"Do you know a member of the club, Mr. Heavensblade?" the manager of Club Olympus asked carefully.
"You already know who he is. The identity I am presenting is real," François replied, his voice tinged with insult at being denied entry.
"I am not questioning your identity, sir," the manager said patiently, hands clasped in front of him. "It's just that this is a members-only, invite-only club. We cannot let anyone in unless they are a member themselves or accompanied by one who invited them."
"We have an appointment with the news anchor Gabriel Dawnbringer. He should be here already," François pressed, his eyes flicking toward Michael with growing concern.
"I understand, Mr. Burbon," the manager said with a bow of his head. "But Mr. Dawnbringer himself was only invited in by another member. We are still waiting for Mr. Damien Crowne's confirmation if he will also extend that invitation to you. As of now, we have received no response."
"What is the Heavensblade young master of California doing in New York?"
The deep, confident voice cut across François's words.
Michael turned, brow furrowed. "You know me?"
At once, his four bodyguards shifted, stepping forward to form a living wall before him, blocking the approach of the stranger.
The man smiled faintly. "Your head of security was once my subordinate, back when I was still with the USAMPC." His eyes glinted as they swept over the young guards. "And while I may not be as agile as I was twenty years ago, I'm still confident none of your men could beat me in hand-to-hand combat, even if they came at me together."
"Step aside," Michael ordered coolly.
The bodyguards obeyed at once.
"Caspian Sinclair," the man said, extending his hand for a handshake.
François opened his mouth to protest, his young master did not make casual gestures like handshakes. But before he could stop him, Michael accepted the hand, surprising both the butler and the bodyguards.
"Michael Heavensblade," he introduced himself simply.
"Though you're only a few months older than my son, I doubt you want to be addressed according to your age," Caspian said smoothly. "So, would you prefer I address you formally, or casually?"
"Whichever makes you comfortable, Mr. Sinclair," Michael replied, his tone formal, composed.
Caspian shook his head lightly, amused.
Though he had countless dealings in California, overseeing both Falcon and Sinclair business ventures, Caspian could count on one hand the times he'd actually seen the young head of California's wealthiest family.
Among old money families, it was tradition that the family head was always the eldest and most capable. It was the same everywhere. If a young man took the seat, it usually meant he had proven himself worthy through extraordinary skill. But with the Heavensblades, it was different. Rumor said that the moment Michael was born, his succession was already decided. The then family head declared that he would step down once the boy turned nineteen. Michael didn't need to prove anything. He had been born to rule.
Perhaps that was why this young man carried himself with such gravity, so mature, so formal. As though he had never experienced a childhood, nor the turbulence of adolescence.
His public appearances were rare, and when they happened, they were brief.
If Hades had been known as too serious, too proper while growing up, he would pale in comparison when placed beside Michael Heavensblade. At least Hades, in his younger years and in the company of Casadin, had displayed mischievous streaks.
But Michael… Caspian doubted whether this young man had ever smiled in a way that reached his eyes.
"So why are you here?" Caspian asked.
"I am here for a meeting," Michael replied curtly, offering no further explanation.
Caspian turned to the manager.
"He has a meeting with Mr. Dawnbringer, sir. But we still haven't received confirmation if Mr. Crowne would extend his invitation to Mr. Heavensblade," the manager explained.
"Is Damien inside?" Caspian asked.
"Yes, sir. But the staff I sent to Mr. Crowne's VIP room hasn't returned yet," the manager answered.
Caspian nodded. "I hope you don't take offense at what the manager did, Mr. Heavensblade. He's only doing his job. Allow me to invite you in."
Caspian walked ahead, leading the way inside.
Michael followed silently with François and the bodyguards, until he suddenly paused.
"Is everything all right?" Caspian asked, glancing at Michael and then around them. Club Olympus, though technically a club, was nothing like the raucous chaos of ordinary nightspots. It was an elite establishment, lavish, subdued, with muted laughter and low music humming in the background.
"I'd assume you're not used to clubs or noisy places," Caspian remarked. "But as the manager said, your meeting is in Damien's VIP room. The rooms are soundproof. Unless you make noise yourselves, it will be quiet."
"It's fine," Michael said evenly.
Caspian shrugged and continued to lead the group upstairs.
They reached the second level, where private member rooms were located. Caspian stopped before one door and, without knocking, pushed it open.
"Cas," Damien called immediately when he saw his friend enter. "You're late."
Caspian glanced at his watch. He was only five minutes late, but judging from the empty room, Gideon and Nikolai hadn't arrived yet.
"I was late because your guest couldn't get inside," Caspian said dryly. "You never sent confirmation."
"Guest?" Damien frowned.
Caspian stepped aside, allowing Michael and his companions to enter.
"Isn't this the young master of the Heavensblade family of California?" Damien asked in surprise.
"Yes. Isn't he your guest?" Caspian said, his brow furrowing.
"No. This is the first time we've met," Damien answered.
"Didn't an employee come to you, asking for confirmation to extend your invitation to him? He has a meeting with your friend," Caspian pressed.
Damien's eyes widened as he turned to Michael. "Wait, you're Gabriel's meeting?"
"Yes, Mr. Crowne," François answered on Michael's behalf.
"That asshole told me he was meeting a family," Damien muttered darkly. "And yes, an employee came, and I gave my confirmation immediately."
"The front desk claims they never received it," Caspian said firmly. And in Club Olympus, such mistakes were impossible.
"It's fine, Damien. I held your employee, told him not to relay it," came a smooth voice from behind.
A man stepped in, early forties, playfully charming, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Gabriel," Damien growled, his eyes flashing. "You said you were meeting a family?"
"Yes," Gabriel replied simply.
"Are you saying you're related to the Heavensblades of California?" Damien asked, incredulous.
"Only with this kid," Gabriel said casually, pointing at Michael as he stopped beside him.
Damien's jaw tightened. "You made the young head of the Heavensblade family, the most influential in California, wait outside?"
Gabriel smirked, his tone deliberately taunting. "Why not? He's used to everyone waiting for him. Now he knows what it feels like to be kept waiting. Look at him, so uptight, as if something's crawled up his ass."
François and the bodyguards bristled at Gabriel's insult to their master and were about to step forward.
"Stop," Michael said, voice flat. "You won't win against him."
"That's right, little boys," Gabriel added, patting two of the guards on the shoulders. "Listen to your boss."
Damien's brows pulled together as he stared at Gabriel.
"What?" Gabriel asked, genuinely puzzled.
"You're connected to the Heavensblades, so why did you blackmail me with your ridiculous tears just to get a job at my network?" Damien asked.
"That kid is petty," Gabriel said, jerking his chin at Michael as he dropped onto the sofa like he owned it. "If I asked him, he'd probably make me a janitor. And besides, I prefer New York to California."
"Can we have our talk now? Alone," Michael said to Gabriel, all business.
"See?" Gabriel gestured toward him with a flourish. "So impatient. He thinks he's above everyone else. So disrespectful. If I worked for him, he would've fired me the moment I talked back. At least you," he said to Damien, "only dock my lunch money."
Caspian and Damien both sighed and shook their heads.
"Fine. We'll leave you two alone. Order what you want, I'm deducting it from your salary," Damien said, already heading for the door with Caspian before Gabriel could protest.
"You too. Leave us," Michael told François and the guards.
François didn't trust the man facing his young master, not when he'd only just met him, and even if this stranger claimed kinship with the Heavensblades. But he had no choice.
"We'll be outside, Young Master," François said, bowing before he stepped out and closed the door softly.
Michael did not sit.
He walked slowly to the glass wall of the VIP room, looking down at the club's first level where the beautiful crowd swayed to velvet-dark music. Colored lights washed over the dancers like tides.
Gabriel watched him for a long moment. Then, as if deciding something, he reached for the decanter and poured a measure of wine into a crystal glass.
"Did you visit the Falcons' mausoleum property?" he asked at last, breaking the silence.
Michael turned his head.
"How did you know?"
"The Celestial Blessing from that place is clinging to you," Gabriel said, lifting the glass but not yet drinking.
"So you already knew that woman was a Celestial Soul," Michael replied. "Do you know why Father created her? And how her Celestial Blessing remains when she is already dead?"
Gabriel's eyebrow arched.
"Isn't this part of your stupid game against Lucifer?"
"What are you talking about?" Michael asked, frowning, his always impassive face finally creasing.
"That woman died before her time," Gabriel said, the playfulness fading from his voice. "It wasn't enough for the Fates to weigh whether her deeds were complete. When she died, the universe did not let her ascend into her Celestial form, because her death was untimely. So Lucifer sent her soul to his own world. And because of that, her Celestial Blessing remained in her body. If she had carried that blessing with her to Solmara, it would have been a catastrophe. No angel can set foot fully in any of the worlds, remember that. Even Azrael was only able to be there for a few minutes, just to grant her the barest portion of her Celestial gift."
"I don't know her," Michael said quietly. "I wasn't even aware that Father created a new Archangel. So why would you think that?"
Gabriel studied Michael intently. When he saw how serious he was, he grimaced.
"Isn't it?" Gabriel said. "Everyone thought this was just one of your ridiculous rivalries. She died before her time. And when she did, when the Fates were still deciding what to do with her soul, Lucifer came and chained her spirit into a human body in his own world. I thought her death had everything to do with this obsession of yours. You know… the reason you always take a human vessel. To meddle with the reincarnation of Lilith."
"No. I do not know that woman. And she has nothing to do with why I inhabit a human vessel." Michael's voice was steady, though deep down even he could not explain the truth. He didn't know why he chose to inhabit mortal shells. Only that it wasn't because of Lilith. "And what does she have to do with Lilith's reincarnation?"
Gabriel's eyes widened further. "Have you forgotten the prophecy of Lilith's return? She carries the mark of the Second Thread. Isn't that why you always take a human vessel, to make sure the prophecy never comes to pass? Even if she hasn't ascended into a Celestial, she's still a Celestial Soul. You cannot harm her in your angelic form. That's why you take human vessels."
Gabriel's voice faltered when he saw Michael frowning, confusion etched on his face. He slowly set down his glass, shocked. "Don't tell me… do I know your plan better than you?"
Michael exhaled heavily and sat down at last.
"Lilith's return has nothing to do with why I inhabit a human vessel," he admitted. "Even I don't know why myself. I only know it has nothing to do with her."
"You're joking," Gabriel said, disbelief cutting through his tone.
"Have I ever joked?" Michael asked.
Gabriel fell silent. Because in any form, angelic or human, Michael never joked.
"Then why do you keep doing it, if not to prevent Lilith's return?" Gabriel pressed.
Michael's golden gaze locked with his. "Do you know someone named Seraphadneel?"
Gabriel raised a brow and drank. "No. But I've heard you've been searching for her."
"A month ago," Michael said slowly, "I started having dreams I could never remember once I woke. My butler told me that while unconscious, I called out a single name over and over, Seraphadneel. That's when I realized, I have missing memories. Before, and just a little after, the Great Divide."
Silence stretched between them. Michael closed his eyes, then opened them again, fixing Gabriel with an unyielding stare.
"And in the mausoleum… when I touched the tomb of that Celestial Soul, I saw a memory. I couldn't see her face, but I knew it was her. Seraphadneel. Do you know what she was?" His voice hardened. "An Archangel. She was the one who helped me name my sword. Our sister."
Gabriel froze mid-sip, stunned to the point that he couldn't even swallow. The wine spilled back into his glass, dripping messily down his chin. He coughed, wiping his mouth in disbelief.
"Did your human 'family' not take care of that vessel's head properly when you were a child? Because you sound like you've gone mad," Gabriel said at last, slamming his glass on the table.
"Samael knows her," Michael said flatly.
"And how do you know that your twin knows her?" Gabriel asked sharply.
"Calyndris told me," Michael said.
"Calyndris Cursedflame? A Blackheart who would leap at any chance to mess with you? You believed her?" Gabriel's incredulous laugh was edged with pity.
Michael turned his face to Gabriel, quieter now. "Have you ever felt it, brother? That hollow feeling that something is missing inside you, something you can't name?"
Gabriel's expression softened for a moment, a shadow passing across his features. "Yes. Purpose." He swallowed, and a trace of loneliness flickered through his eyes. "Don't we all feel that? It's been a million years since Father last showed himself or spoke to us. These days there are no orders, no word on what we're supposed to do. So some of our siblings made their own worlds, trying to feel useful again. Isn't that also why you obsess over Lilith's return? With that prophecy, Lucifer has purpose. But what about us, the bearers of the light? We drift without His word. All we can do is tend to His creation, but even that's limited. Humans have the freedom to choose. Father gifted them that will, which means their paths are beyond our control. So you seized on a mission, stop Lilith's return. You convinced yourself that if she returns and reunites with Lucifer, creation will be destroyed. But the truth, Michael, is simpler and darker, you don't feel your purpose anymore. You envy Lucifer for having something to hold on to, for having a reason to wake up each morning."
"That is not true!" Michael snapped, voice sharp as a blade. "I have never envied him. And I never will. He turned his back on Father for a woman."
Gabriel sighed, long and tired. Michael was always controlled, reserved, his emotions rare and precise. The only presence that could stir anything in him was Lucifer.
"Have you never considered this?" Gabriel asked, leaning forward. "What if Lucifer's rebellion is part of Father's grand design? Father gave humanity choice, if Lucifer had never rebelled, what choice would there be? Only light. How would humans understand light without darkness to compare it to? Father banished Lilith to the veil, but why create a prophecy about her return at all? What purpose does vanishing her serve if not to create a tension that defines choice?"
Michael's golden eyes narrowed. Anger warmed them. "When did you start questioning Father's plan, Gabriel?"
"I don't know," Gabriel admitted, staring at the glass wall beyond which the club's glittering life pulsed. "Perhaps boredom after the endless eons. Sometimes I wonder, if I followed Lucifer and became a Blackheart, would eternity be less dull? Would I finally feel something other than this slow ache?"
"You've gone mad," Michael said flatly.
"Maybe," Gabriel conceded, then turned back to him. "Brother, think about it. I have borne the light for eons. What would happen if I put it down? Would Father finally appear and speak to me? After all, what good is being His Messenger, His Herald if He hasn't addressed me in millions of years? If He punished me for stepping away, wouldn't that at least give me a reason to look forward to tomorrow?"
Michael rose abruptly.
"I suggest you do not stray from your path, brother," he said quietly to Gabriel.
A bitter smile crossed Gabriel's face.
"What path, brother? Honestly, I can no longer even see it. I've stood in one place for millions of years, waiting for Father to tell me whether to step forward, backward, or turn aside. Like you, like every Lightbearer."
Michael straightened his suit and began toward the door.
"Brother," Gabriel called after him, and Michael paused, turning slowly. "Since I'm bored, I'll help you with this Seraphadneel. Isn't that why you met me tonight? I'll ask Lucifer about her. I know he's the last person you want to face about this archangel , the sister only you seem to remember."
For a moment Michael's features softened.
"Thank you," he said.
Gabriel raised his glass in a small toast. He didn't speak again, watching Michael until he left the room.