Becoming The Strongest Angel With A Saintess System-Chapter 64: Ancient Entities

Flying still wasn’t Grace’s strong suit.

She tried to keep up, though, moving behind Petriel and Willow, the two more experienced angels pushing ahead of her.

"This part of Linaria can get a bit treacherous," Willow called out while Grace was trying not to accidentally start a dive-bomb. "The line between the Dominion and Linaria is thin. Both demonic and angelic energy has twisted the wildlife. Try to keep your guard up."

As they flew through a red sky, villagers halted, mouths agape, a few hesitantly raising their hands in greeting before Grace and her companions landed. The thin air carried voices to them before faces, murmurs of "Star-fallen" and "Celestial." Grace fumbled to fold her wings neatly behind her, tucking them close to avoid appearing too showy.

"Welcome," an older man shouted over the wary silence. His eyes darted as if gauging their intent. "You... come looking for the one who speaks in riddles, yes? The outcast?"

"We seek the scholar," Willow replied, her voice carrying authority and assurance.

"They say she lives inside stone," Petriel added, gesturing toward the jagged cliffs rising like tombstones behind the village. He seemed to just take that as confirmation.

The man nodded.

"Be careful," he warned. "Roads have teeth."

Grace exchanged a somewhat worried glance with Petriel before following Willow along a narrow path that snaked toward the hills. The roads "having teeth" didn’t sound too good, but oh well. Her feet skidded on loose gravel as they climbed, each step taking them deeper into shadow.

A chill clung to the air, stark against the blistering sky.

---

Soon enough, the library loomed before them like a yawning maw in the cliffside, its walls etched with runes that had been dulled by time and neglect. Inside, Grace sensed a strange emptiness. Shelves toppled, scrolls shredded like brittle leaves beneath their feet.

"It’s been ransacked," Willow muttered, sifting through debris with a frustrated sigh.

"M-Maybe not entirely." Petriel’s voice quivered with cautious optimism as she brushed dust from a weathered table.

Grace kicked at a pile of torn scrolls, disappointment settling in her chest.

"We came all this way for nothing?"

"Not necessarily." Willow knelt to examine markings on the stone floor. "Seems to me like someone was looking for something specific."

Grace wandered deeper into the library, stepping over fallen shelves and scattered books. Sunlight filtered through narrow windows, illuminating swirling dust motes. The air smelled old and dry, with a hint of something burnt.

"Hey, look at this." She stopped in front of a stone desk that had been split clean down the middle.

Grace ran her fingers along the fractured surface, noticing odd indentations along the edge. She pressed one. Not that she thought anything would happen, she just kinda felt like it.

Click.

A small compartment popped open in the side of the desk, startling her enough that she stumbled backward and nearly fell on her butt.

"Guys! I found something!"

Willow and Petriel hurried over as Grace carefully extracted a leather-bound journal from the hidden drawer. Its cover was worn, the pages yellowed.

"A journal?" Petriel leaned closer, wing brushing against Grace’s.

"The scholar’s, perhaps." Willow’s eyes narrowed with interest.

Grace opened it carefully. Inside, elegant script filled page after page, interspersed with intricate diagrams and symbols.

"I can’t read most of this," Grace admitted, flipping through. "It’s in some kind of code or old language."

"Let me see." Willow took the journal, brow furrowed in concentration. "Parts are in ancient angelic. This section here speaks of... entities. Very, very old ones."

"Demons?" Petriel asked.

"No. Something older." Willow’s finger traced along a passage. "Here. ’In the beginning, before angels, before demons, Eternia created the great pillars of existence. The Great Root was keeper of growth and decay, binding all living things in cycles eternal.’"

Grace felt her blood run cold.

"The Great Root? Like... the corruption core I purified?"

"There’s more." Willow turned a page. "’When Eternia departed, the pillars grew restless, untethered from her will. Some have slumbered, others have wandered, but all hunger for connection to their creator.’"

"That matches what Ivy said," Grace whispered. "About the Root recognizing me."

Petriel shivered.

"B-But why would it want you specifically?"

Before Grace could respond, a scraping sound echoed from the library entrance. All three angels froze.

"We’re not alone," Willow whispered, sliding the journal into Grace’s pack. "Behind me, now."

They backed toward the shadows at the rear of the library. Grace drew her rapier, its golden glow cutting through the darkness. Petriel clutched her staff, trembling slightly.

Three figures entered the main chamber. They wore hooded robes and bone-white masks with no features except dark eyeholes. They moved with unnatural fluidity, like water flowing uphill.

"What are they?" Grace whispered. "They’re not demons. I don’t feel cold."

"Don’t seem to be angels either," Willow muttered.

The masked figures paused, heads tilting in perfect unison. Then, as one, they turned toward the angels’ hiding spot.

"RUN!" Willow shoved Grace and Petriel toward a narrow passage at the back of the library.

The figures glided after them with terrifying speed. Grace sprinted down the passage, Petriel close behind. Willow brought up the rear, flinging seeds from her pouch that burst into entangling vines, temporarily slowing their pursuers.

The passage opened onto a narrow ledge overlooking a steep ravine. Far below, a river snaked between jagged rocks.

"We need to fly!" Grace spread her wings, ready to leap.

The moment her wings unfurled, they began to glow, bright against the darkening sky.

One of the masked figures appeared at the passage entrance. It raised a hand, and Grace felt a sickening pull. Her divine energy—the very essence of her angelic power—strained toward the creature’s outstretched fingers.

She was being dragged back.

"They’re draining us!" Petriel cried, dropping to one knee as her own energy began to flow toward the figures.

Willow stamped her foot on the ground. Roots erupted from the stone, forming a temporary barrier. "The ledge continues around the cliff. Move!"

They staggered along the narrow path, pressed against the rock face. Behind them, the roots withered and blackened as the masked figures absorbed their energy.

"What ARE these things?" Grace gasped, feeling weaker with each step.

"Ack... I believe they may be Collectors," Willow replied grimly. "Servants of the ancient entities."

The ledge widened slightly, leading to a crude staircase cut into the rock. They descended as quickly as they dared, the masked figures gliding down the cliff face after them like spiders on invisible threads.

At the base of the cliff, the ravine opened into a small valley dotted with twisted trees. A tiny stone hut stood beside a bubbling spring, smoke rising from its chimney.

A lone figure stood before it, waving their hands for the angels to see.

They didn’t really have a choice.

They sprinted for the hut. Behind them, the Collectors gained ground.

The door swung open. A hooded figure beckoned them inside.

"Quickly now."

They tumbled in. The figure slammed the door shut, dropping a heavy wooden bar into place. Outside, the Collectors’ hollow voices hissed with frustration.

"Circle of ash and elderwood," the hooded figure muttered, tracing symbols on the door. "Bind and blind, seek no more this night."

A pulse of energy rippled outward.

The hissing outside faded, then silenced completely.

Grace collapsed onto a rough wooden bench, wings drooping with exhaustion.

"Thank you. Those things—"

"Collectors," the figure interrupted, turning to face them. "Nasty pieces of work. Been after me for decades."

She lowered her hood. Her skin had the texture of bark, and emerald leaves grew in place of hair. But most striking were her eyes—solid green.

"You’re Earth-Tenders," the woman said, studying Willow. "Been a long time since any of your kind sought me out."

Willow straightened.

"We seek Melora the Exile. Are you she?"

A smile cracked the bark-like features.

"I haven’t heard that name in centuries." She gave a slight bow. "Melora, at your service. Though most here call me the hermit witch."

"You’re r-really her?" Petriel stared in awe. "The scholar who—"

"Who consorted with the Veil? Who studied corruption? Who was cast out for seeking truth?" Melora’s laugh was like dry leaves rustling. "Yes, yes, all that."

She moved around the small hut, lighting candles that burned with green flame. The interior was cramped but cozy, filled with plants, books, and strange artifacts.

"So," Melora said, settling into a chair fashioned from living roots, "you found my journal, judging by the hounds on your trail."

"The Collectors," Grace said. "What exactly are they?"

"Eternia created many servants in the beginning. The Collectors were meant to gather divine energy and return it to her. After she left..." Melora’s expression darkened. "They serve new masters now. The ancient entities."

"Like the Great Root," Willow said.

Melora’s eyes widened slightly.

"You know of the Root?"

"It’s trapped an Earth-Tender named Ivy," Grace explained. "And it’s been corrupting an entire village. It... recognized me somehow."

Melora leaned forward, studying Grace intently. She looked down at her neck.

"Show me that medallion."

Grace hesitated, then pulled out the golden disk. Melora didn’t touch it but traced shapes in the air above it, her expression growing more troubled.

"This is Eternia’s work," she whispered. "Pure and undiluted. The Great Root would sense this immediately."

"But why target me specifically?"

"The ancient entities have gone mad in Eternia’s absence," Melora explained. "They were created to channel her power, to help shape the world. Without her guidance, they’ve become twisted, hungry. They seek anything connected to her, hoping to devour it and fill the void she left."

[Ah... And I’m connected to her.]

"The Collectors will probably return at dawn. They can sense Eternia’s energy on you."

"Then we need to leave," Willow said firmly.

"Not without answers," Grace countered. "We came to find out how to help Ivy and stop the Root."

Melora’s green eyes fixed on Grace.

"Help me understand exactly what you’re facing, child. And perhaps together, we can find a way to save your friend—before the Collectors find us again."