Author's Note. I took a long break from this one because I was having trouble coming up with the next relics that would drive the story further. I have finally found what I was looking for and am looking forward to moving this story on.

Chapter 10 — The Weight of Two Relics

Brooklyn’s night was alive with the gentle patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder, weaving a symphony of sound that enveloped the city. Streetlights cast a warm, amber glow upon the glistening puddles, transforming the asphalt into a canvas of shimmering golds and browns. Above, in a cozy apartment perched over a bustling laundromat, two extraordinary relics—each possessing the power to alter the fate of both Heaven and Hell—lay in quiet slumber.

Anna sat by the window, her elbows resting on the sill, gazing intently as the rain trickled down the glass like molten silver, each droplet tracing a fleeting path before vanishing into the embrace of the world below. The Voice of Lucifer leaned against the wall beside her, its dark metal surface faintly pulsating, almost alive, synchronized with the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. On the table before her, the Eyes of Lucifer lay open, its pages eerily whispering in a forgotten tongue that seemed to half-remember her name, beckoning her with secrets embedded deep within its ancient script.

Adriana glided across the dimly lit room, cradling a steaming mug of tea that released wisps of fragrant steam into the air. She wore a cozy hoodie that concealed her delicate wings, allowing her to move unnoticed in the shadows. “You haven’t moved an inch in hours,” she spoke softly, her voice a gentle melody in the stillness.

Anna remained hunched over, her gaze fixed on the ancient relics scattered before her. “They’re restless tonight,” she murmured, her voice heavy with an unshakeable tension.

“The relics?” Adriana asked, concern lacing her words.

Anna nodded, her fingers brushing against the cold handle of the intricately designed scythe. It trembled subtly under her touch, responding as if it were a sentient being. “They know something's on the horizon.” She paused, her voice a hushed whisper. “Ever since the Eyes reached out to me, they’ve both been restless—like they’re straining to listen for her.”

“Kaen,” Adriana breathed, the name hanging in the air like a dark omen.

Anna nodded. “Lucifer rebuilt her and sent her back to reclaim what I carry. Her soul’s still bound below, but she’s out there somewhere, half tethered, half free. I can feel it when I sleep.”

Adriana leaned her shoulder gently against Anna’s, creating a moment of shared warmth amidst the tension swirling between them. “If her soul’s chained, she can’t reach you. Not yet,” she murmured, her voice low and thoughtful.

“Maybe,” Anna replied, her brow furrowing as doubt flickered in her eyes. “But the Voice remembers her. Sometimes I think it’s biding its time, waiting to see which of us truly deserves to possess it.” There was an edge of worry in her tone, a hint of darkness that clung to her words.

“It already chose,” Adriana asserted, firm and resolute, her gaze steady and unyielding.

Anna let out a breath that hung somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, a sound laced with both relief and trepidation. “That’s what scares me. If Lucifer rebuilt Kaen once, he’ll do it again. And now I hold the Eyes too—two powerful relics that shouldn’t even coexist within the same space.” The weight of her realization pressed heavily upon her, a reminder of the peril they faced.

“Then learn why fate intertwined your paths,” Adriana encouraged, her voice soft yet insistent. “Maybe it isn’t about Lucifer anymore.” She glanced up at Anna, her expression encouraging, suggesting that perhaps there was a greater purpose behind their shared destiny.

Anna turned to face her companion, a flicker of determination in her eyes. “Do you still believe that fate has a plan for us?”

Her friend met her gaze steadily. “I think fate is more like a spectator, eagerly waiting to see what choices you’ll make next.”

Outside, a brilliant flash of lightning cleaved through the darkened clouds, illuminating the room in a momentary blaze of white fire. In that ephemeral brilliance, the scythe and the ancient book shimmered together—one drenched in a deep, haunting crimson, the other radiating a pure, luminous gold—like two heartbeats harmonizing in the silence of the storm.

Anna leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper, full of both hope and trepidation. “Then let’s hope it approves of the paths I choose.”

As the dazzling glow receded, the air thickened with the sound of relentless rain pattering against the windows, mingling with the faint but persistent rhythm of power pulsing quietly between them.

Morning unfurled slowly, enveloped in a shroud of gray. Brooklyn lay beneath the remnants of the night’s rain, its streets shimmering like liquid mercury under the dim light. Inside the apartment, the air was thick with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint, lingering sweetness of cheap incense, an odd blend that felt both comforting and chaotic.

The relics, ancient and mysterious, remained silent once more—hidden from view, yet always lingering at the edges of her thoughts, a reminder of the secrets they held.

Anna hurriedly donned her coat, her mind racing as she realized she was already late for her shift at the boutique on Court Street. Behind a curtain of vibrantly colored scarves hung the scythe, its blade cunningly disguised as a decorative staff, catching the light in a way that made it appear almost whimsical. The book—arcane and powerful—was safely ensconced in layers of soft silk inside a hatbox perched precariously on the top shelf of the closet, hidden from prying eyes but ever present in her mind’s eye. It was a day like any other, yet the weight of those secrets hung heavily in the air.

Down on the bustling street, she effortlessly mingled with the crowd—just another woman cradling a steaming paper cup, hurrying toward the grind of the workday. Just as it should be. Heaven’s hunters had omnipresent eyes, and the informants from Hell prowled tirelessly in the shadows. The wisest choice was to embrace the cloak of the ordinary.

By noon, she found herself meticulously arranging the new arrivals: hand-stitched jackets that whispered of craftsmanship, luxurious silk blouses that caught the light with a soft glow, and a vibrant wall of scarves that shimmered like ethereal angel feathers when the sunlight kissed them just right. As she kept her gaze lowered, a warm, practiced smile danced upon her lips for the customers who wandered in. Yet deep within her, she felt the unsettling thrum of anticipation—an unrelenting pulse that occasionally beat behind her ribs when her fingers brushed against the exquisite fabrics. It was as if the Voice, a familiar yet distant melody, hummed softly, impatiently urging her, all while patiently waiting for an unspoken moment to unfold.

In a quiet corner of the school, Adriana meticulously wiped down the dusty chalkboard, the faint scent of chalk powder lingering in the air as the last students tumbled into the bustling hallway. To them, she was simply Ms. Rayner, the unassuming history teacher whose voice, soft yet compelling, transformed the tales of ancient mythology into vivid stories that felt as urgent as today’s headlines. None of them could fathom the extraordinary adventures she had once embarked upon, soaring high above the clouds, or that now, instead of conducting soaring choirs, she spent her days immersed in a sea of papers to be graded. Each seemingly ordinary day in her life felt like a small miracle, a gentle reminder of the magic that still lingered in the world around her.

When she finally met Anna after a long day at work, the world outside felt pleasantly mundane—just as they both cherished. Strolling home beneath the flickering glow of streetlights, they carried take-out containers filled with their favorite comfort food, sharing light-hearted banter about late trains and particularly rude customers they’d encountered.

Once inside the cozy confines of their apartment, they sank into the familiar embrace of the couch, the soft murmur of the television providing a soothing backdrop. For a blissful stretch of time, they allowed themselves to slip into a cocoon of warmth, temporarily blotting out the chaos and demands of the outside world that lay just beyond those four walls.

Yet, a subtle tension lingered in the air. Behind the curtain, the Voice of Lucifer pulsed a singular note—deep and haunting, almost like a quiet sigh that sent shivers down the spine. In the dim corner of the closet, the Eyes stirred, rustling a single page before retreating into a captivating stillness once more.

Neither woman noticed the gathering storm as they sat together, laughter bubbling between them over a particularly absurd commercial. Their mirth created a bubble of comfort, a sanctuary where they could momentarily ignore the darker realities lurking beyond the sanctuary of their laughter.

Outside, the sky churned ominously, thunder rumbling in the distance—deep, resonant, and patient—as if the very storm were holding its breath, waiting for them to reclaim the essence of who they truly were. The air was thick with tension, a stark contrast to the lightheartedness inside, each crack of thunder a reminder that the storm was drawing closer, eager to reveal the truths they were desperately trying to hide from.

By the third night of relentless rain, even the city seemed to exhale a weary sigh. Anna found herself once again at the window, a warm mug cradled in her hands, as she gazed out into the bustling streets below. The reflection of red taillights flickered and smeared across the glass, creating a dance of colors that blurred the line between reality and illusion.

Down in Brooklyn, the scene appeared deceptively ordinary—vendors hurriedly packing up their goods, their voices muffled under the constant patter of rain; a couple huddled closely together, engaged in a passionate argument beneath the shelter of an umbrella; and a bus, heavy with the weight of waiting passengers, let out a deep sigh as it idled at the curb. Yet, beneath this veneer of typical urban life, a palpable tension hung in the air, a sense that something deeper and unsettling lurked just out of sight.

It began the day before: a low, tingling static coursing through her veins, a pulse that felt foreign and unsettling. Not the familiar whisper of the Voice, nor the steady presence of Kaen—this was something different, something primal that stirred within her.

In the soft glow of the morning light, Adriana sat at the kitchen table, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sifted through a scattered array of papers, her red pen poised like a sword ready for battle. Without glancing up, she quipped, “You keep staring like you’ve seen the world about to end.”

Anna paused, her coffee mug cradled in both hands, feeling the warmth seep into her skin. “Maybe it is,” she replied, her voice low and contemplative. “It feels as though the very air is holding its breath, waiting for something inevitable.”

“That’s just New York in November,” Adriana remarked, her voice tinged with casual indifference as she scribbled in her notebook.

“No,” Anna interjected softly, her tone imbued with an unsettling certainty. “It’s different this time. I can sense another current beneath the surface. It’s like someone else has slipped through a threshold, quietly unlatched a door that was meant to stay sealed.”

This prompted Adriana to look up from her notes, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Heaven or Hell?”

Anna shook her head, her brow furrowing as she wrestled with the sensation. “I don’t know,” she confessed, vulnerability creeping into her voice. “It doesn’t burn like either of those extremes. It’s… cold. There’s a stillness to the power, as if it’s lurking in the shadows, biding its time and keeping itself hidden.”

Adriana placed her pen down with a soft thud, her interest piqued. “It could be a summoning, then,” she mused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “Or perhaps a relic we’ve yet to discover.”

Anna turned away from the window, the cool breeze ruffling her hair. “Relic?” she inquired, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Adriana shrugged, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “If Lucifer forged more than just the Voice, it’s entirely possible. You mentioned the book—the Eyes—reacted yesterday?”

Anna nodded slowly, her brow furrowing in thought. “Its pages quivered and fluttered on their own right before the blackout swept across uptown. It was as if the book sensed whatever ominous event was unfolding.” She absently rubbed her thumb along the smooth edge of her mug, lost in contemplation. “I had no idea there could be more like it.”

Adriana pushed her chair back with a soft scraping sound and stepped over to join Anna by the window, peering into the dimly lit street below. “We don’t know anything for certain,” she said, her voice steady but laced with a hint of intrigue. “It could be a spell, a rift in reality, or maybe an angel driven by too much curiosity.”

“Or something worse,” Anna murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile silence that enveloped them. “Something lurking amidst shadows, hidden from both sides.”

They stood together, their eyes fixed on the street outside, an eerie stillness settling in after the storm had passed. Wisps of fog curled languidly around the pavement, clinging to every surface like a ghostly shroud. In the distance, the mournful sound of sirens echoed through the stillness—three short bursts followed by one prolonged wail—an unsettling sequence that felt out of place, hinting at something amiss, far beyond the reach of police or fire.

Adriana leaned closer, her breath quickening. “Do you feel that?”

The atmosphere in the room shifted palpably, a heavy pressure descending like the anticipatory hush before a thunderclap. The Voice of Lucifer, concealed behind the tattered curtain, vibrated ominously—a low, throaty rumble that sent a shiver down their spines. Meanwhile, the Eyes, sealed tightly within their hatbox, stirred restlessly as if exhaling a long-held breath.

And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the tumult subsided. The air grew still, the tension fracturing like a taut string finally snapped, leaving an unsettling tranquility in its wake.

Adriana took a deep breath, striving to maintain her composure as she spoke, her voice steady despite the tremors of uncertainty within. “Whatever that was, it’s over,” she insisted, the words almost a mantra.

Anna, however, shook her head vigorously, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination. “No. It’s here. Not hunting us—watching us,” she whispered, as if saying it too loudly might provoke whatever unseen presence lurked in the shadows.

With a sense of urgency, she moved to the window and drew the blinds shut, her heart racing in her chest like a caged bird desperate to escape. Outside, flashes of dim light flickered across the street, momentarily illuminating a haunting figure—a tall, shadowy silhouette draped in a dark cloak. It lingered for just a heartbeat under the flickering streetlight, an ominous presence that vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, eclipsed by the next crack of lightning that momentarily brightened the night.