"And Azareel himself?" the Father asked, his voice calm but cruel, each word a blade that cut through the silence.
Nevi’el’s voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes fixed on the marble. "He wore the sa torn tunic. Still barefoot. His hair tangled, his eyes gentle. They offer him fruit. He smiles."
A long pause followed, a choir of silence that seed to stretch into eternity, the throne’s flas dimming further, the air growing colder.
Then, the Father’s voice, calm and cutting: "Then the Abyss has yet to show him its truth."
Nevi’el tried to speak, his voice trembling. "My Lord—"
"Enough."
The word rippled like thunder over glass, the pillars shivering, the light withdrawing as if recoiling from his command.
His bare foot touched the marble, and the room darkened further, the shadows lengthening like fingers reaching for the light.
"For beneath that garden... waits the marrow. The forgotten songs. The deep Abyss."
He turned away, his hands folding behind his back, his pale eyes fixed on so unseen horizon.
"And when those veils part, when what lies buried beneath awakens, he will forget kindness. He will forget himself."
Nevi’el, still on one knee, trembled—not from fear of punishnt, but from a truth he now doubted, his wings drooping, holy blood pooling beneath him.
The Father did not weep.
But a single crystal tear slid down his cheek—not from sorrow, but from certainty, glinting like a star falling into darkness.
"Let him have his comfort," he whispered, his voice cold and final. "Let him cherish his monsters. Let him dream."
He raised his hand—and sowhere, far below the heavens, a ripple passed through the Abyss, a breath, a stir, a nightmare just beginning to open its eyes.
"For when the true Abyss cos..." he whispered, his voice a chilling prophecy, "even rcy will scream."
______________
The garden pulsed with warm, sleepy life, its crimson petals unfurling in the hush, their faint glow casting a dreamlike haze over the moss-covered ground.
Azareel sat cross-legged on a smooth patch of moss, a half-bitten berry cradled in his hand, its sunset-orange juice staining his fingers.
The faint warmth of Sylvara’s expanding garden pulsed like a heartbeat against the barren, ash-laced soil, the soft rustle of leaves a comforting whisper in the silence.
The sweet-tart flavor lingered on his tongue.
Virelya coiled beside him, her upper body resting on a twisted stone stump, her damp ceremonial silk clinging to her curves, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes watching him with that curious intensity—half ghost, half serpent, all quiet wonder.
Her porcelain mask caught the garden’s glow, cracked but gleaming, her tail twitching faintly like a cat dreaming of mischief.
Azareel blinked once, his silver eyes, softening in the garden’s warmth.
Then—
"Achoo!"
The sneeze erupted from him, soft and fluttery, rocking him forward slightly, the berry bouncing from his fingertips into the dirt with a faint plop.
Virelya stared, her golden eyes widening in disbelief, her mask tilting as if she’d seen a miracle.
"...Did you just sneeze?" she asked, her voice a breathy whisper, laced with amusent.
Azareel straightened, brushing his wrist beneath his nose, his silver-white hair falling ssily around his shoulders.
"I think so," he said, his voice gentle, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
A pause hung in the air, the garden’s hum faltering as if startled.
Then Virelya’s expression contorted, her porcelain-like face trembling—until she burst into soft, breathy laughter, a rare sound that slithered like silk through the air, echoing off the vines.
"Oh," she exhaled between huffs, "that was... that was expectedly cute."
Azareel tilted his head, his silver eyes sparkling with quiet amusent. "It was just a sneeze," he said, brushing moss from his torn white tunic.
"No," Virelya said, still giggling, her coils shifting as she leaned closer. "That was a blessed sneeze."
Without warning, she called out, her voice carrying through the garden.
"Nyxsha. Sylvara. You must witness this."
From behind a pillar of petrified bone, Nyxsha padded out on heavy paws, her feline bulk looming, a rib bone dangling from her jaws from her midday chewing session.
Her golden eyes narrowed, her tail flicking in annoyance.
"What now?" she grunted, the bone clattering to the ground as she spoke. "Did the angel trip over another rock?"
Sylvara’s vines peeked up next, her head erging from a blooming nest of starleaf, pollen flakes drifting from her shoulders as she blinked groggily, her amber eyes half-lidded.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice a lodic hum, her flowering hair rustling faintly.
Virelya grinned like a mischievous specter, her golden eyes gleaming. "He sneezed."
There was a mont of absolute silence, the garden’s vines pausing as if stunned, the crimson petals stilling in the air. Even the faint hum of the Abyss beyond seed to falter.
"...You dragged out," Nyxsha said slowly, her golden eyes narrowing to slits, "to see him do what?"
Azareel blinked, rubbing his nose again. "I didn’t sneeze on command, if that’s what you’re—"
"Achoo!"
Another sneeze, softer, fluttery, unmistakably angelic, his long white hair flaring slightly, falling ssily around his shoulders as he rocked forward.
Both won froze, their eyes wide.
Sylvara gasped, her amber eyes sparkling with awe.
"That was adorable," she whispered, a petal falling from her hair as she leaned closer.
Nyxsha choked on her rib, coughing as it clattered to the moss.
"You’re joking," she growled, stomping over, her massive form looming over Azareel. Her golden eyes scanned his face like she was assessing a broken relic, her tail lashing. "Do it again."
Azareel held up his hands in protest, his silver eyes wide. "Sneezes don’t work like—"
"Achoo." Another soft sneeze, his body twitching slightly, his linen wraps fluttering as he sniffled.
"...He did it again," Sylvara whispered, her voice filled with awe, her vines curling closer as if drawn to the sound.
Virelya was practically coiled in joy, her laughter bubbling up again.
"Oh, he’s like a blossom with hiccups," she said, her golden eyes glinting as she slithered closer.
Azareel looked from one to the next, his silver eyes sparkling with amusent.
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