[Location: Seventh Heaven]

[Third Person's POV]

Sigh~

Inside the seraphic chamber, Michael couldn't help but sigh nth time as he saw Gabriel running outside barefoot with a huge innocent grin splitting her beautiful face, her golden hair cascading like a waterfall of light behind her.

As Gabriel finally left his line of sight, Michael immediately looked at the massive golden gate that sealed the Hall's far end.

"Father, why did you let her leave? I'm sure you already know what—"

Groan!

A groaning sounded repelled all over the chambers, but the wards surrounding the chambers contained the groan before it could echo beyond the sanctum. The golden gate pulsed faintly, runes of ineffable light weaving like breath. Then, a voice — calm, eternal, and resonant — spoke from within.

"Because innocence… even in folly, has its purpose, my son."

Michael clenched his jaw. "You mean temptation has its purpose," he muttered bitterly. "She's going to descend into a corrupted plane filled with demonic resonance, mortal sin, and him. You do realise who she's going to look at first, don't you?"

Silence. Then, the light behind the gate rippled — almost like a quiet laugh that carried aeons of wisdom and sorrow alike.

Sigh~

"Son, it seems my silence affects you. I never thought any of my children would take after me so much, even..."

Michael immediately placed the name unsaid, 'Helel.'

He could help feel jealous of his now-dead brother, even if he is gone for good.

"I can see, you feel… conflicted about him still," the voice continued, soft yet weighty, like sunlight filtering through storm clouds. "Even now, aeons later, the remnants of Helel's essence stir in your heart. That… is not weakness. That is recognition."

Michael stiffened, wings tightening slightly. "Recognition? He's gone, Father. Helel is gone. Dominic… Dominic is not the same as him. You taught me to discern difference, yet—"

"Difference does not erase legacy," the voice interrupted gently. "He is, after all, my great-grandson. Son of Lilith, Grandson of Helel. And my son, you all are my children, I never stopped you from doing what you love?"

"But w-what about exiling him? You forgive all! Sinners of even heinous crimes, but why not him? In front of today's humans, he only led a small rebellion? Then why!!!"

Sigh~

"It seems my actions have left a shadow in your heart, my son. Even going so far as to even stop you all from doing what you love, in fear of repeating mistakes long past."

"But know this, my son, I never meant to stop my children from doing what they loved. Virtue is not something to bind my children. You fear that she might fall in love with 'him', which in turn makes her fall from my grace?"

Michael stood stunned at the directness of the voice, the weight of it pressing against the very core of his being. The golden light behind the gate pulsed slowly, rhythmically, as though it were breathing—alive, patient, and eternal. His wings twitched involuntarily, feathers brushing against one another, creating a faint rustling that echoed through the chamber like a whisper of tension.

"Father," he said carefully, choosing his words with the precision of one trying to speak against eternity itself, "you speak of legacy, of recognition, and of choice—but what of balance? What of the laws we swore to uphold? If she descends—Gabriel—if she intervenes with Dominic, with the Morningstar bloodline, with… everything below… the consequences—" He broke off, struggling to articulate the storm of possibility that loomed in his mind, the intricate lattice of cause and effect that could unravel entire realms.

The light shimmered, casting long, intricate patterns across the alabaster floor. "Consequences," the voice murmured, soft yet unwavering, "are inevitable, my son. But consider: would you deny a pure heart the chance to act because the path is dangerous? Would you bind light simply because shadows lurk nearby? Remember, it is not the strength of the hand that defines justice, but the courage of the heart that wields it."

Michael's jaw tightened, his golden eyes narrowing in contemplation. "Courage… yes, but naivety is not courage. It is a vulnerability. She cannot comprehend the breadth of what she faces—demons beyond reckoning, mortal chaos, the latent wrath of a Morningstar prince whose essence is fractured yet potent. She will be exposed to forces she cannot yet fathom. She will be… destroyed—if not in body, then in spirit." His voice trembled slightly, betraying both fear and frustration. "Do you truly trust that such innocence will not be crushed under the weight of reality?"

The golden light pulsed again, brighter this time, flooding the chamber with a warmth that was almost tangible. "I do. Precisely because she is untainted. She does not calculate. She does not hesitate. She acts with compassion before fear. That is a rare gift, Michael. You have spent aeons learning to master strength and judgment; she acts without the weight of suspicion, without the shadow of doubt clouding her vision. Such clarity is… transformative."

Michael exhaled, his wings fluttering slightly as he absorbed the words. "Transformative… or catastrophic. You speak as if her presence alone could change the course of what has been set in motion, yet fail to reckon with the volatility she introduces. Every pulse of her light, every motion, every thought—even if pure—will ripple across the mortal plane, Hell, and perhaps beyond. One misstep—one fleeting distraction—and all could shatter."

The gate shimmered once more, and a gentle warmth spread across Michael's senses, almost comforting yet impossible to ignore in its power. "And yet," the voice continued, "without her, what then? You speak of missteps and disaster, but what of the absence of hope, the absence of innocence? For centuries, your grandnephew has walked a path of ruin and emptiness. He has been hollowed, fragmented, and tempered by forces beyond reckoning. Who else but a heart untouched by cynicism, a spirit unbound by fear, could reach him in a way even your strength cannot?"

Michael's shoulders sagged slightly, a mixture of awe and unease threading through his golden gaze. "You ask me to relinquish control… to trust in something I do not fully understand, and yet… the risk is monumental. She is young, inexperienced, wholly unaware of the magnitude she faces. And Dominic… his bloodline, his essence… the echoes of Helel… one misjudged touch, one moment of weakness, and the chaos he once unleashed could resurface, untethered."

A soft, eternal laugh emanated from the gate, gentle yet carrying the weight of aeons. "Chaos exists already, my son. It dwells in all things that breathe, in every choice, in every spark of essence. The question is not whether it exists, but how it is shaped. Her light… that fragile, untested, naive light… has the power to mould chaos, not merely withstand it. Do you doubt the potency of innocence tempered by unwavering compassion?"

Michael clenched his fists, the golden feathers of his wings quivering under the tension. "I do not doubt her heart… only the implications. She will encounter forces she cannot fight, dangers she cannot anticipate. She cannot reason as we do, cannot calculate outcomes. What happens if Dominic's fragmented essence reacts to her? What if he awakens in a state she cannot contain? I cannot bear the thought—"

"Then bear it," the voice said, soft but firm, "not as judgment, but as guidance. You will watch. You will temper when necessary. You will intervene only when failure is imminent. Beyond that… you must trust her. Gabriel does not act out of recklessness alone; she acts out of truth, of clarity, of love unclouded by fear. That is a force older than any law, older than any commandment, older even than Helel's blood coursing through your great-grandson."

Michael exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, though unease still lingered like a shadow clinging to the edges of his mind. "Very well," he said, voice steady despite the storm within. "I will watch. I will guide when required. But Father… I do not know if I can fully trust that her heart alone will be sufficient. The consequences… the scale… the sheer… magnitude of it all—"

"You are right to fear, Michael. Fear is not weakness. It is awareness, vigilance, and love all intertwined. But understand this: it is not your duty to intervene at every heartbeat, nor to restrain the innocent. Sometimes, the greatest change—the most profound influence—comes from those who act unburdened by calculation. Gabriel carries that burden of none. She will stumble, yes. She will err. But she may also heal what has been shattered for centuries."

Michael's gaze drifted toward the balcony, where a faint ripple of light hinted at Gabriel's descent toward the mortal plane; her laughter carried on currents of golden light. His golden eyes softened, tinged with a mixture of fear, awe, and reluctant hope. "May the heavens grant me patience… and may her innocence withstand what lies ahead."

The golden light pulsed once more, and a single feather drifted slowly from Michael's wing, a silent, delicate signal of the delicate balance about to unfold. Somewhere far below, in realms of mortals and demons alike, the naïve heart of an Archangel began its journey toward a Morningstar prince whose soul had been hollowed by fury, yet remained bound to legacy, blood, and the echoes of a grandfather long fallen. And in that collision of innocence and power, the first threads of an unimaginable fate began to weave themselves across the tapestry of existence.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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