Nicki's tears dried as she nodded. "Okay."
It's the basic things—love, respect, and compassion—that make the biggest difference sometimes. The little boy and girl shared a smile before going their separate ways again.
"You should be sainted," Hannah said. "I couldn't deal with these tiny, fickle creatures every day."
"There are worse things out there," Serah reminded her. "Besides, kids are the easiest. They still have consciences."
"Is that why you wanted this job?"
The girls rejoined hands and returned to their game as if nothing had happened. Resilient creatures, kids. Serah had been elated to take on the task of watching over them—a task most of her kind didn't understand or appreciate. "They give me hope. Reminds me why we all do what we do every day."
"I could say the same about the grass and the trees, but you don't see me volunteering for gardening duty, do you?"
Serah laughed. "I don't see you volunteering for anything."
A bell rang in the distance. The children all bolted for the school building, rushing right past them, a few even knocking into their swings. No one looked their way or suspected their presence, oblivious to the angels lingering in the schoolyard.
They were only seen when they wanted to be seen.
As the children obediently lined up to go to their classrooms, something stirred in the air. The vibrant sun disappeared behind a sudden dense cloud covering, the blue sky darkening to the shade of midnight.
"Are you doing that?" Serah asked, looking above.
Hannah slowly shook her head. "It's not supposed to storm today."
They jolted in harmony as thunder roared, deadly lightning flashing across the sky. The kids shrieked, startled by the shift in weather, before rushing indoors to beat the oncoming rain.
Electricity sizzled across Serah's skin, the sky screaming what words wouldn't say.
Somewhere out there, an angel had fallen today.
The two teleported home the same time as countless others, a vast expanse of glowing land on a different plane, far out of human reach. Frantic whispers coursed through the pure white air as they took personal roll call, making sure their friends were all there, Grace still intact.
Hannah flowed through the group, trying to find answers, while Serah took up residence along the outskirts, her eyes scanning the crowd for her brothers and sisters. It was impossible to keep up with everyone as thousands upon thousands of their kind descended. It was rare they gathered together like this—only during times of immeasurable desperation.
And desperation, at that moment, was a severe understatement.
An angel falling, to them, was the greatest tragedy. They were supposed to be unshakable, their faith unwavering, their strength unparalleled, but when one of their own tumbled from their proverbial pedestal, lost to earthly transgressions, it served as a stark reminder that even the invincible weren’t immune to the temptations of sin.
Hannah reappeared. Serah stared at her, wide-eyed. Few things affected them—they felt no hunger, no cold, no physical pain—but even angels weren't ignorant to fear. They were trained to sense it, to detect the smallest hints of danger surrounding them. "Who was it? Who fell?"
"I, uh . . . I don't know yet."
Reaching over, Hannah grabbed Serah's hand and squeezed reassuringly. The two of them had been side by side since the beginning. They'd watched in awe together as God made the universe, watched in fascination as He created man, and watched in sorrow as that creation persecuted His son.
And together, they'd watched in horror as one of their own turned against their Father, bringing down many of their kind along the way.
"I can sense all of the Virtues," Hannah said, visibly relaxing. "It wasn't one of us that fell. We're all okay."
Serah stood frozen, wishing she felt the same relief. Something deep inside of her churned, an expanding void, a connection missing. It was as if a limb had been severed, a part of her slowly but surely ripping away.
A gasp tore from her chest as the link in the chain brutally snapped. "I think it's—"
"Samuel."
The chorus of whispers ceased as the strong, male voice interrupted. It reached far and wide, detached and stoic, but the sound of it carried devastating heartache through the crowd. Serah especially felt it, confirming her emptiness.
Samuel. Oh, Samuel.
Slowly, she turned and came face-to-face with Michael behind her, his massive iridescent wings twice the size of everyone else's. The appearance of an Archangel sent most of the others apparating back out of there within seconds, but Serah didn't move. She couldn't. Not yet.
It couldn't be Samuel. It had to be a mistake.
Had to be.
Michael's gaze trailed over what remained of the crowd before settling intently on her. Sympathy shined from his blue eyes, his handsomely chiseled face burdened. "I'm sorry."
If Serah were capable of crying, tears would've streaked her ashen face then. Samuel—her brother, her best friend—had fallen.
But how?
Although she hadn't asked it out loud, Michael heard her question. "How do any of us fall?"
Sin.
More angels promptly vanished, returning to their endless duties, as others materialized. The Dominion, with their dowdy, gray suits and small, matching wings, quietly dished out orders to the remaining angels. Serah just stood there, staring wordlessly at Michael, hoping something would spill from his lips to make sense of it all, but he chose to remain mute. If he had answers, if he had an actual explanation, he wasn’t planning to clue her in.
It's the basic things—love, respect, and compassion—that make the biggest difference sometimes. The little boy and girl shared a smile before going their separate ways again.
"You should be sainted," Hannah said. "I couldn't deal with these tiny, fickle creatures every day."
"There are worse things out there," Serah reminded her. "Besides, kids are the easiest. They still have consciences."
"Is that why you wanted this job?"
The girls rejoined hands and returned to their game as if nothing had happened. Resilient creatures, kids. Serah had been elated to take on the task of watching over them—a task most of her kind didn't understand or appreciate. "They give me hope. Reminds me why we all do what we do every day."
"I could say the same about the grass and the trees, but you don't see me volunteering for gardening duty, do you?"
Serah laughed. "I don't see you volunteering for anything."
A bell rang in the distance. The children all bolted for the school building, rushing right past them, a few even knocking into their swings. No one looked their way or suspected their presence, oblivious to the angels lingering in the schoolyard.
They were only seen when they wanted to be seen.
As the children obediently lined up to go to their classrooms, something stirred in the air. The vibrant sun disappeared behind a sudden dense cloud covering, the blue sky darkening to the shade of midnight.
"Are you doing that?" Serah asked, looking above.
Hannah slowly shook her head. "It's not supposed to storm today."
They jolted in harmony as thunder roared, deadly lightning flashing across the sky. The kids shrieked, startled by the shift in weather, before rushing indoors to beat the oncoming rain.
Electricity sizzled across Serah's skin, the sky screaming what words wouldn't say.
Somewhere out there, an angel had fallen today.
The two teleported home the same time as countless others, a vast expanse of glowing land on a different plane, far out of human reach. Frantic whispers coursed through the pure white air as they took personal roll call, making sure their friends were all there, Grace still intact.
Hannah flowed through the group, trying to find answers, while Serah took up residence along the outskirts, her eyes scanning the crowd for her brothers and sisters. It was impossible to keep up with everyone as thousands upon thousands of their kind descended. It was rare they gathered together like this—only during times of immeasurable desperation.
And desperation, at that moment, was a severe understatement.
An angel falling, to them, was the greatest tragedy. They were supposed to be unshakable, their faith unwavering, their strength unparalleled, but when one of their own tumbled from their proverbial pedestal, lost to earthly transgressions, it served as a stark reminder that even the invincible weren’t immune to the temptations of sin.
Hannah reappeared. Serah stared at her, wide-eyed. Few things affected them—they felt no hunger, no cold, no physical pain—but even angels weren't ignorant to fear. They were trained to sense it, to detect the smallest hints of danger surrounding them. "Who was it? Who fell?"
"I, uh . . . I don't know yet."
Reaching over, Hannah grabbed Serah's hand and squeezed reassuringly. The two of them had been side by side since the beginning. They'd watched in awe together as God made the universe, watched in fascination as He created man, and watched in sorrow as that creation persecuted His son.
And together, they'd watched in horror as one of their own turned against their Father, bringing down many of their kind along the way.
"I can sense all of the Virtues," Hannah said, visibly relaxing. "It wasn't one of us that fell. We're all okay."
Serah stood frozen, wishing she felt the same relief. Something deep inside of her churned, an expanding void, a connection missing. It was as if a limb had been severed, a part of her slowly but surely ripping away.
A gasp tore from her chest as the link in the chain brutally snapped. "I think it's—"
"Samuel."
The chorus of whispers ceased as the strong, male voice interrupted. It reached far and wide, detached and stoic, but the sound of it carried devastating heartache through the crowd. Serah especially felt it, confirming her emptiness.
Samuel. Oh, Samuel.
Slowly, she turned and came face-to-face with Michael behind her, his massive iridescent wings twice the size of everyone else's. The appearance of an Archangel sent most of the others apparating back out of there within seconds, but Serah didn't move. She couldn't. Not yet.
It couldn't be Samuel. It had to be a mistake.
Had to be.
Michael's gaze trailed over what remained of the crowd before settling intently on her. Sympathy shined from his blue eyes, his handsomely chiseled face burdened. "I'm sorry."
If Serah were capable of crying, tears would've streaked her ashen face then. Samuel—her brother, her best friend—had fallen.
But how?
Although she hadn't asked it out loud, Michael heard her question. "How do any of us fall?"
Sin.
More angels promptly vanished, returning to their endless duties, as others materialized. The Dominion, with their dowdy, gray suits and small, matching wings, quietly dished out orders to the remaining angels. Serah just stood there, staring wordlessly at Michael, hoping something would spill from his lips to make sense of it all, but he chose to remain mute. If he had answers, if he had an actual explanation, he wasn’t planning to clue her in.
