Celestial Realm
The arena emptied into silence.
Light drained from the runes, and the last echo of steel on stone faded into the sky. Michael stood still for a moment, wings stretched, eyes on his son. The white feathers cast long shadows across the pale floor.
"Walk with me," he said finally.
Mob didn't answer. He turned his blade once, sliding it into the sheath across his back. His wings unfurled and he started walking—not beside Michael, not even toward him. Just forward, past him, as if the order was never spoken.
Michael's jaw tightened. He stepped after him anyway.
The path out of the training grounds opened into one of the high causeways of the Celestial Realm. The bridges were carved from crystal, suspended in air with no pillars, stretching between mountains of glass and gold. Below them, rivers of light ran endless, carrying fragments of song too faint for mortals to hear.
