding. “We can’t hide anymore. We fight, or we die.”
I nodded, swallowing the fear coiling in my stomach. My wings twitched beneath my jacket, itching, restless. Every instinct screamed that the decisions I made now would decide not just my fate, but the fate of everyone here.
And then they came—the Choir, radiant and cold, alongside the Hellborn, twisted and burning with rage. The chamber became a storm of light and shadow, dust and flame.
I realized then that I couldn’t hide. I couldn’t lie. Not anymore.
Lior’s hand found mine. “We trust you,” he said, eyes searching mine. “But you have to choose. Who do you protect?”
I felt the weight of the question. Heaven offered order, control, the promise of wings restored—but only if I surrendered myself, my freedom, my rebellion. Hell offered power, the chance to strike back, but at the cost of my humanity and loyalty. And the Halfway House? My family here, imperfect and broken—they depended on me to choose.
I looked at my wings, glowing faintly with gold dust. They had always revealed the truth, even when I tried to hide it. They had always been mine.
“I… choose the Dustborn,” I said, voice trembling but resolute.
The wings flared, bursting in golden arcs that sent both Choir and Hellborn stumbling back. Light and dust swirled around me, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.
Heaven’s Choir faltered, their serene expressions cracking with confusion. The Hellborn hissed, retreating slightly, uncertain. I felt power surging through me—not from fear, not from lies, but from choice.
Malekiel stepped forward. “Then we fight. Together.”
The battle was fierce, chaotic. Wings clashed with claws, dust collided with light, fire with shadow. But I stayed at the center, guiding, protecting, striking. Every lie I had whispered before, every deception I had used to survive, paled in comparison to the truth I wielded now.
And through it all, Lior stayed by my side, every glance, every movement a reminder that trust—real trust—was stronger than any weapon.
Finally, when the dust settled and both Choir and Hellborn had retreated, the Halfway House lay battered but standing. My wings folded, golden dust settling like ash around me.
Sera approached, eyes softening. “You… did it.”
I exhaled, exhausted, trembling, but resolute. “We did it. We survived.”
Malekiel nodded, placing a hand on my shoulder. “This isn’t the end. They’ll come again. But tonight… you proved something. That choice, and the truth behind it, is stronger than any enemy.”
Lior’s hand brushed mine again, a quiet, unspoken promise. “We survive… together.”
I smiled, faint but real. The war wasn’t over. Heaven and Hell still lurked above and below. But for the first time, I knew something important: my wings were mine. My truth was mine. And the people I chose to fight for—they were mine too.
The Halfway House would endure, and I would endure with it.
Because some battles weren’t won with fire or light—they were won with trust, courage, and the choice to remain human, even when angels and demons demanded otherwise.
Epilogue – Wings in the Dawn
The first light of dawn filtered through cracks in the old stone walls, painting the Halfway House in muted gold. The tunnels, once shadowed and restless, seemed quieter now—peaceful, but not complacent.
I stood in the central chamber, wings folded behind me, shimmering faintly with the last traces of dust. The battle was over—for now. Heaven and Hell had retreated, but their presence lingered, like echoes in the air. They would return. I knew that. But so would we.
Lior appeared beside me, his expression soft, almost weary. “You’re really something,” he said quietly. “You chose. You led. And you survived.”
I glanced at him, feeling the weight of the night lift just enough to smile. “We survived,” I corrected, reaching for his hand.
Sera emerged from the shadows, nodding. No words, just acknowledgment. Trust had been tested, broken, and rebuilt, and we were stronger for it.
Malekiel’s gaze swept the chamber, sharp but approving. “The Halfway House endures because of choices like yours,” he said. “Because someone is willing to fight for what’s ours. You’re ready, Ezra. Ready for anything.”
I felt my wings stir slightly, gold dust tracing delicate arcs in the air. They had always been my truth, my weapon, my gift. And now, I had learned something else—they were also my responsibility.
Above ground, the city was waking, oblivious to the war beneath its streets. But I wasn’t afraid anymore. Heaven and Hell could come. They could try to claim me. They could try to break us.
But I had chosen. And I had allies, family, love. And sometimes, that was more than enough.
Lior squeezed my hand gently. “Ready to face the world?”
I took a deep breath, letting the dawn light wash over me. My wings flexed behind me, golden and alive, catching the first rays. “Ready,” I said.
And as we stepped into the morning, I realized something crucial: survival wasn’t just about escaping the battles of Heaven or Hell. It was about fighting for what you believed in, for the people you chose to protect, and for the truth you refused to hide—even when it burned.
The Halfway House would endure. And so would I.
Because even in a world of lies and war, even when wings were clipped or betrayed, some truths were untouchable.
And mine? Mine shone golden.
The End