I can see. I have not seen in five hundred years, and Hellas has cured me. I am no longer bound to these invisible shackles that imprisoned me for ages. It would be a cause for celebration except for one thing: they’re after me.
 
I have suffered and endured punishment far worse than my fellows, most of whom Hellas sent to Hell. As acting leader of the angels, she made a bargain with my master, Asherah, to do so. But for some of us, Hell wasn’t enough, so Hellas struck another deal that would send my peers and me to the city of Hoc to become its protectors.
 
The initial thought didn’t strike us as too terrible—that is, until we arrived in Hoc. Asherah handed out our punishment: to be Guardians of the city that bordered Heaven and Hell, night and day. Blind. Sight only returned if we needed to protect the lesser celestial beings that dwelled below. Therein lay the cruel irony—most often, they didn’t need our help. Thus, I bade farewell to my eyesight only to regain it for a night here and there, but only to protect the angels I detested.
 
By day, I remained a statue, frozen in place. That part, I didn’t mind. But the worst part was being able to hear the beauty of everything: birds chirping, laughter in the streets, soft rainfall. You cannot imagine what agony it is to hear your own heartbeat, serving as a cruel reminder that you are still alive and that the nightmare continues, day after day.
 
Ducking into alleys would be useless. I cannot hide from my own kin. They can hear the beating of my heart, my footsteps, my breathing.
 
I hear their heartbeats. They are following at a close distance. Thankfully, they haven’t started to run or fly. Yet. I try to calm myself down as best I can.
 
The only thing that got me through my days was the knowledge that in time, I would become a Libre—a fallen one freed from his shackles of servitude. Little did I know the implications. Liberation doesn’t mean that a fallen one can do what he pleases. It means that no one is in charge of him and that he has no Protector.
 
I never saw the point of Protectors until now, when I finally need them and they are powerless to help me. I considered it ridiculous that a fallen one would need a protector, even as a Guardian. But without them, my former brothers could kill the lot of us quite easily.
 
Hellas restores a fallen one’s sight only when he has served his sentence, which I have. But now I am Libre. And they are after me. Hellas only knows what they want. Yet though I should, I do not resent her. I am grateful that she restored my vision. She taught me so much through my servitude. For the first time, I feel shame for my misdeeds. But I have learned that it is never too late to change one’s ways, and that redemption is always possible. My brethren are not so persuaded by this view.
 
In an effort to distract myself, I examine my surroundings. The sky overhead is blue-violet. The sun... I haven’t glimpsed it in so long. Every day, I have felt its heat, its warm touch, but now that I see the setting, orange coin in the sky, my throat tightens. I will have seen at least a few things of beauty before my brothers catch and kill me.
 
They reach out to me, the four of them, with their minds.
      
Come with us, Duhamel. You must return to Hell and be a slave to your own.
      
I once served Asherah with them so proudly, a renegade soldier who shamelessly sinned against Hellas.
 
So, that’s what they want, I think. One servitude barely ends and already they want me to begin another.
 
I glance behind me. They are running. I mutter a curse under my breath and do the same, pushing myself as far as I can. But it’s no good. I haven’t pumped my legs this fast in Hellas knows how long. They have more endurance. They have more energy. They are stronger.
 
The leader of the pack, Arioch, claps a cold hand over my shoulder and forces me to the ground.
 
I stare at his face for the first time in centuries. His amber eyes are the same—no trace of warmth; only rage. He is wearing a beautiful human skin with a lush nose and mouth. His hair is darker than the dusky sunset.
      
Arioch speaks. “It has been too long, brother.”
 
“Whatever it is you want me for, forget it. I want to be left alone. I’ve done my time for Hellas.”
 
“But brother, if you come to Hell, you don’t have to worry about blindness anymore, and we will give you a new Protector,” Arioch says.
 
Behind him, the others stand, unwavering. I do not recognize any of them. Are they new recruits? Enforcers? 

“Hellas has returned the gift of sight to me,” I counter. “I will never go blind after this.”
 
“You sound so sure of yourself. How are you to know that she won’t do it to you again?”
 
“If I join you, she will,” I say.
 
Arioch laughs. “The Duhamel I knew wouldn’t be afraid of the Lord of Angels.”
 
My face contorts as I frown. “The Duhamel you knew was a shame to himself, a cold-blooded killer and rapist; a pathetic excuse for a living being. He is dead.”
 
Arioch squares his shoulders. “It is a duty to your race to serve in Hell. If you don’t do it, my punishment will be far worse than Hellas’.”
 
“And if I kill myself to end this agony? Then what?”
 
“It will only make things worse. I needn’t remind you of the Second Gate.”
 
The bastard has me there. If ever we try to turn our blades against ourselves, we go to Hell through the Second Gate, the one for those to be tortured for an eternity.
 
“Come with us through the First Gate. Come home where you belong.”
 
“No. I have redeemed myself. I will not turn my back against Hellas like I did the first time.”
 
“You want to serve her?” Arioch casts me an incredulous look. “You are a disgrace. I will not help you further.”
 
Help me, Hellas, I pray. Help me get away from them, please.
 
With no other recourse, I get up and push past my brothers, spreading my black wings and launching into the air. I know that they follow me, but I have no choice. I have to keep going for as long as I can.
 
I have paid my dues to you, Hellas, and I need your help. Please don’t shun me now.
 
As night falls, the moon spreads its milky light onto the city below, illuminating the gate between the realms even further. I fly, unthinking, to the portal of heaven. If I can get there, then I will be safe from them. Hellas is helping.
 
Behind me, the others fly, Arioch leading the pack. They are almost upon me.
 
I have nearly reached the gateway. From within the flowing green curtain, I see a pair of hands extended toward me.
 
Desperate, I push myself as hard as I can. My wings stop beating from the strain I place on them. I reach out for the hands and feel my fingertips stroke the angel’s, but Arioch yanks me back.
 
I thrust forward, trying to grab the hands, but they are too far away.
 
Arioch pulls me backward. He has me now. He grabs my hair and drags me toward the ground.
 
I struggle against him, but he is too strong, and I cannot break free of his clutches.
 
He throws me against the cobblestones and kicks my back. Clutching my hair, he brings a dagger to my eye.
 
“No,” I whisper.
 
He chuckles, digging the blade into one eye socket and tugging mercilessly at the slippery orb that comes from within. At first, I feel nothing, because my sight has been restored temporarily and I haven’t had it back for very long. But gradually, the impact sets in and I dig my claws into the arm that is ripping out my other eye with cold steel.
 
I feel a burning sensation in my eye sockets and an odd wetness. The blood gushes from the two holes, streaming down my face. I do not want to imagine what a horrific sight I am to behold.
 
So, my sight is gone. Again. The gift that I have worked so hard to regain has been stolen.
 
Though I know it is no use, I put my hands in front of my face. I know I cannot see.
 
“D-don’t leave me like this,” I say.
 
“You should have thought of that before you betrayed us,” Arioch replies.
 
He grabs my head from behind and forces it back. I know what is to come next. I thank Hellas that I cannot see what he is about to do, but that will not numb the pain.
 
He brushes a spear across my chest, like the teasing touch of a lover. I know the death blow is going to come at any moment. I pray that it will be instant and that I will not feel much pain—or rather, not much more than I have already experienced.
 
I no longer feel the cold metal of the spear brush my chest. That is when I know he is about to strike. I take a deep breath. “Hellas, help me.” I know my efforts are futile and that I am going to die.
 
The spear pierces the left side of my chest and extends to my heart in one sharp, shooting blow.

* * * * *

I awaken. A thick, foggy whiteness envelops me. I see bright, burning blue spheres everywhere. I see. This is not the Second Gate. This is not Hell. I am somewhere else, but where?
 
“Duhamel,” a voice says in my head. Hellas. I would recognize her pure voice anywhere. “Welcome back to your first home.”
 
I look down to see what has become of me. Is it possible that I am—no, she would never restore me that way.
 
I find that I cannot look at my body, and I feel much lighter, as if a great weight has been removed from me.
 
It dawns on me that I no longer have a body.
 
“Shine bright, star of the dawn,” Hellas says. “You are safe here. It might not be in the form you expected, but you are free. None can harm you.” A pause. “You may ask why I took pity on you.”
 
I swivel so that I can see where she is. She stands in front of me in all her glory—alabaster skin, ivory hair and dress, pearly teeth, and gentle, blue eyes; her shield, sword, and helmet are in tow.
 
She casts a gentle smile in my direction. “You have served me well, and I have forgiven your past misdeeds. As well, you chose me over Arioch. Your reward is true freedom, Duhamel. May you enjoy your new life.”
 
If I could bow down, smile—do anything—I would. I cannot even utter a quick thanks.
 
I look at my new brothers and sisters, my new surroundings, my new life. I am released.