[Gavony] Her Good Graces [One Shot]

Sorin smiled to himself as he watched the sun set. It was a curious thing for a vampire to appreciate, but he liked how that time between light and dark created such brilliant colors, especially gold. The same color as the twin-helix of light seen shooting into the sky some months ago upon the return of the archangel Avacyn, and with it, her protection of the human people. If only they knew that she was his creation, made back when his powers were at their strongest. That his race fed upon those he charged her to protect was more than a little ironic; yet less so than the fact that she'd likely outmatch him now, especially with the host of angels she'd also raised to serve her since her 'birth'.

She had certainly wasted no time in setting things to rights after her absence. If it wouldn't have been a hurt to his pride, he'd almost have admitted that he made her too well. Even now she fought to re-subdue the demons that surged forth from the Ashmouth once more in some kind of disorganized fervor, hoping to exact revenge after the fall of one of their most destructive. Still, having turned a good number of werewolves to her side and raising a great many more angels with all the mana she had built up, the demons would be pushed back eventually... save for the fact that their bodies could reform if their essence remained unbound. That would be Sorin's pretext for getting her to come speak with him; away from her army, away from the prying eyes of humans and vampires both.

The beat of wings and rush of air from behind him was herald enough for the millennia-old vampire lord. Without needing to turn around, he knew that Avacyn now stood a good twenty-some paces behind him on the clifftop he chose as it overlooked most of Stensia, white-glowing moonsilver spear in hand as always. She never afforded herself a moment to drop her guard, but she never feared addressing others. "It's been too long, Father," came her voice boldly, though still soft and eloquent.

With a flourish of his cape, Sorin turned and tilted his head, crooking an eyebrow in quizzical mockery. "Hardly an accurate term, my angel. 'Father' is a title for leaders within the church and men who don't neglect their children. I'm ostensibly bad with either." He chuckled, but Avacyn was clearly in no such mood to do the same. She was exactly how he remembered her: her black dress and silver hair a mirror of his own regular appearance, and just as timeless in age and faultless in her resolve as she ever was.

Her full-white eyes flashed at his words; she was upset with him though she tried to hide it from bleeding into her voice. "Am I supposed to take that as some form of an apology?" Avacyn challenged, stubbornly refusing to approach him. Still, something had clearly changed since she had seen him last. He was... diminished somehow. It was enough to make her continue, "You didn't create me to offer forgiveness, only protection."

"That I did," Sorin admitted wistfully, but carried on, "You were also never a child. For the longest time, you seemed to be handling things quite well by yourself," explaining his stance of non-interference. They both knew that it wouldn't reflect well on her to be seen consorting with the grandson of the Markov Founder. "I only gave you the tools I felt you needed."

Now Avacyn stepped forward, her fury more than apparent. "What you felt?! I've had plenty of experience with other vampires and I dare to wonder if they feel anything aside from when they're drowning in their own excesses!" Still, she was hesitant in raising her spear against him. Time enough for Sorin to grab it and force the head harmlessly into the dirt.

"I didn't summon you here to argue about perceived failures and I'm not here to apologize," Sorin spoke calmly, unflinching and in stark contrast to the upset angel before him. "Much like your fight with the demons, it would be an exercise in futility without some help."

Hands clenched defiantly, Avacyn still didn't like admitting that she needed any help aside from that which she raised herself. She had no control over Sorin; as powerful as she was, his very presence disarmed her. "I do not need another moonsilver rock. My most faithful now bear swords forged with the fragments of the sundered Helvault."

Sorin nodded, glad that the conversation was steering back to where he wanted. "Such as it is. Faith has ever been your strongest weapon. Much as my faith in you has been mine," he complimented, the usual facade of snark falling away. "Lingering sentiment for you might be the only light left in this black heart. I would not see that light stolen from me again."

This gave the archangel pause for thought. He did care, he just had an odd way of showing it. "Then what is it you offer?" The angelic chimes that were usually blended with her voice returned now, if only barely.

With Avacyn sufficiently mollified, and somewhat interested in why he came again, Sorin could continue. "A reminder, perhaps. Of all the beings on this world older than you, I'm the only one that won't try to run you through. Though I much doubt that any of them really could; the balance you struck is what makes them strong. The vampires are nothing without others to feed upon, the wolves are nothing without the hunt, the demons are nothing without pain and suffering. Indeed, they are manifestations of pure black mana. But all these shadows are nothing without a bright light to cast them. And the humans... well, they are nothing without resources, and hope is one they have in great supply now. Come over here, sit."

He led her to the edge of the cliff and batted his cape out from behind him as he seated himself, letting one leg overhang the rocks. Avacyn stepped over beside him but still prefer to stand, leaving her spear where Sorin had planted it. "Faith and hope is what empowers their wards. Without you, you may have seen that many of the cloth turned to shamanism and dabbling in other arts. A pity that calling upon the moon itself is so unreliable..." Sorin mused, barely muttering the last line.

She shifted her wings, catching his meaning and staring out into the distant fading light of the sun. "You found something else. You had to, because you experienced a loss of power much like the humans. That is why you have been away. That is why you did not come for me. Father... what happened?"

The ancient vampire lord found himself thankful that he didn't have to explain as much as he thought he would. Avacyn was a quick learner; part of what made her so hard to beat in a fight. Breathing a sigh, he shook his head to clear his cloudy introspection. "Well, aside from my usual exile for having created you and being branded a traitor by my kin and old man Edgar, the promises and grudges I keep across the many worlds always had me moving about. But there also has been a resurgence in the number of planeswalkers, far greater in number now than even I can remember. Further, where we used to be nearly indestructible, and able to channel enough mana to fashion whole planes of our own design... now I can barely muster the ability to jump home here to Innistrad. I actually failed once or twice... ended up somewhere completely different."

This made Avacyn doubly concerned, because there was only one way to interpret it. "You mean you don't know?"

"I am looking into it," came the reply. "I am still the strongest sangromancer who ever lived. That will remain true until a better one kills me. But in the meantime, there's been a bothersome pest I've met here named Tibalt that seems to have found a planeswalking spark of his own. As much as I want him dead, I would very much like to test if I can drain his ill-given spark out of him first." He didn't have to look at Avacyn to know that she didn't much approve of this plan, but that she'd at least heard of Tibalt too. "I've found... that I'm not as alone out there as I used to be, and that the multiverse is a much more threatening place. But that is not to say it has all been bad; I've also found a new toy."

Reaching behind himself just as the last light of the sun dipped below the horizon, he unveiled the artifact he'd been carrying to present as a gift to his pseudo-daughter. It was a spiked dagger made of bone, and once unsheathed it spontaneously began to burn with red flames. "It is called the Ancient Fang. It supposedly holds the memories of all who have ever used it. I know it is a touch late in coming, but let us call it a birthday gift. It might be just the sort of bait needed to trap our mutual fiend-blooded 'friend' and see what we find out."

"If you're trying to get back into my good graces with presents... this is a good start," she teased back, mirroring his constant snark, while taking the blade and turning it over in her hand as she examined the flames.

"A start, is it? Hm. It figures. I really could not ask for a better daughter."