Chapter Text
The golden halls of the Celestial Throne Room shimmered with divine radiance, every beam of light laced with raw ancient power and unfathomable whispered wisdom. Silence reigned—not the absence of sound, but the reverent, reverberating stillness that only Heaven could produce so powerfully. Here, time was less of a force and more of a breath held in anticipation.
They stood in unity. Fifteen brothers, robed in radiant hues, each a manifestation of a virtue or divine role. All united for one singular purpose, their brother. At their center stood Michael, the First Archangel, sword of Heaven, guardian of the throne, and eldest of all angelic kind. His expression was unreadable, but the slightest tension in his shoulders betrayed the turmoil beneath his perfectly poised surface.
To Michael’s right stood Chaziel, the Virtue of Chastity, a quiet soul of piercing insight; to his left, Eirian, Virtue of Temperance, whose voice could soothe the heavens when even storms raged in overwhelming grief. Leontiel bore the light of Charity, his every breath laced with a soft strength, while Calix, the ever-driven Virtue of Diligence, fidgeted subtly at the thought of this plea for duty may be unmet.
Veriel, sweet-natured and endlessly gentle as the Virtue of Kindness, stood close to Cassiel, the Virtue of Patience, whose eternal calm had anchored many storms. Luke, the Child of Innocence, small and pure, clung gently to Gabriel’s side, golden curls brushing white feathers as the Divine Messenger whispered quiet hymns to him while patting the young ones back in comfort.
Raphael, the Angel of Healing, stood tall with soft eyes full of ancient hurt, while Uriel, Angel of Fire and Judgment, burned with a restrained fury—fury not at Mammon,never at his poor brother, but at the demons who had let his brother suffer alone; at the demons who caused his brother suffering even after his precious brother fell by their damned side.
Beside them, Zadkiel, Angel of Compassion, radiated sorrow-tinged warmth, and Jophiel, Angel of Wisdom, gave a solemn smile to the moment’s gravity. Sariel, the Angel of Secrets, stood like a shadow behind them, unreadable but present. And last, silent and sturdy, was Simeon, Protector and Archangel, his hand resting gently on Luke’s shoulder, eyes locked ahead.
The vast chamber echoed as they stepped forward in harmony. The Seraphim parted. Light intensified.
And there, seated upon His Throne of Light, was The Almighty.
He was not always as people imagined—stern and wrathful. His presence was ancient, yes. Immeasurable. But today, he looked more… weary. Love carved into His every movement, His gaze holding galaxies and grief.
Michael kneeled first, and the others followed like stars drawn to gravity.
“Father,” Michael began, voice steady and clear,but thick with emotion. “We come not in rebellion nor in pride. We come… as brothers. As sons.”
The Almighty looked at them with eyes older than creation itself.
“We seek permission to descend, to enter the Demon realm under the sanctioned Exchange Program,” Michael continued. “Our purpose is not war, It is reunion.”
There was a long pause as The Almighty let his eyes flicker over each of his sons.
Michael’s shoulders lowered ever so slightly. “Mammon is still our brother. Your son. My brother…Our brother. He was not alone in his pain after the Fall, and yet he bore the burden of it as if he were. We…We remember how he shielded the others even as his wings were singed by the fall. How he cried quietly when he thought no one could hear.”
Gabriel stepped forward now, no longer kneeling, voice rich with soft power.
“We understand his sins. But his heart—his heart was never cruel. It was broken. And no one helped him pick up the pieces.”
There was a shift in the air. A strong celestial wind that stirred their wings. The Almighty stood up slowly.
Luke, timid but shining, looked up. “Father… I want to see my big brother again. I still pray for him every day. I never stopped.”
The Almighty’s gaze faltered.
For a moment, the heavens seemed to hold their breath.
“I have not turned my back on him,” God finally said, voice deeper than oceans, soft as spring. “He turned his back on me. And yet… I still call him My Little Star.”
Michael’s eyes closed, just briefly, feeling hope for once in a millenia.
“You believe he can be redeemed?” the Almighty asked. Not harshly—curiously and maybe even hopeful.
“We do,” Cassiel answered, stepping forward next to Gabriel, voice like a gentle flowing tide. “Not because we believe he is perfect, nobody is Father, but because we believe he is still trying. Even if he won’t say it aloud.”
“If anyone can be brought home,” added Zadkiel, “it is him.”
“Especially him,” Raphael murmured, eyes distant with an old, fraternal ache. “He loved most of all, and yet still got hurt most of all.”
There was silence. Long. Unenending. The Throne glowed brighter than it had in years.
“I will permit this request,” God said at last, voice trembling the foundations of Heaven itself. “But with conditions.”
Fifteen hearts steadied in unison. Lips trembling in strength unknown to hold back cheers of happiness.
“You will send word to me each week. I want to know how he is. I want to know if his spirit… begins to lift. I want to know if he still prays at all, even quietly, even once.”
His voice dropped solemnly. He leaned forward.
“And if he finally dares to whisper the smallest prayer of forgiveness… I will hear it. And My gates will open wide, as they always have for My children.”
Tears shimmered unshed in several angelic eyes.
They all knelt again, forehead to the golden floor. “Thank you, Father.” Their voices spoken unified unison.
“And if,” the Almighty added, firmer now, “he sins against you—if he mocks or rejects you—you must not repay with vengeance or bitterness. You must love him still, as I have loved you. As I have loved him.”
Luke nodded rapidly, his little wings fluttering behind him.
“We won’t give up on him,” Veriel whispered. “We never did. We never will.”
A tranquil pause echoed through the halls. Then, finally, God smiled softly for his sons.
“Go, then. Let Heaven’s Light walk upon Hell’s soil.”
And so it began.
The brothers rose—not just with duty, but with hope.
Their mission was not conquest.
It was a hope for reunion.
It was redemption.
And above all, it was love.