Chapter Text
The garden of Eden was a plein of beauty for human souls and angels alike. The greenest, freshest of grass sprung beneath their feet, coated in drops of pure, clear weather, hanging off the glades as perfect orbs, much akin to the world the ethereal beings were charged with overwatching. Sunlight golden and warm fell wherever the eye could see, and where it touched the grass, flowers and trees bloomed and grew, decorating the ground with jewels of colour and prosperity. No matter the season on Earth, the flowers were radiant, and fruit hung from the branches of the trees. Rivers ran through the entire garden, coming down from the hills and creating avenues of glistening waters and rippling music that echoed through the land along with the angels’ choirs and harps.
It truly was, in every sense of the word, paradise.
For fledgeling angels, who had yet to take flight and see the world outside of the garden, it bore the safety and comfort of an embrace they only ever heard of from their older brethren: the Creator’s embrace. None of them remembered how or when they’d come to be, only that when they had, it was here, in this sanctuary, and that this was where they were destined to remain, to guide others towards, to protect with all their heavenly might once their powers grew in strength. It only made sense, to protect something so pure, so holy, so indisputably perfect.
Goodness, after all, flowed through every part of the garden like golden mist.
Goodness, they knew, must be cultivated and preserved, especially in the garden, a place untouched by the evil and corruption that threatened their peace, for goodness was inarguable, and goodness was what brought a soul up to the heavens, away from the burning inferno beneath that these beings would never have to see for themselves.
Certainly not the fledgeling that was currently knelt in the grass, wings folded into his back, as he gathered dew drops and watched them land on his small, elegant fingers before dissolving and spreading their cool water on his fingertips. He watched with fascination how these perfect creations, much like himself, gave themselves for the sake of providing another with that divine sensation, angels, human souls and the soil beneath them alike.
His halo glowed a radiant white light as he smiled down at them and thanked them for their sacrifice.
The feathers on his back ruffled as a breeze blew past, and he straightened where he was sitting curled downwards towards the ground, for he recognised this breeze not as another marvel of the garden’s aura, but a sign that one of his older brethren had arrived, one likely seeking him.
Indeed, he recognised the archangel immediately, one he had encountered frequently since his creation.
“Brother Zerachiel,” he greeted him and bowed his head.
Standing before him, Zerachiel’s form was imposing, even with his wings shut behind his back. He exuded grace and divine energy, one the young fledgeling could only pray he would achieve himself someday.
“You were admiring the miracles of the garden, little brother?” the archangel asked him.
“Indeed,” the fledgeling responded, “Everything has its purpose here, from the rays of the sun down to every small drop of water.”
“Perfect, isn’t it?” Zerachiel admired, “As all of the Divine’s creations are. Just like you, little brother.”
Being compared to any of the miracles surrounding him had the fledgeling’s being glowing and his wings twitching on his back.
“Would you like to see more?” Zerachiel asked, then.
The fledgeling stood up in disbelief.
“More?” he echoed.
“Beyond the garden,” the archangel replied.
At those words alone, the fledgeling’s wings unfurled, opening to their full length as though understanding what his brethren meant by them.
Zerachiel smiled down at him.
“It seems you have understood already,” he said and offered a hand to the fledgeling as his own wings opened up, spectacular appendages shining pure white, “Come, little brother. Today, I will teach you to fly.”
»——— ☼✧☪︎ ———«
An angel's first flight was nothing short of a magnificent occasion.
Having their wings opened and feathers preened for flight by the older brethren accompanying them was a sacred ritual, especially when it concerned their first ascent into the sky. The fledgeling could barely contain his being as Zerachiel smoothed each individual feather out and took his hand in his.
Once he was in the air, wings following the archangel’s guidance so he could fly alongside him while still holding onto him, he couldn’t remember what not being able to fly was like. So naturally it came, that the idea of a flightless existence appeared impossible in the same way plants could not exist without water, and water without the sky.
Holding onto Zerachiel, they flew over the entire garden, then further away, through the cosmos itself, before arriving in the realm of life, the world they had been created to protect and guide towards salvation.
The fledgeling glanced down and took in the sights of nature he had never seen before in the garden, sandy dunes and vast jungles, deep oceans and ponds green with algae, icy tundra glowing white and landscapes coloured by lights in the sky that dances through the feathers of his wings. He admired the signs of life blossoming through the world, and watched in amazement how flowers grew in even the smallest, most inconvenient nooks, how insects crawled up any surface they could reach, how lizards dug into the ground and carved homes into the soil. His eyes widened at the sight of humans, his future charges, at how they moved about their lives, washing clothing in rivers, cooking over fires, playing with their young, and building residences for themselves with anything they could find, each one a piece in a complex whole they would come to call home.
Existence was beautiful, he thought, and understood immediately why he had been created to protect it.
Finally, Zerachiel pulled him down lower, towards a tree standing proud in the forest. Green leaves adorned its branches, and, hidden away on one, lay a nest. Inside the nest sat three chicks and their mother, all three spectacular shades of grey and black. The chicks tweeted endlessly at their mother, who was looking down at them with beady eyes.
The fledgeling fixed his gaze upon the loving sight, until what followed caused his wings to almost stop flapping in distress.
The mother bird hopped towards one of her young and, with a sharp push, sent it falling out of the nest it had been resting in moments prior and towards the ground.
The angel fledgeling cried out in his ethereal voice, but just as he did, the chick flapped its own small wings and, miraculously, carried its body down to safety, landing only a little abruptly.
The same treatment was given to the other chicks, with the second finding its way back into the nest, while the third landed harder than its first sibling, only realising too late what it had to do to survive.
The fledgeling peered up at Zerachiel in alarm, unable to comprehend the sight he had just witnessed. Impressively, his brethren appeared unphased by it.
“Cruel, is it not?” the archangel asked.
“Yes,” the fledgeling replied, “Why would she do such a thing?”
“Because, little brother, birds must also learn to fly,” Zerachiel explained.
“But if they do not, they will perish!” the fledgeling exclaimed, “Does she not care for them?”
“This is her care, little brother,” Zerachiel told him, “Care unlike anything you will ever see in Heaven, because she is mortal. And mortals are cruel down to their core. Never forget that, little brother, only the divine are pure.”
With that, he held onto the fledgeling’s hand tighter and stroked his golden hair with his other hand. Then, with a flap of his wings, he guided them back up into the skies, towards Heaven again.
The entire time they flew, the fledgeling looked down at the hand clutching his tightly so he would not fall and the archangel guiding his path.
How lucky he was, he thought, that no one had thrown him out of the nest to teach him how to fly.