The Watcher's Resentment
1270 Words
The path to the Hall of Petition shimmered with shifting light, its marble steps glimmering beneath Azrael’s feet like stars cast in stone. Pillars carved with the names of those who had completed their charges loomed overhead, whispering of honor, duty, and eternal purpose.
Azrael moved quickly, wings folded tight against his back, jaw locked with frustration. A storm brewed behind his eyes, hidden only by the sheer beauty of the heavens. Even here, in the sanctity of the Celestial Realm, he couldn’t shake the sour taste left in his soul.
A human. They had assigned him to a human.
He, one of the most promising of the Watchers—an angel created from light and storm—was being wasted on a single, fragile mortal. Not a prophet. Not a king. Not even a soldier or a scribe. A girl. A servant. Shackled in a mortal’s humiliation.
It was insulting.
“Azrael,” a voice greeted as he approached the entrance. “You come with purpose.”
The archangel Sariel stood beside the Pool of Edicts, tall and radiant, his robes of living starlight rippling like water around him. His eyes were calm as ever, but his tone held a note of forewarning.
“I’ve come to request reassignment,” Azrael said, wasting no time with pleasantries. “The human—Elyria—is an ill-suited match. I can be of better use elsewhere.”
Sariel raised a brow. “Is she unworthy of your protection?”
Azrael hesitated. “She is... ordinary.”
“She is human,” Sariel corrected, folding his hands. “They all seem ordinary to you until they show you otherwise.”
“She’s a servant, Sariel. Her life is dictated by others. She cannot even change her own fate.”
“And yet she prays with more faith than those born into freedom,” Sariel replied, his voice like thunder wrapped in silk. “She believes even when no one answers.”
Azrael scoffed. “You think that makes her special?”
“No,” Sariel said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “The Creator does.”
A hush fell between them. The pool shimmered beside them, its waters reflecting an infinite stretch of stars, destinies, and choices yet to be made. Sariel stepped closer and dipped a hand into the surface. The ripples revealed Elyria, kneeling by her attic window, hands clasped in quiet desperation.
“She prays for comfort. For mercy. For something better. But she never prays for vengeance,” Sariel murmured. “There is strength in her that you do not yet see.”
Azrael’s fists clenched at his sides. “Then let another see it. One of the Guardians. Someone more... compassionate.”
“It is not for you to choose,” Sariel said simply. “The Creator has assigned you to her. There is no appeal.”
A heavy silence settled over them like a stone on Azrael’s chest. His wings shifted, the silver feathers glinting under the glowing archways. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.
Sariel already knew.
“She needs you, Azrael. And you must let her life unfold. You are not to interfere.”
Azrael’s head snapped up. “Then why assign me at all?”
“To guide. Not to control. That is the great error of fallen angels—thinking they know better.”
The warning rang sharp beneath Sariel’s gentle voice. Azrael said nothing more. He turned without bowing, without another word, and strode away down the corridor of clouds.
He didn’t look back.
---
The Pool of Watching was quieter than the Hall of Edicts, tucked high on the edge of the Veil where time thinned and sound fell away. Azrael stood alone before it, hands behind his back, wings loose at his sides. The celestial mist drifted over the water’s edge like silk.
He stared down into the waters, and there she was.
Elyria.
She was curled beneath a thin blanket on a narrow cot, fast asleep. Her lips moved faintly, whispering remnants of prayer. Her hands, folded loosely beneath her cheek, were chapped from work. Her brow was creased even in slumber, as though fear never quite released its grip on her.
Azrael exhaled slowly. The girl looked so... fragile.
He had seen mortals before. Watched kings rise and fall. He had studied humanity with practiced detachment, admired their art, their desperation, their strange bravery.
But he had never been assigned to one.
Never forced to linger so long in the shadow of their suffering.
He had expected to feel bored. Annoyed. Maybe even disgusted.
But what he felt now was something far more troubling—something he couldn’t name.
The silence of the heavens pressed around him, expectant and still. No command followed. No further instruction. Just the reminder ringing in his ears:
You must not interfere.
Azrael lowered to one knee before the pool, wings shifting behind him. He leaned closer to the surface, watching the slow rise and fall of Elyria’s chest as she breathed.
“She’s just a girl,” he murmured aloud. “Why must I be chained to her?”
No answer.
But as he watched her, something stirred.
There was something in her face—beneath the exhaustion, the sorrow, the bruises of servitude. A kind of light. Subtle. Unyielding. It wasn’t beauty in the way mortals often saw it. It was... spiritual. Woven into her.
Her hair, dark as twilight, spilled across her pillow like silk. Her skin was pale, but not weak—soft and alive, touched by the quiet strength of endurance. Her lashes brushed her cheeks, long and delicate, like they were sculpted by thought. And her lips, parted slightly in sleep, still moved with the ghost of a prayer.
She was... beautiful.
Not in the shallow, ornamental way angels often described mortals. She was beautiful in the way the moon is—quietly present, easily overlooked, but impossible to forget once seen.
Azrael tore his gaze away.
No.
He clenched his fists. He wasn’t here to admire her. He wasn’t here to care.
He was a Watcher. Not a guardian. And he had been ordered not to interfere. To let her life unfold.
To let her suffer.
He hated it.
In Heaven, there was no suffering. The music of creation echoed across endless gardens. Light danced in rivers of gold. Peace reigned like an eternal dawn. There was order. Harmony. Purpose.
And yet, the Creator looked down upon the dust of earth, upon broken, bleeding, fragile souls... and called them beloved.
Azrael didn’t understand.
Couldn’t.
And still, as he stared into the waters, he found his gaze softening.
There was something about the way she held her faith. Even while surrounded by cruelty. Even while ignored. Forgotten.
She never stopped believing.
She prays for You every night, Azrael thought bitterly, eyes narrowing. And still You let her weep alone.
He should have felt peace in that truth. Instead, all he felt was unease.
He rose again, wings expanding behind him, stretching to their full height. He had half a mind to go back, to demand a new charge again. But he knew better. He had been dismissed. The assignment was sealed.
Elyria was his.
And whether he liked it or not... she had already begun to crawl into the corners of his thoughts.
He leaned closer one last time and whispered toward the still pool, even though he knew she would never hear him:
“I am not here to save you.”
The lie tasted sour on his tongue.
- Writer
