Work Text:
In the square of a certain city, beneath a canopy of fluttering banners and colorful signage, the annual book fair was in full swing. Amidst rows of stalls and tables stacked with literary treasures, book-lovers both local and foreign congregated like eager adventurers in search of their next great discovery. The fairgrounds hummed with the excited chatter of passionate conversations, and wherever she wandered, the faint fragrance of freshly-printed pages hung in the air.
No matter how many centuries passed, Raziel never tired of it.
“Oh, goodness, look at this. And this—oh, and this!”
“Ah—Raziel, slow down!”
The archangel flitted to and from each stall with such fervency and speed that Djeeta frequently had trouble keeping track of her in the crowd. Raziel felt a bit sorry for that—but she also knew she was not alone in her enthusiasm. Lyria and Vyrn had set off on their own hunt some time ago, and even the young captain now toted a respectable number of newly-purchased tomes about.
Yes…everything about this place was perfect. It was nothing short of delightful to observe the current trends in Skydweller literature—to compare and contrast the new and the old, or to uncover new mysteries—
“—Oh, dear. Was that the last copy?”
Raziel’s brow furrowed in dismay. The Erune man manning the small corner stall followed her gaze and huffed out a laugh.
“Ah, I’m afraid so—out here, at least. We have another booth set up in the library proper over that way; you may have some luck there.” The seller inclined his head towards an aged-looking building on the other side of the square. Raziel nodded emphatically, and turned to Djeeta.
“Captain, why don’t you reconvene with Lyria and Vyrn in the meantime? I won’t be a moment.”
Djeeta blinked. “Are you sure? I don’t mind coming with.”
“Oh, no, that’s quite alright. After this, my business here will be more or less finished. You should find the others and make sure we’re on the same page, so to speak.”
Raziel gave her a wink, and Djeeta smiled.
“All right. We’ll see you soon, then.”
“Certainly!”
As Raziel stepped into the library, she found herself immediately enveloped by the scent of old parchment and leather bindings. Sunlight filtered through tall, arched glass windows, casting a series of patterns upon the rows of towering bookshelves and hardwood floor. The central hall had been cleared to make way for a number of booths and stalls, though the library itself also appeared to be hosting a sale of its own, if the long tables piled with crated books was anything to go by.
It was positively breathtaking. Each of these shelves bore the weight of centuries, and though Raziel was quickly able to identify similar signage ahead to that of the stall she had just come from, she found herself unable to resist their allure.
I won’t linger long. Just a quick look around—then I’ll get what I came for, and return.
Deeming this perfectly reasonable, Raziel took a turn down one of the aisles. The murmur of activity faded the further she walked; the library was, surprisingly, a great deal bigger than it had looked from the outside. As far as she was concerned, though, that was hardly something to complain about.
She dragged a finger absently along the cracked spines of the tomes as she walked, idling every now and then, a happy little tune on her lips. Oh, yes, she’d certainly be returning here at least a few times before the Grandcypher departed next—
“Hey, you.”
Raziel choked on a noise somewhere between a squeak and a shriek as she spun around.
“Oh, do forgive me—was I in the way? I didn’t realize there was someone…else…”
Her words died in her throat as she craned her neck to behold the man presently standing behind her. He was tall—taller than even Lord Lucifer—with a lithe, yet muscular frame. Though half his face was obscured by shadow, she could clearly make violet eyes, pale white hair…
And horns. Not like those of a Draph, but—
“You’re—!”
“Raziel, right?” He seemed unconcerned by her palpable dismay, a blackened arm blocking any hope of escape as he loomed over her. Her eyes darted briefly to the clawed fingers resting against the bookshelf frame before returning to his face. Yes…that explained why she hadn’t sensed his approach. He was—
“I have business with you.”
“And what business could a fallen angel possibly have with me?”
The man’s lips twitched, and at such close proximity, Raziel could see his brow furrow just slightly.
“Azazel.”
“What…?”
“My name. It’s Azazel.”
A faint memory began to emerge from the recesses of Raziel’s mind, indistinct yet undeniably there. She was almost certain she’d at least heard that name before, if not been formally introduced. What was his role again…? No, did it even matter?
“I don’t see why that should be of any concern to—”
“I know you’re seeking a way to save Lord Lucifer.”
Despite her best attempts to school her expression, Raziel felt her eyes widen.
“How do you—”
“It doesn’t matter how I know. What’s important is that I want to help.”
Raziel's frantic train of thought came to a screeching halt.
… What?
For a moment, it was all she could do to stand in stunned silence, all previous indignation at his impertinence and insistence on talking over her momentarily forgotten.
“Why?” As she uttered that single word, her eyes narrowed, and she felt anger bubbling up once more within her chest. “Of all people, why would you seek his resurrection? Two thousand years ago, you and your ilk stood against him!”
Azazel gritted his teeth, and in the dim light, Raziel could see a glint of fangs.
“You’re wrong. At that time, I—!” Azazel paused as he stared down at her, his own rage slowly fading from his expression as he searched her face. He must have sensed her anxiety; despite her brave and righteous façade, she knew too well that she’d likely be outmatched were they to fight here and now.
Azazel exhaled quietly, his clawed fingers curling into a fist next to her head.
“… Regardless of what happened, I am not, and have never been, his enemy. And that means, by extension, I am not yours, either.”
“Why should I believe that?” Raziel glowered at him. “Why should I put stock in a single word you say?”
“Because I may know of a way to restore him.”
Raziel scoffed. “Such hubris. What right have you to even utter his name?”
Azazel lowered his head, and with a start, she realized that what she saw in his face at that moment was not anger, nor impatience, but something far closer to regret.
“Very little, I'll admit,” he said with a rueful smile. “But you are not the only one who yearns to see a loved one smile again.”
Raziel found herself unable to reply. Everything in her was telling her to disregard his words as empty platitudes—that a fallen angel’s aims could only be nefarious, especially where Lord Lucifer was concerned. Yet, as she studied him, she could find no trace of deceit in his face, nor did his tone betray mockery or a lack of sincerity. Could his desire be genuine…? But then, why had he—…?
She shook her head. Such ponderings could wait.
“Is Lord Sandalphon aware of your intentions?”
Azazel snorted, and for the first time since he’d cornered her, Raziel could detect derision. “Of course not. Do you really believe that brat would hear me out? Making him aware of my existence, never mind my plans, would only complicate matters needlessly.”
Raziel’s eyebrow twitched. ‘That brat’?
“Your insistence on secrecy doesn’t inspire much confidence.”
“But I’m not wrong, am I?” Azazel inclined his head, pensive. “… If you need someone to vouch for me, consult Djeeta.”
“The Singularity? She knows of you?”
“… Not everything.” Raziel’s expression turned skeptical, and Azazel ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look. She and the others may not know everything, but I’ve traveled alongside them longer than you or that brat—”
“Lord Sandalphon.”
“Whatever! The point is, they know me enough!”
For a long moment, tense silence stretched between the two archangels. Azazel was the one to finally break it.
“…If I’m lying, you can drag me before Sandalphon and I’ll accept my punishment without resistance.” He stared her steadily in the eye as he spoke; she returned his gaze unflinchingly. This seemed to amuse him somewhat, and he let out a small, scornful laugh. “Not that I could really hope to offer any, given how much power he’s amassed.”
Azazel straightened up before she could reply, the arm previously pinning her falling to his side. He offered her his hand; Raziel’s eyes couldn’t help but linger on the razor-sharp, obsidian claws adorning his fingertips.
“Do we have an agreement?”
“… You haven’t even divulged to me how you plan to resurrect Lord Lucifer.”
He smirked at her, and Raziel could only feel wary.
“We’ll need to consult Cagliostro first.”
“… The alchemist?”
“Right. If anyone in all the skies can hope to replicate and provide a suitable vessel for Lord Lucifer, it’s her. I’ve no doubt she’ll also be able to offer insight into how we might transfer and restore his consciousness.”
Raziel sighed. “So, in the end, your ‘plan’ isn’t quite yours at all. Or guaranteed, for that matter.”
Azazel’s confident smile instantly gave way to impatience, and he began to retract his hand. “Listen, you. I don’t need your help. I approached you because I believed a coordinated effort may see him back faster, but if you’re so opposed—”
Raziel caught his hand, her eyes on the floor. “… I never said it wasn’t worth looking into.”
Azazel fell silent, momentarily taken aback. When Raziel at last lifted her head and faced him once more, her expression was severe and unwavering.
“If I sense at any point that your intentions in reviving Lord Lucifer are even remotely impure, I will end you myself.”
“Hah. I’d very much like to see you try.” Despite the haughtiness of his reply, Azazel’s grin was earnest, even as his grip on her hand tightened.
“... For Lord Lucifer.”
Raziel watched him a moment, then relented with a soft sigh.
“For Lord Lucifer.”