The Council’s Gamble

The chamber was sealed.

Queen Rishe stood in the center, still cloaked in her regal silence. Around her, the polished obsidian of the high chamber reflected the faint glow of Asphodel's heart. Only three others had been summoned—three of the oldest, wisest, and most dangerous angels still loyal to the throne.

Claude. Leya. Fahy.

Each of them stood in silence as Rishe turned to face them, her violet gaze unreadable.

"He is not who we thought he was," she said finally, voice as clear as ringing crystal. "And now… we must decide what to do."

Claude's orange-hued wings stirred. "You're speaking of Azarel," he said, though the name felt wrong on his tongue now. "Or… whatever he's become."

Leya lowered her head slightly, her expression grim. "He's no longer walking our path. But he hasn't turned against us either. Not fully."

"He could," Fahy's voice echoed directly into their minds, her presence still and ghostlike. "That's what frightens you."

Rishe did not deny it. "He's powerful. Too powerful. And if Lilith controls him… not even I could stop what comes next."

Claude narrowed his eyes. "Then we must strike first."

"No," Leya interrupted, her tone calm but unwavering. "If we kill him, we make him the enemy we fear. And if he was once Azarel… if any part of him still remains—he will fight back. He will not die easily."

Silence. Then Rishe asked the question hanging in the air like a blade.

"What are our options?"

Claude was the first to answer. "We destroy him now. Send everything we have. Overwhelm him before he grows even stronger."

Fahy's thought pressed through the silence. "That will cost us more than we're willing to pay."

Leya folded her hands. "Or… we bring Vael into Asphodel. If we accept him, even conditionally, Azarel might return. Might still believe in this realm."

Rishe's gaze snapped toward her. "Accept a demon in our gates?"

"He was once one of us," Leya replied. "And Azarel… Lioren… chose him. If we reject that, we reject him too."

"And the third option?" Claude asked.

"We do nothing," Fahy said. "We wait. We hope. We watch Lilith's moves and pray she doesn't mold him into a weapon we cannot stop."

Rishe was silent for a long time.

Then she dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

When the doors opened, they left without a word, the weight of their choices pressing heavier than ever

Meanwhile, in the Armory of Asphodel…

The great war hall was alive with movement—wings rustling, weapons clashing in ritual training, armor being fitted for the elite guard.

Nathaniel stood at the center, dressed in glistening silver. His expression was carved from stone, unflinching as the soldiers around him prepared for what could be their last mission.

He inspected the edge of his spear—impossibly sharp, forged from the shattered fragments of a comet that once tried to cross the skies without Heaven's blessing. Around his shoulders, his wings remained folded, waiting.

A presence entered the room.

Nathaniel didn't need to turn. He already knew who it was.

"Rafael," he said flatly.

The childlike angel strolled in, his turquoise wings shimmering faintly, bare feet padding across the stone without a sound. He was smiling—of course he was.

"I hear you're going to kill a fallen star," Rafael said, voice light. "And I thought, well… sounds like fun."

Nathaniel turned now, eyes narrowing. "This isn't a game."

"Everything's a game if you play it well enough." Rafael's grin widened, his eyes shining with a dangerous sort of curiosity. "Besides… I want to see how far he's fallen."

"You're unstable."

"And you're desperate."

Silence stretched between them.

"I can help," Rafael continued, more serious now. "You'll need power. Real power. You've seen what he can do. You think a few blessed weapons will be enough? You think one formation of golden-winged saints is going to stop him?"

Nathaniel said nothing.

Rafael leaned in, close enough that his breath grazed Nathaniel's cheek.

"You need me. Because he's not Azarel anymore."

Nathaniel's jaw tightened. "And you think you can stop him?"

"I think," Rafael said slowly, "I might enjoy trying."

For a long moment, Nathaniel considered him.

Then he turned back to the formation scrolls on the table. "Fine. But if you go rogue—if you jeopardize the mission in any way—I will strike you down myself."

Rafael giggled. "I'd like to see you try."