She led him to a section directly adjacent to Zafikel's library, a biggish room that revealed itself as she opened the door. Its design is extravagant, silver and lilac colouring covering the room, matching his wings.
It was a far cry from any room he had seen in the orphanage. Sharing a room with ten children was all he had known, so the sight brought a single tear to drop down his cheek.
"You can thank Michael for all this."
"He did this, but you only found me a couple of hours ago? How?"
"I can't tell you that yet. Maybe Michael will reveal his secrets once you meet."
Ratella walked around the room, inspecting every inch of it. The space was fit for the higher tiers of nobility and the choir, not a poor orphan like him. As he took it all in, thoughts of self-doubt raced through his head.
"Is this really all mine?"
"Well, of course, who else would it be?" asked Luna, her head tilting slightly in confusion. "No one else lives here but us four now."
"I've just never had anything this extravagant before."
"Ahh, I suppose that makes sense, but don't worry, I promise this is all yours."
"Thank you," exclaimed Ratella. His worries damped considerably as he jumped on the bed, curled into a ball, and absorbed the ecstasy-type feeling coursing through his veins.
"Get up, you still have to start your training."
"What? You were being serious!?" blurted out Ratella, dreading whatever she had in store for him. His feeling of ecstasy turned dark, twisting into one of fear at the grin Luna wore.
Ratella redundantly got up and followed the woman down the expansive interior of Divination Rest. Eventually, the woman led the boy to the grand hall, where one side held a vast armoury of weapons, while the other displayed trophies of monsters she had killed.
Its design was simple, with basic grey walls that didn't impair movement or vision.
"Pick a weapon that speaks to you."
Ratella didn't know what she could mean by that as he stood in front of the many weapons. The arsenal was completely overwhelming to the boy with so many options.
Spear, Lances, Longswords, Shortswords, Bows and Sickles were just a small sliver of the woman's arsenal.
"Close your eyes and listen to the tune that speaks to you. Use your wings to block all senses apart from the ears," said Luna, sensing the boy's inner turmoil.
Ratella did as she said, not speaking and positioning his wings to block his nose, eyes and mouth. His hearing increased as the others were blocked, and he was able to hear the shallow breaths of Luna beside him.
A low harmonic tune danced along the waves in the air reaching his ear, followed by another one, and eventually multiple tunes ran along his eardrums.
Their melodies are calming but not appealing to the young angel; their songs do not draw his full attention.
Ratella slowly walked down the line of weapons, listening carefully to the tunes they emitted.
Each type gives off a different tune, its tempo or tone vastly increased or decreased.
Eventually, a perfectly harmonic tune reached his ears, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. Listening more closely, he determined its exact location—it was far in the back of the many weapons. Carefully, he twisted his body around the pointed tips of the many swords and spears.
Their tunes helped him determine where exactly they were located.
His hand reached out, gripping the pommel of some sort of weapon.
Opening his eyes revealed a pommel of blue and yellow colours, its scabbard elegant and regal. He pulled the weapon out of its clamp, holding it in his hands; it was at least twice his height, dwarfing him.
Luna looked towards the boy curiously.
"Is that your choice?"
"Yes."
With his confirmation, the pommel and scabbard changed to a lilac shade. Withdrawal of the blade revealed a pure silver blade with no impurities. Its condition was immaculate, like all of Luna's weapons.
As Ratella held the blade, it began to shrink, compensating for his height.
Its height was now barely as tall as the boy, looking more like a shortsword than a longsword.
"Can I name it?"
"It already has a name, but you could change it if you want," stated Luna, looking down at the boy, her expression one of indifference as he thought about the sword and its newfound wielder. "Its name is Exacublir."
"Exacublir," repeated Ratella, letting the word run along his tongue, getting a taste for the name.
"I'll keep the name."
"If you want, I can tell you the origins of that blade," said Luna, waiting for Ratella's confirmation. After he nodded his head, she continued. "It was my own personal make, I made it for the King of England in the surface world. I appreciated his warrior spirit and courage. He went on to use it to protect his country for many years before his death. I made a replica after he died, placing it upon his gravestone and retrieved the original blade."
"Surface World? Will you tell me more about the King, please?" asked Ratella, eyes full with unbridled curiosity and a lust for knowledge on the unknowns he had yet to discover.
"I will not, I don't like talking about King Arthur, as I was the cause of his ruin. That sword is a symbol of regret in my aeonic life," stated Luna, her lips twisting downwards into a frown while thinking about the King.
"Oh, okay, I won't pry then," said Ratella, his face down, turning, feeling bad about asking even though he couldn't have known.
"Let's get started. We'll practice the fundamentals first."
Ratella stood a small distance away from the woman as she went through all the basics of swordsmanship.
"No, Wrong, Try Again."
Were three of many words heard over the couple of hours they practised the correct posture, the swinging speed, how far to extend his arms, and how to properly control his strength to complement his blade.
"Flip your blade sideways when you want to block an incoming attack you can't dodge or react to," drilled Luna, implanting all her knowledge of the basics she had.
By the end of their training, Ratella had gotten the hang of all the basics involving the sword he wields. After a while of practising, he had eventually gotten used to the weight of the blade and was able to properly control its direction.
"That's enough, you look terrible. Come here every day after your studies with Zafikel."
"Can I go to my room now?"
"Yes, and have a shower while you're at it. You stink."
With her abrupt goodbye, Ratella found himself wandering the halls in search of his rooms, losing track of where they actually were.
At the end of the corridor, a white curtain covered whatever lay within; he heard muffled voices. A sudden shout jolted the boy upwards, scaring the life out of him, its presence unwelcome in the palace enveloped in silence.
"But My Lord -" shouted a rather pompous voice coming from the curtain.
"My decisions are final, you should know that, Xavier."
The voices caused Ratella to scurry away, not wanting to interrupt the meeting between whoever lay behind that curtain.
The authority laced within the last voice made the boy think it could only be one other person, the Seraphic Imperator Michael.
His last thought was to disrupt whatever important business he was currently settling.
After a long search, he eventually found his room, the lilac entrance way being a direct giveaway. Collapsing on his bed, a deep slumber overtook all sense, still rattling around in his brain, causing him to fall into the depths of the dream world.