Gabriël ran into the library and closed the door behind him. The fireplace lit itself as he stepped towards it. He looked into the roaring flames, outrage and ache distorting his heart at what he'd overheard Joan say to Hypatia. Those awful words about how he made her feel now... They echoed in his head.
Gabriël slammed his fist into the carvings above the fireplace. His skin barely showed the damage, but the bird carving was not so lucky. Small chips broke off and fell into the fire, making it crackle.
The Archangel didn't know what to do. He felt angry. Not at Joan, but at himself. Because he knew she was right. Of course she was. He wasn't the same anymore. The old dutiful Messenger would never have agreed to a pact with the Devil himself. But that person had also never known love. Not really. If he had changed, it was because Joan had inspired that change within him. He was more rebellious than before, more strong-willed, more... well, just more. So maybe he was a little angry with her because he'd done everything for her. And their baby. How could she resent him for loving them?

Gabriël dropped into a lounge chair and traced the outline of what remained of his rune with his finger. He had to believe that his vow to his Lord was still strong enough to hold on to it. Michael's proposal came back to mind. What effect would him becoming Lord Protector have on the vow he made to Lucifer? He had promised him his sword and service, but he never said he would actually stand by his side, did he? Then again, he couldn't very well be up in the Vale if he was sworn to the Devil. The other Archangels would never accept it.
Whatever he did, he would not lie to them. He wouldn't be another Michael. The whole point of him taking Michael's place was to correct his wrongs. And there was Joan to consider, too. Lucifer had vowed to keep her safe. If he considered Gabriël had broken his vow, he and Joan would become targets. It was too great a risk.

All of a sudden, a white light flashed throughout the Sanctum. Gabriël turned his head to the door. He heard footsteps and voices approaching fast. Agitated voices. Anne and Thomas. And... Raphael? Gabriël was barely back on his feet when the three of them barged into the library.

"Gabriël! Thank the Heavens, you're here!" Raphael hurried over and threw his arms around the surprised Archangel's neck.

"Rafe? What are you doing here? Not that I'm not glad to see you. I just wasn't expecting you."

Thomas chuckled. "We bumped into him outside, wandering aimlessly to find the entrance of the Sanctum."

"I've never been here before. I wasn't exactly sure where it would be," muttered the physician, his cheeks blushing red.

"Aha, sure."

"Excuse us," said Anne, poking her husband with her elbow. "We need to attend to some things."

"Yes, of course. Oh, wait! I almost forgot," said Raphael. "We examined the dagger you sent us. No trace of poison whatsoever."

The Nephilim both let out a sigh of relief. The news couldn't have come at a better time for them. There was nothing standing in Thomas and Hypatia's way of treating Adeline with their own medicine and magic. 

"Rafe, why are you here?" asked Gabriël as the couple left him and Raphael alone in the library. "What's happened?"

"I should ask you that. Michael left after he got your message."

"Oh, Lord, please tell me he went to see Samael first."

"He said he was going to, but if Samael refused to help, he would attempt to reach the Dream Realm on his own."

Gabriël grunted in frustration. That stupid fool!

"It's well past noon now," continued Raphael, "and I still haven't heard from him since he left at dawn. He told me to come to you if that was the case, and I dared not delay any longer."

"Me?" wondered Gabriël aloud. "Why me?"

"He's appointed you as his replacement."

"What? No, that's not what we agreed!"

"I know nothing about an agreement, but I do know that we're running out of time. Michael is gone. We need someone to lead us. Especially if your vision about the Horsemen is true. If Michael trusted you enough to take his place after everything that happened, it has to be you."

"But I... I can't just... I..."

Gabriël felt the ground slip away from under his feet. Michael had taken away any time he had to think. He had to make his choice between the lesser of two evils at this very moment. If he returned to the Vale with Raphael, Lucifer would undoubtedly consider him a traitor and have free rein to come after Joan. But if he stayed to protect her, the Vale would be in danger. Everything would be lost. The scales would tip in favour of the dark.
Could he do that? Could he sacrifice many to guarantee the safety of one?

***

Joan walked out into the cool afternoon breeze. It felt so good on her face. She took a deep breath with every step. It had been easy to slip away from her guardians with all that was going on. She'd have to make sure to return before they found her missing. Her plan was dangerous, but she had to put it into motion. Too much depended on it.
When she had sought Hypatia, her warrior instinct warned her someone was listening in on their conversation. As soon as she realised it was Gabriël, she'd taken it a step further than intended. At first, she'd only meant for the Nephilim to suspect her doubts, but Gabriël eavesdropping was an opportunity she couldn't let slip. Her concerns about his recent behaviour and actions were genuine, though.

After telling Hypatia she was tired and needed to rest, she had followed Gabriël to the library. It was there she'd seen Raphael. She had hurried into the secret room and witnessed their discussion. Michael had vanished. And his last order was for Gabriël to take his place.
Joan was furious at first. Once again, Michael had ripped them apart. Before, Gabriël could've still chosen to be with her out of his own free will, and now the bastard forced him to leave her behind. But as her anger simmered, she'd started to think. Michael's command could work to her advantage.
After she'd overheard Gabriël say he needed to talk to her first, Joan had left the room and hid near the entrance of the Sanctum. Raphael never even noticed she'd followed him outside. No one had.

She walked further into the woods. If her eyes had not been deceiving her, Lucifer did not come on his own when Gabriël summoned him before. The figure only revealed himself for a split second in the shadowy distance, but it had been enough for Joan's trained eye. With some luck, he was still there.

"If you're there, you can come out," she called. "I want to talk about your Master and Gabriël."

The wind blew softly around her, making the leaves rustle.

"I remember you," she tried again. "We're the same now. You don't need to be afraid."

"I am not afraid of you, Joan of Arc."

Joan spun around when the voice of Lucifer's spy came from behind her. She couldn't help but smile as she saw the Russian.

"Grigori Rasputin. How long has it been?"

"Only a hundred years, give or take." He returned her smile.

"I had hoped you made a new life with the Nephilim or just... somewhere else."

"Things cannot always go as we want," Rasputin said sadly. "But I am well enough. And I should congratulate you, I've heard. Not just for finding love, but for the new life you carry."

"You must stand close to the Devil, if you know."

"Indeed. Nonetheless, I am still glad to see you, even if we are now enemies."

Joan nodded. She had to admit that of all the demons Lucifer could have sent, this was a smart move on his part. Send the recruited Fallen Angel to spy on the new Fallen Angel. A brilliant tactic. Yet this would actually make it easier for her.

"Why did you leave the safety of the Sanctum?" inquired Rasputin. "You must have known my Master would have someone waiting for you to show yourself."

"I saw you before when I was here with Gabriël and... your Master. Though I have to admit, I wasn't completely certain it was you. I took a chance."

"Ah, I see. Then, please tell me; how can I be of service, Joan?"

"First, I have a question. What do you know of the deal Gabriël made?"

"I cannot say."

"You must."

"And why is that?"

"Because I want to renegotiate that deal."

Rasputin stared at her for a few seconds. Then, his brown pinched into thought.

"Something has happened," he spoke. "Something you believe might affect Gabriël's agreement with my Master. You wish to guard him against his own actions."

Joan didn't answer. The demon was smart enough to understand her intentions.

"I don't know the details," Rasputin admitted after seeing she would not speak. "All I can say is that Gabriël swore to be at my Master's service for your safety and his own."

"What would happen to those who try to harm us?" she asked.

"I imagine they will suffer."

"What else?"

"Apologies, but I know no more than that."

"All right then." Joan straightened her back, making herself only slightly taller than Rasputin. "Get him for me. Please."

The monk gave a curt bow and disappeared in a dark swirl of smoke. Joan exhaled slowly and glanced back toward the entrance of the Sanctum. No one had come out to search for her yet. Time was ticking, though. 

If Lucifer can make a deal with Gabriël, he'll also make one with me. But this one will be on my terms.

***

It felt like they had been walking for hours. Michael had lost all sense of time since they'd stepped through the door on Mount Hekla. Their way was lit by torches, but Samael seemed to know exactly where he was going. The Lord Protector had no choice but to trust him, which fell hard on him. Nevertheless, he did his best not to let his own judgment of the Angel of Death distract him from the task at hand.

"Here we are."

Samael's voice echoed through the void. Michael looked past him and saw a grand palace before him. He could've sworn that space had been empty a moment ago.

"I suppose you'll want me to take you to Morpheus himself, wait for you, then guide you back to our own realm?" asked Samael.

"If that would not be too much trouble for you, yes." Michael did his best not to lash out.

Samael gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, very well. Come on."

Michael followed Samael out of the void onto the earth path to the palace. Figures appeared around him. Trees, shrubs, a few benches accompanied by a statue holding a torch, a fountain... A stag grazed further ahead, not paying attention to the visitors. It was nighttime. The sky was filled with stars and the remnants of a waning moon. Was it the magic of this place, or had they really been walking for that long? If it they had, had Raphael gone to find Gabriël? Michael prayed he had. 
They climbed the alabaster stone stairs. It didn't happen often, but Michael was awestruck at the splendour around him. Although the palace bore some resemblance to his Villa, he noticed more Greek and Egyptian influences than Roman. Grand columns, water features, magnificent walls with marvellous frescoes everywhere he looked... The same symbol was depicted at every base; a vine of poppies with wings.

A young woman with olive tanned skin greeted them in the entrance hall. Her clothes were made of see-through fabric, leaving little to the imagination. A stark contrast to the many jewels she wore. Pure gold bracelets around her wrists and ankles, rings at her fingers, ringlets at her ears and a bejewelled necklace at her bosom. Her golden blonde hair was bound in a thick braid, richly decorated with ruby poppy gems. The same symbol of the winged poppy vine was branded on her arm.
Michael felt a spell had been placed upon her to give back her youth, similar to those sometimes used for angels returning to Earth as Nephilim. She also seemed oddly familiar to him. Something about how she stood and looked at them made him think of someone, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"We're here to see the Lord of Dreams," said Samael. "Take us to him."

The young woman bowed and gestured for them to follow. Michael looked over his shoulder as they left the entrance hall behind. He believed he saw another servant there - a boy, hidden behind a column. The only thing he could clearly discern was the shimmering flash of a blade. Michael lightly let his hand move over his sleeve. He wouldn't hesitate to use the dagger hidden at his arm if needed.
The maidservant led them to what appeared to be a throne room. It was the most colourful room Michael had ever seen. Mosaics were placed beautifully on the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling. Most of them came together to create intricate symbols.
A man sat lazily on the stone-carved throne at the far end of the room. His skin was dark, his hair as black as the feathers of the raven seated on his shoulder. The same black marked his lips and eyes, but only on his lower eyelids and lashes. His upper eyelids were painted blue and purple, with a sapphire at the corner of each eye. He was dressed in a black leather two-piece with matching pants and boots. A purple-blue shawl lay draped over his armrest, falling gracefully to the floor.

Samael knelt before the throne and tugged at Michael's vest as he went down, so he would do the same. The maidservant approached her master and whispered to him. He gave a short wave with his hand, allowing her to take her place at his feet. His painted eyes fell on Michael.

"Why has this Archangel been brought to me?"

"Michael requests an audience with you, Kyrios Morpheus," spoke Samael. "As I alone am free to wander through all realms, he asked for my guidance and introduction."

"And what is it you wish to discuss with me, Lord Protector of the Vale?"

"I have come to ask you not to release the Horsemen."

By some of the reactions in the room, Michael understood he might have been a bit blunt. He heard Samael sigh and saw the young woman shrank down as close to the floor as she could. Morpheus, however, remained still as a statue. Samael plastered a smile on his face as he raised his head.

"I apologise, Kyrios. What the Lord Protector meant to say -"

"You do not need to explain his words to me, Angel of Death," interrupted Morpheus. "I understand them perfectly."

The Lord of Dreams rose from his throne. His maidservant hurriedly got up as well and draped the shawl around his broad shoulders.

"Food and drink for our guests," Morpheus ordered her.

Morpheus waved his hand, and the drapes on his right pulled themselves back to reveal an open balcony with a small sitting corner. A low table and big cushions filled the space. It looked like a scene from a fairy-tale, but if there was one thing Michael had learned through the years, it was that not everything was as it appeared to be.
He waited for Samael to rise before following Morpheus onto the balcony. They were joined shortly after by the maidservant, who placed three crystal goblets filled with a dark liquid on the table, along with a wooden bowl of grapes. Michael noticed how her hand trembled as his goblet was placed in front of him. As the young woman scurried away, her eyes briefly met Michael's. The fear within them was clear. Every fibre of his being was on alert.

"You are somewhat like Him," he then heard Morpheus say. "Like your Father."

Michael was surprised at the comment. He glanced over at Samael. The Angel of Death tilted his head as he popped a grape into his mouth. Michael noticed he suddenly regarded him with an unusual interest. 

"You flatter me, Kyrios," he said as he ignored Samael's gaze. "But I assure you, I am nothing like the Almighty. Of all His children, I may be one with the greatest flaws."

"We met once," Morpheus continued, ignoring Michael's reaction. "My Dream Realm was created out of the wishes and fears of those He calls His children. He has no control over it, even though He seeks it. To show my goodwill, I conceded in some... requests. The matter of the Four Horsemen was not one of them. That was an order. And not well received. That you are here to ensure they remain in my domain must mean the day of judgment is at hand. So why should I not allow them their freedom and let matters play out as they were foretold so long ago?"

The assessing look in Samael's dual eyes as they continued to focus on Michael made shivers run down his spine. He couldn't let Samael distract him from the task at hand. He had to persevere. 

"You have many under your care here, I believe?" Michael questioned Morpheus. "Your work, your life even, depends on the humans. The Heavens and the Circles are no different. When a soul is ready to join either, Samael stands ready to guide them. If the Horsemen are allowed to roam the Earth, the souls they claim will forever be lost. Potential souls that can tip the scale in the Final Battle will simply cease to exist."

"I still do not see why that is my problem," said Morpheus with a bored shrug.

"Does a man who has no hope dream? Can a child that has known nothing but pain desire to return to a past he has never known? Will a deformed and ill woman long for a family when it is certain she will never have one?"

"A dream can be good or bad. There is power in both, so what the dream entails does not matter to me. And people will always have dreams. One does not simply stop having them."

"Even if you are left a hollow shell?"

Morpheus' jaw clenched at the suggestion. Michael hoped this would do it. Even from inside the Dream Realm, the Horsemen were powerful enough to affect the Mortal Realm. There was an abundance of war, illness, famine, and death. Humans had turned against each other time and time again. Nature was out of balance, almost to the point it could no longer restore itself. The life humans lived was how dreams and wishes were born, even if nightmares thrived. Morpheus depended on both. He had to acknowledge that simple truth.

"What is it you offer?" demanded the Lord of Dreams. "I am not a pound where you can leave the pets you do not want, Lord Protector. If you want me to keep the Horsemen in this Realm, I expect recompense."

"What is it you desire?" 

"What only the Lord of Dreams can desire, of course."

Morpheus lifted his goblet and waited for the Angel of Death and the Lord Protector to do the same. Michael followed Samael's movements, but didn't drink until he and Morpheus did. The wine tasted fresh and fruity, as any fine Greek wine did. Perhaps he had been overreacting after all.

"What kind of dream did you have in mind?" asked Michael.

"It is not the dream itself that interests me," answered Morpheus. "What I want... is the man dreaming the dream."

All of a sudden, Michael felt himself growing faint. His head spun. He put a hand on the table for support but could barely feel the wood. He turned to Samael, but the man's face, both horrid and beautiful, was a haze.

"I did say you were a prize to our host," he heard Samael say. "Did I not?"

Michael's heart raced inside his chest. His breath was stripped from him. Shadows crept up on him. He tried to stand, but fell back against the cushions. 

"Better not try that again," warned Samael. "Poppy extract works amazingly fast and is very potent. It wasn't the wine, in case you were wondering. The goblet is infused with it. For a moment, I worried the slave ruined it all, but you never were able to think further ahead. You only see what you want to see. That's your weakness. And it will be your undoing, too. Just look at you. The great Lord Protector of the Vale. Pathetic."

"W-Why?" uttered Michael, his strength fading faster every second. "W-Why are you... doing this?"

The Angel of Death grinned down at him.

"Because... vengeance is mine."