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He nods. “By me, I’ve heard.”

“Right. He refused to bend a knee to humans, believed that God was making a mistake by creating man—something with free will. He was jealous, angry that we weren’t enough. He was convinced it was his destiny to lead the angels, to save them from whatever fate man would condemn us to, and for that he was banished to Hell. Many angels fell with him.”

“How many?” He leans forward and his face appears to be glowing in the squirming flames of the mason jars.

“One third of all angels in Heaven.”

He’s silent for a moment as this sinks in. Finally, he asks, “Did you fall?”

“No,” I answer, fiddling with the cold chain of my pendant. “Not then. I didn’t think humans would be so bad, so I remained in Heaven. But not for much long after...” I shake my head. He doesn’t need to know that yet. “Trapped in Hell, though, Lucifer had plenty of time to let his anger fester. He fell from grace, was disrobed of his angelic title, and labeled a demon. The first demon.”

Michael’s eyes fall to the collection of jars. A serious silence hangs between us, tension sparking in the small room of the cave like electricity.

“What he did,” I go on, “really wasn’t so bad when you think about it. He said that he wouldn’t honor anyone over God, and for that he was to face endless suffering? He spoke up for something he believed in. It started out pure but then—” I shake my head, letting the words die in my mouth.
Pure motives mean nothing when they distort under ego.

Lucifer thought he knew more, could rule better, than God. His good intentions warped into a play for power. He overstepped his bounds, grew more and more arrogant in his claim for the throne. Heaven could never let a threat like him stay amongst the angels; he’s lucky he was allowed to live. But which fate is worse: death, or living in exile? Revenge soured him into something almost unrecognizable.

“It didn’t take long for Lucifer to escape his chains. I don’t think God ever intended to have him imprisoned in Hell forever. I think it was meant as penance, that the angels hoped he would change his mind. Obviously, he didn’t. After a few decades, Lucifer was able to walk the Earth again. At this time, there still weren’t any humans, but his freedom threw a wrench in Heaven’s plan.

“No angel wanted to start a species in a hostile environment; they wouldn’t survive a day with Lucifer stalking around. So plans were made to destroy him. But he was the first of his kind, and Heaven had never had to kill a demon before. They didn’t have the means to destroy him. That was when the seven archangels’ swords were cast. Jophiel, Chamuel, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Zadkiel and you were given great swords that would slay any and all evil. Almost all of the swords were lost or destroyed in battle, which is why yours is so unique. It is the lone survivor.”

He looks down at his sword, adjusting it on his hip. I flinch, but bury it under my words before he notices.

“You were the most powerful of all of the archangels and led Heaven’s army in battle. The fighting raged on for years. Each year, more and more angels fell from grace, abandoning a cause they no longer believed in.” I pause. “And that’s when Azael and I fell.”

I watch him measuredly, carefully gauging his reaction, but he doesn’t say anything.

I take a steady breath. “When an angel falls, they begin to die. Their heart stops beating, their soul begins to wither away. Eventually, the heart and the soul are completely eaten away by the poison that replaces our blood.”

I look up at him, watching as he processes everything I tell him. His forehead creases, as if he doesn’t believe me, so I remove my dagger from my belt and pull the blade across my hand, splitting the skin. Black blood begins to pool in my palm, and I wince at the feeling of holding my own blood. I let it spill out of my hand and fall to the ground next to me as I place the dagger back at my hip and ball my hand into a fist, waiting for the flayed skin to heal.

“My eyes used to be a light green, almost translucent.” The words slip from my lips before I can pull them back. “Azael’s were a mossy green,” I say to the ground. “But the moment we fell from grace, our eyes changed to this violet.”

He lifts his eyes and looks across the cave at me, holding me in a gaze that neither of us is willing to break. The fire from the jars dances wildly in his darkening eyes, as if the flames live inside of him.

“I could imagine you with green eyes,” he says softly.

I clear my throat, pulling my eyes from him, and continue. “Azael and I fought in hundreds of battles. We were repeatedly told lies—from both sides— to persuade us to fight. There was so much senseless violence. We fought with and against our friends and saw them die in front of us. I had to kill angels I had known since before Earth knew light. My hands will never be clean of their blood.” My voice sounds strangled so I stop, tightening my fist. “The one thing we never saw, though, was compassion.”

There’s a long beat of silence, and he shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. I think he’s going to say something, but only his silence speaks to me.

“No angel is perfect,” I begin in a whisper. “And Lucifer was far from perfect, but there was no forgiving his faults, no understanding. I couldn’t fight for Heaven when their definition of good was so narrow that it excluded any instance of weakness. When it punished doubt. Being righteous does not always mean being right. It simply means trying to do what you think is right.”

I twist the dark chain of my necklace and look at Michael. His eyebrows are drawn together and his lips are pursed. I can’t tell whether what I’ve said upset him or confused him, so I close my eyes. But I can feel that he’s still watching me.

“I laid down my sword for Heaven and pledged my allegiance to Hell with Azael. We fought together, side by side.” I open my eyes but keep them lowered to my lap. “The war seemed like it was coming to an end. Heaven continued to lose angels to Hell, and those who remained loyal soon grew weary of the fighting. Less and less forces arrived in battles, and Lucifer’s growing army was conquering Heaven with relative ease. Hell had no moral contract to constrict our fighting, and we became more powerful with each win.”

“How many angels died?” he asks solemnly.

“Scores of them, but no one knows for sure. There wasn’t anyone counting the losses,” I answer angrily. “There was no dignity to the angels who died. The dead from both sides were left where they had fallen.”

His face is drawn.

“I can stop,” I offer. The worst of the story has yet to come, and I’m worried that he won’t be able to handle it.

“No,” he says quickly. “I need to know.”

I study his face, trying to read the dark clouds of emotions that pass over him, but I can’t decipher his thoughts.

“The final battle was the most violent of all,” I say carefully. “The last of Heaven’s forces arrived, bringing the fire of Heaven to Earth. The land burned. The archangels who still had their weapons—you, Gabriel, and Raphael—sliced their way through the throng of demons that surrounded them. Azael and I held back the other angels as the more powerful demons charged the archangels. The only way we could differentiate enemy from ally was their eyes. Violet was safe, but everyone else was a threat.

“I remember throwing a knife into the stomach of an angel with amber eyes that was wielding a bow and arrow. Her name was Amitiel, an angel of truth, but I used to call her Ami. We weren’t exactly close, but I didn’t want to kill her…”

Michael’s gaze falls to the flames. There’s an ache in my core and I want so badly for him to say something, to know what he’s thinking. He should yell at me, tell me what a monster I am for killing an angel I knew—
angels
I knew. Maybe even a friend. But he doesn’t, and somehow his silence is worse than any insult he could throw.

“She collapsed and I retrieved my knife, and then there were others—some I knew, others I didn’t. An angel with a slingshot, another with a spear…” The deaths all play across the back of my mind like a movie, and try as I might, I can’t look away. “After I killed them, I turned to make sure Azael was safe, but I couldn’t find him. I kept calling out to him.”

It feels like I’m back in the throng of battle. I can feel the heavy wings pulsing around me, knocking me off my path as I run in search of him. I remember my throat, raw from screaming, and the heat I couldn’t escape.

“For those five minutes we were separated, I was convinced he was dead. I was ready to give up, just let myself be killed, but somehow… I survived. And then I saw him. He was climbing up a steep, rocky cliff with his scythe held in his teeth.

“You and Lucifer were locked in battle at the top of the mountain. Lucifer slashed out at your abdomen, but you were able to avoid the worst of his strike. Your face was set in angry determination, even as you became drenched in your blood. I was frozen where I stood, motionless in the midst of chaos. I couldn’t look away from you.” My cheeks burn and I let my hair fall around my shoulders. “You never wavered, never hesitated. Until Azael made it to the top of the mountain.”

“Azael,” he repeats.

“He walked forward, positioning himself so that he was standing almost directly between you and Lucifer. I don’t know if he knew what he was doing—if he was sacrificing himself, distracting you, or if he thought he could help Lucifer kill you. Probably a bit of each, knowing Az. He’s reckless in battle. He never thinks about the consequences of his actions. Never plans…”

I stop for a moment, remembering how angry I was at what Azael had done. Never for a moment did he consider me when he climbed up that mountain. He didn’t even say goodbye when he left me during battle.

He should have at least said goodbye.

“You drew your sword back to strike,” I go on, “and I let out a horrible bloodcurdling scream that stopped some of those fighting around me. Everyone turned to stare at what I was looking at, and I couldn’t stop screaming.”

I pause again as the anger fades and I remember the horror I felt in that moment. I was terrified that he was going to strike Azael and I would have to watch as he turned to ash in front of me. I tighten my grip on my necklace, the sharp stone cutting into the soft flesh of my palm. I lift my eyes, looking at him, mystified.

“But you didn’t strike,” I whisper. “You looked at me.”

Just like you are looking at me now,
I think to myself. His eyes hold the same mixture of surprise and concentration.

“In that brief moment of hesitation, Lucifer grabbed his sword, held it high above his head, and brought it down so forcefully into your chest that its tip sliced through you completely, the end of it reaching out of your back, coated in the reddest blood I had ever seen. The blade pierced through your heart.” Michael flinches, but I continue. “You collapsed to the ground, the sword still stuck in your chest. The sky went black, and when the darkness lifted, the angels were gone. But you remained, crumpled on the top of the mountain.

“I ran up the mountain to Azael, not believing he had truly survived. But he had. He laughed at me, thought I was losing my mind, and he kept reassuring me that he was fine. And he was, for the most part. He had broken bones, bruises, and horrible gashes covering his body, but he would heal. He
did
heal.” I run a shaky hand through my hair.

That moment still makes me sick, even after all this time. The anger at his recklessness, the fear that I would lose him forever, and then the flood of dizzy relief that he was alive. It all happened so fast, but it replays in my mind in slow motion and makes me nauseous.

“Lucifer told him to reap your soul. I stood there and watched, horrified. I didn’t fight for Heaven, I no longer belonged to the angels, but somewhere, inside the pit of my stomach, it felt wrong.”

“Wrong,” he echoes.

I nod and lick my lips. “He pulled your soul from your chest and was burned terribly by your light. He still has a scar running up his left arm, if you look closely, from where your soul wrapped around him.”

Reaching forward, I grab his wrist in my hand and trace the path of Azael’s scar up his forearm slowly. I freeze, suddenly aware of my touch and how still he has become, and I look up to meet his eyes. I can hear his heartbeat in his chest. It’s faster, slightly uneven.

With a sharp intake of breath, I let go of him and sit back against the rocky bench, pushing myself as far away from him as I can.
Stupid
. I wrap my arms around myself.

“Lucifer took what was left of you to Hell. Azael went with him, conferring about how best to keep you caged. I had no part in the process. They believed that I was too fragile and undone by what I had seen to be of any help. And maybe they were right, in the moment. I had just left Heaven to stop a war I didn’t believe in, and my brother then played an instrumental role in the success of Hell.
I
unwittingly played a part in Hell’s success.” I drop my necklace. “No one has ever thought me too weak to handle anything since then.”

Michael rests his hand on his chest, his broad fingers spread out over his heart. When he removes his hand, he looks at me. “Pierced through the heart.”

“Yes.”

“Somehow I knew.”

He points at a thin silver scar that curves over his chest. It is so thin that I didn’t notice it before. I lean towards him, across the jars of light, studying the scar. It is positioned right over his heart, which beats defiantly in his chest now.
He should be dead.
I look up into his eyes and see that he is watching me closely.