The Truth of Gravity

They stood on the precipice.

The Star-Fall was not a cliff in the traditional sense. It was the end of reality. The clouds sheared off into a sheer drop of infinite blue air. Far, far below—miles down—there was a tapestry of greens and browns. The Mortal Realm.

The wind here was fierce, tearing at Lyra’s robes. Orien stood firm, anchoring her against his side.

"It is a long way down," Lyra signed, trembling.

"We will fall for a long time," Orien agreed. He turned to her, blocking the wind with his body. He looked at his wings. "Lyra, there is something you must know."

He touched the feathers. "These... they are sustained by the light of the Chorale. Once we leave the city's aura, they will dissolve. We will not glide down. We will plummet."

Lyra froze. *We will die?*

"No," Orien said quickly. "The atmosphere below... it is thick with life. Magic works differently there. When an angel falls, the friction burns away the divinity. It burns away the silence. We will hit the ground, but not as we are now."

He took a deep breath. "We will become mortal. We will hunger. We will bleed. We will eventually die of old age."

He looked into her eyes, searching for fear. "I am a Sentinel. I was made to be eternal. But I would trade eternity for a single lifetime where I can hear your voice."

Lyra reached up and touched his face. His skin was cool and perfect. She imagined it warm and flushed with blood. She imagined him with laugh lines.

* I don't want to be an angel,* she signed. *I just want to be Lyra.*

"And I just want to be Orien," he said. He leaned his forehead against hers. "Then we jump. On three."