Fallen: An Angel's Fall from Grace

The silver sky of Heaven shimmered like a living canvas, its light endless and pure. Great towers of crystal rose in the distance, humming softly with the Creator’s breath, and the air itself was filled with a kind of music—eternal, wordless, unbroken. Everything in this realm was perfect. Ordered. Divine. Azrael stood at the edge of the Skyborn Temple, his wings folded tightly against his back, eyes fixed on the cascade of golden light falling from the high archways. He had stood here a thousand times before. This was home. Heaven was perfection made manifest. The stars themselves bowed to it. And he belonged here. Or so he had thought. “Azrael.” He turned, his jaw clenched, the voice already known to him. Seraphim Lioriel stood with the calm serenity of one who had never once questioned a divine command. Tall, radiant, his white robes shimmered with a pale blue edge, as if dipped in starlight. His wings were brighter than Azrael's, almost translucent. “You’ve been summoned,” Lioriel said simply. Azrael’s brows furrowed. “For what purpose?” “An assignment. Your first.” A hollow sound filled Azrael’s ears, like wind through a dead forest. “A charge?” he asked, incredulous. Lioriel nodded. “You are to be a Guardian.” Azrael scoffed. “Guardian of what? A field mouse? One of the Creator’s foolish cats?” He hoped the jest would draw a smile, or at least a smirk. Lioriel gave neither. “A human soul.” The words hit like a blow. “You must be mistaken.” “I am not.” Azrael looked away, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “I was born of Heaven. Forged in its fire. We are divine! How could the Creator think it is wise to waste me on one of them?” Lioriel’s silence was the answer. There was no arguing the will of the Creator. Azrael stared at the horizon. “They are weak,” he muttered. “Selfish. Ugly little things made of dust and fear. Why does the Creator favor them so?” “You will learn,” Lioriel said gently. “No,” Azrael snapped. “I will obey. There’s a difference.” Lioriel said nothing more. He gave a small nod, then turned, leaving Azrael alone in the glowing silence. The moment the Seraphim’s presence was gone, Azrael spread his wings and soared from the temple’s high tower, needing distance from the command that burned in his chest like poison. Heaven, in its grandeur, stretched before him—an endless kingdom of light and peace. He passed through fields of golden lilies that bloomed with every heartbeat, flew over rivers of liquid sapphire, and soared beneath arches of celestial glass. He passed other angels in flight, each locked in perfect harmony, their voices weaving into a hymn he had sung since the moment of his creation. But now the music grated on him. It mocked him. What had he done to deserve this insult? He landed atop one of the highest pillars of the Celestial Archives, the wind whipping through his dark hair. He was not like the others—he was not one who bowed blindly. He had thoughts, questions. And now, apparently, a human. With reluctant steps, he descended into the Chamber of Sight. At the center of the chamber was the Pool of Watching, a still pool that reflected nothing of the room around it. Only Earth. Only what the Creator chose to show. Azrael stood at its edge, arms folded across his chest, glaring down at the pool with distaste. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered. The waters shimmered, and then— Earth. Gray, ugly, and crude. A narrow street lined with cracked stone and soot-covered walls. Rain fell, heavy and cold, soaking through the thin rags of a girl as she scrubbed the steps of a grand home. Her fingers were red and raw, her knees stained with mud. She looked no older than eighteen—her face delicate beneath layers of grime, her hair a tangled mess. Azrael’s lip curled in disgust. “A girl? A servant?” he muttered. “Is this a test or a punishment?” He watched as the girl winced from the harsh bark of a woman’s voice behind her. A rotund woman stood in the doorway, arms crossed, mouth twisted into a scowl. “You missed a spot, you filthy thing! Do it again!” The girl—Elyria, the name echoed faintly through the chamber—lowered her head and obeyed. Azrael narrowed his eyes. She didn’t fight back. Didn’t scream or cry or defend herself. She simply worked. Like a beaten beast that had long since forgotten freedom. Disgust curled in his chest—not for her, but for the sight. For the helplessness. “This is what I’ve been given?” he growled to the water. “This broken creature? A life not even fit for mercy?” He turned from the pool, wings flaring. “No,” he said aloud. “I will petition the Throne. I will ask for reassignment. This—this isn’t worthy of my presence.” But just as he stepped away, a sound stopped him. A whisper. Barely audible. He turned back, and the water rippled again. Elyria was kneeling beside her straw-filled cot in a dark, narrow room. Her hands were clasped, trembling. Her face lifted to the sky beyond the cracked window. “Please…” she whispered. “Please… Creator… I don’t want to die here. I know I’m not important, but I try to be good. I try to do what You would want. I just… I just want to know if You hear me. Just once. Please…” The words struck Azrael like lightning. Not because they were eloquent. Not because they were dramatic. But because they were honest. She had no idea someone was listening. She believed she was alone. Yet she prayed. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she didn’t ask for wealth or vengeance. Just for hope. For relief. Azrael felt a tremor in his chest. He stepped closer to the Pool of Watching. For a moment, he said nothing. Just watched. Something about her voice—soft, unassuming, utterly sincere—gnawed at the edges of his conviction. She looked up again, eyes brimming with despair. And something within Azrael shifted. “Why you?” he whispered. “Why do I feel…?” He gritted his teeth. No. This was emotion. Dangerous, flawed human emotion. He shook his head and turned away. “I’ll make my report. I’ll request a transfer. Someone else can take pity on you.” But even as he ascended the marble steps of the Hall of Petition, Elyria’s voice echoed in his mind. I just want to know if You hear me. --- Heaven was perfect. And yet… he was not at peace.