The Weight of Heaven

The cold wind of the Abyss howled around them, the atmosphere shifting as the portal sealed behind them. The moment Asphodel was gone, Azarel's body relaxed in a way he had never felt before. It was subtle at first—his shoulders, always tight with unspoken burdens, loosened. His wings, once held with rigid discipline, now flexed naturally in the vast, open sky. And in his chest, something uncoiled. Something that had been wound so tightly for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to breathe without it.

Relief.

For the first time in his existence, he was free.

Azarel exhaled, and the sound was not heavy. It was not restrained. It was quiet, light—like a whisper carried by the wind. The eternal weight of Heaven was no longer pressing down on him. The expectations, the duty, the perfection—all of it was gone. He had left it behind, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it felt right.

But Vael did not feel the same.

The demon tore himself from Azarel's grasp the moment they steadied in the air. His breath was ragged, his runes pulsing erratically along his arms, shifting between deep crimson and violent violet. His aura flared like a wildfire, chaotic, unpredictable, filled with something just as volatile as his emotions.

Anger.

"You," Vael's voice was sharp, furious, almost disbelieving. "What the hell did you just do?"

Azarel blinked, his silver eyes calm, as if the answer was obvious. "I got you out."

Vael's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. "You—You left," he growled, his voice unsteady with disbelief. "You just left your perfect precious life behind—for what?"

Azarel tilted his head slightly, regarding him with unreadable eyes. "I couldn't let them take you."

Vael felt staggered, his emotions were a complete chaos. He wanted Azarel to fight for him—he didn't expect him to throw everything away.

He grabed Azarel's armor, shaking him, demanding: "Why? Why would you do this?"

Azarel gaze was calm, "Because I couldn't watch you leave." 

The words hit Vael too hard. His aura flickerd erratically—this isn't how this was supposed to happen.

Azarel spoke, certain, "You aren't alone anymore."

Vael's teeth clenched. "I didn't ask for you to throw your entire existence away, Azarel."

Azarel was silent for a long moment, his wings shifting as if testing the air around him. Then, finally, he spoke—his voice softer than before, but unwavering. "You think I regret it?"

Vael faltered.

Azarel held his gaze, steady, certain. "I don't."

Vael's breath hitched. His runes flickered, his aura twisting with something new—something torn between rage and something dangerously close to fear.

Azarel wasn't second-guessing his actions. He wasn't questioning what he had done. He wasn't panicked, or lost, or searching for a way back.

He had chosen this.

And that was what terrified Vael more than anything else.

"Why?" Vael's voice was lower now, rough, like he was forcing the word out through clenched teeth.

Azarel exhaled slowly, as if considering how to answer. His gaze flickered past Vael, to the dark skies of Kur'thaal stretching infinitely around them. The weight of Asphodel was gone. The weight of expectation, of chains he had never seen as chains until now.

He lifted his gaze back to Vael and, for the first time, spoke the truth he had not yet let himself think aloud.

"Because I think I was always meant to leave."

Vael's body locked up.

His aura twisted violently, flashing between red and violet, and then—just for an instant—pale pink.

He forced himself to look away, to stop his body from betraying him further. He had no words for what had just happened, no name for the feeling clawing up his throat.

Instead, he scoffed, turning sharply. "Well," he muttered, voice rough, tense, sharp with everything he refused to say. "Enjoy your freedom, angel."

He took off toward the heart of the Abyss, his movements rigid, his energy crackling dangerously around him.

Then he felt it, a hand gently touched his shoulder—Azarel's hand, he knew without looking. The contact was steady and sure. It grounded Vael as much as the heat beneath his bare feet or the wind on his skin. He lowered his hands from his face and realized the tears he had been holding hadn't fallen after all, leaving only a raw brightness in his eyes. Vael turned to meet Azarel's gaze at last.

"I didn´t want you to be casted out because of me," Vael admitted, voice low. His confession hung between them, honest and vulnerable.

Azarel's lips curved in a small smile. "They didn´t cast me out, I chose to leave" came the reply. There was no judgment, no expectation in Azarel's eyes—only an openness that matched the boundless horizon around them.

The words echoed in Vael's mind as he swallowed hard. As he looked into Azarel's face—at the golden strands of hair stirring in the wind, at the sweat and dust and determination there—Vael felt that unfamiliar warmth in his chest expand a little more, melting some of the fear around it.

His aura, which had been flickering wildly, began to settle. The shifting light around him softened to a steady glow—not one color or another, but a gentle oscillation, like the calm after a storm when the sky is unsure whether to clear or to rain again. Azarel noticed. Vael could tell by the slight widening of his friend's eyes and the way Azarel's hand gently squeezed his shoulder.

Vael closed his eyes for a moment and simply existed. He felt the solid ground under his feet and the hot wind tug at his clothes, as if urging him forward. His muscles ached less with each passing moment; even the bruises and wounds from the fall were already fading into distant memory in this new dawn. And in his heart, that frightening, tender emotion fluttered still—now tempered by a spark of hope.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing a little taller. "Will you stay with me… for whatever comes next?" he asked quietly, still afraid to voice too much of what he felt, but needing to ask this at least.

Azarel's answering smile was like a sunrise breaking over the rugged land. "As long as you want me to," Azarel answered.

Vael released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Those words were a promise he hadn't known he desperately needed to hear. He allowed himself a true smile then—small and a bit uncertain, but genuine. 

Azarel looked one last time over his shoulder, toward the radiant silhouette of Asphodel far in the distance. It already felt unreal to him, a life he'd shed like an old skin. The suffocating light, the chains, the constant pressure—it was all back there, in a place that could no longer reach him. he turned away from it for good, fixing his gaze forward.

Side by side, Vael and Azarel began to walk into the vastness of Kur'thaal. The air around them shimmered with heat and possibility. With each step, Azarel´s heart grew more accustomed to its lightness and to the strange new rhythm it was learning to dance to. Freedom was frightening, exhilarating, and so very alive within him. And as Azarel ventured further into the untamed lands with Vael at his side, he held that feeling—whatever it was—close, determined to let it guide him through the darkness and the light alike.