Mike had pushed the memories of the Ninth Heaven to the furthest recesses of his mind. The weight of their truth, their burden, would not settle on him now. He couldn't afford it. Not with what lay before him.
A beautiful world appeared on his horizon, and perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he appeared before it, drifting into view like a forgotten dream taking form. It wasn't dissimilar to the world he once knew, the world that had called itself Earth—his home. Yet, this world, Nemu, felt… different. Its surface shimmered with an ethereal glow, like a reflection of something older, deeper. He could sense the pulse of it, just beneath the veil.
The world beckoned to him, but Mike did not need to be called. He hovered in the space above it, suspended, wings unfurled like a vast expanse of eternity itself. One wing shimmered with a deep, radiant blue, a hue like the most perfect, unbroken sky. The other blazed with a fierce crimson, an endless flame that seemed to ignite the very air around him. At their edges, flecks of white dusted the wings, small, fleeting specks that glimmered like frozen fire, a contradiction in terms, and yet, fitting for the creature who wore them.
His wings stretched wide, casting their shadow over the whole of Nemu. The balance of light and shadow, fire and ice, warmth and cold, there was no force within this world that could claim dominion over the other. They coexisted, the wings bearing them all into a strange, sacred equilibrium.
Mike took a deep breath. The planet, in all its splendor, pulsed beneath him, sending a quiet hum through the air. He could feel the pulse of it, feel the very heartbeat of this world beneath his feet, even though he was not truly touching it.
'This place feels like a reflection, but not quite the same. Earth, yes, but also something older, something beyond even my own understanding'.
On the day side of Nemu, warmth wrapped the earth, steady and life-giving, though too strong for comfort. On the night side, frost sank deep, chilling mortals to their marrow, yet leaving behind an aftertaste of invigoration, as though even suffering were a kind of healing.
He had hovered for hours, silent, scanning, searching for the ripples that always betrayed the coming of intruders. His gaze pierced valleys, oceans, mountains, and even the hidden corners where shadow sought to hide. At last, his eyes fell toward Uriel.
Her gaze, lifted from the world below, pierced the heavens to find him. She could not see him truly, but her heart knew. Its beat grew so wild she thought it might tear itself from her breast. And yet with the fear came something else — assurance. To look in his direction was to feel safe, as though nothing in all the cosmos could undo her again.
Mike detached from his wings.
His form shrank as his grace drained, condensing from boundless radiance into the stature of a man. Without this, the mortals of Nemu would be undone in a breath, burned or frozen by what they could not endure. His wings remained above, spread wide, sealing the planet beneath their dome. None could pierce that circle uninvited.
He descended.
Uriel ran to him, falling into his arms before her tears could even form words. Centuries of grief broke open in her chest. She clung to him like a child forgotten and found, like a wanderer at last returning home.
Rain began to fall.
At first a mist, then a torrent. The skies mourned with her, veiling the world in storm so no mortal eye might witness this reunion. It rained until rivers swelled, until mountains dripped, until the land itself seemed bowed beneath her sorrow.
Mike did not move. He only held her, his arms unyielding, a shelter against every grief.
Hours passed. The rain did not cease. A whole day turned before he spoke, his voice low but firm.
"Urie… do you intend to drown this world in grief?"
Her sobs softened. She laughed faintly through tears, pinching his chest as in ages past. "The first thing you say after so long is rebuke. Will you never change?"
He smiled, though faintly. "Not while you are still yourself."
They stood there, bound by silence and rain, as though time itself paused to give them rest.
Yet outside the dome, unseen by Uriel's tear-blurred eyes, others watched or so they thought.
At the edge of the dome stood a figure radiant and golden. His light was not vast like Mike's wings, but contained, restrained to within a breath of his body. It was the glow of a flame that would not be quenched, yet would not leap beyond its wick. His face bore the grace of an Indian prince, noble and serene, his gaze calm as still water.
This was the young prince, Buddha.
He did not draw near. He knew the dome was not to be crossed, not by cunning nor by force. Even to approach too closely was to court destruction. So he lingered, watching, his silence filled with weight.
And then another laugh stirred the darkness.
Loki.
He stood even further off, distant by choice, his eyes bright with mischief though his feet would not dare near the circle.
"I told you," Loki said, voice curling like smoke. "Antagonizing an angel is folly enough. But an Archangel? There is no corner in all creation where you could hide."
Buddha did not reply. His gaze remained fixed on the dome, on the faint glimmers of Uriel's tears and Mike's embrace beyond.
Loki tilted his head, smirking. "What, no clever word, Sage? No sermon to soothe? Or do you already feel the edge of his wings pressing against your silence?"
Buddha finally turned his eyes, calm and steady. His words were measured, quiet, yet they cut through the rain as though it bent around them.
"You fear his wrath more than I. That is why you stand in shadow and not in light."
Loki chuckled again, though unease flickered beneath the sound. He said nothing more, why would he, he had said all that needed saying when the plan had been hatched, he had even used the warnings the all-father had used to caution him and Thor when they were boys. he was only here to spectate, who knew he find buddha trying to flee, he would make sure this interaction happened, be it peaceful or violent
And so he waited.
Within the dome, Mike felt them both.
The distant radiance of the Awakened One, golden and contained. The trickster's shifting presence, like smoke forever slipping through fingers. They were far, yet not far enough. His wings told him all: who watched, who lingered, who dared approach.
But he said nothing.
Uriel trembled still, her head against his chest, the rain heavy upon them both. He would not break her fragile peace with words of intruders. Let her believe, if only for this moment, that they were alone, sheltered, free of all eyes.
Mike's eyes, however, never strayed from the horizon.
He knew this peace was not lasting. The day would come when the golden one would step closer, when the Awakened would speak, when words of peace would clash with words of command. And Loki would be there, laughing, feeding the fire.
But not today.
Today, he was brother. He was shelter. He was the silence in which Uriel's grief could finally rest.
And so he held her, though his wings thrummed above with restless power, sensing every watcher beyond the circle.
The storm raged on.
And the world slept beneath wings it did not know had saved it.