Decisions

The Grand Hall of Judgment had been suffocating.

Azarel had stood there, unmoving, watching as they decided Vael's fate with cold precision.

Banishment.

Not execution.

Not imprisonment.

They were casting him away.

Erasing him.

And Azarel had done nothing.

He had stood in silence as the sentence was delivered, as the portal was prepared, as Vael was forced forward with heavy chains around his wrists.

His pulse had been too loud in his ears.

His thoughts, too fractured.

His hands, clenched at his sides, had trembled.

And yet, he had said nothing.

It wasn't fear that kept him still.

It wasn't hesitation.

It was something worse.

Something deeper.

Because he had known—

The moment he spoke, the moment he moved, the moment he defied them—

Everything would change.

And he had needed to be certain.

Azarel had spent his entire existence as Asphodel's perfect warrior.

Obedient. Disciplined. Unwavering.

The golden boy of the celestial realm.

And now, for the first time in his life, he was about to betray all of it.

Because of him.

Because of the demon standing before the portal, head high, unflinching even in the face of exile.

Vael hadn't struggled.

Hadn't begged.

Hadn't fought against the warriors who restrained him.

But Azarel had seen it.

The flicker of betrayal in his crimson eyes.

The silent accusation.

As if he had already accepted that Azarel had abandoned him.

The weight of it hit Azarel's chest like a blade.

And that was when he knew.

That was when the choice was made.

Not a reckless impulse.

Not an act of defiance.

A decision.

His decision.

He would not stand by and let this happen.

Not to him.

Not to Vael.

The world narrowed.

His hesitation shattered.

And then—he moved.

Faster than light. Faster than breath.

His wings unfurled with a force that cracked the marble beneath his feet.

Gasps filled the hall, but he didn't hear them.

The wind screamed around him as he tore through the space between them, a blur of silver and gold, a streak of unrelenting motion.

Before anyone could react, before even Vael could react—

Azarel grabbed him.

Fingers closing around him.

Pulling him close.

And without a second's pause—

He took him.

Straight through the portal.

Straight into the Abyss.

The golden light vanished in an instant, swallowed by the crushing darkness of Kur'thaal.

The winds howled around them as they plummeted, heat rising, embers catching against their skin.

The force of the descent sent them tumbling, wings flaring, weightless in the abyssal currents.

Vael's body was solid beneath his grip—too solid.

Azarel had never held him like this before.

Had never touched him like this before.

And now, he couldn't let go.

Vael's stunned silence broke.

"What—" His voice was raw, breathless against the rush of air. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Azarel didn't answer.

He couldn't.

Not yet.

Not when his heart was hammering against his ribs, not when his wings burned from the speed of their fall, not when the weight of what he had just done was crashing into him all at once.

He had chosen.

Chosen Vael.

Chosen this.

The realization was sharp. Unshakable.

He had spent months fighting against the pull.

Against the quiet, insidious whisper that had crept into his thoughts since the first moment he had laid eyes on him.

But there was no fighting it anymore.

Not when he had just risked everything for him.

Not when he had just thrown away his place in Asphodel for him.

Not when the only thing he had been able to think about as Vael stepped toward that portal was— I can't lose him.

The words had never left his lips.

But they had been there.

Ringing in his skull, echoing in his very bones.

And now, there was no denying it.

Azarel clenched his jaw.

His grip on Vael's arms tightened.

The air between them burned, charged with something raw, something unspoken.

Vael was staring at him—not angry.

Not yet.

Just shocked.

Breathless.

As if he couldn't believe what had just happened.

Azarel's own breath was uneven. His wings ached. His body screamed at him to slow, to find control in the freefall.

But he couldn't.

Because this was it.

This was the moment he could never take back.

The moment he finally understood what he had done.

What he felt.

Not admiration.

Not obsession.

Not even duty.

Something deeper.

Something real.

Something undeniable.

And as the wind roared around them, as Kur'thaal's desolate landscape rushed closer beneath them, as the weight of his choice settled into his chest like an immovable force—

Azarel accepted it.

Accepted what he had been running from.

He didn't just care for Vael.

He didn't just want to protect him.

He didn't just want to understand him.

He might be in love with him.

The truth struck him like lightning.

Brutal. Absolute.

And now, it was too late to stop it.

Too late to change course.

Too late to take any of it back.

Because Azarel had fallen.

And this time—

there would be no rising.