Hey there! My first English post on FictionPress. This is for NaNoWriMo. Have fun reading it and please review!!

Prologue

I remember, when the streets were plastered with corpses I felt pain. But it weren't my wounds or my wings which bothered me most. Nothing tormented me more than the knowledge that my city had been burned down; my past, my present and my future went up in flames, were scrunched in the dust and left to die.

As I laid in my own blood and the filth of the invalids I smelled their desperation and hopelessness. Some of the only slightly injured cared for the ones left behind - but most fled. They would try to find mercy in other cities. There was no mercy for them. They had to hope for kindness and charity given by humans, but I knew what humans thought of angels. No angel in his right mind would condescend to a human – but what did I know of the desperation of those who tried to survive with the people who were responsible for the destruction of my city?

I remember the day I had begun my apprenticeship I swore I would never leave my city. It was a wonderful place to live in and beautiful like the sunset. I was born here, I had learned to walk on my mother’s hand and fly with my father’s supervision. I had sat in school side by side with my friends and after the lessons we roamed the streets or the sky. Here I had learned to fight with a sword and here I had hammered my first own all alone.

I had memories of every place I had been at - every house, every street and every market place. Some were good, some bad, but all of them kept me alive. While someone cared for my wounds without drugging me and then depositing me in a corner to die, my memories helped me to bear with everything. The others had no other help for me and they left those behind in the ruins they had no hope for.

But I didn't die. Not the day they cared for me scarcely, not the next day and not in the next week. I hold out for nearly three month with meager meals and water, while I saw and heard them die around me: Angels, humans, elfs. I heard them crying and moaning and their cries of pain. I laid silent on my place. I couldn't move because of the pain. I didn't speak, I didn't cry, because my gorge was raw and I had no words for my feelings.

Then they picked me up of the street and brought me to one of the houses which basements had been spared of fire and destruction. The room was muggy and full of people, it reeked of illness and decay, but it was dry and they had something to eat and water. They covered me with a blanket and at last I slept calmly and dreamless. There was something like hope for me. But I didn't thought of it. I just wanted to forget what I had seen and done.

They healed my wounds and examined my wings carefully. Soon I could move them again without pain. They forbid me to fly but who was I that I would listen to them? I was happy to feel the wind in my hair, to lose the earth under my feet and to reminisce.

This need was fast forgotten. The laugh which grew in me faded away. With tears in my eyes I flew over destroyed places where human market women once had reigned, over burned gardens where I had walked with girls, over palaces and huts, over pubs and stores.

And then I flew over the tents of the enemies who combed the city for goods and surviving people. Now I knew why they had forbidden the flying. How easily could I betray the place where they were hidden. I hoped that the sound of my wings hadn't betrayed me but in this moment the first arrows aimed at me flew through the air. I flew higher and tried to find the den, but one ruin looked like the other, like peas in a pot. My shoulders ached and the pain forced me to land. I didn't know where I was. Sure I knew most corners of the city like the back of my hand but I never had set feet in the administrative district. And when the colorful towers and high walls which still stand were an evidence I just landed there. How great had it been before the destruction, in which luxury the people had lived! I could hardly envision it.

Behind me I heard steps, but they weren't of armed soldiers but those of an wounded man. My hand slipped to my side where once my sword had hung. It broke during a fight. The man behind me had a sword but a short examination told me everything about him I had to know. He was a Historian, with crippled wings since birth, a half blood, neither human nor angel. And he was old. I turned away and looked for shelter in the palace in which atrium I had landed.

After a few weeks I had formed a kind of truce with the older angel. He didn't disturb me and I wouldn't bother him. Once a day we met at the atrium to share some bread and water. The Historian had found a stock room but most goods weren't edible anymore. We could be glad that someone had baked and stoked Heavens Bread which was nonperishable for nearly a year. After the meal we flew a few rounds to train our wings and muscles. Even he could fly but only as fast as a small bird and for a short time. The fastest angels, mostly trained Hunters could race the Great Eagels in the Long Hill Mountains east of Astaria.

A year after the destruction of my city I was forced to leave Astaria. The administrative district was now the aim of the advancing troops. They must have ended the cleanup of the other districts. They couldn't hope to find important things here because most of the houses had heavy wards on some rooms even I couldn't or wouldn't break because it was to dangerous.

I had to break my vow and flee. While I would fly over the city the Historian, who had become a dear friend, would take a secret path in the mountains. Not until the archers aimed at me I understand that I was a red herring so that the old Angel could search his way out of the city. I wasn't angry with him. Perhaps I would have done the same thing.

While I flew higher and higher till the city was just a black dot in the burned land I cried and laughed at the same time.

I am sitting in the ruin of my city. I sought the old palace out and examine the golden feather in my hand.

I remember the day I stand before my house, my little daughter in the arms, watching the feather floating down from the sky in my direction. I remember the proud feeling to be chosen again.

I remember that, as the golden feather flew down, many many others followed it – white and blooded ones. The cries of my family. Their death – a tear runs down my face. I brush it aside because I can't drown in desperation.

I will follow the Call, will go to those who wait for me, will step before the whippersnapper sending this golden feather. And I will give my seal as a sign of my faithful service.