The day started out nicely, but ominous clouds formed an impenetrable wall in front of the sun as Michael walked the Earth. He didn't like grey days. He liked winds and storms even less. But they were necessary sometimes. The thing he hated most, though, was mist. Mysterious. Dangerous. The perfect instrument to hide something - or someone.
The mist was God's way of shrouding Samael's presence in the Mortal Realm. He was known to all under his more common name and title, the Angel of Death. Samael stood equal to the Archangels, but he barely spent any time in the Vale, choosing solitude over comradery. And there was something about the man that drove Michael to distrust him. In some distant memory, he recalled that another had carried that title. Then, one day, Samael had just appeared.

The Almighty had seen fit to make him a guide to those who had died. To this day, Michael could not understand why, nor what or who Samael truly was, but he would never claim he failed in his duty. He appeared in many places at once, whenever and wherever he was needed, bringing the souls to Peter so the Keeper of the Gates could pass judgment over them. Though, sometimes someone's soul was so depraved, rotten, and corrupted that there was no need for judgment. It was a one-way ticket to the Circles then.
Occasionally, Samael was charged to offer a way back to those who died too soon because of an anomaly in their predetermined fate. Yet, in the past decades, mortals became more resilient to death, mainly because of a revolution in medicine and improved living conditions. Samael grew less inclined to return souls to their bodies, and Michael had been forced to remind him he was to follow orders more than once. They had nearly come to blows over it last they spoke.
It was why Michael dreaded to face Samael now. But he had no choice. The Angel of Death was the only one who could safely guide him to Morpheus. He just hoped he would agree to help.

The Lord Protector continued cautiously through the foggy graveyard. Though he did not know where he was exactly, the names on the graves indicated Scotland, or possibly Ireland. Michael's Earthly attire, a black suit and tie, appropriately adapted to the sinister setting. Still, if needed, he could instantly transform his clothes back into his armour. Demons always lurked in the mist and shadows. They knew their prize for tormenting the recently deceased might be awarded earlier whenever the Angel of Death was near. 
Finally, Michael spotted Samael under a crooked oak tree, overseeing a funeral further ahead. With every step Michael took toward him, his features became clearer. He was about the same height, his hair a light copper, with a golden shine, and his skin fair. His dark grey tailored suit befitted his neutral status in the Lord's design.
Michael stopped a few feet behind him and took a breath. He needed to prepare himself before he faced the man.

"You fear me still, Lord Protector?" he heard Samael ask.

"You frighten many, Samael," replied Michael. "I have already grown accustomed to your face."

"Hm, somehow, I find that awfully hard to believe."

The Angel of Death turned around, and Michael did his best not to flinch. No matter how often he saw Samael, he was still a frightful sight to behold. From afar, the man looked handsome enough. But up close, the horror of what he really was became apparent.
Samael's face showed both the beauty and goodness found in light and a monster that could only dwell in the heart of darkness. Fair, warm skin graced his right side. His virescent green eye made one think of the grass in springtime. But the left half of his face was horrendous and mangled with scars. His eye held no coloured iris, no pupil even, but was completely white, giving the impression he was blind there.
Some chose to focus on the good and keep an open mind upon first meeting the Angel of Death, but to Michael (and many others), Samael was a being of nightmares. 

"What do you want?" he demanded. "Last time we spoke, we did not see eye to eye with each other."

"I am in need of your... skills," said Michael. "I require you to guide me to the Dream Realm."

"The Dream Realm? What business have you with Morpheus?"

"The Horsemen have reunited. We must stop them from crossing into this realm."

"We?"

Michael cursed under his breath. He had feared this would happen.

"Samael, you are the only one with the power to cross between all realms. You alone can aid me in my mission. If you refuse, I will have no choice but to go by myself."

"And risk being lost in Morpheus' world for all eternity?" Samael chuckled at the notion. "With you gone, how long do you suppose it will be before the Circles rise and charge against the Vale?"

"Another will take my place." Michael grew impatient. "Will you help me or not?"

Samael sized Michael up, licking his upper lip ever so slowly with the tip of his tongue. That the Lord Protector would put himself, and possibly the Vale, in danger, was a sign that things were far worse than they appeared. Michael hoped the Angel of Death would see that.

"You must follow my instructions," Samael finally spoke. "Do not stray from my side and touch nothing while you are there. Not without Morpheus giving you permission to do so. Whatever, or whomever, you encounter, you must leave it be. The task at hand is convincing the Lord of Dreams not to let the Horsemen escape. Nothing else matters."

That was... surprisingly easy. Though he was content with the outcome, Michael had imagined it would've been much harder to convince Samael. His willingness and lack of discussion made the Lord Protector suspicious. Samael didn't seem to notice his narrowed eyes, though, and continued unperturbed, "Going into Morpheus' domain is not to be done on a whim. If he sees a chance to trap you there, he will take it. He does not care if you are light or dark; you are a trophy to him. And he does not like to let his trophies go."

"Then getting him to keep the Horsemen trapped should be simple enough."

"Do not take this lightly, Lord Protector," Samael reacted sharply. "Morpheus does not like to be told what to do. The Horsemen were forced upon him. If he sees no reason to keep them, he will dissolve their chains and let them go. Your only hope is, to put it bluntly, to suck up to him. He will be more inclined to listen to your plea."

"I understand." Michael nodded.

"Very well then." The Angel of Death offered his hand to Michael. "If you are certain this is what you want to do."

He was certain of nothing anymore. Yet this had to be done. Michael took hold of Samael's hand, placing his trust in the Angel of Death. He felt a hard pull at his body, and the mist and graves swirled around him. The chill of Samael's touch made the entire experience of travelling in a fast vortex even more uncomfortable. It seemed like forever before his feet finally touched solid ground again.

"Where have you brought me?" Michael looked around him.

"Mount Hekla. The closest passage into the Dream Realm from where we were. There are two others, but they have several... protections in place. There is only one here."

Michael thought of what he knew of this place. There had been a time when men had believed Hekla to be the entrance to Hell, but that was, of course, a ruse (it was really in the bowels of the Etna on Sicily). Still, it had kept many from exploring further until a certain age. Now, the natural elements were the most dangerous hindrance humankind faced when daring to climb this place.
The many craters of the volcano hid in the seemingly endless ridge. The snow covered most of the mountain like a blanket, while its peak was often hidden by clouds. Some grass grew where they stood, but there were mostly rocks, pumice stones and obsidian - a wasteland.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Michael.

"Patience," answered Samael. "The gate will reveal itself to us."

The cryptic response didn't help Michael's anxiety. Morpheus' Dream Realm was a remnant from ancient times. It held too many secrets for him. So did its keeper. Michael never understood why God had allowed Morpheus to continue the charade. All the other so-called gods and goddesses had played their parts and moved on. The mortals had been the ones to label them as deities, but they had merely been the earliest form of angels and demons in a time when monsters roamed the Earth freely. Both had evolved into what they were now, yet the monsters never did.
Suddenly, a door appeared in front of them. It was made of ivory and richly decorated with flowers and little horns carved into the frame. The horns were covered in glass or crystal. The flowers appeared to be poppies, climbing up on the ivory.
The Angel of Death took hold of Michael's wrist without warning. He winced in pain as Samael sliced the palm of his hand with a small knife and then pressed the wound on the door. To Michael's astonishment, the poppies absorbed his blood and came alive as soon as they coloured red. A quick click sounded. The door swung open.

"Some warning next time, perhaps." Michael glared at Samael, prying his wrist away angrily.

"You will heal," countered Samael airily. "Besides, what did you expect? One doesn't simply knock and enter Morpheus' domain like that. An offering needs to be made."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I made mine long ago. Shall we?"

Both men stepped through the threshold and into the sinister void.

***

The Nephilim gathered in the library as the clock struck noon after a hellish night. All except for Hypatia. She remained in the infirmary, tending to Adeline and Remy. Both were fast asleep, needing rest after the ordeal they went through. 
Anne had asked Gabriël and Joan to be present as well. Though the Nephilim had welcomed them into their home, they felt awkward. Gabriël, especially, as he yet felt some responsibility over Borgia's descent into madness.

"Thomas and Juan have contacted our kin," began Anne, her voice trembling. "All have responded to our messages except for Edward and his wife, and Lucille and her family. Thomas and Juan checked up on them, and... they're dead. All of them."

"This attack was personal." Thomas's hands shook with anger. "Borgia only went after our descendants, mine and Anne's. He beheaded all of them, even the children. It's an insult and challenge meant specifically for Anne."

"Nonetheless, I would feel better if we warned the other Sanctums," she continued. "This might only be the beginning."

"I've already taken care of that," said Gabriël.

Everyone looked at him in surprise, except for Joan. She merely shot him a sideward glance. Gabriël felt the sting of her underlying suspicion, but couldn't pay attention to it right now.

"I sent a message to Michael to inform him of what happened," he clarified. "He will have made Peter warn everyone by now. Though I wouldn't put it past Peter to have taken action himself the moment Thomas informed him."

"Gracious, I hadn't even thought of reporting this to Michael." Anne inclined her head to Gabriël. "Thank you."

"What are we to do now?" asked Richard. "Are any of your relatives coming here?"

"Most have decided to stay where they are," answered Juan. "Thomas sent them instructions on how to use various sigils and salt lines on top of the safety measures already in place. Those coming received a gem to transport them here at dusk."

"Who are we expecting?"

"Salomé and her daughters, Esperanza and Fleur, and Carlos and his son."

"We'll have to prepare everything for their arrival then," said Olympe. "Juan, allons-y."

He followed his lover out after giving Thomas a sympathetic pat on the back. 

"If you don't need me further, I'll help them," said Richard. "Your family members will want to rest when they get here."

"You don't have anyone coming, Richard?" asked Gabriël.

"Hypatia and I never had children of our own. But everyone who grew up in the Sanctum called us aunt and uncle, so we consider them our own family. If you'll excuse me now."

With him gone, only four people were left. Gabriël approached the Nephilim couple as they took each other into an embrace.

"Go outside and take a walk," he said.

"We can't," said Anne, hastily brushing her tears away as she nudged Thomas back. "There's still much to be done."

"Anne, you've suffered a tremendous loss. You and Thomas need to mourn. It's the middle of the day, so there's a minimum risk of demon activity. Go outside and spend time together, just the two of you. Olympe is preparing the rooms, and Hypatia is watching over your daughter and grandson. If anything else needs to be done, then we will do it. But you need a reprieve, even if it's only ten minutes."

"Gabriël's right, darling," said Thomas. "Some air might do us good. Besides, we've done all we can for now."

"What if Borgia goes after someone else? We should try to convince more people to come here. They should at least send the children to us."

"They made their choice, Anne. You know as well as I do stubbornness runs in the family."

"And you don't have to worry about Borgia," said Gabriël. "He's been dealt with."

They stared back at him, Thomas with his brow furrowed, Anne with sudden angst in her eyes.

"What did you do?" she asked. 

"The only thing I could do," answered Gabriël. "And I'll hear no more of it. Go now. Joan and I will help the others."

"Speaking of which," said Thomas, "where did she go?"

Gabriël turned, his head cocked in confusion. Joan had slipped out without any of them noticing.

***

Joan made her way to the infirmary. She wanted to share what had been discussed with Hypatia. And there was something she wanted to talk with the Egyptian woman about - in private. When she entered the white room, she found Hypatia bent over Adeline's bed, dressing her hand.

"How did the meeting go?" Hypatia briefly glanced up as Joan walked up to her.

"A couple of family members are coming. Olympe and Juan are getting everything ready for them. Richard is helping them. I think Anne and Thomas went outside for a moment to clear their heads. This attack was against them."

"And... did they find any who... who didn't...?"

"Thomas spoke of Edward and Lucille. And their families."

Sadness crossed Hypatia's face as she shut her eyes and pressed her lips together, hanging her head in defeat. Joan quickly changed the subject and asked after the patients.

"How are they doing?"

Hypatia wiped a tear away from the corner of her eye and sniffled before answering.

"The boy was not hurt that badly. I am more worried about Adeline. She has three broken ribs and a shattered kneecap, not to mention that accursed blade that pierced her hand. I can heal her with magic, but I prefer to wait for the results on the blade. Raphael is working on it; we'll know soon enough." She looked past Joan. "Gabriël is not with you?"

Joan did not reply. Instead, she lowered her eyes and fidgeted with the bottom of her shirt.

"He came for you," said Hypatia. "That's good. He cares."

"It's how he got here that frightens me," murmured Joan.

"What do you mean?"

"Hm, nothing."

Joan sat down at the table. She nibbled on her lip, unsure of what to do. Could she entrust Hypatia with all of her doubts? Could she tell her about the dreams she'd had? Would the Egyptian woman even help or advise her? She reminded her so much of her mother. The way she cared for her patients, the way she spoke... It was all so familiar to Joan.

"Is there something you wish to discuss?" asked Hypatia as she sat beside Joan.

"There... might be something." Joan leaned back in her chair. "I wanted to speak with Anne and Thomas, but they've got enough to deal with right now."

"What is it, dear?"

Now or never.

"I'm afraid," said Joan in a soft tone. "Not for myself, but for Gabriël. I fear he's going in too deep. The demon's blood in the poison Borgia used on him messed with his mind. He's always been more emotional than the other Archangels, but never impulsive. He's done things the old Gabriël would never have considered doing. I think his actions might have done more harm than good, and I don't know what to make of it."

"I see. Joan, have you put yourself in Gabriël's place lately? If the roles had been reversed, if he had been the one to have lost his wings, what would you have done?"

"I... I don't..." Joan couldn't help but stammer.

"Of course, I can only speak for myself, but had Richard been lost to me, I would have searched for every way to get back to him."

"No matter the cost?"

"I can say I would consider the cost, but I suppose if I actually were to make that choice, then I wouldn't care what it took."

Joan sat hunched over the table, her hands supporting her head. What would she have done had it gone differently? She would have stood up to Michael as Gabriël had. She would have tried to escape, as Gabriël had. But would she have accepted the Devil's help? Would she have given herself to the dark to keep her lover in the light?

If it was the only way... To save you, Gabriël...

"If I may offer a suggestion?" Hypatia placed a hand on Joan's shoulder. "When I feel lost, I go outside to the lake. And I speak to God. He doesn't speak back to me, but He doesn't need to. His presence is all around. And it calms me. Perhaps you, too, need to find some peace of mind before moving forward."

"That's just it, Hypatia. My person, my support, was always Gabriël. I used to speak to him, even before I was in the Vale. When I was fighting in the King's army, I was strong because of him. I knew I would get through everything because he said I would. Michael may have guided me through the training and battles, but it was Gabriël's voice I heard in my head whenever I was out there. But when I look at him now, when I hear his voice... He's no longer the man I used to know or the Archangel that guided me. He doesn't make me feel strong anymore. If anything, he makes me feel... like I am only a peasant girl from Domrémy that was stupid enough to fall for the wrong man."

She fell into Hypatia's arms, who embraced her like a mother. She didn't look up at the sound of a soft thud against the wall as if a fist punched against it. Nor did she give any attention to the shadow dancing on the wall as someone passed the infirmary in haste - a male figure.
An Archangel.