Gabriel had never seen Yahweh work like this before.
Not with stars.
Not with angels.
Not even with the firmament of Heaven itself.
This was slower.
More delicate.
Almost… tender.
And that terrified him.
He hovered above the forming world, wings drawn close, hidden from the rest of the Host. He wasn't meant to be here—not yet. Only Michael and Raphael stood at Yahweh's side, eyes bright with silent pride as the Creator knelt in the dust.
Gabriel watched.
And waited.
He could feel it in his Grace—something ancient, something new.
A pulse.
A promise.
And then—
Yahweh reached into the earth and shaped it into form.
Not with fire.
Not with power.
With hands.
A body.
Two arms. A chest. A face.
Fragile.
Soft.
Vulnerable in every way that angels were not.
Yet somehow… radiant.
He breathed.
And the dust moved.
A gasp filled the stillness.
The human blinked.
Eyes wide.
Alive.
Gabriel felt his own heart shudder.
Not with envy.
Not with awe.
With fear.
Not of what the human was—but of what the world had just become.
Because now, for the first time…
The story had another character.
He drifted lower, watching as the human—Adam, Yahweh called him—stumbled forward, barefoot and bewildered.
The garden bloomed around him.
Animals stirred at his passing.
The wind seemed to speak his name.
And Gabriel whispered, "He's beautiful."
But beneath the wonder, another voice echoed in his mind—cold and quiet:
"He will fall."
Gabriel shut his eyes, trying to drown it out.
Later, he walked the garden in secret.
Adam was asleep. Yahweh had taken a rib from his side. Something new was forming beside him. Something called Eve.
And Gabriel could feel it.
That same tremor in the fabric of everything.
The same crack that had opened in Heaven.
Only this time, it was deeper. More permanent.
He crouched beside a pool of water, staring at his reflection.
He barely recognized himself.
He wasn't the same archangel who once danced through nebulae, who played tricks and laughed and shined.
He had seen too much.
He had failed too much.
And now… he felt powerless again.
He thought of Lucifer.
And shivered.
That night—if time even passed here—Gabriel returned to the edge of the Veil.
He looked beyond it, toward the cold place where his brother now sat crowned in shadow.
And he whispered:
"They're here."
No answer.
But he knew Lucifer had felt it.
Just as he had.
Two souls now walked the earth—free, naked, unknowing.
And Gabriel felt the truth settle in his chest like a weight:
Lucifer would not be idle.
He would come.
Not out of vengeance.
But to test them.
To see if humanity deserved what angels never had: a choice.
And in the garden, far below, Eve opened her eyes for the first time.
The stars whispered.
The fruit ripened.
And the serpent had not yet spoken.
But its shadow had already been cast.