There had been a delivery for Azrael, addressed to that name as well. Chelsea had gone home with Chloe and Alexandra was on her way with the package.

Azrael was on his own, examining the key Gabriel had given him. He noticed there was a little groove in the metal. He picked at it until a thin scroll of old parchment rolled out. You’ll find her¸ it said in a handwriting he’d recognise anywhere. It was even more illegible than his.

Someone knocked on the door. It was Alexandra. She was carrying a long, thin wooden box.

“I don’t know what’s in it but it hardly weighs anything at all,” she said.

Alexandra placed the box on his lap and looked at him. He slid the key into the keyhole and slowly turned the lock. The lock clicked and Azrael lifted the lid. Inside was his sword, made of pure titanium and engraved with flames and dragons. Morslammae.

Next to it was an old photograph, from 1890. It was Azrael holding Skyla in his arms. Azrael smiled, remembering the event. Skyla had wanted to go to London, so he’d taken her. That was almost thirty years before she vanished. He put it down on the bed.

There was also an envelope in the box. It had the words ‘If I don’t return’ written on it. It was Skyla’s writing. He opened the envelope and took out the letter inside.

My dear Azrael, if I don’t return I know you will. You said I wasn’t to follow your battalion to the battle, but I’m going to disobey you. I love you so very much, we’ve shared such wonderful memories. I remember when we spoke about starting a family. And I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father. I’ve been trying to tell you for the past two weeks but you’ve been too busy with the war. I want one last taste of battle before we settle down. Though, if you’re reading this, we won’t be settling down. I just hope you’re happy, marry again, have some children. Make me proud. Yours eternally, Skyla.

A tear fell down Azrael’s cheek and onto the paper. He slipped the letter back into the envelope and placed it down on the bed with the photograph. He locked the box again and put down the key. Alexandra put the box on the floor.

“Who’s the letter from?” she asked.

“Skyla. Saying goodbye, a hundred years ago. She was pregnant. I was going to be a father.”

“Who do you love more, Skyla or Chelsea?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, find out. I’m guessing Skyla wanted you to be happy, settle down with a family.”

“Pretty much.”

“Then honour her wishes. Choose which one you love the most and commit. Whichever you choose, forget the other. That’s all I can say to help.”

The End

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