Heaven shimmered with victory.
The Host sang louder than ever, voices rising in perfect harmony. Yahweh stood at the center of it all, radiating divine calm, his creation preserved. Sealed. Secure.
And yet, to Gabriel, the songs rang hollow.
---
He wandered the halls of Heaven alone now, avoiding the others. Avoiding Yahweh. Avoiding himself.
The seal that held Amara was flawless—on the surface. A prison of light and law. But beneath it? A fault line. Thin and quiet and slowly growing.
He'd made sure of that.
It wasn't enough to set her free.
But it was enough to remind him she wasn't gone.
And that he had crossed a line no angel was meant to cross.
---
Michael approached him a few days after the sealing—if time still mattered in a place beyond it.
"You've been distant," the eldest said.
"I've been reflective," Gabriel replied, not looking up.
"Do not confuse distance for wisdom. We did what had to be done."
Gabriel smirked. "That's the thing about 'had to be'—it's always someone else deciding it for you."
Michael said nothing. His silence was judgment enough. Then he turned and left.
Gabriel didn't stop him.
---
Even Raphael noticed.
"You are not yourself," he said one day in passing.
Gabriel laughed, hollow and sharp. "You think I've changed?"
"No," Raphael said. "I think you are remembering who you were before you knew who we are."
Gabriel froze.
For a moment, he forgot which version of himself was real.
---
The guilt gnawed at him, but it was a strange guilt—one not born of action, but inaction. He had helped imprison someone who had never raised a hand against him. Someone who had never lied to him.
He remembered her eyes—how calm they were, even at the end.
She hadn't begged. Hadn't fought.
She had trusted him, in some quiet, terrifying way.
And he'd stood by anyway.
Because he was too afraid to be the only one to say no.
Because maybe part of him still wanted to be the "good son."
Whatever that meant.
---
Samael, meanwhile, had grown restless.
It was subtle—never open, never disobedient. But Gabriel noticed. The way Samael stayed behind after council meetings. The way he stopped creating. The way he began asking questions that sounded like statements.
"This seal... it will hold forever, you think?"
Gabriel tilted his head. "Why wouldn't it?"
Samael shrugged. "Because forever has a cost. And because power—true power—doesn't like being caged."
"You sound like you admire her."
"I admire truth, brother. And no truth should be locked away just because it frightens the one who cannot contain it."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed, but he only said, "Careful. That kind of talk might get you chained up next."
Samael smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Then perhaps the chains are too easily given."
---
Gabriel watched him walk away and felt the air shift.
The way he moved. The way he spoke.
He was starting to pull away.
Not just from Yahweh.
From all of them.
And Gabriel knew—this was how it started.
Not with fire. Not with fury.
But with silence. With questions left unanswered. With a brother who believed he was the only one who could see clearly.
He'd seen it once before—in visions, in prophecy, in memories that weren't his. A rebellion rising not out of hatred, but conviction.
A fall paved by belief.
---
One day, Gabriel sat alone on the edge of a forming world. A young planet, still molten, still shaping itself. He liked being near beginnings.
They reminded him that endings could be rewritten.
He didn't notice Samael until the other archangel sat beside him.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Samael said, watching the lava flow like blood beneath the crust.
"Painfully," Gabriel replied.
Samael was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Do you ever wonder if we were wrong?"
Gabriel looked at him sharply. "We?"
"The sealing," Samael clarified. "Amara. Maybe she wasn't the threat. Maybe he just couldn't stand sharing the sky."
Gabriel hesitated.
He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say, "I know. I think that every day."
But he couldn't.
Because if he admitted that now, Samael might tip too far, too fast.
So he offered a half-truth instead.
"I think everyone's a threat to something when they're powerful enough."
Samael nodded slowly. "Maybe that's why he made us. To protect his throne."
Gabriel's jaw tensed.
He said nothing.
Because he couldn't deny it.
And because part of him was beginning to wonder… what throne?
---
Later, Gabriel returned to the seal.
He ran his hand along its surface. It was still solid. Still humming with light and law.
But within it, he felt a pulse. A presence. A quiet, waiting breath.
And he whispered again, this time more to himself than her:
"I don't know whose side I'm on anymore."
And the seal... pulsed back.
Once.
As if it understood.