The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Sleeper

Inside an unremarkable office building nestled between a convenience store and a storage facility, a woman with golden wings subdued her adversary in a dance of bloodless violence. Every movement promised death to those who challenged her, an inescapable fate, a terrible beauty.

Such a shame no one else appreciated her deadly grace, aside from the training holograms she so effortlessly defeated.

As she prepared to engage with another faceless glowing body, the projected image froze, glitching with a broken visual, then cut out entirely.

“Damn secondhand equipment.” Slicking back the loose tendrils of her platinum blonde hair, barely damp with sweat, Kitara Vakrenade strode across a gym humming with technology that belied the unassuming exterior of the building humans perceived. Frowning, she tapped a crystalline monitor mounted to the wall, which didn’t respond to her input.

Such was the norm for the Valëtyrian outpost in Spokane. Secondhand. Low priority. Ignored.

It didn’t escape her notice that this assignment mirrored the rest of her life. In fact, the High Councilor probably orchestrated it intentionally.

Giving up on the frozen, glitchy monitor, Kitara reached instead for a smaller crystalline device—her phone—and checked for notifications on the transparent screen. The last time, it drove her to the small training area to relieve her crushing disappointment.

Denied.

If being ignored and low-priority was the defining attribute of her life, denial was a secondary thread. Denied a new post, denied additional responsibility; hell, denied an assignment utilizing even a fraction of her skill. The list continued if Kitara let it. Denied a family, denied her one friend, denied anything but the soul-crushing tedium of her forgettable assignment in Spokane.

Denied, denied, denied.

It made the fourth time this year the Agency of Interrealm Defensive Operations had rejected her reassignment request. Her facility’s local Commander didn’t make the decisions—Kitara knew the High Councilor directly vetoed them from his lofty location in Valëtyria. With her two allies on the High Council either deep undercover or enmeshed in human politics, Kitara had no one to advocate for her liberation from the crushing ennui. She’d alienated just about everyone else.

Merely existing as the child of a Fallen would do that.

As she traversed the labyrinth of cubicles and conference rooms, Kitara drew her wings back into the confines of her shoulders: a skill she and nearly every other winged immortal learned in early childhood. Most did so out of convenience—after all, with an average wingspan of nearly eight feet, knocking over objects or bumping into doorframes or any other number of small mishaps was inevitable.

But in Kitara’s case, she hid them to obscure the glaring reminder of her otherness. The darkness tainting her bloodline, made obvious by the black flight feathers fringing her otherwise tawny gold wings.

A reminder of something Fallen…and something darker.

She returned to her small desk tucked in a corner of someone else’s cubicle and dropped into a creaky rolling chair with a sigh. Even her workspace wasn’t her own space.

Her profession demanded it. Living in the shadows of others’ lives so as to easily slip into the latest persona constructed by the AIDO. Don’t leave a mark. Don’t leave a trace.

Like the holograms of the glitchy training program, once their usefulness was spent, they ceased to exist.

You cannot exist.

Those words weighed heavier on Kitara than her fellow Sleepers: the few Valëtyrian immortals capable of infiltrating enemy territory as double-agents. Her gaze drifted naturally to the miniature photo framed on her desk—the single iota of personalization she’d managed to scratch out here. Her jewel-green eyes lit with laughter, and her arms circled around a shorter girl with curly dark hair and eyes the color of the furthest reaches of Valëtyria’s alien cosmos. Her single source of light, for a little while.

Devika, her adopted sister.

A shadow loomed over her desk, and Kitara looked up.

Another angel—nearly as anonymous to her as the faceless sparring holograms—dropped a stack of paperwork in front of her. “Reports of Ostragarn’s most recent raids and blood sources,” he announced without preamble. “I need them indexed and cross-referenced by the end of the week.”

“Sure,” Kitara replied. “Anything else?”

The angel had already turned to leave, shoulders stiffened by the indignity of addressing the half-Fallen. “If you could get the ‘Georgias’ and ‘Naples’ and ‘Parises’ right this time, that would spare us the headache of spending nearly two days untangling it.”

“You got it,” she said through her teeth, refraining from pointing out someone else did the reports the week prior.

To them, she was an assistant, a secretary, a janitor, a gopher. They didn’t bother learning her name much less learn to distinguish her work from someone else’s.

“Have a good night.”

He didn’t deign to respond, sweeping from the borrowed cubicle with all the pompousness an intact angel could muster in the face of Fallen offspring. Not all Valëtyrians acted like this; in fact, most Valëtyrians were pretty open-minded about the Fallen since the AIDO installed one onto their High Council some years prior. But out here in the backwater? Opinions and mindsets evolved as slowly as Valëtyria upgraded Spokane’s secondhand, glitchy tech.

Once a criminal, always a criminal.

Even if the sins were those of the parent, not the child.

Kitara pulled the stack of paperwork toward her and rolled her shoulders before she began to skim the data.

Never mind her existence bordered on miraculous, given the low birth rate among Valëtyrians. Their evolution just didn’t allow for it. Infinite lives, finite resources. And if stripped of that immortality? No Fallen should have conceived, much less survived giving birth to a fully-immortal child.

For all intents and purposes, Kitara’s existence was not just rare, it was impossible.

And that didn’t even factor in the contribution of her father…

No. Kitara would not think of him. To think of him would only bring memories of that day—

Her phone chirped, and Kitara pulled it from her pocket, grateful for the distraction.

Dev

A video call.

Glancing around for anyone who might disapprove of taking a personal call, Kitara slipped in a pair of earbuds and answered with a smile. “Hey.”

Just a glimpse of the other immortal’s familiar face soothed Kitara’s soul.

Devika smiled back. “Hi.”

Kitara leaned back in her chair and propped her phone on the desk. “How are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, things are great! I just wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing.”

Wherever Devika called from, Kitara couldn’t identify the time of day. The angel’s background consisted of bookshelves and not much else. “How’s the new Historian gig going?”

“It’s so awesome, Kitara. It’s nothing like Spokane…not even a little.”

“In a good way, I hope?”

Devika snorted. “I didn’t realize how outdated Spokane’s tech was until I got to headquarters. Everything here is so…state of the art.”

“Even the library?” Kitara asked, her tone teasing. “Or have they retired the ancient methods of paper and ink?”

“Both, actually,” the other woman said, gesturing vaguely behind her. “They’ve got hard copies of anything that was originally scribed that way, but everything is digitized too. It’s all holoscreens and tablets and instant searches. Literal heaven.”

“For you,” Kitara said with a grin, carefully hiding her pang of jealousy. If Devika suspected for a moment Kitara wasn’t handling their separation well, she’d consider quitting. Kitara wasn’t about to let her do that. “Give me old-fashioned sparring dummies any day.”

Shrewd as ever, Devika replied, “The holo targets glitch on you again?”

“It’s like you can read my mind.”

“No, but I know it’s not cold enough there for jackets, and still you’re wearing one.”

Kitara glanced down at the nondescript hoodie she hadn’t bothered shedding while holo-sparring. “So?”

“So, on good days, you don’t need it.”

The Sleeper sighed, and her smile slipped a little. “My reassignment request was denied. Again.”

“Oh, Kitara, I’m sorry.”

Kitara picked at the peeling surface of the old desk chair and looked away. “It’s fine. I didn’t expect anything different really, but he could at least do me the courtesy of pretending to consider it.”

Devika’s eyes shimmered for a moment. “I wish you could come here. Stars, you could make such a difference here. I just know it. They’re wasting you in Spokane.”

“I’m not even requesting a headquarters assignment. Anywhere else would be better. But Cornelius wants it that way,” Kitara said bitterly, naming the High Councilor sans title. “As if I don’t have enough reminders of my parents’ sins, he wants me thinking he might officially exile me any time too.”

“Kenric wouldn’t stand for that,” Devika staunchly maintained, her brow furrowing. “And his opinion holds a lot of weight as headquarters’ Commander.”

“Not when it comes to anything relating to the Fallen.”

They both quieted at the reminder, at their collective memory of the devastation writ on their adopted brother’s face as his heart broke ten different ways.

Kitara sighed. “Even if he could do anything, I don’t know that he would. We’ve barely spoken in the last five years.”

“Kenric loves you,” Devika said without hesitation. “Are you telling me if he needed you, you wouldn’t drop everything to help him?”

“Assuming I knew where he was,” Kitara replied, the corner of her mouth turning up.

Devika laced her fingers together. “And I bet, if he did need your help, you’d replace HQ’s location in less than an hour. You’re good at what you do, Kitara. The only reason you don’t know our exact coordinates already is because you’re politely following protocol that says you can’t.”

Kitara snorted at the astute assumption. After Devika’s transfer, she had considered doing exactly that for her own peace of mind. But she hadn’t wanted to give Cornelius additional leverage over her life if he found out.

She was good, but he was the High Councilor.

“Kenric would do anything for you, including argue with a High Councilor,” Devika continued, oblivious to her friend’s introspection. “Even if he did get distant, after…”

Kitara nodded, glancing away with a twinge of discomfort. They hadn’t known how to help him then, and Kitara wasn’t sure they’d be able to help him even now. “I’m just glad you are both there together. You can watch out for each other.”

“But who watches out for you?”

The Sleeper looked back at her friend’s concerned expression, her gaze hard. “You know better than anyone I can take care of myself.”

Another violent memory. Another moment of pain in their collective lives. They had all experienced their fair share in different ways.

Devika’s smile was strained. “Well, luckily you don’t have to worry about any silverbloods out there.”

Kitara’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny of her friend. “Are you second-guessing your decision to transfer again?”

“No, not at all. He’s not here, it’s just…” She hesitated. “I see Storm in passing sometimes and—” She grimaced. “Shoot, I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

Kitara waved a hand at her. “Just you and me here, Dev. Your mental health is more important to me than the AIDO’s headquarters’ policy. Cornelius’s son?”

“I assume so, unless there’s a third one nobody’s known about.”

Kitara snorted. “We’ve a better chance of assimilating Ostragarn than somehow overlooking the existence of a third silverblood.”

“My point exactly. Still, I give Storm a wide berth.”

Kitara’s brow furrowed. “Any nightmares?”

“A couple, but after I got settled, they haven’t been as bad.”

“You can always call me if you have one, okay? I’ll always make time for you.”

“ I’ve been okay. My quarters are right behind the library, so if I have a bad one, I just go get lost in some books.”

“It does sound like heaven for you,” Kitara teased, pleased when Devika’s lips turned up.

“For me, nothing could be closer.”

Kitara returned the smile. “You’re happy there, silverbloods or not; I can see it. And honestly, that’s what’s most important to me. That you’re happy and safe.”

Devika nodded, though a shadow briefly crossed her face. “I am happy here…but I’d be happier if you were here too.”

Kitara managed a small smile despite the ache of missing her friend. “Maybe someday.”

“Someday.” Devika echoed back, her eyes reflecting the same yearning. For a moment, the silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken promises and whispered wishes.

“But until then, try to avoid entanglements with any silverbloods, okay?” Kitara feebly teased. “I don’t think headquarters would appreciate me razing the place to get to you. Which I would, you know.”

“Absolutely, wouldn’t dream of putting you through that trouble,” Devika replied, her voice laced with a wistful kind of humor. “Can you imagine the paperwork?”

They shared a laugh, but the harsh truth of the words tainted the humor. Still, they clung to the moment of shared levity like a lifeline, an ephemeral balm for their long-distance friendship.

“I love you, Dev,” Kitara said. “Talk again soon, okay?”

“We will. I love you too.”

The call ended, leaving Kitara alone once more in a space where she had no place, amongst supposed allies who saw her only as a potential threat…or didn’t see her at all.

They thought her half-Fallen, tainted with shadow and too lowly for their notice.

But therein lay the irony: they could never know the true extent of the invisibility she wielded, the unabridged darkness of the legacy she inherited, the full weight of the secrets she bore, or the level of destruction she had wrought to protect her loved ones.

They could never know how the reality of Kitara’s unnoticeable existence held the potential to noticeably unmake their own.