The Fall

It was done quickly, they condemned him in minutes. 

The warriors moved.

They guided him toward the portal, their grips like iron. His bare feet scraped against the polished floor as they forced him forward, step by step.

The light of Asphodel faded behind him.

The abyss loomed before him.

He did not resist.

He did not look back.

This was his fate.

This was the end of it.

And then—

Lightning.

A flash of silver.

A shadow breaking through the golden glow.

Before Vael could react, before anyone in the hall could understand what was happening—

Azarel moved.

No, not moved—struck.

The angel flew.

Faster than sight. Faster than breath.

The wind of his wings shattered through the air, sending angels stumbling back, gasping as his figure became a streak of silver and gold.

The force of his ascent cracked the stone beneath his feet.

And before Vael could take his final step into the Abyss—

Azarel was there.

His hands—strong, unyielding—grabbed Vael, his grip burning against his skin.

Vael barely had time to inhale before the world collapsed.

Azarel didn't slow.

Didn't falter.

Didn't give anyone the chance to stop him.

The portal roared around them as Azarel surged through it, pulling Vael with him, wings cutting through the abyssal winds.

For the first time in his existence—Vael did not fight.

He didn't struggle.

Didn't resist the arms wrapped around him.

Because Azarel had come for him.

Because Azarel had chosen him.

And now—

They were falling.