The celestial recess was short—far too short for Lucien's liking. No more than an hourglass's turn of stardust before the Tribunal reconvened in full majesty. But the storm brewing behind the veil of protocol was anything but orderly.
Lucien remained seated at the defense bench, his hands steepled under his chin. The silence felt heavier now, not just because of the testimony Ithriel had delivered, but because of the pressure building behind every unspoken word since.
A silence that would not last.
"Court resumes," intoned the Bailiff Angel. His voice was both musical and mechanical, like a chorus caught in a wheel of gears.
The Judges reappeared first as silhouettes in the light, then as figures wreathed in radiance. At their center was Solmara, her presence no less regal, but visibly changed. Even the stars within her veil dimmed slightly. The Witness had left a mark.
Malrik rose immediately. "Your Honors," he began with barely restrained fury, "the last session, orchestrated by the defense, was nothing short of courtroom theater. The witness was a disgraced former Warden, imprisoned for insubordination, whose claims though passionate have no documented corroboration."
He began to pace. Not with Lucien's slow deliberation, but with a predator's step.
"We must not allow emotion to outweigh evidence. This trial is not about a past rebellion. It is about the accused, Seraphiel a former Archangel who violated Heaven's highest laws, conspired with mortals, and incited a schism that cost countless celestial lives."
Lucien remained quiet, reading the room.
Malrik turned and raised a sealed relic a silver mirror etched with angelic glyphs.
"With permission, I submit into evidence the Echo of Eden a divine memory fragment, recorded by the Thrones themselves during the first hearing against Seraphiel."
Solmara gave a single nod. The mirror pulsed and rose into the air, projecting a vision in shimmering light.
The court was bathed in the scene of a previous courtroom one older, darker, less ceremonial. Seraphiel stood in chains at its center. Her wings were broken, one feathered, the other scorched and skeletal.
A Judge's voice thundered through the vision: "You betrayed the Mandate."
Seraphiel's voice replied, calm but resolute: "No. I questioned it."
"You turned from the Path."
"Because the Path led through the bones of mortals and the silence of angels."
Gasps echoed as the memory faded.
Malrik closed the mirror with a decisive snap. "This is not speculation. This is confession. The accused admits her rebellion."
Lucien finally stood.
"Yes," he said quietly. "She questioned. And if questioning the Path is now the same as treason, then every angel who ever hesitated before delivering judgment is guilty."
He stepped toward the Judges, his gaze fixed on Solmara.
"Ithriel's testimony was not meant to excuse rebellion but to reveal context. You say Seraphiel confessed. I say she confessed to caring. To refusing blind obedience. The law she broke… may no longer be just."
Malrik scoffed. "So now we redefine justice?"
"No," Lucien said. "We reclaim it."
He turned toward the gallery of watching angels, many of whom shifted uncomfortably.
"There are names you will never hear. Choirs disbanded, scrolls redacted, voices erased from the Song. Ithriel is one of many. And Seraphiel... was one of few who listened."
Lady Virelle leaned forward. "We have heard much of questioning. But where is your proof that Seraphiel's rebellion was not for power? That she did not seek dominion, as Lucifer once did?"
Lucien nodded slowly. "Then let us not rely solely on words. Let us summon someone who saw her heart before her wings fell. Someone who bore witness… not to her crime, but her compassion."
Solmara tilted her head. "You are requesting another witness?"
"Yes," Lucien said. "One the Court rejected during pre-trial. I appeal now for reconsideration, given the revelations from Ithriel's testimony."
Malrik's voice was a whip. "Denied. The trial cannot become a stage for every disillusioned exile and heretic."
Lucien's voice cut through like lightning. "The witness is not an exile. He is still in Heaven's service."
Solmara raised a brow. "Name the witness."
Lucien turned.
"Archangel Caelum, Warden of the Ninth Gate. Lifelong companion to Seraphiel. He served with her for over a thousand celestial years. And he never betrayed Heaven."
The chamber froze.
Even Malrik flinched.
Solmara turned to the other Judges. Quiet words passed among them in an ancient tongue, too old for mortals or even lesser angels to understand.
Finally, Solmara spoke.
"Your appeal is granted. The Court will summon Archangel Caelum for testimony."
Malrik whispered something under his breath that Lucien couldn't hear.
Lucien knew what came next would be dangerous. Caelum had much to lose by speaking and Seraphiel's past was not a clean scroll. But truth was never pristine. It was earned, fought for, and bled over.
And this courtroom had yet to see it in full.
---
The Gatekeeper's Oath
The courtroom had never been so silent.
Even the shimmering light of the celestial sky above the Tribunal dimmed in anticipation. The summoning of an active Archangel especially one of Caelum's stature was no small request. Lucien stood unmoving as the space before the witness stand began to warp.
A ring of golden light spiraled into existence, runes spinning in a helix of divine law. With a sudden pulse, the circle cracked open like a sun blooming in reverse, and from within stepped a towering figure.
Caelum.
Warden of the Ninth Gate.
Clad in a mantle of starlight, his armor gleamed like moonstone forged in silence. His wings were vast one pure white, the other streaked with silver—a mark of his dual service in both judgment and mercy. His eyes, blue as the first sky, surveyed the courtroom with calm detachment. But when they landed on Seraphiel, seated in chains, something deep within them stirred.
A flicker of memory. A fracture of pain.
Lucien stepped forward. "Do you swear to speak the truth before the Tribunal of Heaven, bound by the Oath of Flame and Light?"
Caelum's voice was calm, clear, and devastatingly honest.
"I swear."
The judges nodded in unison. The veil of silence lifted.
Lucien took a single step closer to the witness podium, careful not to show the hope rising in his chest.
"Archangel Caelum, how long did you serve alongside Seraphiel?"
Caelum's reply was immediate. "One thousand and seventy-two celestial years. From the Morning War to the Binding Accord."
"And in that time, did you witness any act of betrayal from her against the Heavenly Mandate?"
Caelum paused, and the room seemed to hold its breath.
"No."
Lucien tilted his head. "No rebellion? No signs of dissent?"
"I witnessed doubt," Caelum said. "I witnessed her question orders that caused unnecessary destruction. I witnessed her refuse to burn a village that had already repented. I witnessed her shield a mortal child from the Wrathwinds, even when ordered to let it die."
Gasps erupted from the gallery. Malrik slammed his fist on his desk.
"Personal sentiment!" he barked. "Emotion does not excuse dereliction of duty!"
Lucien raised a hand. "Let the witness speak."
Caelum's eyes narrowed, just slightly. "It was not dereliction. It was discernment. And had more of us shown such mercy, the Schism might never have happened."
The Judges leaned forward now. Even Solmara, ever stoic, allowed her brows to rise.
Lucien took a breath. "Did you know of Seraphiel's refusal to execute the Cleansing Orders in the Mortal South?"
"I did," Caelum said. "I was there."
"And what did she do?"
"She walked into a burning city. Alone. She told the mortals to leave, gave them sanctuary time, and disarmed the corrupted priesthood without drawing her blade. She performed the purification without killing a single soul."
The courtroom shifted. Angels murmured among themselves, some in awe, others in disbelief.
Malrik stood again. "And did she report this to the Thrones?"
"She did. She was reprimanded."
Lucien approached the bench. "So she was punished for not killing? For saving lives?"
"For breaking protocol," Malrik snapped.
"For choosing mercy over annihilation," Lucien countered.
Lady Virelle now spoke. "Warden Caelum, if Seraphiel's actions were so noble, why did you not speak on her behalf during the original inquest?"
A shadow crossed Caelum's face.
"I was ordered not to."
The silence returned with force.
Solmara leaned forward. "Who ordered you?"
"I will not say," Caelum answered. "Not here. Not yet."
Lucien didn't push it. Not now.
Instead, he turned to the gallery. "Let this testimony be entered into the sacred record. An active Archangel, of unblemished service, confirms that Seraphiel acted not out of rebellion but conscience."
He faced Caelum again. "One last question. Do you believe she deserves the punishment she faces?"
Caelum's gaze locked with Seraphiel's. Pain. Memory. Duty.
And something more.
"No," he said. "I believe she is the best of us."
The statement landed like a thunderclap. Even the ceiling of the Tribunal shuddered with divine resonance.
Lucien nodded slowly. "No further questions."
Malrik's rebuttal was a flurry of objections and discrediting attempts, but none landed with force. Caelum's record was spotless. His testimony unshakeable. And above all, his words had truth.
When the Judges dismissed him, Caelum paused. He turned to Seraphiel as he passed. A single nod.
She did not return it.
Lucien saw the tightness in her expression. She didn't want Caelum dragged into her fate. But it was too late for that.
He had chosen to speak.
And in doing so, shifted the scales.