Long after the gavel struck and the gallery cleared, Lucien remained in the chamber. He stood beneath the glassy dome where celestial constellations shimmered like living memory, alone or so he thought.
The air shifted.
Wings vast, not of feather or flame but pure gravity and purpose unfurled in the upper reaches of the court. The stained light bent inward. Time slowed. And then, it spoke.
"Vale."
Lucien didn't turn. His hand clenched. His spine went cold.
The voice was not sound. It was a command woven into existence. A Throne. Not one of the talkative kind.
"You sent your Herald?" Lucien asked dryly. "Or are you risking the Fall by coming yourself?"
"The course of this trial is approaching consequence."
Lucien turned now, his eyes narrow. "You mean truth."
A pause. Silence stretched.
Then the voice returned, heavier.
"You tread toward a secret we buried in war. A truth sealed in Seraphiel's sight and locked in the child's soul."
Lucien stepped forward, his coat brushing marble. "Then answer this: Did Heaven alter the Scroll of Destiny?"
A sound not quite thunder, but the memory of it.
"A correction was made."
"By whose order?"
"There is no signature in the light."
Lucien froze. No signature. No trace of authority. That meant either the order came from someone above even the Thrones… or someone hid their identity with forbidden power.
"You're scared," Lucien said quietly.
The stars above flickered. For the first time, the Throne didn't respond immediately.
Then:
"If the child lives, fate diverges. If he dies, all repeats. What would you choose, Advocate?"
Lucien's gaze hardened. "I don't make decisions. I ask questions. I dig. I uncover what people like you bury in sanctified silence."
The pressure vanished. The voice faded.
But before it left entirely, a final whisper reached him not a command, but something almost human.
"Find the boy before the Trial reaches judgment. Or all we know ends in fire."
Lucien stood there, heart pounding.
Outside, the divine bells rang midnight. A new session would begin soon. And now, he knew two things:
1. The Thrones weren't just watching.
2. The trial was a distraction.
Something worse was coming.
And Jonas the child Seraphiel saved might be the only key to stopping it.
Echoes in the Choir
The next day, a strange heaviness loomed over the Court of Eternal Balance.
Something had shifted.
The audience was smaller. The gallery dimmer. Even the flames that usually burned blue above the judge's dais flickered with hesitation.
Lucien knew why.
The Throne had spoken.
And the rest of Heaven was listening, pretending not to.
Azariel entered with more weight to his wings. His eyes scanned the room not for the defense or prosecution, but the shadows.
He knows, Lucien thought. They all know.
But no one dared to speak it.
"Today's session," Azariel began, "will focus on Seraphiel's prior missions her record of conduct, intent, and pattern of obedience or defiance."
Lucien stood. "The defense calls Archangel Iskiel, former commander of Seraphiel's Choir."
Another stir. Iskiel. The golden tactician. Respected, feared, rarely summoned.
He arrived not in a flash, but a pulse of silence. His armor was pristine. His gaze sharp and unreadable.
He stepped into the Eye.
Lucien didn't waste time. "How long did you serve with Seraphiel?"
"Seventeen thousand years."
"In that time, did she ever disobey an order?"
"No."
"Did she question them?"
A pause. "Yes."
"Explain."
Iskiel's jaw tightened. "She asked why we saved some and not others. Why prophecy held more power than mercy. She never denied a command but she always wanted to understand."
Lucien paced slowly. "Do you consider that dangerous?"
Iskiel hesitated. "I considered it… human."
Soft murmurs. Even Azariel blinked.
Lucien locked eyes with the prosecution. "Then the Prosecution's foundation that Seraphiel was always inclined to rebellion is flawed. She's never disobeyed. Until now."
Malak stepped forward. "And this single act, this one time, nearly tore a hole in the timeline!"
Lucien shot back, "Or patched one."
He turned to Iskiel again. "Did Seraphiel ever express concern about the Scrolls?"
Iskiel's voice grew heavier. "She once said: 'If the word of God is written in light, why do so many parts of it feel like shadow?'"
Silence again.
Lucien nodded. "No further questions."
Azariel spoke. "You may step down, Iskiel."
But as the Archangel turned to leave, he paused. Looked straight at Seraphiel.
And said: "I would've saved the boy too."
That shattered the silence.
Malak surged forward. "Your Honor, this is improper"
"Enough," Azariel said, his voice stern but quiet. "This Court is adjourned until further notice."
The gavel struck.
As the courtroom emptied, Lucien stood beside Seraphiel.
"You're starting to win them," he whispered.
She didn't smile. "I'm not here to win."
"Then why?"
She looked toward the Throne's silent balcony.
"Because someone rewrote Heaven," she said. "And I refuse to read from a false book."
The Boy in the Void
Far from the hallowed halls of the Court, deep beneath the fractured veil of realms, a child ran through darkness.
Jonas.
The boy Seraphiel had saved. The boy who was never supposed to live.
He ran barefoot across a broken landscape where stars whispered and time folded in on itself. The void between judgment and existence. A place no mortal should've reached.
And something hunted him.
A shadow, half-seraph, half-smoke, all silence.
Back in the Court of Eternal Balance…
Lucien slammed his palm down on a glowing map of realms. The infernal side of him flared, veins momentarily dark with power. "I told you to find the boy, not track weather patterns in the Dreaming Wastes."
The demon scout trembled before him, face slick with fear. "My lord, we tried. But he's in a blind zone. Not even hellfire threads can reach that depth."
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "A blind zone between Heaven and Hell? There's only one place like that."
The demon swallowed. "The Wound."
Lucien froze.
The Wound an ancient tear in reality, sealed by angels during the first celestial war. It was said to be where truth went to die. And Seraphiel's boy was hiding there?
Or worse trapped.
Back in the courtroom, the prosecution prepared its next move.
Malak stood before the Witness Ledger, flipping through pages until he reached one soaked in gold ink.
His eyes lit up with grim satisfaction.
"Time to bring in the hammer," he muttered.
"Who?" asked his assistant.
Malak's smile was sharp.
"Uriel."
Lucien felt it even before the announcement. The temperature shifted. Light darkened. Gravity bent around the name.
Azariel's voice rang out like bells tolling over graves.
"Next session, the Court will receive testimony from Archangel Uriel Angel of Judgment, Flame of Retribution."
Lucien's blood went cold.
Uriel.
The one angel even demons feared. The one who executed divine will without question, without emotion.
And the one who, rumor had it… designed the Scroll that sentenced Jonas to die.