The sun felt warm. Not too warm, though. It was exactly right. Perfectly balanced with the wind that softly blew through the high grass. The cascading sound of the waterfall harmonised with the serenity surrounding Michael. Yet as he lay on the ground, eyes scanning the clear blue sky above him, he felt something was off. 

"Something on your mind?"

Michael turned his head to where the voice had come from. A blurred shadow sat beside him. Why could he not see the man's face? 

"I do not know," he answered, despite his apprehension. "It is like I have... been here before."

"What are you talking about? We always come here when we want to be together. It is our special place."

Their special place. His and... A hand caressed Michael's face. The touch felt familiar. Reassuring.

"Michael, look at me."

The man was no longer a mere shadow, but the most beautiful creature Michael had ever laid eyes upon. How could he not have recognised him? This was his dearest friend. His lover and soulmate. His Morning Star.

"Clear your head," said Lucifer. "Just be here with me."

He leaned down. Their lips brushed against each other. A sense of calm swept through Michael. Only Lucifer could instil that within him. 

"I do not deserve you," he whispered. "I never have."

Lucifer smiled. "True. And yet, there is no one I would rather be with."

Michael drew the other Archangel back to him by the nape of his neck. His fingers slid into those soft raven locks as Lucifer lovingly captured his lips again. He unbuttoned Michael's white shirt and traced his skin from his neck to his collarbone with a fleeting stroke of his fingertips. Michael shivered underneath Lucifer's touch and gasped against his lips. How he enjoyed when his lover teased him thus.
They continued their play for a while longer, but eventually, Lucifer drew back and leaned on his arm to look down at Michael. He casually caressed Michael's chest, right above his heart.

"What is it?" asked Michael when he noticed Lucifer's pensive look.

"I was just thinking... What are your thoughts on children? Would you like one?"

Michael immediately sat up, pushing Lucifer away from him. The same unnerving sensation he'd had before rolled over him. This all felt too familiar.

"Why do you ask this?" he asked, unable to hide the suspicion in his voice.

"It was just a question, my love. No need to get defensive. I cannot help but wonder what a child of yours would look like. Probably just like you; same jawline, same eyes, same hair, same lips." He placed his fingers against Michael's mouth as he said those last words. "Yes... Yes, I can see it now. Perfection. Like you."

"I am far from perfect, Lucifer. And we should not talk about such things. It can never happen for us."

"Because of what we are?"

"Archangels were not created to breed. We are not like the humans."

Lucifer sighed and lay down, placing his head in Michael's lap. An amused smirk graced his face. That was the problem with him. Michael never knew what went on behind that smile.

"I was actually referring to our sex," he said. "I mean, it would certainly be a rare sight for one of us to suddenly be with child. Raphael would examine us inside and out every single day to get to the bottom of such a turn of events. Hm... On second thought, maybe we should take some precaution next time we fuck each other senseless. Just in case."

"Stop your jests." Michael ruffled through his lover's hair. "And please do not speak like that again. You know I detest such coarse language."

"Oh, yes, sorry. But in all seriousness, have you truly never given it a moment's thought? We may not have been created in the same manner the humans were, but we are not that different. We experience emotions as they do. Granted, it took us a while, but most of us understand them rather well by now. Our bodies are the same, apart from our wings and abilities. We feel pain when we're hurt, and we need rest and sustenance to keep up our energy. We have sex to satiate our own pleasure and desire, the same as them. So why are only mortal beings allowed to procreate?"

"Must we really have this discussion again?" Michael tsk-ed and sighed.

"Yes, we must," said Lucifer. "Come, Michael, give me one good reason why we should not be able to have children. And with 'we', I mean angels in general, not the two of us with each other."

"Oh, Lucifer... Your unrelenting stubbornness is infuriating, sometimes. If it were at all possible, that is one quality your child would certainly inherit from you. I can barely manage you, let alone there being a tiny version of you."

"Is that why you killed him?"

Michael stiffened, his hand hovering but an inch from Lucifer's hair as he'd meant to ruffle him again. He stared at Lucifer in surprise.

"What?" he asked. "What did you say?"

Michael then noticed his surrounding were dead silent. The wind had died. The sun had disappeared from the sky. He looked up to see dark clouds loom over him. Thunder cut through the ominous calm.
Michael turned back to Lucifer but found he was gone. How? He never even noticed him getting up. The Archangel scrambled to his feet, searching for his lover. Suddenly, Lucifer reappeared before him, dressed in red and black robes. He had an intense expression on his face. The corners of his mouth were pulled down, his eyes squinted under pulled brows, and his jaw stood tense. Michael had seen this expression on Lucifer's face many times before when they fought against demons — he was ready to kill.

"Why did you kill my son, Michael? " The tone in Lucifer's voice was unlike anything Michael had ever heard from him.

"I–I do not —" 

"You killed him. You ripped him from his mother's womb, stripping him of his chance to even be born into this world." Lucifer approached him slowly, menacingly. "Did God order you to do it? Did you lose all the love you had for me? Or were you so jealous of me for having crossed the line you never dared to cross?"

"Lucifer, I–I do not understand... I love you."

"Then tell me why you killed him."

Michael felt a sudden sharp pain in his head. He screamed out as he gripped his head and fell to his knees. Only then did he notice the ground around them was seeped in blood.

"Why did you kill my son, Michael?"

The cries of an infant resonated between the thunderclaps above. The pain in Michael's head grew worse with every strained beat of his aching heart. His skin was on fire, and his head felt like it might explode. It was too much.

"TELL ME!"

The darkness took him.

***

Morpheus observed Michael's writhing body in silent fascination. Those under his control never moved. They were frozen in time and space, forever a prisoner in their own mind and in whatever world he created for them. Whatever the Angel of Death had given him, it certainly did the trick of inflicting torture on the Lord Protector. If only he could see what was happening inside the Archangel's mind.
After his servants placed Michael in the Dream Chamber, Morpheus had ordered to leave him with his newest prize. He'd been eager to see what the Lord Protector's dreamed about. But the vision appearing in the mirror above his body had been blurred. No matter what he tried, Morpheus couldn't clear the image. Something, or someone, blocked him. That did not sit well with him at all. If there was one thing the Lord of Dreams didn't like, it was relinquishing control over dreams.
When the Lord Protector's violent fit finally stilled, Morpheus tried once more to peek inside his head. The result was the same. He grunted in annoyance and turned away, finding his maidservant cowering against the wall. Her eyes stood wide in consternation, and her tanned skin was pale. She immediately lowered her head to avoid his gaze and winced, forgetting that the pinned collar was still around her neck. It opened her skin again. Blood trickled down her body.

"Oh, dear, that looks uncomfortable." Morpheus approached her and took the device off, drawing a strangled whimper from her. "There, that's better, isn't it? No need to scar that pretty body of yours any further."

Though the young woman kept her head down, Morpheus still caught her biting her lip.

"Is there something you wish to say?" He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Why... Why did you allow the Horsemen to be freed?" she asked hesitantly. "Why do you keep the Lord Protector here? What merit could there possibly be for you? You are the Lord of Dreams, one of the most powerful beings in this universe, yet you do what that atrocious creature tells you."

Morpheus's hand closed around her throat. She yelped but didn't struggle. She knew she couldn't.

"You're right, little one." Morpheus glared at her. "I answer to no one. Especially not to a servant. What I do or who I deal with is none of your concern, so you'd be wise to stay out of it. Remember what happened to the girl whose place you took? Do not make me strip you of that beautiful sun-kissed skin!"

He let her go, and she stumbled away from him. A flash of anger crossed her face as Morpheus noticed her eyes darkening and her lips pinching, but the maidservant didn't act upon it. Unlike others in his domain, this one at least used her head. 
Morpheus reached into his inside pocket and took out a tiny silver bell. He rang it thrice, leaving enough time between each ring for the tinkling sound to resonate through Oneiro's void. As the silence returned, so did the room they were in. 
No longer were they in the pitch-black empty but in the small, dim Dream Chamber. Purple and blue drapes decorated the walls. Each of the room's four corners was lit by a single candle. Morpheus put the bell inside the crystal case on an ornately carved wooden table. The jewels on the case formed a poppy that closed itself as soon as the lid fell shut.

"Make yourself more presentable and come to my chambers within the hour," he ordered the maidservant. "If I cannot find pleasure in my work, I will seek it elsewhere."

"Yes, Kyrios."

He glanced over his shoulder, not failing to detect the look of contempt she shot him before leaving the Dream Chamber. He chuckled. Such a fiery thing, sometimes. He hoped he wouldn't have to say goodbye to the golden-haired Venus just yet. But now that the Lord Protector was also in his domain, Morpheus wondered how much time any of them really had left.

***

A heaviness settled on Gabriël as he watched his friends approach the Villa from the balcony of Michael's private rooms. He'd asked Raphael to get the girls and Isabelle as soon as their meeting with the other Archangels ended. If he was going to stay, he needed their help.
When the group of four climbed the steps to the Villa, Gabriël took a deep breath and made a slow return into Michael's room. He went further to the parlour and waited there. Margaret and Catherine were the first to enter. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw him.

"Gabriël? What are you doing here?" asked Margaret. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see you. But I thought you were with—"

"Oh my God, no!" yelled Catherine, clearly in a panic. "Did something happen to Joan?"

"No, she's... She's fine," said Gabriël, unable to hide the sadness in his voice. "That's not why I'm here. I'll explain everything in a moment. Let's just wait for –"

He glanced past them at Isabelle as she arrived with Raphael. Like the girls, she froze for a moment, eyes wide with shock at his appearance.

"My daughter?" she asked fearfully.

"Safe. And still with the Nephilim," answered Gabriël. 

The old woman sighed in relief. Her hand went up to her necklace, a little charm Joan made for her when she was five. Gabriël had noticed in the past she always reached for it when she feared for her daughter. It seemed silly that a little trinket could represent Joan, but it was all she had left of her. He became painfully aware he had nothing. Nothing but memories. 

"Can someone please tell us what's going on?" asked Catherine, impatient. "Gabriël, why are you here? Where is Michael?"

"We noticed the stone lions at the entrance are gone," added Margaret. "Did something happen?"

Gabriël pressed his lips together and exchanged a quick look with Raphael. The other Archangel nodded back at him. Right then. No point prolonging the inevitable.

"Michael's gone missing. Until his return... I am Lord Protector."

The girls' voices instantly exploded inside the room. They yelled out in disbelief and blurted out questions, Margaret being the most insistent of the two, as she nearly jumped at Gabriël. 

"What do you mean, he's missing? Has anyone gone looking for him? Are you searching the Mortal Realm? What the hell happened?"

"Margaret, please, calm yourself." Gabriël nudged her away, taken aback by her vehement reaction. "We don't know what happened. Michael went out to meet someone, and no one has heard from him since this morning. Before he left, Michael left instructions with Raphael that I was to succeed him if he didn't return. The other Archangels have, surprisingly, agreed to it. They've gone out to look for Michael and took the lions with them."

She bit her trembling lip and averted, tears brimming in her eyes. Gabriël shot a glance at Raphael, Catherine and Isabelle, who were just as startled by Margaret's frantic state as he was. Why would she, of all people, be worried about Michael? He was the reason she lost a husband and child, and they hadn't even been that close. Had they?

"I'm certain we'll find him soon," said Gabriël, placing a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "It's only a matter of time." 

"Is there anything we can do?" asked Catherine.

"There is, actually." Gabriël turned to her. "Not here but on Earth, in the Sanctum at Resia. The Nephilim promised to care for Joan, but I would feel better if you were with her. As Lord Protector, I'm granting you and Margaret permission to travel to Resia and be with Joan for as long as needed. I've asked Peter to inform the leader of your arrival."

"We'll leave right away. Come on, Marina."

Catherine pulled at her friend's arm. Margaret hurriedly brushed the tears from her eyes and followed her out. As soon as they were gone from sight, Gabriël directed his attention to Joan's mother. She'd changed since he had last seen her. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was pale. She even had a few more wrinkles on her face. Worrying about her daughter hadn't done her any good.

"Isabelle, I know you wish to see Joan. And believe me, I would give you permission to go as well if I could. But for now, I need you here in the Vale."

"Je comprends," she said. "How can I help?"

"Je ne sais pas du tout comment faire ce travail," admitted Gabriël. "I've asked Raphael to assist me, so he'll be with me most of the time. I need you to take over the Hospitium in his place. You and the rest of the medics have to prepare for the Final Battle."

"You believe it's time, then?"

"Michael's disappearance is no coincidence. Better safe than sorry."

"I will get everyone to work when I'm back. Gabriël? May I ask...?" She glimpsed at Raphael, looking unsure.

"Oh, Rafe, can you check the armoury whilst I speak with Isabelle?" asked Gabriël, hoping he had correctly interpreted her mind.

"The armoury? Gabriël, I'm a doctor, not a weapons expert. Why do you want me to –?"

"Rafe, just go."

Raphael sighed and walked off, muttering inaudibly. Gabriël shook his head at him. He really could be so dense sometimes. 

"I'm sorry for that," he said to Isabelle. 

"Ne t'inquiète pas. But please tell me, why are you doing this? After all that has happened with Michael, I did not expect you to return, let alone follow in his footsteps."

"Nor I, Isabelle."

"What happened?"

Gabriël gazed into the old woman's hazel eyes. The light amber within made him think of Joan. But unlike her mother, she hadn't looked at him with kindness and concern the last time they spoke. That cold, harsh glare... Gabriël dropped onto one of the Roman beds, suddenly feeling drained and unable to go on.

"She... She said such terrible things, Isabelle." His voice broke. 

"I'm sure she didn't mean it."

"I think she did. The way she spoke to me. The way she... looked at me. I've never seen such hatred in her eyes before."

Isabelle came to sit beside him, hands folded neatly in her lap. Upon seeing her patient gaze, Gabriël told her everything. The feelings he had for Joan since they first met, how he kept them hidden after she arrived in the Vale, how they fell in love, his dealings with Lucifer, what happened in Resia... He held nothing back.
The moon stood high by the time he finished. Isabelle had listened to every word he said, never once interrupting him. All she'd done was take his hand in hers when his emotions nearly got the better of him. The simple gesture meant the world to him. 

"If," she said, "and it's a big if, Joan doubts you now, it is because you went too far in the game you intended to play with Michael and the one you have played with the Devil. I know you've done it all for her sake, but some of your actions speak against you, Gabriël. Don't forget; l'enfer est plein de bonnes volontés."

"I hate myself for what I've done, Isabelle." Gabriël hung his head. "I just... wanted her safe. I wanted her with me. Instead, I've lost her all over again."

"You said you believe she met someone when she was outside the Sanctum?"

"I'm sure of it. But she wouldn't speak to just anyone. It must have been someone she knew."

"Lucifer?"

"Or one of his spies. I'll find out when I meet with him."

"Es-tu certain que tu devrais?"

"I don't have a choice. I vowed I would serve him in exchange for Joan's safety. If he finds out I've returned to the Vale, he might consider it a betrayal and go after her again. Or the Nephilim. Anne and Thomas have been through enough already. I cannot allow that to happen. I have to make him understand I was forced into this position. Maybe I can find out if he had something to do with Michael's disappearance when I do."

Gabriël felt Isabelle let go of his hand. He looked up and froze when she suddenly cupped his face. She caressed his cheek lovingly. Motherly.

"Please, be careful, Gabriël. Do not let Lucifer or any of his dark creatures drive you further away from the light. Je ne veux pas te perdre, mon cher fils."

Her words shattered what little remained of Gabriël's strength. He fell into Isabelle's arms, clutching at her for support. She stroked his hair, shushing him as his tears finally fell.
A mother's caring touch and words were strange to an Archangel. Family had always been something surreal. It wasn't until others arrived in the Vale that the Archangels grasped the notion of it and allowed the idea to shape them further. If only someone had warned them that family and love came hand in hand with sorrow and suffering.
Because of what he was, Gabriël was torn between not one but two families. Because of what he was, Joan had become a pawn in the Devil's twisted game for revenge. For the first time in his existence, Gabriël wished he hadn't been born an Archangel.

***

White light illuminated the Sanctum. Anne hurried out of the library, hoping that Gabriël had returned after all. But it wasn't an Archangel she found on the doorstep, but two very confused female angels shielding their eyes. 

"What in God's name was that?" exclaimed Catherine.

"Not sure," said Margaret, blinking. "Did someone take one of those photographs or whatchamacallit?"

"An Archangel has crossed the threshold of the Sanctum," said Anne as she greeted them. "But if I remember correctly, neither of you are Archangels. Did anyone else accompany you?"

"No, it's just us," answered Catherine. 

Curious, thought Anne. I better have Thomas take a look later.

"We heard about what happened from Raphael," said Margaret. "We're so sorry, Anne. Did you manage to persuade many people to come?"

"Only a few," replied Anne as she guided the girls down the corridor. "Richard and Hypatia never had children, so the family members are mine and Thomas', and Olympe and Juan's. Our great-granddaughters, Fleur and Esperanza, are a couple and came from Paris. Carlos arrived from Mexico with his adopted son, Alejandro, an hour ago. He was married to my daughter Rosemary, but she died of bone cancer a few years ago. She would never have forgiven me if we hadn't warned her husband. And Alejandro is a descendant of the Mazarrón Sanctum; it's our duty to protect him as well. We're just waiting on Salomé and her twin girls, Coraline and Cosette, who are coming from Louisiana. Thomas ensured the others staying home were equipped to protect themselves. Ah, here we are."

She opened the door she halted at, showing the angels in a room with blue walls and wooden furniture. 

"Well, this looks cosy," said Margaret. "But maybe add another colour too, huh?"

Catherine chuckled at the comment, and even Anne allowed herself to smile. It wasn't the first time guests questioned Olympe's sense of interior fashion.

"You'll be across from Joan. I haven't told her you were coming yet. She's been... keeping to herself since Gabriël left. But I'm sure she'll be happy to –"

Anne fell silent upon noticing something out in the corridor. A food tray sat on the floor outside of Joan's room—untouched.

"She hasn't eaten?" Catherine asked as she peered over Anne's shoulder.

"I guess not." Anne sighed. "We checked on her in the evening, but she refused to come out or let us in."

"Something happened between her and Gabriël, didn't it?" asked Margaret.

"I'm afraid so. It explains him leaving so suddenly after going through so much to be with her again."

Anne walked over to Joan's bedroom and moved the tray to the side. A light shone beneath the door. She knocked softly.

"Joan, are you awake? Your friends are here. Gabriël sent them to be with you."

No answer.

"Maybe she fell asleep with the lights on?" suggested Catherine.

Anne turned the knob, opening the door far enough to look inside, then she slammed it open. She rushed in, eyes wide, hoping fervently that what she feared wasn't true. Yet it was—Joan's room was empty. Her bed had not been slept in. There was no sign of her ever having been there, apart from three letters on the desk.One for the Nephilim. One for her mother. And one for Gabriël.
The Fallen Angel was gone.