• Silver horns rang through the glass walls, their high-pitched, annoying call to all of the peacefully sleeping or working angels of Kiseki dynasty. Ah, yes, even the Heavens had their own evolutionary chain of government. After about three solid minutes of C sharps, a string of groans and grunts filled the hallways. It was time to wake up and embrace the new morning.
    Feathers ruffled and littered the glass floors as, one by one, the heavenly beings filed out of their quarters. Light chatter began, usually consisting of complaints about those “annoying, blasted instruments” and beginning yet another day of routine maintenance.
    Milo, one of the younger angels, began his slow morning routine as well, being sure to bathe and dry his dark locks in the stereotypical Milo Mussyhead fashion. His hair was always carelessly tossed about, each individual strand not really having a true resting place, but he really didn’t care.
    “Milo, you louse, hurry up! Something big is going to happen today.” An older-looking man sang through the doorway of the teen’s room, watching the snail-paced angel drag his heels. It frustrated him that the kid could have gotten this far in life without being left behind in some strange area of the Heavens, but he still continued to watch over the raven-haired lad.
    “And just how do you know that something ‘big’ is going to happen? You say this every morning, Kalos.” Milo snorted, this being his typical reaction to the eccentric old man.
    “Now Milo, I have a very good feeling about this morning’s assembly.” Kalos faked a puppy-dog look, and, being the dramatic old ham that he was, it looked sincere. At least, to the unknowing eye.
    The young boy just glared at him, knowing better than to fall under Kalos’ dramatic conventions. He ruffled his hair, shaking off the last bit of water on the tips, and finally letting it rest just above his crystal blue eyes. Milo just sighed, and left his chamber, closing the velvet curtain behind him.
    The elaborate main dining hall soon appeared before the two men. High, arched ceilings decorated with chiseled flowers and leaves of gold and silver ores opened up the room, giving it that classical catholic chapel atmosphere. No paintings were tucked under these adornments, but instead were replaced with crystal that revealed the ever-brightly shining sun. Tiny prisms danced above other glass and crystal objects that could not have been made for anyone but the angels of Kiseki.
    The tables in the hall were placed carefully by the working classes in rows of threes, donned with several different types of meats, fish, and delectable fresh vegetables, the steam still rising from the meal. China clinked as forks were set down and stomachs filled to their capacity. Light laughter danced about the ceilings, ringing a few moments, then dropping to a hushed echo.
    Milo reached his pale hands to a smaller plate than he usually took, not having much of an appetite, and began to pick at the better pieces of the fish and green vegetables, occasionally drizzling some sauces on the fish. Finally, he filled his plate, and he snuck a glass of wine, which looked similar to the grape juice that he should drink, and found himself a seat in one of the plush cushions in the corner of the hall.
    Kalos did not follow, much to the boy’s surprise. Instead, he went off to chat up some female angels about whatever gossip he bore from the night before. He was quite the nosey old man, but many of the angels adored him anyway.
    Milo picked at his food quietly, stopping to sip on the “grape juice” to rinse down the thick potatoes or the pouch of very fishy flavor he bit into. The young angel rarely ever socialized, so nobody ever even attempted to sit with him during the three meals of the day. He usually spent this time thinking about his lessons, or about why he didn’t find too much of an interest in the ladies like his old friend Kalos did. He shrugged it off and placed his plate on the ground beside him, staring out through the window he had seated himself beside.
    Fluffy, white… All of it… Why does it appeal to them so, but not to me as well? Milo thought, biting on his plump pink lip as he did so. He had never kissed anyone, nor had he been kissed. Yet another thing that he wondered about. Maybe it was the hair.
    Clink, clink. The end-of-breakfast bells chimed through the hall, calling to the citizens to go about their work, and interrupting any thought process that anyone had been holding for any amount of time. Including Milo’s.
    He sighed, and stood up, taking his plate and glass to the tables, and placed it carefully on the glass top, then left to his training.
    This training was not the stereotypical classroom-style setup. It was more of a personal class, involving the instructor, usually an angel knight that had fought in a battle and had gotten injured beyond divine repair, and a young student.
    Milo’s instructor was male, as most of them were. Women rarely ever fought for Kiseki. He was good-looking, too, and caught a lot of attention, making Milo feel nervous when they trained outside, because usually, even though he was just teaching, the instructor drew up a decent crowd of ladies and even a few bold gents alike, who claimed to just admire the man’s movements.
    “Good day, young one.” The uncharacteristically high voice chimed from the large blonde.
    “Good day, Master.” Milo nearly whispered back.
    “Enough chatter now. Let’s begin.”
    And with that, Master drew out his long silver blade, Milo following the same motion as well, and the two bowed respectfully to each other. Today was a test for Milo’s knighthood, and he needed to be ready. Master, whose name is actually Andric, then assumed his offensive stance, and Milo took his typical defensive position, ready for the quick angel to lunge toward him like he usually did. On a good day, Milo could last an hour with Andric, however on some days, which happened all too often, Milo would lose his footing and be “slain”.
    Today, fortunately, was a very good day for the pupil, and as soon as the dark-eyed angel slashed, Milo dodged. Clearly impressed, Andric pulled back, and assumed a defensive stance, allowing his pupil to take a shot at him. Milo saw a huge opening, and went for it with all of his speed, and managed to, for the first time in two months, “slay” Master Andric.
    Light clapping came from one angel behind the two sweaty soldiers. That was unusual, considering they were practicing in a cement room in the basement of the grand palace. Nobody ever really wandered there except for the students and their teachers.
    “Well done, boy, well done.” Kalos called, smiling brightly at Milo for his accomplishment. “I told you I had a good feeling about today, did I not?” His grin turned devilish.
    “Your feelings have nothing to do with my skill, Kalos.” Milo beamed, puffing out his scrawny chest and placing his sword’s point to the ground, assuming the typical knight’s stance.
    Andric rose up, brushing himself off and sheathing his blade. When his eyes met Kalos’, however, the room suddenly took a heated mood. Imaginary sparks flew between the blonde and the gray-haired angels. Milo just stood there, oblivious to this turn of events.
    “Still going at it, eh, Andric?”
    “Still a blasted womanizer, Kalos?”
    The two glared at each other in spiteful silence, neither of them daring to break the staring contest. They used to be such great friends, however Andric’s wife got a little hot-and-bothered by Kalos’ inner succubus, and their bond quickly grew sour. In exchange, Andric took some very extreme measures, and had Kalos jailed for a while for adultery. The nobles didn’t appreciate such a thing.
    “Why don’t we talk about our swords tonight? Say, around, quarter past nine?” Kalos’ expression manifested into a smirk. He knew that Andric couldn’t pass up a challenge, even if it was from one of the most highly honored veteran knights in the Heavens.
    “Alright, we shall.” Andric accepted the challenge with a cocky grin, and turned around on his heels, then marched right over to the corner to sharpen his blade in a taunting manner.
    As the sounds of the diamond sharpener scraping the dull edges of the steel filled the ears of the three males, Kalos exited the room with a bow and a grin shot at Milo, basically saying you’re just a kid, you wouldn’t understand this, and oh, do not try to interfere.
    Milo left that afternoon in a cloud of confusion and worry. He had never seen either of them act like that, especially around each other. It must have been a recent set of events that he hadn’t yet heard of. His heart sank when he thought of Andric being injured. This feeling worried him above all else, because it was one of those things he questioned; one of those things in which he had never felt for a woman before, let alone a man.
    The hours ticked on, and Kalos was ready. Two more hours until game time. The big finale. His feathers ruffled with anxiety and excitement. He would get that ruffian back for jailing him. Those were years he could have spent doing other things. Not to mention his reputation with the ladies! So what if he was a womanizer? It wasn’t his fault he was so charming and Andric’s wife came to him of free will.
    Meanwhile, Andric was practicing his tactics, being sure not to go at one hundred percent force so that he wouldn’t wear himself down. He, too, was seeking revenge. However, despite the fact that the entirety of the match was based from a rooted hatred between the two, Andric was unsure of himself. And another thing bothered him as well. What would happen to Milo, his beloved pupil? No, he couldn’t think of that. He would just order the kid to stay out of it, for his sanity’s sake. He couldn’t live with himself, in this life or the afterlife, if Milo was mixed up in this battle of manhood.
    Milo, on the other hand, had different intentions than those of Andric’s. He began to sharpen his own blade, and prepared his battle attire. He never thought the day would come when he’d use it; but, this was a battle of more than just revenge. This was a matter of protecting his Master, the only person who ever cared enough to teach him much of anything. He didn’t want to harm Kalos; however, he also didn’t want Kalos to hurt his teacher. More waves of confusion rushed around his thoughts, and Milo packed away his own blade, and sat down on the plush bed that he was provided.
    The room was plain, yet elegant all the same, matching the overall gold and silver patterns of the rest of the palace. The ceilings were closed off though, not letting in much of any light, benefitting Milo’s nocturnal sleeping habits.
    Before any of the trio knew it, nine had arrived. The three marched to the practice chambers, knowing that not even teachers and their pupils would be there at that time. Milo, however, waited in a concealed area, trying to keep quiet until he heard the two men going at it. He didn’t want either of them attempting to stop his intervention. So, he waited.
    Andric was the first to arrive in the arranged area, considering he’d been there all afternoon, working out ways to pay out his revenge. He sent a servant up to bring him back some snacks, and wolfed them down quickly, famished from the extensive workout. He leaned against a wall, waiting nervously for the moment to come, having to light up a few torches for him to be able to see at all. The grounds grew into somewhat of a dungeon feel, what with the torches flickering violently in the nonexistent breezes, and the dank cement, and the eerie cold feeling dancing up Andric’s spine, regardless of the fact that it was summer’s eve.
    Finally, after what felt like centuries of anticipation, the soft flapping of wings resonated in the room. Soon, the faint glow of fire’s light against white feathers caught the young man’s watchful eyes, and this followed with the appearance of Kalos’ full form, which seemed doubly intimidating in the moment. Kalos tucked back his wings, as they shrunk down to their passive form, and he landed on the earth with a soft thud.
    “Are you ready to die by my sword, young Andric?”
    “Funny, I was just about to ask you the very same question.”
    No more words were exchanged. No more heated, long, passionately hateful glances. The scraping of their blades against their sheaths was the last slightly peaceful noise, and the small war began. The two men were both on the offensive, taking a half-defensive back step for every thrust that the opposing man made. Surprisingly, the old man was very quick on his feet, despite being out of practice for such a long time. It figured that he would remember how to fight well.
    The two men continued their dangerous dancing, not quite getting through the other’s defenses long enough to cut even a thread. They were very evenly matched for the most part, which is what Kalos had feared. But he wouldn’t let that stop him.
    Finally, Kalos cut through the defense of Andric, and sliced a three-inch wide cut on his shoulder as he yelped in shock more so than pain. Fortunately, it was his weaker shoulder, and the battle raged on, Andric getting a little quicker and fiercer in his own movements, trying to ignore the blood trickling down his chest through his thin attire.
    Finally, he had his own spurt of luck, and managed to skim Kalos’ better shoulder, smirking triumphantly, and letting down his guard in that prideful moment. This gave Kalos a chance to swipe his silvery sword through Andric’s shirt, but not cut him.
    Andric cursed under his breath, most of those words coming from the Underworld itself that he’d picked up as a messenger soldier. His top robes opened up to reveal a very well toned, masculine abdomen, complete with six pack abs. What woman wouldn’t die for that? My wife!
    Slash. Andric cut a bit of Kalos’ face this time, ensuring that the man was not fooling around now. The battle grew more intense, each of them wearing each other down, dripping their own blood onto the earth.
    Upstairs, Milo could hear the clash of swords and the grunts and groans of the warriors. When he was just about to make his big entrance and stop the whole charade, his mother grabbed him, and questioned his reasons for wearing battle armor in the middle of the night. He couldn’t explain that he was about to go and possibly die to prevent two people he cared about from hacking each other’s heads off, so he just said that he was playing a game with his friends, and this delighted the beautiful brunette with her pixy-like features, and she sauntered away for her late dinner.
    Milo sighed with relief, but the worst was yet to come. He heard a scream that nobody but Andric could have given. A cry for help, it seemed, with fewer words than that.
    Milo rushed, panicking, drawing out his iron blade, down the stairwell and into the lower chambers. His eyes had to adjust for a moment before he could see the playful shadows on the bloodstained concrete. The cry rang again, and Milo rushed to the shadows.
    The scene came into full view, then. Kalos held Andric down with his body, and trapped the younger man’s hands with just one of his own mammoth talons. Milo’s heart thudded loudly against his chest, but the two men were already caught up in their own scene. Andric’s sword had been knocked from his hands when Kalos knocked him down, rolling over to the other side of the room. A lone tear of sheer fear, panic, and hatred trickled down Andric’s cheek.
    Milo’s adrenaline peaked, and he thrust himself between the two men, causing Kalos’ raised blade to penetrate the young angel’s pure skin, right between his shoulder blades. It was enough, though, to force Kalos into shock, and to save Andric from his horrible death. However, that didn’t stop the girlish screech that escaped Milo’s lips as he fell into unconsciousness, only able to say one thing:
    “If I do die... Andric… I died for my love.”