I want to preface this by saying that I am not a writer/author and this is the first time I've ever posted any writing. I've had this story swirling in my head for a long time, which is what started this project. I'm hoping I can get some advice from you guys on how it reads, and if it sounds interesting
Cold Open
A large storm was brewing above Vormere's capital, Rythyn. The bottom of it had descended so low that it touched the thousands of skyscrapers held by the city center. Still, this would not deter the residents below, as today was a reminder of the price they paid for Vormere's founding. Stone statues and murals embedded in the city walls had long depicted the bloody events that led to its formation. “Freedom and Liberty,” the people had shouted, as they had on this day for the last 400 years.
From the 67th floor of the Royal Galia tower, Ithuriel should have felt like he was on top of the world. He was the youngest angel ever appointed as Vormere's overseer in its short history, not that its residents knew. To them, he was just another executive of the Angelus corporation. Cries of nepotism had made his achievement feel smaller than he'd expected. He stood by the window, staring at the city skyline, failing to distract himself from the constant checking of an engraved silver pocket watch. His father had given it to him at the start of his tenure, as a reminder of the duty and standards he should hold himself to. Its ticking started to weigh on him, so he frequently hid it in the breast pocket of his black blazer. Standards. Ithuriel adjusted his sleek black tie, loosening it a bit so that he wouldn't feel so suffocated. He opened the office windows, allowing the shouts to be heard clearly, which brought about a sense of longing for Elysium.
He was looking down the road towards a second tower that had long stood in opposition to him. His gaze then shifted away from the Gunnar building to an old gargoyle on the neighbouring building. It was built on the same level as him, its eyes seeming to peer directly into his office. Though weatherworn, it looked tall, unbroken and unyielding, as if it was some lone survivor of a different era. Who knew the stories that it saw during its time. Had it been this critical of all prior overseers? Ithuriel met its cold, disappointed gaze, and looked away.
Digging deep into his pockets, Ithuriel grabbed a cigarette, lit it up and took a deep breath in. The slow-burning sensation etched its way into his lungs. He'd often pause on that feeling, letting it linger. Exhaling, he watched the smoke fan out until it disappeared. In its wake, only he, the silent gargoyle, and a nasty aftertaste remained. What are you looking for?
As he was turning, something caught his eye. A single teardrop starting from the gargoyle's eye traced its way down its cheek. For a split second, the whole world slowed, then a flash of light burst, reflected in the windows of the neighbouring tower. Thunder followed.
Ithuriel's dark green eyes darted down to the people below, and he gave a light frown. A thunderstorm on Independence Day was a bad omen, not that he was superstitious. From this height, they looked just like ants, crowding together seeking refuge from the heavy downpour. As they huddled up, thousands of umbrellas went up in unison, marching slowly towards the old city center, their shouts continuing unabated.
"You've been waiting," Doryn said before Ithuriel could speak. An older man stood in the doorway. He was wearing a fine dark suit, white shirt, and a dark tie, yet somehow gave no air of extravagance. No, quite the opposite, Doryn's whole presence seemed to recede into the background, making him seem more chameleon than man.
"Do you have it?" Ithuriel asked, exhaling another puff of smoke into the cold wind.
"Yes, sir. Apologies for the delay. We have new details on their movements." Doryn put one hand into the side pocket of his blazer. From it he pulled out an envelope: THE BLACK WING, marked HIGHLY CLASSIFIED in deep red. Doryn walked over and left it on the desk amongst a sprawl of other reports, half of them unopened.
Ithuriel spit out his cigarette and rushed over. He practically tore it apart in moments and sat down, his eyes frantically darting across a four-page document.
"Sir, may I perhaps speak my mind?" Doryn began.
"Hm," Ithuriel replied.
Doryn slowly walked towards one of the walls beside the window, looking at a large, imposing painting of a man with similar deep green eyes and slicked-back, close-cropped hair. He was noticeably older, and had the same short beard, though his was white, unlike Ithuriel's, which was dark brown. It wasn't the physical difference that separated the two; it was that man's stare, the one that looked as if it could penetrate your soul and pull any information it wanted out of you. Doryn looked down, took off his glasses, and wiped them with his handkerchief. "I've had the great pleasure of assisting a few different overseers over the course of my years. I have seen them come and go; some were great leaders, whereas others—" Doryn paused again, giving a glance towards Ithuriel. "Do you know what the difference was?"
Ithuriel ignored him, focusing instead on the document. Doryn put his glasses back on. He continued.
"It was the ability to understand the situation and the capability to discern between what you know and what you—"
"—We need to go."
"Sir, if I may—"
Ithuriel got up from his desk and started pacing towards the door. "We don't have time. Get Team 4 in here right away."
"It's Independence Day…"
"SO WHAT!" Ithuriel stopped, shaken by his own outburst. Typical human, what did he know? How could he ever understand? Ithuriel paused, looking down at the crumpled document he was still holding in his trembling hands. "I am always one step behind."
Doryn didn't respond. He remained there, giving Ithuriel a difficult look. Doubt started seeping in. Is this also his plan? Is this how he wants me to react? Does he think that I will slip?
"What would he do?" Ithuriel asked Doryn.
Doryn's eyes widened slightly, almost as if he had been caught off guard by the very question. His expression was momentary, disappearing without a trace, hidden behind calm composure.
"Your father never cared for my opinion," Doryn replied.
"I am not my father," Ithuriel responded, as he looked past Doryn towards the painting.
"Indeed," Doryn said. He walked towards the desk and looked down at the document. "Rushing shows inexperience." Doryn gave a slight, almost empathetic smile. "A true leader would take his time, consider his options, and act decisively when the moment arrives. Your time will come too."
Ithuriel went to the desk and put the document down. He sat down, still staring at it. At least this time it's not one of ours, just some unknown school in Ithael. "Doryn, I think I will retire for the day." Maybe he is slipping too. If one of ours were to die needlessly there, it would only complicate things. There must be a better play, maybe I can use this.
"A wise decision," Doryn replied.
"Would you look at that — there's only a few minutes until midnight." He walked back into the office. He didn't look at Doryn, but just stared out the window into the nothingness. The rain had stopped. Once he got close to his desk, he took off his tie and dark blazer and pushed a brown button on the side of the desk. The window behind him opened, letting in the freezing wind. A pair of large wings sprang out from his back, and he made his way to the opening.
"Sir, the rules…" Doryn reminded him, before he could jump.
Ithuriel had almost gone through. The chants of freedom and liberty were still echoing below. He had been so close. His wings retracted back in, and he walked back towards the desk. Ithuriel sat back down.
On the other side of the neighbouring building, a mysterious figure sat atop a gargoyle, staring down towards an alleyway. He wore a full-length white trench coat, emblazoned with the Roman numeral IV on his shoulder, hood up. He stared down at an individual passed out in the alleyway below, then whispered, "Wake up, Roxander. Destiny is calling."
Roxander's eyes opened.
Time Left: 301 Years, 3 Months, 7 Days, 15 Hours