"Sister, let's go," Mikail called out to his sister, Seraphadneel.
Clad in radiant white and surrounded by other warrior angels who had already chosen the side of light, Mikail extended his hand toward her, his expression pleading, hopeful that she would take it.
But Seraphadneel did not move.
Her gaze remained fixed on the figure walking away from them, their brother, Samael, who had chosen to rule the darkness.
This was the time of the Great Divide.
The Creator had spoken.
All His angels were to choose.
And now, only Seraphadneel remained undecided.
She looked toward the brilliance ahead, the blinding radiance that was the Great Creator, their Father.
"I will not choose a side, Father," Seraphadneel said, her voice unwavering.
A silence fell, heavy and profound.
"Are you certain of your decision, child?" the voice of the Creator echoed, not angry, but solemn. "If you do not choose, you will be forgotten. Heaven, Hell, or even Earth shall no longer know you. You will forget who you are. For an angel who walks the in-between is more dangerous than either light or shadow."
"Then I accept your punishment, Father," Seraphadneel replied, bowing deeply.
"Sister, what are you saying?" Mikail stepped forward again, his hand still outstretched. "Take my hand. Stay with me. Together we can bring light to His creation."
"You do not need me beside you, Brother," Seraphadneel said gently, her tone like a sad hymn. She gently removed Mikail's hand from her arm and turned away.
"I grant you six mornings, Seraphadneel," the voice of the Creator declared. "Within that time, you may return and choose. But if by the seventh day you still remain in between, you shall vanish from the Celestial Hall, along with your name, your being, and your purpose."
"Then I shall use the six days well… to say my proper goodbyes," Seraphadneel said, her back already retreating into shadow, her wings dimming as she walked away from the Hall of Origin.
"Seraphadneel!" Mikail cried out one last time, his voice echoing in the great hall like a soul mourning a star falling from the sky.
"Young Master Michael," a soft voice said, waking him gently from his restless sleep.
It was Francois Burbon, the Heavensblade family's trusted butler, concern written on his face. He held out a clean face towel.
Michael's eyes blinked open, disoriented. Despite the cool air conditioning of his grand bedroom, his body was drenched in sweat.
"You had another bad dream, young master," Francois said with calm familiarity.
Michael took the towel silently and wiped his face, his breath still uneven. He watched as the butler crossed the room and opened the doors to the veranda, letting the early morning light spill into the room.
"Your parents have requested to join you for breakfast," Francois continued.
"They're here?" Michael asked, rising from his bed. "I thought they were in New York."
"They returned late last night. They said they have something important to discuss with you."
Francois helped him into his robe and added with a soft bow, "Your bath is ready, young master."
"Alright. Tell them I'll join them shortly," Michael said. He began to walk toward the bathroom but paused at the door. His brows furrowed as he turned back. "Did I… say something in my sleep?"
"Not much," the butler replied. "But you kept repeating the same name."
Michael narrowed his eyes. "What name?"
"Seraphadneel," Francois answered without hesitation.
Michael froze.
"Seraphadneel?" he echoed, the name rolling off his tongue like something both foreign and familiar, hauntingly so. "Do you know who that is?"
Francois shook his head. "I'm afraid not, young master. I've never heard such a name before. Not even in the Heavensblade ancestral archives."
Michael stood there for a long moment, eyes shadowed in thought. Then, without another word, he turned and entered the bathroom.
But even as the water ran, and steam curled around the marble tiles…
The name wouldn't leave him.
Seraphadneel.
It echoed in his bones like a forgotten vow.
And in the back of his mind…
A pair of silver wings faded into darkness.
Michael closed his eyes once more beneath the steady stream of the shower.
The Heavensblade family was the oldest and wealthiest bloodline in all of California. But what the public didn't know, and what only a chosen few were allowed to learn, was that the Heavensblade lineage bore the blessing of the Archangel Mikail.
According to their ancestral archives, once every hundred years, a child in their bloodline would be born as the vessel of the great archangel's soul. This child would lead the family into a new era of abundance, carrying the mark of a sword engraved over his heart.
No one knew why it had to be that way, or how true the stories were, but one thing had never changed, even those in the family who didn't believe in angels never dared to mock tradition. Because the evidence always proved itself.
The Vessel was always named Michael.
And the moment he began to speak in full sentences, fortune began to rain upon the family once more.
In every generation, only three people knew the true secret behind the Heavensblade legacy.
The head of the Burbon family, who served as the Heavensblade's butlers and guardians of the archives.
The head of the Heavensbalde family that is not the vessel.
And of course, the vessel himself, the human reincarnation of the Archangel Mikail, the Blade of Heaven.
When the vessel was born, he had no recollection of his angelic nature. But that didn't matter. He was always exceptional. Handsome. Gifted. A genius in every possible way. And on his nineteenth birthday, the floodgates of memory opened, returning to him not just his divine past, but all his memories from his many human lives across time.
It had been a year since Michael began to remember who, and what, he really was.
Like his celestial siblings, angels could take human form whenever they pleased. Some visited Earth only briefly. Others stayed longer, curious or compassionate. Some were too occupied with the worlds they had created, realms the Great Creator had allowed them to build, so they might grasp what it meant to be a god to a fragile creation. To love and to suffer. To understand Him.
But Michael never made a world of his own.
Earth was enough.
Earth had always been enough.
After all, Earth was his to protect.
Among all the archangels, it was Michael who understood the Creator most deeply. He didn't need to build his own world to feel the weight of His love. He felt it here, in every soul, in every act of cruelty and kindness, in every prayer whispered under the stars.
And yet, just like every time before, he couldn't remember why he chose to make a human vessel.
His divine power was chained, locked away within his mortal flesh. It would only return if the vessel died.
And still, he couldn't remember the reason he made that choice.
Even after combing through every archive from past vessels, even during the times he existed in his original angelic form, he had never found the answer.
Why had he done it?
What had he been searching for?
Still... nothing.
But there was one thing Michael had come to realize since the day his memories returned.
From his very first memory up to the Great Divide, something was missing.
Something vital.
And now, in this present life, in this body, the missing pieces had started to return to him... through his dreams.
But the cruel twist?
Every time he woke up, those pieces slipped from his grasp once again.
Like mist dissolving under sunlight.
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall.
"Seraphadneel…" he whispered into the silence, water cascading around him like tears.
"Who are you?"
His voice was hoarse. Heavy with longing.
"And why now?"
After taking a bath and getting dressed, Michael made his way down to the elegant Zen garden in the villa. His human parents were already there, seated at the long stone table surrounded by bonsai trees and running water.
Of course, they had no idea that their son was the Archangel Mikail.
"Mother. Father." Michael greeted them as he took his seat at the head of the long stone breakfast table. His tone was warm, but his presence carried the unshakable weight of authority. "Weren't you supposed to be in New York? I thought you were acquiring properties there?"
When Michael was six years old, he had scribbled what everyone thought were just random numbers on a piece of paper. But every piece of paper he ever wrote on had always been preserved, just in case.
It was only when he turned nineteen, when his divine memory returned, that he finally understood what those numbers were.
Coordinates.
Every single set of numbers he had written down since he first learned how to write was a set of coordinates, locations that would prove to be gold mines. Some literally, others figuratively. Either the land would be rich in natural resources or it would become a thriving business hub.
The entire Heavensblade clan had since tracked down those locations across the world. And indeed, every property they purchased from those coordinates had brought unexplainable prosperity.
Some turned out to hold precious stone mines, while others became hotspots where every venture flourished.
"We've acquired most of the properties in New York," his father, Nathaniel, began. "But we've encountered problems with a few of them."
"One of the properties," he continued, "is actually where NY Elite Academy stands. So naturally, it isn't for sale. The others are residential estates owned by the Monteverdes, the Falcons, and the Sinclairs."
He paused. "One is a mausoleum, and another is the Aurivale building, which also belongs to the Falcon family."
"Monteverde?" Michael lowered his coffee cup slowly. His expression sharpened. "Didn't we already buy their property in France?"
"Yes," his mother Savannah replied with a graceful nod. "It was their family estate in France. But they agreed to sell it because they were returning to New York. However, their properties in New York are not for sale. They've made it clear they have no intention of letting go of any of them."
"What did we gain from the property in France?" Michael asked.
"We renovated the house and turned it into a luxury spa," Nathaniel answered. "And in just six months since opening, it's already become quite famous. Many of the clients say the waters and plants there have unique relaxing effects on their nerves and muscles. Word-of-mouth has spread like wildfire."
Savannah added, "So far, the family has acquired almost all the coordinates, except for those in New York held by the three families. But according to Emmanuel, there are still a few sets of coordinates they haven't been able to track. He and the others are doing everything they can to find them. For now, the elders want to know, what do you plan to do about the Monteverdes, Falcons, and Sinclairs?"
Ever since Michael had turned nineteen and regained his divine awareness, no one in the Heavensblade family had treated him like a child. Not even his parents.
They treated him as what he truly was, the true head of the family.
Not just because he demanded it… but because something deep within them told them it was the right thing to do. It felt instinctively natural to submit to his authority, to respect him like someone far above them.
"Give me the complete reports on all the lands we've already purchased," Michael said calmly, returning his focus to his meal. "I'll study them first before I decide what to do with the remaining lots."
His parents nodded and fell silent, allowing their son to finish his breakfast, unbothered and undisturbed.