The Day the Music Died

The Lightstream had grown lively. Its glittering sheen darted about the sky of the High Heavens, the lowest segments of the curtain dropping low enough to physically brush the tallest pillars in the Pools of Wisdom. Smaller flickering balls traversed the energy river, splitting and reforming throughout its length.

Cowl raising to consider the display, Malthael eventually lowered his quill and pondered the dancing iridescence through the opening in his study. His wings lifted at the sight. The first sign of harmony; the Crystal Arch was calling out for them, bidding them raise their voices in song. It was ready to birth another of his kin.

However, more than the Arch's song was needed for the Lightsong to take place. Harmony in the Heavens included its Aspects. A comprehensive, inclusive synchronicity between all the Angiris.

come

"Oh, verily," he whispered, rising.

come

"Patience."

Still, he quickened his pace out of the study and down the steep stairs of the Pools' furthest peak. The Arch's thrum resonated within him, narrowing his focus to the rhythm of his footfalls and the increasingly sharp snapping of the Lightstream over his head.

come

"Light guide you, Lord Malthael. Where are you off to?"

Distractions, from the only voice that mattered. They would know soon enough.

come

The vast maze of the Pools passed by him, his steps relentless, greaves pinging with a crystalline chime in time to the insistent, euphoric pressure in his soul. Then, he was at the dais. The whispers grew about him, and still he did not reply. Instead, he wrapped his fingers about Chalad'ar and leaned over the Chalice to stare into the eternity of all creation. The artefact enveloped him like water, instantly blocking the outside world, and leaving behind only the brilliant threads of existence.

A haze flickered about the gleaming points of angelic souls. A new trick of the Hells, one that had manifested previously and that, although he was unable to rectify it, had not blocked his ability to divine truths. Almost as if the clouding was a shadow under the water, something just below the surface, tangible yet beyond his reach. A voice whispering words that were not words. He had tried to speak to it, only to encounter a barrier like glass, blocking him from going further.

COME

He could ponder the tricks of the Prime Evils later.

Releasing himself to the Chalice, he let the Light flood in, each soul of the Angiris, every star in the High Heavens, dancing about each other in the glorious order that was his kind. Interweaving, building, towards a single gap in the pattern, where the Light could reach if only it tried—

There.

The source of the call. A perfect harmony, cascading downward to try and fill an absence in its structure. The Arch had a need, and they were ready.

It was the greatest moment of his existence, one that had grown more complex since the Heavens' earliest days, but that still, at its core, remained the same. Gathering his soul, the Archangel of Wisdom reached out with his essence and strummed the resonances of the Angiris.

"Come."

Barely a breath passed before the sound returned to him infinite-fold, subsuming and striking a cord within him that left him dizzy and keening. The call had been made; the Lightsong would begin.

He gasped as he pulled away from the Chalice, its waters glowing a brilliant amethyst before returning to their usual subtle hue. Around him, the Aspect of Wisdom stopped what they were doing and turned to the Crystal Arch, their wings flaring as they took flight towards the heart of the Silver City. He took only a moment to gather himself, then he joined them in their pilgrimage, soaring past the frontrunners as a blinding streak through the sky.

COME

Hosts of angels descended on the Arch. Some gathered on nearby spires. Others lined up along walkways and against balconies. Their wings vibrated with anticipation, already emitting the early murmurs of the Lightsong itself. Angels of all forms and shapes took part, some as broad and tall as the smallest demons, others mere wisps of wings and robes that were the sages of Wisdom.

From atop the rooftop of the Halls of Valor, Archangel Imperius raised Solarion to him in greeting, the spear flaring golden as it caught the light from the Spine of Anu. Further away and hanging from the boughs of a tree that cascaded down into the sky, Archangel Auriel spread her arms and let the Cord of Hope begin to flutter in the breeze. A flicker revealed Archangel Itherael, holding calm vigil from atop the Library of Fate. And there, striding from the Courts of Justice, was Archangel Tyrael, El'druin drawn and its hilt shimmering in time to the Song of the Arch.

They were ready.

The Host of Wisdom split around Malthael, spiraling down to take their place among the others. He alone landed at the heart of the Arch. Its call was deafening so close, the twin curves of its peak pulsing with the rhythm of its resonance. Each reverberation shattered the tips of his wings, allowing him scarce moments to reform them before it occurred again.

But he was the Archangel of Wisdom, the keeper of eternity: and he would not be cowed by an act of sheer power.

COME

"I am here," he called, his voice carrying out over the Heavens.

SING

He stretched his arms towards the marble floors, palms directed at the Arch's epicentre. Then, he tipped his head back, braced himself, and Sang. The notes of his resonance soared outward, flickering as they took physical form and began to swirl around the Arch's heart. The Hosts joined in, their own Songs cascading through the growing maelstrom that was the true beginning of the Lightsong.

As the light waves careened past Malthael, he caught and focused them towards a single point, the absence within the Arch where the essence of an angel was beginning to shimmer. Come, he called silently to it, tugging with his soul and the combined might of the Heavens. Come here. This way.

Faintly, a new voice began to sing. The air at the Arch's pinnacle cracked open, a blinding light exploding from it before the glow began to wrap about itself, slowly taking the form of a sphere, then something more. An angel's silhouette resolved within the Light, its void drawing the Song into its heart, enclosing it safely within whatever shape it chose to take.

Come to me. Nearly.

The angel turned within the glory of the Song and extended a hand to him.

Come, he called with all the voices of the Angiris.

The Song built to a crescendo, rising to a pitch beyond his own resonance, ripping meaningless utterances from him and—

Eternity screamed.

His knees slammed into the marble as the discord severed the Song from him. His wings stretched towards the Arch, the tendrils shattering again and again as he physically brushed the Spine, trying to regain the connection, a feeling or anything that would bring the voice of Anu back. The Lightsong continued around him, already driven to its conclusion.

The voice was gone. But the world was not silent. Howling. A different song built upon notes of agony, like the death cries of demons as they perished in the fields of Pandemonium. The sound crashed into his soul relentlessly, until it was all he could comprehend. The Light faded, his vision dulled, and he was in a dark realm. A void. Cold. A cacophony of beings swirled about him, all wailing, trickles of their spirits leaking from gaps in their forms to spatter against—

"—have come as you called, brother."

Dimly, Malthael realized the newly birthed angel was speaking to him. The rigidity in his limbs released and he staggered forward, the gale from the Arch having faded alongside the Lightsong. Stand, he begged himself. He could stand. Could speak, even. Could listen—

—yourownchildren—

"Anu be praised," he managed, a waver present in his usually measured words.

—murderer—

"Where would you have me go?"

—wewillnotforget—

"Step from the Light into our embrace."

Each word of welcoming he spoke was echoed by something else, something foul and dark that had ripped open his soul and buried itself there. It was wrong. He could not hear the Arch, even in its content quietude after the Song. It stood there before him. Yet, it was gone.

—allgoneallgoneallgone—

"Come," he rasped, taking the angel's wrist and pulling them forward to the edge of the platform, to where the rest of the Heavens could see them. Joyous cheers echoed about the Silver City at the sight of the newest Angiris.

It was dissonant. The warmth could not reach him. It was a breath beyond his reach, separated as though by glass, leaving him to stare into a solitary mirror.

Glass.

Glass.

The Chalice.

The Heavens wavered about him as he took flight, instinct leading him back to the Pools, to the dais where Chalad'ar still rested. The sound that had always grounded him, the soft, melodious call of the Arch, was gone.

—gonegonegone—

He collapsed against the Chalice, a forearm braced against its rim. Its depths rose up to him, the familiar glow of the Angiris greeting him.

And something new. Swirls of light and dark, one moment a shadow, the next as bright as a star, leaping about with a pace he had never seen before. So many of them. They careened off each other and obscured the delicate truths he sought.

The glass had fractured. They'd been let in from wherever they were hidden, and he couldn't make it—

"Stop!" he barked, the word echoing about the empty Pools until it sounded like the voices that were haunting him. At least it had been enough to pull him back from Chalad'ar's depths.

The Hells had done something insidious. How, he didn't know. But they had stopped striking at Heavens' edges and had found a way to strike its very core. Even pondering that was enough to overwhelm him, lost as he still was in the horrendous shrieking. If the Prime Evils attacked now, when he was in such a state and unable to glimpse their strategy within the Chalice, then the Angiris would be without their greatest advantage.

Why did Itherael not see this in the Scroll? he wondered.

They must have. It could not have been dangerous nor permanent, or the Archangel of Fate would have mentioned it. It was a horrific, soul-wrenching inconvenience, and nothing more. Itherael only revealed pertinent details, lest the future be changed by them illuminating its depth.

He could not risk asking the Archangel about it, he realized, even to see if his assumption was true. If the Hells discovered how effective their attack on him had been, they would be emboldened to repeat it. He could not show an inkling of weakness. He was the Archangel of Wisdom and the leader of the Angiris Council. No demon had ever breached the Diamond Gates, let alone set claw on an Archangel in the Silver City itself.

Itherael had not overlooked it because they had missed it. It was because it was meant to be unspoken, a truth relegated to the shadows where the darker facets of existence whirled until the Light eventually returned.

He would steel himself away in his study with his work until the effects passed. No one would question his actions. Neither would they wonder why he had fled the Lightsong so quickly after its conclusion. He had done so in the past for entirely different reasons.

It would be a tremendous burden to hide, but it was his to carry. Like many others he had carried in the past, he would bear it alone to spare the rest of the High Heavens from the consequences. They needn't know how close the Prime Evils had come to striking a fatal blow to their leader. Let the Hells suffer in a pit of their own confusion as they wondered if their arrow had struck true. He would not give them the satisfaction of learning otherwise.

He took some small solace from that thought, then stiffly stood and began the long trek back to his scrolls and ink.

FIN

Author's Notes:

The shattering occurs when an overwhelming number of strong Nephalem spirits are slain and enter Death — the moment Inarius culls the Nephalem who are fighting against his tuning of the Worldstone. Their voices are strong enough to permanently bond Sanctuary with Chalad'ar, leading to the complete obfuscation Malthael struggles with from that point onward.

Big thanks to Miss_Gems for pointing out Inarius' mini slaughter (as it tends to go unmentioned in the greater lore). It served as a nice catalyst for a story idea I've had for a long time.

The parallels between Malthael's call to the Angiris for the Lightsong and the call he makes to the Nephalem in Amor Aeternus (Act IV, Chapter 8) are intentional. The Chalice has always had the ability to touch souls, Angiris or Nephalem. This is also how Tyrael knows what he is proposing before he says it—because he has seen him do it before. It also provides additional context and foiling to the bit in Chapter 7 where Farah helps him scry with the Chalice.