Häeven's highest spires didn't just catch light.

They hoarded it.

Crystalline towers bent eternal radiance into patterns that made mortal sunsets look like rough drafts, refracting divine glow through impossible geometries that suggested someone had weaponized beauty and forgotten to add safety warnings.

The air itself hummed with power that made breathing feel like drinking liquid starlight.

Through these corridors walked something that made reality reconsider its architectural choices.

*Step. Step. Step.*

Each footfall landed with precision that suggested choreography by cosmic forces, movement flowing with grace that transcended simple physical coordination. His form radiated perfection in ways that hurt to process directly, features so ideally proportioned they almost looked fake except they absolutely weren't.

Six wings spread from his back in configurations that defied anatomy while somehow looking completely natural, white feathers catching ambient light like they'd personally negotiated favorable terms with physics.

Angels straightened instinctively as he passed.

Not from fear.

From genuine reverence mixed with awe that suggested they'd personally witnessed what happened when this particular being decided violence was the appropriate response to a situation.

His eyes held ancient kindness that had watched civilizations rise and fall without losing fundamental compassion for individual souls, and when he smiled, the expression carried warmth that made the eternal light look cold by comparison.

The Archangel of Light, Michael.

Highest-ranking Seraphim.

And Häeven's diplomatic face.

He's absolutely terrifying when circumstances require it… though most people never got past the overwhelming perfection to realize the combat capability lurking underneath.

***

The throne room existed in dimensions mortal minds couldn't properly parse.

Space folded around divine presence too vast for simple three-dimensional understanding, reality bending into shapes that suggested geometry had gotten creative after a few drinks and forgotten to sober up.

Light that existed beyond visible spectrum pulsed with wordless communication, filling the chamber with presence that transcended physical form.

Michael approached with comfortable familiarity of a trusted son entering his Father's study rather than a subordinate requesting an audience.

No hesitation.

No excessive formality that would suggest fear or distance.

Just genuine respect mixed with the kind of ease that came from millennia of trust.

"Father."

His voice resonated with harmonics that made reality itself lean closer to listen, carrying respectful formality that couldn't quite mask underlying emotional urgency.

"I come seeking permission for temporary descent to the mortal plane."

Hands clasped before his chest in proper supplication despite knowing the answer before asking, because some rituals mattered regardless of certainty.

*Pulse…*

Divine will flowed through conceptual space in ways that transcended language, approval washing over Michael like warm rain that soaked straight through to his soul.

His perfect features cracked into genuine smiles of gratitude and relief, composure fragmenting just enough to reveal the emotional investment he'd been carefully containing.

"Thank you, Father."

The words carried weight beyond their simple meaning.

"I promise to return swiftly after confirming her safety with my own eyes."

Because bureaucratic reports and second-hand accounts weren't enough.

Not for this.

Not for "her."

***

Michael descended Häeven's grand staircase with a purpose that made his usual grace look almost rushed.

Not running.

That would be undignified.

But definitely moving faster than his standard diplomatic pace, each step carrying urgency that suggested important things waited at the bottom.

Memories flooded back unbidden.

A younger Aurelia stumbling through basic social interactions with combat-focused tunnel vision that left her completely baffled by normal conversation.

Her confused expression when someone asked about her day and she'd responded with detailed combat training analysis because what else would they want to know?

The way she'd tilted her head like a puppy trying to understand human speech when he'd explained that "How are you?" was often rhetorical rather than genuine inquiry requiring a comprehensive status report.

"Why do people discuss weather?"

Her voice echoed through his memory, carrying absolute sincerity that had made the question somehow more endearing.

"Is there tactical advantage to atmospheric observation I'm missing?"

Michael had spent "centuries" teaching her things beyond swordsmanship and war strategy.

Explaining why humans smiled when greeting each other.

Why certain words carried weight beyond their literal meanings.

How to recognize emotions in others when your own emotional range defaulted to "stoic determination" or "battle focus."

She'd been hopeless at it.

Asking questions like "If someone says they're 'fine' but their posture suggests distress, should I prepare for combat?" with completely genuine confusion that made him want to laugh and cry simultaneously.

And he'd loved every frustrating, endearing moment of those lessons.

Because beneath the legendary warrior existed someone fundamentally kind who simply didn't understand how to express it properly.

Someone who cared deeply but showed it through protection rather than words, through standing between others and danger rather than offering comfort, through absolute loyalty that transcended simple duty.

The news of her miraculous survival had hit him like a physical blow.

Joy and confusion warring in his chest, because Aurelia wasn't just a subordinate or legendary figure whose exploits filled Häeven's historical records.

She was his little sister in every way that mattered.

And he'd mourned her loss for what felt like eternity compressed into grief that never quite faded even after millennia passed.

Now she was "alive" somehow.

Impossibly.

Against all logic and understanding of how existence itself functioned.

And Michael would personally confirm it with his own eyes before allowing himself to fully believe the impossible.

***

"Leaving so soon, Michael?"

The voice carried a playful challenge wrapped in genuine respect, stopping him mid-step like someone had pressed pause on his urgency.

Michael turned.

Captain Sigrid leaned against a crystalline pillar with arms crossed and knowing smirk that suggested she'd been waiting specifically to intercept him, probably calculating the exact moment he'd descend from the throne room.

Her armor gleamed with battle-readiness despite Häeven's peaceful atmosphere, every plate positioned perfectly for combat that hopefully wouldn't happen but she'd absolutely be prepared for anyway.

Silver hair caught eternal light in ways that made it look like liquid metal, and her eyes held competitive fire that had made her Aurelia's proclaimed rival and best friend simultaneously.

"You heard about Aurelia."

Not a question.

Statement of fact delivered with certainty that came from knowing this particular angel well enough to read his emotional tells despite perfect composure.

Sigrid's expression softened into something approaching vulnerability before her competitive mask slammed back into place like armor protecting something fragile underneath.

"Of course I heard."

Her voice carried forced lightness that didn't quite hide the tremor beneath.

"That stubborn, overachieving, impossibly talented pain in my wings survived something that should have erased her completely… I'm glad she did."

She pushed off the pillar, gesturing with frustration for the genuine emotion behind her sigh.

"... But I'm absolutely furious that she's probably getting stronger while I'm stuck handling her administrative backlog. Does she have any idea how much paperwork she left behind…? Haaah…"

But her voice went on powerlessly on the last words.

Betraying genuine emotion she tried desperately to hide behind competitive spirit and fatigue.

Michael's smile carried warmth that made Sigrid's defensive posture relax despite obvious attempts at maintaining distance.

He stepped forward, clasping her shoulder with brotherly affection that transcended rank and protocol.

"I'll bring back detailed reports of her condition."

The promise emerged gentle but absolutely sincere.

"Her companions. Her current situation. And whether she's still completely hopeless at basic social interaction."

That earned a genuine laugh from Sigrid, though her eyes remained suspiciously bright in ways that suggested tears she refused to acknowledge.

"Tell that overachiever that her rival expects proper competition when she returns."

Her voice steadied with obvious effort, pride pushing through vulnerability.

"And that I'm leading her legion with far superior efficiency than her disorganized methods ever achieved. She can fight legendary battles all she wants, but I've actually implemented a functional filing system. Hahaha…"

The laugh came out slightly forced.

They both knew the words were armor against emotions too complicated to express directly.

Easier to hide behind rivalry and competition than admit how much Aurelia's supposed death had carved holes in their existence, how much her miraculous survival meant despite all the bluster about administrative burdens.

Michael's smile softened further, understanding filtering through his ancient gaze.

"... She missed you too, I'm certain."

The words landed heavier than their simple construction suggested.

"Even if she probably hasn't realized it yet, because emotional awareness remains her greatest weakness, after all."

That pulled another laugh from Sigrid, this one more genuine.

"Damn right it is. The woman could calculate the trajectory for divine strikes through dimensional barriers but couldn't recognize romantic interest if it physically manifested and handed her a bouquet, I bet."

She sobered slightly, chuckling with a laugh when she remembered how many were mesmerized by her rival's extraordinary beauty.

"Just... make sure she's okay, Michael. Well, Brunhilde should be there already but, with you being there. The process of finding her could be sped up…"

Her voice dropped to something approaching a plea.

"... And if she's found people who care about her despite her complete inability to express emotions normally..."

She trailed off, unable to finish the thought without admitting things pride refused to acknowledge.

Michael understood anyway.

He spread his six wings with fluid grace that made the motion look like a natural phenomenon rather than physical action, divine energy gathering around him in preparation for dimensional transit.

Light began coalescing.

Reality preparing to bend according to his will.

"Oh, tell Brunhilde I'm doing fine here." Sigrid added.

"I'll let Brunhilde know… Take care of Häeven, Sigrid."

"Yeah."

His voice carried absolute confidence in her capability to which Sigrid nodded.

*Whoooosh...*

Light consumed Michael.

Brilliant white radiance that swallowed his form completely, divine energy tearing through dimensional barriers like tissue paper as he initiated transit toward the mortal plane.

Leaving Sigrid standing alone in the corridor with an expression that mixed pride, envy, longing, and fierce determination.

Her fists clenched at her sides.

"You better be thriving down there, Aurelia…"

The words emerged barely above whisper, carrying weight that transcended simple hope.

"Because when you eventually return, I expect you to be strong enough that defeating you actually feels like an accomplishment rather than bullying someone who's rusty from vacation."

She turned sharply, armor clinking with decisive motion as she headed back toward the administrative wing where Aurelia's legendary disorganization awaited her continued efforts at damage control.

But her steps carried with new determination at the prospect that her rival was about to come back.

… A sense of purpose mixing with anticipation.

Because if Aurelia was alive and growing stronger somewhere beyond Häeven's borders, then Sigrid had work to do.

A straining to complete.

Set of skills to refine.

… A rivalry to maintain despite dimensional separation and impossible circumstances.

"Just you wait," she muttered, a competitive fire burning bright enough to rival Häeven's eternal light. "Next time we meet, I'll be strong enough that you can't just smile mysteriously and make me feel like I'm still chasing your shadow."

An unconscious smile was upon her lips as the corridor fell silent behind her.

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