Chapter 63 - Reunited Unknowingly

This was too easy.

Elijah didn't like it. Not one bit.

He slowed his pace, eyes darting around the eerie silence of the Ethereal Battlefield's exit. Every hair on his body stood on edge. They were being watched.

"They know we're here." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the quiet like a blade.

"What was that?" Zython turned, one brow arched, his grin lazy, smug. "You know we can all hear you, right? Well—except for the two squishy humans over there, but the rest of us? Loud and clear."

"Hey!" Jenny snapped, crossing her arms. "Squishy?"

"No offense, love," Zython winked.

"I swear to God, I'm going to shove a fork in his cheek one of these days," Matt muttered, looking away as if even acknowledging Zython made his skin crawl.

"Heard that." Zython smirked. "We can revisit that possibility later, Matty boy."

Matt stepped forward, fists clenched, but Jenny threw out an arm, blocking him. "Not now."

"Quite!" Elijah hissed. He stayed frozen, eyes locked on the invisible door leading out of the battlefield. It shimmered slightly, detectable only to archangels and those above. His fingers curled into fists, jaw tightening.

"There's a squadron waiting for us outside," he murmured. "Fully armed. If we resist, we die, bravely but very quickly."

A heavy silence fell over them. Even Zython's smirk faded.

Elijah let out a slow breath, squared his shoulders, and with a final glance at his group, he unlatched the door and pushed it open.

Light flooded in.

And there they were.

Rows upon rows of angels, weapons raised, eyes cold. And in front of them, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, was Gabriel.

A sharp, knowing smile curled at his lips. "Hello, brother."

The moment the words left Gabriel's mouth, his soldiers closed in, shackles in hand.

"Take them."

No hesitation. Each angel moved with lethal precision, snapping cuffs onto their wrists—cuffs that burned, suppressing magic instantly. Even Zython grimaced as the cold metal clamped down. Jenny flinched as her own powers were cut off.

Gabriel's eyes landed on Zython, a flicker of amusement crossing his regal features. "A demon? In the Celestial City? Now, that is quite the anomaly. Even I must admit, I did not anticipate this." His tone was cool and composed. "Perhaps we should have a rematch. I suspect you cheated last time. Cast me down unfairly."

Zython rolled his eyes. "Again with this?" He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Look, if some idiot demon gave you angels the impression that we play fair, let me know who they are so I can roast them in a bull."

Gabriel chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. "A delightful jest, truly. But you will find no amusement where we are going." He gestured grandly. "The council is expecting you."

No one resisted.

There was no point.

They were escorted through towering marble halls, their shackled wrists heavy. Every step echoed in the cavernous corridors, a reminder of just how trapped they were.

When they finally reached the council chambers, a hush fell over the room. The Dominions sat in their thrones, impassive, unreadable.

And then Matt saw them.

His stomach clenched.

Across the vast room, on the other side of the grand hall, stood Anastasia, Sean, and Wyatt.

They weren't shackled. They weren't restrained. But they weren't free either.

They stood still. Unmoving.

Except Anastasia.

Her eyes scanned the group frantically, looking for someone. The moment she saw Matt, her expression crumbled.

"Dad!" Matt's voice cracked. His feet moved before he could stop them. But Wyatt—his father—stayed still. Cold. Silent. As if Matt's voice didn't even register.

Anastasia broke first.

She moved. Wyatt reached for her, but she was too quick. She bolted across the chamber, dodging arms that tried to stop her, and threw herself at Matt and Jenny, hugging them tight.

"Thank Goodness," she breathed against Jenny's shoulder. "You're okay."

And then she saw him.

The breath in her lungs vanished.

Bastian.

He was standing just inside the doorway, bound in heavy cuffs, shoulders rigid. His head was lowered slightly, as if weighed down by something more than chains. His clothes—no longer the modern ones she remembered—were torn, tattered, the kind of warrior's attire worn in a battle centuries past. His hair was messier, his jaw more defined, a shadow of exhaustion darkening his face.

But he was there, in front of her.

Alive.

Anastasia's vision blurred with unshed tears as she took a shaky step forward. Her heart pounded. Her hands trembled. And before she could think, before she could stop herself, she ran.

Straight into his arms.

Or she would have—if he had the ability to hold her back.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him like she would never let go. She buried her face into his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent. He tensed, but she ignored it. He was safe. He was back.

"Bastian," she whispered, voice cracking.

And then he stiffened completely.

Slowly, she pulled back, enough to look into his face.

His beautiful, stormy eyes.

But something was missing.

He looked at her like she was a stranger but almost sympathetic at the same time.

His lips parted, hesitated, then uttered three words.

"Who are you?"