The Cairo sun blazed high above, merciless and undimmed. Ramiel stepped off the tram at the edge of the Old Quarter. Egypt gave out a strange beauty unique to all African nations, although with it's history it could be considered African. Alec adjusted his backpack, trying not to look too sweaty under the unfamiliar sun.
The Temple of Ash'Zuriel rose like a wound in the earth — black-stoned and without minarets or crosses, a bastion to something older than faith. However the Egyptians knew it as the temple of RA, who they referred as the Egyptian god of the sun.
How civilization has changed, Ramiel thought.
Worshippers, some in jeans and others in flowing desert linen, knelt on woven mats outside, whispering prayers to the First Flame. Some bowed to the ground; others lifted fingers to the sky. Each one of them voicing wishes and needs.
Ramiel walked past them, straight to the entrance guarded by a tall, stooped man in charcoal robes. His skin was like parchment soaked in sun, and his eyes — cataract-clouded — still seemed to see through time.
"You are?" the monk rasped.
"I need to enter the Inner Flame," Ramiel said plainly. "The sanctuary of Ash'Zuriel."
The monk's brows tensed. They where not more than ten people in the world that new that this was the sanctuary of the first flame.
"That room has been sealed since the Nile was a god," the monk replied. "Even the faithful dare not ask."
"If things where as it should, i should have a temple somewhere in Eastern Bangkok, Permit me the honor"
Realization hit. After a long silence the monk muttered under his breath, a chant in a language that scratched at the corners of comprehension.
"Ash'Zuriel, Light-Walker, Flame-Bringer, who lit the First Star — open unto me the door of knowing."
A tremor passed through the temple. With a groan like the breath of mountains, an obsidian slab retracted sideways, revealing a hallway lined with golden dust and etched glass.
"Don't take too long," the monk warned. "Even the light burns, in time."
Ramiel stepped inside alone. From stairs he could feel Ash'Zuriel's glory and aura. At the heart of the sanctuary was a single stone dais. He knelt, crossed his legs, and placed both palms on the ground.
"Ash'Zuriel," he whispered, "I seek you who lit the flame."
After what felt like ages....
The world shifted.
Ramiel found himself in a plane of soft, golden fire — not hot, but impossibly ancient. Stars burned overhead, yet their light cast no shadow. This was the Throneless Realms or..... maybe not.
Ash'Zuriel stood tall, cloaked in robes of nebulae, his body carved from luminous starlight. His eyes were twin novas, his voice a melodic gravity that pulled at the soul.
"Ramiel, last of flame-born," he said. "It's been quite a while"
"You saw the end. You saw what Hell did. Why didn't you stop it?"
"Even if i wanted to, i'm forbidden under Heaven's law to intervene"
Ramiel pressed, rarely agitated, " You watched Djinns die, some sealed and followed elders wiped from existence under the pretense of being forgotten. You watched Samael lead Hell into Shrak for the selfish ambition of fueling his rebellion. Yet you did nothing"
Ash'Zuriel lowered his head. "Because peace was always the better path. But the Shurahims—"
He lifted a hand. A ripple formed in the fire, showing flashes of the past:
Djinns —half demons — gathered.
A meeting of traitors — the Shurahims — trading secrets to twisted demon-lords.
The first demon breach, the invasion of Shrak, the slaughter of thousands.
Ramiel — younger, blazing with grief — sealed and thrown from the skies like a meteor.
"Hell took the Crown of Wells — your source, your unity," Ash'Zuriel said. "They tore the link between the Djinn and the Light."
"You want me to make peace with that?"
"I want you to live."
Ramiel's voice hardened. "Then you want the wrong thing."
Ash'Zuriel's face dimmed, not in anger but disappointment. "So it begins again."
Ramiel's eyes opened.
He stood, his eyes glowing faintly from meeting an elder god. His meeting with Ash'Zuriel was rather unfruitful but he now knew what Hell took. The Crown of Wells. Shrak's symbol of royalty. The source of his strength as an arch-Angel turned Djinn. The monk turned as he approached.
But screams echoed from beyond the outer gate.
The Crackin was a blur of muscle and ash-gray skin, fanged like a hyena and swift as a shadow. Though barely larger than a lion, it moved with the velocity of a storm, its claws rending pilgrims like parchment. Blood soaked the temple steps.
Ramiel surged forward as Alec ducked behind a pillar. He shouted, "Get the wounded inside!"
The Crackin turned to face him, its tongue twitching, its black eyes blinking horizontally.
"Sent by Hell," Ramiel muttered. "They always send toys when they're afraid."
He flexed his hands, faint lines of light crackling down his arms.
It was about time he reminded The thorn of Eden who he was.