The Fires of Summer (first draft)

Michael knows that something is going to happen from the day he watches Axel make his father rip himself apart.

Michael stood, watching through the wall of ice as it happened. In all of his time as an Archangel, he has seen blood and guts, but admittedly the event had been on the higher end of all the brutality he's witnessed over the years. The crowd screamed and parted for Axel to run through with Azrael, leaving the King's corpse atop his spear, open for everyone to see.

Soon after, Regus had appeared and taken away the body and the spear. Michael didn't watch any longer than that, commanding his angels to close the connection to Aldelis. He spread his wings and ascended, the sky of his domain growing dark with a storm, and he headed back to Mars' old fortress to collect himself and think.

War between mortals is an affair he hasn't been called to since the civil war, when Corvus decided he wanted to take the throne from his sister Lazuli. Michael had been instructed by Mars to simply oversee the war, not participate in it. There'd been something odd about the war, something tipping the scales in Corvus' favour: the presence of a war god. Most gods do not care for the violent affairs of mortals, and nobody would've expected the son of the god of elves to be the one participating. Michael looked down on his meddling then, though he'd ached to encounter the thrill of battle once more.

Something in him finally understands when he hears the prayer. It comes a week after Corvus' death and it is spoken with utmost desperation. He can't help but tune in.

Michael doesn't usually see to prayers when he gets them. He lets his angels deal with most things and offer small blessings. People call to him for more than just physical battles. They call to him for emotional strength most of the time, but he cares little for the emotions of the mortals. This time, though, he feels a pull inside of him, something that he can't seem to ignore. It claws at his chest like there's something trying to get out.

For the first time, Michael sees to a prayer in person.

When he returns, he sets to planning out his next move. There won't be much time before things start to get heated in Aldelis, and he wants to make sure he has the upper hand from the beginning. The forces on his side are adequate but will need further training - he intends to oversee that personally. Those in charge are decent, the war will no doubt harden them into more useful assets. There are multiple opposing forces that he will have to account for, but it's nothing he's not used to.

He stands in his war room accompanied by his angels. They can sense that there's a change in him, that he's got a new drive pushing him onwards. Michael feels thrilled by the prospect that's opened its arms to welcome him. He's been so bored all these years. Sparring has become more of a chore than anything, and as well-trained as they are none of his angels are an equal match for him. The last time he was a part of something so monumental, well... that'd been the war the aether waged on the underworld.

It'd been the greatest war of all. Even gods took up arms to fight their opposition. Atlas, one of the first gods, jumped at the opportunity to fight his brother Asmodeus, and Michael and Lucifer had set their sights on him too. Back then Michael had been inexperienced, his strategy made solely of skill with no experience. Unfortunately, their plan had eventually failed, and Lucifer fell for betraying his god so callously. Michael had escaped any punishment - he was just doing his job, after all. As far as the gods were concerned, poor Michael had been roped into a terrible plot by his treacherous older brother.

If only they knew.

Michael is ripped from his memories when there is a knock on the door of the war room. He turns, knowing immediately that it can only be one person. "Come in."

Into the room comes the god of elves. Corellon is eight feet tall, one foot taller than Michael, and he has a slender body obscured by his white and jade robes. He has long hair the colour of wheat that's tied up in a complicated manner at the top of his head, and two great antlers adorned in golden jewellery. His eyes are a bright jade. When he speaks his voice is smooth and kind. "Hello, Michael. I thought I should pay you a visit."

"To what do I owe this honour?" Michael bows respectfully.

The war room is massive. It used to have to be big enough to hold a dragon, but the only folk that walk among it are Michael and his angels now. When Corellon walks in he seems to fill the place with warmth despite the chill that always runs through it, and the sun starts to shine through the grand windows up near the roof. "There is a war happening soon, you will be busy no doubt."

Michael rolls up his map of Aldelis and sets it aside. "I know - I've been observing Aldelis for a while. It's been tipping towards war for some time now."

Corellon hums, looking about the room. "Your sibling Azrael was banished there, did you know?"

"No, I did not," Michael says. It's a small, inconsequential lie, but he doesn't care to share his observations with anyone. He rarely concerns himself with what his cast-out siblings are doing. As he sees it he's been better off without them.

"It seems they've stirred up quite a lot of trouble," Corellon goes on. "Though, it's their company that I'd be more concerned about. I've heard things about Axel Sanguis."

"What kind of things?" Michael asks. He doesn't know much of this Axel outside of his bold murder.

"Things cosmic," Corellon elaborates unhelpfully. "You'd do well to keep a watch out for him and Azrael throughout this war."

"They are only two, whereas the armies will be many. If they do not fall to the soldiers they will likely end up as prisoners of war for their crimes," Michael watches as a small smile forms upon Corellon's face.

"You always do think in numbers, tactics," the god observes, running slender fingers along the hilt of a long jian sword. Michael has never seen him use it, but he doesn't doubt for a minute that Corellon would wield it with immense skill. "I don't blame you. I suppose you've never had any need to take note of individuals."

"It's better that way," Michael replies simply. Admittedly, Corellon's vague nature only lends to a mild agitation in Michael - he wants to know more, to weigh out whether he should be worried about Axel. To pry would reveal his bias, and so he refrains. "It matters little. I'll only intervene if your concerns become reality."

"I would not stop you if you chose to intervene sooner," Corellon smiles a little too knowingly for Michael's taste.

"You always have been more lenient than Mars," Michael comments. When Mars was alive, Michael couldn't do much of anything without the god's permission. Of course, a mere Archangel like himself should not want for more, but he ached for it every day until he laid the first brick along his own path.

"That is because you are not my Archangel," Corellon says gently. "We are only bonded because you must be. You're capable enough to be on your own, Michael."

Though he knows it already, he is relieved in the reassurance of his freedom - it'll make everything far easier. The last thing he needs is the intervention of another god, especially a war god like Corellon once was - especially on the side of any opposition. He settles his hands on the edge of the table, staring into the stone. Once one party catches on to the divine presence, the news will spread like wildfire, and then the idea of calling upon gods will be in everyone's minds. The one thing Michael has on his side is that gods find the issues of mortals, especially Aldelians, painfully trivial. He'll have to conceal his presence, at least to begin with, until finally he can step onto the battlefield assured that it will have no consequence but a clean victory.

Michael regards Corellon, eyes trailing over his blade. An Aldelian war doesn't seem like something that should concern him, but perhaps it might be beneficial if something else were to capture his attention. "Has Akara been causing you any issues?"

The elf's face sours and he looks away, fingers tightening around the hilt of his jian. "It annoys me to even hear his name, though he hasn't done anything yet. He'll probably love this war - he's always so pleased when something happens to the Sanguis family."

"As the god of orcs I can understand why," Michael hums lightly. "You don't suppose he'll stoop so low and intervene?"

"Perhaps, if the orcs end up partaking in this war," Corellon says. "It is a fair time to make a shot for the throne, though I don't know if they would be disqualified by the Emperor."

Michael taps his fingers. "We shall see."

"I've lingered for long enough," Corellon announces, perhaps sensing the Archangel's restlessness. "I imagine you have plenty of stressing to do over this war, so I'll leave you be. I'm sure you won't be in need of any help, but if you are, you know where to find me."

"Thank you," he nods, turning to face the god. He bows again. "Have a safe journey home. I'll have two angels accompany you to the edge of the domain."

"Of course," Corellon smiles politely.

Michael issues the command and Corellon leaves, an angel on either side. As soon as he's sure the god is out of the building entirely, Michael unrolls the map and takes a deep breath. He doesn't know the land as well as he would like to, so there will have to be some guesswork until that changes. If this is anything like the last war, Gore will be a safe haven, so he doesn't need to worry about the mountainous terrain, at least not for battle. Athorea is bountiful and flat, and it makes sense that it is so war-ruined, being in the middle of Aldelis - that will probably be where most of the conflict will occur. Then, there's Miria, perhaps a good place for an ambush, with all of the cover. Riloris is treacherous and he suspects that anyone that chooses to fight there will be so used to the land that his forces won't yet stand a chance.

Then, there's his new base of operations: Treokyrin.

Beautiful and freezing cold, covered in rock and ice and snow. His forces are trained there, so they'll be more than used to it. Perfect, because surely nobody else would be prepared for the dangers there. They would freeze or grow ill, and their clothing wouldn't be as perfect and well-fitting for battle, giving him an advantage. And the palace, the place he expects he'll be spending much of his time, is situated high up and in the middle, meaning any forces will have to survive the climate for a while before they could even think about launching an attack.

The one and only problem, and perhaps the biggest one, is something Michael suspects he will not be able to change. He was well aware of it before he made his decision, and he can't seem to rationalise exactly what it is that made him overlook it. His new ally is gentle, and kind, and fearful - he has not seen bloodshed and seems to have no desire to see it either. By all means, he is weak.

Then again, what angel has Michael not been able to shape into a warrior? If the war doesn't do it, he will. There will be no room left for doubt or vulnerability. No, there will only be a King, and the great Archangel that led him to victory.