The Angels Citadel

The Citadel of Murinos loomed over the blasted hellscape, the empty sand blasted plains home only to the keening ghostlike wail of the winds that swept over them. The lone fortress, a silent guardian to the planet’s people. Home of the Angels of Myrist, mighty warriors of stern visage, wreathed in holy flame, bearing blades of burning soulfire that quenched any evil. For supplicants like young Meros it was the holy grail. A testing place, one where those who attained the greatest honours might rise to the ranks of the Angels themselves and stand against the dark night.

Mero’s parents had been rich noblesse, inheritors of a vast rural estate that oversaw a dozen cities, to them Mero’s entry into the Angel’s ranks might be another rung climbed in the complex games they and their fellow nobilites waged across the world. For Mero’s it was meaningless, he was a supplicant only, a willing tithe to their eternal vigil. What did it matter all these games the nobles tried their hands at? Only the Imperial Truth mattered, only the Emperor, and only his will.

The Gates of the Citadel yawned wide, their shadow falling upon him. This would only be the beginning of his long service he swore to himself.