The two men barge into the room in time to see Arella pick up a small stiletto from her bedside table and fling it at a figure on the other side of the room. This man, for that is what he was, deftly taps aside the stiletto with a short blade of his own.
"Dearest Arella, please stand down. I have been waiting for you. I am the last of your known kin. Please, let us all speak with swords sheathed."
He slides his own blade into its scabbard. "I am Azrael."
The young woman hesitates and looks to Mikil and Gibral. After a momentary pause, Mikil sighs and nods.
"It is true." Then, to Azrael, "Speak wisely, sir."
The newcomer brushes back a wavy black lock from his shoulder and begins stroking a neatly trimmed goatee.
"Yes, I am well aware of the Lady's... condition." He says the word with a slight hint of disdain in his voice. Azrael moves to take a seat on the window ledge. A moment ago one could have been convinced he was much younger but now his more deliberate movements proved he was every bit a man nearing 60.
"I am the son of your sister. Yes! You do have a sister. She was," he glances toward Mikil, "...quite a bit older than you."
Raising a hand, he points toward a small bookshelf. "I have brought a number of books that belong to... our family. I've spent many of the past years in seclusion, unfolding many of the secrets hidden within the texts. I urge you to immerse yourself in them. Lose yourself in them and you will find yourself."
He stands again. "I will not push you further at the moment. We have a celebration today, yes?"
Azrael reaches to shake the woman's hand, then thinks better of it and pulls her into a full embrace. "Welcome home. I will be around the estate. We can talk more later."
He turns to leave her to her preparations. At the doorway, he pauses. "Believe those who seek the truth..."
Arella finds herself finishing the phrase, "doubt those who find it."
