Though they had come in peace and walked humbly among men, the presence of the Angels had begun to shift the balance of the world. In Arata and beyond, harvests grew too quickly, diseases vanished without cause, and iron tools shaped by Azazel's secret forge glimmered with unnatural precision.
It was no longer a question of "Who are these strangers?" but "What are they?"
In hushed corners of palaces and temples, elders debated, seers trembled, and kings sent messengers bearing scrolls and bribes to draw these mysterious men into their courts. The people called them the Tall Ones, the Sky Sons, or the Quiet Fathers—beings too perfect, too wise, too different.
Even as suspicion bloomed, something more intimate was unfolding: marriage.
It began quietly. A Watcher would ask for a woman's hand, offering no gold, only truth, devotion, and promise of protection. The unions shocked the villagers, then softened them. The Angels were not taking—they were becoming one with the people.
Samyaza took Maari as his wife beneath a blooming fig tree, watched by both angel and man. Her veil was woven with celestial threads, a gift from Barakiel, who had bent lightning to bind its edges. The ceremony was simple, but the moment was sacred.
And it wasn't just Samyaza. Others followed:
Shamsiel married Anaa, a nomadic huntress, fierce as fire.Sariel took Imana, a healer whose touch soothed even his immortal restlessness.Kokabiel, quiet and distant, wed Talia, a stargazer who matched his cosmic gaze.
From these unions came children—tall, strong, unexplainably wise. They matured faster than human children, speaking in full sentences before they could walk, lifting stones that ten men could not move. The people whispered in reverence—and fear.
The Nephilim had been born.
And with their birth, the world changed again.
Far Away: The Court of King Elak of Dorshan
In the city of Dorshan, built into the cliffs of the southern rivers, King Elak ruled with brutal elegance. He had heard too many rumors: of men who could bend metal with bare hands, of children who knew star patterns no scribe had taught. He did not like riddles that walked.
He summoned one of them.
Azazel, confident and cunning, came willingly. He wore a simple robe and brought with him a tool—nothing more than a blade of bronze that shimmered unnaturally.
The king's court was filled with advisors, warriors, priests, and scribes. Elak himself sat upon a throne carved from obsidian, surrounded by incense and fear.
King Elak: "You are not one of us, and yet you walk among us. You heal. You forge. You speak languages no merchant has heard. Tell me who you are."
Azazel smiled, his voice calm as the river that cuts rock.
Azazel: "We are wanderers from the East. A lost tribe. We studied the stars and the wind. Our fathers taught us forgotten things, and we only seek peace."
The king leaned forward.
"And yet your kind marries our women, changes our land, teaches what no priest has ever known. What is your true aim?"
Azazel did not flinch.
"To help. We give what we were once given. Nothing more."
He handed the blade to the king. Elak tested its edge, slicing effortlessly through a sheet of iron. His eyes narrowed—not with admiration, but caution.
"Your gifts are dangerous, Azazel. The gods did not give them to us. Why do they rest in your hands?"
Azazel bowed slightly, hiding the glint of pride in his eye.
"Perhaps the gods are not jealous, but generous."
The room fell into uneasy silence.
Elak did not trust him. Not entirely. But the blade… the blade could change wars. And Elak had enemies.
He dismissed Azazel with a nod, but his heart had already decided: these strangers would be watched closely. If their power grew unchecked, they would either serve the crown—or be silenced.
Back in the Sanctuary of the Angels
Samyaza stood atop the hill where he first touched earth. He watched the stars shift, and felt a cold wind pass through the valley.
"They know," he said quietly to Penemue.
"Azazel?" Penemue asked.
"He told them what they wanted to hear."
"And the truth?"
Samyaza's eyes darkened.
"The truth frightens kings. And soon… it may frighten all of mankind."
Beneath them, their children played, laughing beneath the moonlight.
The love they had chosen had borne fruit.
But love, when joined with power, does not always yield peace.