The Trial

The Grand Hall of Judgment loomed above them, an ancient chamber carved from luminous stone, its towering pillars reflecting Asphodel's ever-present radiance. The space was silent, heavy with expectation. This hall had not been used in millennia—not since the last angel had dared to defy Asphodel's laws.

And now, it would judge a demon.

The Grand Hall of Judgment was a place rarely used. A place of finality. A place where only the gravest matters were discussed.

Today, it was filled to the highest reaches.

Angels lined the tiers of the circular chamber, whispering among themselves in hushed tones, their radiant wings shifting uneasily. The air was tense, charged with the weight of something unprecedented.

Seraphine stood at the center, rigid as stone. Leya was beside her, her emerald-lined wings barely moving, expression unreadable. Brisco lingered on the outskirts, deep in thought. And above them all, seated upon the high throne, was Queen Rishe—silent, unmoving, her violet eyes colder than the void.

And there—between them all, bound in celestial chains—stood Vael.

He did not struggle. Did not kneel. Did not cower.

But when he was forced forward, he did glance toward Azarel.

Just once.

Azarel stood among the high-ranked angels, his silver eyes locked on Vael. He had been forbidden from speaking on the demon's behalf. His presence was merely to observe.

Yet his hands curled at his sides. His wings trembled slightly, as if resisting the urge to move.

Vael looked away first.

Seraphine's voice rang through the chamber.

"You are accused of a crime that has never been witnessed in all of angelic history."

Her piercing gaze bore into Vael, yet the demon merely smirked, tilting his head lazily.

"You possess the ability to open a portal to Asphodel," she continued. "A feat not even the strongest of your kind have accomplished."

Vael said nothing.

Instead, he leaned into his restraints, lips curling slightly. He was waiting.

And then—Claude stepped forward.

Claude was old. Older than most.

His orange-based wings barely moved as he observed Vael, his gaze calm but absolute.

"You will speak," he said.

His voice was not loud.

Yet it carried power.

Vael tensed. His muscles coiled beneath his skin. His runes pulsed in defiance. At first, he resisted, his jaw locking, his aura flickering in rebellion.

But Claude was patient. Unyielding. He did not need force. He only needed time.

And then—

The words slipped free.

"I did not open the portal."

A ripple ran through the room.

Vael clenched his fists, trembling slightly against the invisible force compelling him to continue.

"I don't know how I got here."

His breath hitched. He fought it. Fought him.

But the final words tore through him regardless.

"Something—or someone—brought me here."

Gasps rang through the hall.

Vael exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling, furious.

And yet—he had told the truth.

Leya stepped forward now.

Her voice was measured. Sharp.

"If you did not come here by your own will, then explain why you killed three of our own upon arrival."

Vael's jaw tightened.

The power of Claude still clung to him, pulling, demanding an answer. He fought it.

But, slowly, the words came.

"They attacked me."

He gritted his teeth.

"I defended myself."

His voice was lower now, rough. Unwilling.

"If I had wanted to kill more," he added, his red eyes darkening, "I would have."

Silence fell.

The air grew heavy, the weight of his statement pressing into the space around them.

Yet no one argued.

Because he was telling the truth.

And then—Rafael stepped forward.

The child-like angel with turquoise-based wings was unreadable, his expression teetering between curiosity and amusement. His voice was deceptively light.

But his words were anything but.

"You fought well, Vael." He smirked slightly. "You stood your ground. And yet… the first time you hesitated was when you saw him."

Vael's fingers twitched. "What?"

Rafael tilted his head. "Azarel."

Claude's power gripped Vael again.

"How did you meet?"

Vael flinched.

Claude's power was still active.

Vael's breath was slow, forced. He tried to hold back, but the words were pulled from him regardless.

"I saw him on the battlefield."

Rafael's gaze flickered with something sharper. Amusement. Playfulness.

"And what did you think of him the first time you saw him?" he murmured. "Back on the battlefield at Kur'thaal."

Vael fought back a growl, his breath ragged.

And yet, he could not stop the words.

"He was… breathtaking."

Gasps rippled through the hall.

"He was…"

His voice caught. Damn it.

"…Beautiful."

Azarel inhaled sharply.

The room stilled.

Rafael's smirk widened. "Do you often think about him?"

Azarel turned red. Vael's runes flared violently.

"Stop."

Rafael ignored him. His voice dropped, teasing, taunting.

"What do you feel for him, Vael?"

And then—

Claude's power surged.

Vael's body shook.

His aura flickered.

His breath stilled.

And the words left him like a knife to the chest.

"I—"

His fingers curled. His heart pounded. His runes burned.

"I think—"

He gasped, his entire body shuddering against the truth being ripped from him.

"I think I'm in love with him."

The hall exploded.

Gasps. Murmurs. Shocked whispers.

Azarel did not move.

Vael's chest heaved. His eyes burned.

But he did not take it back.

He refused to.

Rafael laughed softly. "Well."

Seraphine slammed her spear into the ground. "Silence!"

The room fell still.

Vael stood at the center, celestial chains wrapped around his wrists, binding his power. Despite the restraints, he remained still, his crimson eyes burning with quiet defiance. He did not look at anyone else. Not the council. Not the murmuring audience above.

Only Azarel.

Azarel, who had not moved, who sat still, his silver eyes dark and unreadable, his posture impossibly rigid.

Then, laughter.

Rafael, perched on the edge of his seat like a child watching a performance, grinned wide. "Well," he sighed, dramatically placing a hand over his chest, "this is the most entertaining thing I've witnessed in the last century."

Murmurs of amusement and shock rippled through the hall. Vael felt his jaw clench. Entertaining? Was that all this was to them?

Seraphine's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Enough."

The room stilled.

She stood at the council's podium, eyes scanning the gathered angels with authority. "There will be no more interruptions. Now, we determine the fate of the demon."

The murmurs faded into silence. Even Rafael's grin softened into something more contemplative.

Vael exhaled slowly, but his eyes never left him.

Azarel.

He was still. Too still. Vael watched him closely, his breath uneasy. The weight of everything—of the confession, of the judgment looming over him—faded to nothing against the single question that burned in his mind.

Azarel, what are you thinking?

Then—Azarel moved.

Slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself to his feet.

The room fell silent.

Every eye turned to him. Every whisper ceased.

And then—he turned.

Without hesitation, without a word, Azarel stepped forward, his wings spreading as he ascended into the air.

He was leaving.

Vael felt the moment like a strike to the chest, a sudden and painful realization. He's leaving. He's leaving without a word.

Before he could think, before he could stop himself—

"Wait! Please!"

His voice rang through the chamber, raw, unrestrained.

Azarel did not stop.

His silver wings caught the light as he flew toward the exit, disappearing beyond the golden archway without so much as a glance back.

Vael's aura surged—deep violet and ember red, and then, unmistakably, pale pink. His emotions bled into the air around him, uncontrolled, undeniable.

Seraphine's voice snapped the moment apart. "Enough! Order must be maintained."

The room quieted again, but the air was thick with tension.

Brisco spoke first. "We must keep him here. We need to understand how he crossed the barrier between realms. We cannot act in ignorance. Until we have answers, he remains in Asphodel."

Rafael laughed softly. "Ah, but keeping him here unshackled would be foolish, wouldn't it?" He tapped his chin, eyes gleaming. "Chain him up in the cell. Study him. See how much of a demon's power can be unraveled when you take everything from him."

Vael's fingers curled into fists, his breath slow and heavy.

Then, Feya spoke.

"Why do we debate?" Her voice was cold, precise. "He is a threat. We should remove him before his presence corrupts further. His head would serve as proof that Asphodel's purity remains unshaken."

A heavy silence followed.

But then, another voice. Fahy.

Quiet, yet unyielding.

"You are all forgetting," Fahy said, her telepathic voice brushing through the minds of all present. "He was once one of us. A wingless angel. He chose to leave Asphodel once before."

Her gray-winged form stood motionless as she continued, her thoughts pressing into the minds of those around her like a tide.

"But this time, he came back. Not for war. Not for conquest. He came because of his heart."

Vael's breath caught in his throat.

Fahy's tone remained steady, absolute. "We should not give him what he did not choose last time. Banish him back to Kur'thaal. Let him return to what he abandoned—but not as a choice. As punishment."

Seraphine's gaze darkened. She looked at Vael, truly looked at him for the first time, as if seeing something different in him.

The judgment was shifting.

Vael's chest tightened, his aura wavering.

Azarel was gone.

And now—

His fate was no longer his own.