Prologue

  In the celestial realm, harmony reigned supreme. Angels of various orders fulfilled their divine purposes, their existence a testament to the Creator's boundless love and order. Among them was Sariel, a cherubim distinguished by her wisdom and unwavering serenity. Her essence resonated with the melodies of creation, and her wings shimmered with the luminescence of countless stars.

  However, the tranquility of Heaven was disrupted when Lucifer, the "morning star" and one of the most exalted archangels, began to harbor thoughts of pride and ambition. Scriptures describe his fall:

  > "Your heart became proud on account of your beauty, and you corrupted your wisdom because of your splendor." (Ezekiel 28:17)

  Lucifer's dissent sowed seeds of discord among the heavenly host. He questioned the Creator's authority, seeking to exalt himself above all. This insurrection led to a celestial conflict, often referred to as the War in Heaven. Loyal angels, led by the archangel Michael, clashed with Lucifer and his followers in a battle that shook the very foundations of Heaven.

  The War in Heaven

  Heaven had never known war before.

  It had known worship, the ceaseless songs of the seraphim, the golden rivers of light that flowed between the celestial spires. It had known the breath of the Almighty moving through the firmament, the peace of eternity unmarred by the notion of conflict.

  And then, one day, it knew rebellion.

  Sariel stood on the threshold of the Western Gate, her six wings unfurled, her blade sheathed, her hands unmoving as the skies above her shattered.

  The first strike had come from the highest places, where Lucifer, the Lightbearer, once stood closest to the Throne. His voice, once the most beautiful of all creation, had thundered in defiance. Where once his song had led the worship of countless hosts, now it rang as a battle cry, echoed by legions who had sworn their allegiance.

  And so the war began.

  The firmament cracked under the weight of clashing wills. Where there had once been harmony, there was now division; where there had once been unity, now swords were drawn. Angel turned against angel. Light clashed against light. Fire, not of devotion but of destruction, rained from the heavens.

  Sariel saw it all.

  She saw Michael take to the skies, his radiance undimmed, his war cry piercing through the chaos like a blade of truth. She saw Gabriel leading the vanguard, the sound of the divine trumpet sending ripples through the battlefield, each note tearing through the enemy ranks. She saw Raphael, healer of Heaven, now forced into war, his staff burning as it struck down those he once called brethren.

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  And she saw Lucifer—his glory twisted into something terrible, his wings darkened with rebellion. The Morning Star no longer shone for the Throne; he shone for himself, his fury shaking the very foundations of eternity.

  He and Michael met in the heart of the war, where the rivers of light turned to storms of fire.

  They clashed, their swords meeting with a force that split the skies. Michael fought with the wrath of Heaven itself, every strike backed by the authority of the Almighty. Lucifer, for all his power, for all his beauty, could not stand against the decree of the Most High.

  But he tried.

  Their battle raged across the heavens, shaking the cosmos. Michael’s sword met Lucifer’s, a storm of divine energy and defiance. With every strike, the heavens trembled. With every parry, the fate of the fallen was sealed. And then—

  Michael struck the final blow.

  Lucifer cried out as Michael’s blade cut through his defenses, the force of Heaven’s will breaking him. He staggered, his once-glorious wings marred, his light dimmed. And as the decree of the Almighty was spoken, the ground beneath him gave way.

  And the fallen fell.

  The heavens split open beneath them, and they plummeted, their cries swallowed by the abyss below. The host of Heaven stood victorious. The rebellion was crushed. Order had been restored.

  And Sariel had not moved.

  She had not lifted her blade. She had not raised her voice. She had stood at the edge of the battlefield and watched.

  Not for lack of faith.

  Not for lack of love.

  But because she had hesitated.

  Because she had believed there was another way.

  ---

  The Judgment

  She stood before the Seat of Judgment, the echoes of war still ringing in her spirit.

  The High Court of Heaven stretched before her—vast, terrible, absolute. The celestial spires gleamed with an ethereal glow, yet there was no warmth in them now. The heavens bore witness, an audience of angels whose faces were unreadable. The Elders sat in their incorruptible wisdom, their robes glistening with the purity of eternity.

  And above them all, the Throne.

  Light poured forth from it—not just light, but presence, a force more real than reality itself. It was not merely seen but felt, pressing upon her soul, filling every corner of existence. To look upon it was to know the weight of all creation, to feel the breath of the Almighty stir through the very fabric of being.

  Sariel dared not lift her eyes.

  Michael, his golden armor unstained, his expression as unyielding as the heavens themselves, stood before her.

  “Sariel, Cherubim of the Second Choir,” he spoke, and his voice echoed through eternity. “You are called to answer for your silence in the Great War.”

  His words did not carry anger, nor contempt—only judgment. The cold, inescapable truth.

  The Scribe of Heaven stepped forward, unrolling a scroll of celestial gold, upon which was written the decree of the Almighty. His voice rang out, a melody of law and finality:

  “Sariel, Keeper of the Western Gate, Cherub of the Heavenly Hosts—when the war came to the gates of eternity, you did not stand. When the light was threatened, you did not fight. Though you did not raise your hand against the Throne, neither did you raise it in its defense.

  “By the decree of the Most High, your place in Heaven is forfeit. Your station is no more. You are cast out from the presence of the Almighty, that your wings may bear the weight of your choice.”

  Sariel’s heart clenched. She had known this was coming.

  Yet, as the words rang out, she found herself unable to remain silent.

  “I did not betray Heaven,” she said, lifting her head slightly. Her voice did not waver, but within it, there was something unspoken. Not defiance—no, she was not so bold. But neither was it surrender.

  Michael did not move. “And yet you abandoned it.”

  Gabriel, sorrow woven into his voice, spoke next. “There was a choice to be made, and you refused to make it. In that refusal, you chose against the Almighty.”

  Sariel’s hands clenched at her sides. “I thought—I hoped—there was another way.”

  Michael’s gaze did not soften. “There was no other way.”

  Sariel swallowed, her voice quieter now. “I only wished to understand.”

  A murmur rippled through the court. The Elders exchanged glances. Even the heavenly host seemed to stir at her words.

  But the Throne remained silent.

  It was then that she understood.

  There was no understanding beyond what had already been revealed. No further knowledge to be gained. The moment of choice had come and gone, and she had let it pass.

  The decree had been spoken.

  The scroll closed.

  Pain unlike anything she had ever known tore through her. Her wings—once radiant—dimmed. The light within them flickered and waned, feathers curling at the edges, darkening. The stain of inaction seeped into them, marking her as one who had failed to choose.

  The presence of Heaven withdrew from her.

  The warmth, the peace, the eternal harmony—gone.

  A force beyond comprehension seized her, the will of the Almighty made manifest. The ground beneath her feet became nothing. The sky above her stretched farther and

  farther away.

  She fell.

  Down past the firmament.

  Down past the stars.

  Down—

  And Hell rose up to meet her.