The Grand Patriarch
The grand hall of the Celestial court was alight with the shimmer of holy fire, golden and azure flames licking at the marble columns as voices clashed like steel on steel. The chamber, a vast dome suspended above the clouds, was filled with the highest echelons of Heaven’s hierarchy—Seraphim, Archangels, Thrones, Dominions, all have been summoned in the wake of the revelation.
Sera stepped inside with measured grace, her six wings folding neatly behind her as she surveyed the gathering. The tension in the air was suffocating. The revelation of the Exorcists and their methods had sent shockwaves through the divine ranks, and now, she had to deal with the consequences.
“They killed children,” a voice rang out—a young Throne, aghast, her glowing eyes wide with disbelief. “Not demons. Not great evildoers. Children.”
“They were born in Hell,” countered a different throne, “Sinners spawn sinners. They are not innocent.”
“They didn’t choose where they were born!” a Virtue snapped, his silver armor gleaming as he slammed a fist against the table. “We did not give them a choice. We condemned them before they could even prove themselves.”
“And we are to do what?” a different virtue, one of the oldest among them, finally spoke, her voice heavy with restrained frustration. “Tear apart the order we have maintained for eons? Allow Hell to grow unchecked, with its filth reaching closer to the living world again? We are not kind. We are just.”
“We are hypocrites,” murmured another angel, a lower-ranked Dominion, though he quickly fell silent under Uriel’s withering gaze.
The council of Heaven was in turmoil. The gathered Angel’s spoke over one another, their voices were like clashing trumpets in the vast expanse of Heaven’s high halls, and at the head of the great table, Sera remained silent, her fingers lightly pressed together, her gaze sharp as the sun shining through the cathedral-like windows.
“They were children!” Uriel's voice rang out, filled with disbelief and barely contained fury. “Sinners, perhaps, but children nonetheless! How can we justify the slaughter of souls that appear so young?”
“They were not children,” countered Raphael, the Archangel of Life, his green eyes burning with certainty. That revelation made all of the Angel’s quite.
“Sinners are incapable of birthing new souls. They are not like the Hellborn, nor the Fallen, nor the Goetia, nor the Archfiends, nor even the Shedim. Life does not spring from their wretched existence.” Raphael’s wings ruffled in irritation as he turned to Uriel. “They take their shapes based on their souls, not their lineage.”
Tyriel, the Archangel of Judgment, leaned forward, his armored fingers drumming against the marble table. “A sinner's form in Hell is dictated by their sins,” he said, his voice cold as tempered steel. “If a soul takes the shape of a child in Hell, it is not because they are children, but it is because, in life, they either despised children or harmed them. Such is the truth of damnation. Their forms are a reflection of their failures.”
A heavy silence fell upon the room.
Azrael, the Angel of Death, slowly exhaled, her ethereal form flickering slightly as she spoke. “No child is sent to Hell,” she murmured, her voice solemn, carrying the weight of eons. “The Lord has decreed it. ‘But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’” Her glowing eyes swept across the room. “Even those who pass before their first breath are taken into His embrace. And for those who falter on Earth but are yet innocent of true sin, they are granted another chance—a new birth, a new life, a new path.”
Her words carried undeniable finality, yet the debate raged on.
Gabriel, the Messenger, glanced towards Sera. “But the question remains… what of Adam?” His voice was softer than the others, yet it carried the same weight. “Why is he not here to answer for his actions?”
Murmurs spread among the gathered angels. Some looked to Sera for an answer, others exchanged knowing glances. The question was unspoken yet clear: Where was the Grand Patriarch of Heaven?
Sera exhaled softly, letting her gaze drift over the gathered Seraphim and Archangels. She realized that the tension in the chamber remained thick, lingering in the heaven’s sacred air. The absence of Adam weighed heavily on the discussion, and she knew the longer she let the murmurs continue, the more doubt would fester among them.
“My husband is not here because he is preoccupied with his responsibilities,” she stated, her voice steady yet carrying the weight of divine authority. “As you all know, the arrival of new souls into Heaven requires purification before they may truly enter our Lord’s kingdom. The first father is personally overseeing the forging of halos for each new arrival, shaping them with his own hands so that they may shine with Heaven’s light.”
Some of the murmuring ceased, but Sera pressed on.
“Not only that, but he must also baptize them. The sins of life do not simply vanish upon death; they must be washed away completely in holy water before the soul can be considered truly cleansed. Every new arrival must be purified, anointed, and clothed. None enter Heaven with garments—they arrive as they were born, and it is Adam who ensures they are clothed in sanctity before stepping into paradise.”
The golden-haired Gabriel, along with some other Angels, gave a slow nod, acknowledging the truth of her words.
“And these days,” Sera continued, “many, many souls arrive. More than ever before.” Her silver eyes darkened slightly. “Wars, conflicts, disasters… Earth is ablaze with suffering, and the gates of Heaven are open to those who perish in its wake. My husband does not simply craft halos and bless souls—he must ensure that every being across heaven’s many realms is fed, for the multitudes arriving require sustenance. The celestial banquets do not prepare themselves.”
The weight of responsibility Adam carried became clearer with every word, but Sera was not yet finished.
“And beyond all this…” Her fingers tightened slightly, pressing into the divine marble of the table. “Adam is also fulfilling his duty as Supreme Commander of the Armies of Heaven, General of the Divine Host, and High Warden of the Celestial Gates, ”
The mention of his military titles shifted the mood in the chamber. The murmurs grew louder again, this time tinged with unease.
“After what was discovered in Hell, he has redoubled the training of our warriors. The risk of rebellion, no matter how distant it may seem, can never be ignored.” She turned her gaze toward the Archangel of Justice. “And as for the Exorcists… we all know what was found after the last extermination.”
A silence fell. It was not a silence of peace but one of grim understanding.
“A dead Exorcist,” Michael muttered, his voice heavy.
“A sign of weakness,” another Archangel scoffed.
“A sign of change,” Sera corrected, her gaze sharp. “Adam suspects that one of the Overlords has ascended beyond their station. He believes that, through some means, one has risen to the rank of Archfiend.”
This caused an uproar. The term was not used lightly. The Archfiends were not simply powerful demons—they were the pinnacle of Hell’s dark hierarchy, second only to the Devil and the Sins themselves. To suggest that a mere Overlord had become one was a dire claim indeed.
“To counter this possible threat, the next Extermination has been pushed forward,” Sera continued. “Instead of waiting for the full cycle, it will begin six months early.”
More murmurs. More tension.
“Adam understands the nature of demons better than any of us,” she said, her voice steady. “And he knows that their pride will be their downfall. A demon who rises to power does not hide. Their arrogance, their thirst for dominion, and their pride will compel them to act. They will seek to test their strength against Heaven. And when they do…”
Her wings shifted, and a faint, knowing smile crossed her lips.
“…Adam will be ready.”
For a moment, silence reigned. Then, slowly, one by one, the murmurs faded.
---
Sera sighed, feeling the weight of the long meeting settle into her bones. The discussion had stretched on for hours, the words and arguments a blur of tension, fear, and frustration. But at least, for now, the matter of Adam’s absence had been somewhat resolved—at least for those willing to listen. Her heart still ached from the division, but she couldn’t change that tonight.
As she left, she was met by several angels who lingered near the grand pillars that lined the entrance. They greeted her with warm nods and quiet words of respect, a few offering gentle smiles in her direction. Their faces were tired, but they didn’t seem to care. Despite the chaos of the meeting, they trusted her. They knew that the High Seraphim would protect Heaven, no matter the cost.
“Lady Seraphiel,” came the voice of one of the lesser Cherubims, a tall figure with silver wings. “I hope the meeting wasn’t too taxing.”
She smiled softly at him, her wings fluttering lightly in the breeze. “It was… long. But sometimes, that is necessary. Thank you for your concern, master Oran.”
He bowed his head. “If you need anything, I’ll be at your disposal.”
Sera gave a slight nod and turned her attention to the others, her gaze briefly flicking to a familiar face. Azrael, the Archangel of Death, stood in quiet contemplation nearby, her expression inscrutable. She had been one of the few who agreed with her—perhaps due to her understanding of Adam’s methods and her own distant nature. She met her gaze, and for a moment, Sera saw a flicker of something unspoken in her eye.
“Azrael,” she greeted her softly, the High Seraphim’s voice carried a weight of sympathy. “It’s good to see you. I hope you were not troubled by the debates.”
The archangel of death inclined her head, her usual calm demeanor remained unshaken. “No more than I am accustomed to, Elder Sister. It is always the same. The tension. The doubts. The fear.”
Sera nodded in agreement, feeling a similar burden on her own shoulders. “We carry this weight together, Azrael. We always have.”
Azrael’s eyes darkened briefly, but her tone remained even. “Indeed. And Heaven must stand strong. Do not let their doubts sway you. We cannot allow the great tragedy to repeat again.”
“Thank you,” Sera said, her voice steady, before she moved past her younger sister.
It wasn’t long before she found herself at the center of the crowd of other high-ranking angels who were gathered in the grand halls. She exchanged pleasantries with a few familiar faces, spoke with a gentle tone and offered reassurances where necessary.
And then, as if drawn by fate, she saw him.
Michael.
The Taxiarch.
He stood at the far end of the hall, his broad shoulders squared and his wings were spread wide like a wall of light. His eyes locked onto hers, and his presence seemed to shift the air around them, commanding attention even in a crowd of powerful beings.
Sera’s heart skipped a beat, though she quickly suppressed the feeling. They had been friends for almost eternity, but it was clear that Michael’s relationship with her had grown more complicated with the passing years. He had always been a figure of immense power, strength, and authority, traits that were both admirable and intimidating in equal measure.
“Dearest Sera,” Michael said as he approached, his deep voice was rich with both authority and concern. He bowed his head slightly in greeting, but there was an edge to his words. “A moment, if you please.”
She nodded, stepping aside as the other great angel’s continued their discussions.
Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression softened, betraying a hint of the vulnerability he often kept hidden beneath layers of command. “I hope you know that most of our siblings and companions do not understand,” he began, his tone low. “They believe the first man to be detached. Too consumed with his titles. Too busy to notice the changes.”
Sera raised an eyebrow. “And you, little brother? Do you believe that?”
For a moment, he said nothing. Instead, he watched her, his gaze thoughtful. “I believe he knows what he is doing. But I also believe he is underestimating what is happening here.”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the distant meeting hall, where the murmurs of the gathering still echoed, a quiet hum of uncertainty lingering in the air. “It’s not just demons he must contend with,” he said slowly. “The others… they fear what they do not understand.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Humanity has existed for millennia, yet there are still many angels who cling to the past. And now, with the arrival of the winners—those masters, saints, and Sovereigns—there are whispers about Adam’s involvement with them. It feeds their doubts.”
Sera frowned. “What do you mean?”
“They believe,” he continued, his voice heavy with concern, “that Adam is gathering souls. They see the Sinners, Overlords, and Archfiends, and they fear his growing strength. They think he is using them to build an army to usurp Heaven.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Sera replied firmly. “Human souls have the potential to grow stronger with the proper time and guidance. It’s a gift our Lord granted them. The Sinners have that gift, too, but unlike the souls in heaven, they refuse to work for it. It’s always easier to take power from others than to earn it.”
Michael nodded, but his expression was troubled. “I don’t deny that. But Adam is growing stronger, too. Before the great flood, he defeated Samyaza and the other fallen. When Iblis and the Djinn set their sights on humanity, he was the first to defend them. He held the line long enough for me and the other Archangels to arrive. Camael told me a few months ago that, when they fought, he could no longer simply brush Adam aside as he once could. Adam forced him to draw his sword.”
Sera’s brow furrowed. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” Michael said, “but if the Patriarch managed to grow so much in just ten millennia, how long will it be until he surpasses even the most powerful angels? What if, one day, he starts believing that he knows what’s best for Heaven?”
Sera remained silent.
“And it’s not just him,” Michael went on. “His descendants are growing stronger, too. Take Ares, for example. He’s only 8,000 years old, yet some humans call him the god of war. If he continues to grow in strength, one day, he might even try to claim that title, to take Camael’s role.”
“Ares wouldn’t do that,” Sera countered. “Not only would it mean attacking the father of his wife, but even if he did become strong enough to challenge Camael, he wouldn’t. He hates how humanity has twisted his image, and he’d do anything to distance himself from their misguided depictions. Besides, we both know what would happen if an Archangel were to face an opponent they couldn’t defeat.”
“The Lord’s will is always with them,” Michael replied. “And so, they would grow stronger to overcome the foe.”
Sera nodded. “Exactly. So, there’s no need to worry. No one will replace the Archangels. And not every human soul grows as strong as the others. Most are content with where they are. Only a small few actively train, grow, and seek to become stronger.”
Michael’s expression hardened. “Yes, but every one of them serves as a soldier. Adam’s soldier. And he is the only one who knows how to unlock their potential. He trains them, and in return, they revere him. Look at Saint Lute. She follows him like a shadow, sometimes literally. She worships him, and if he commanded it, she would fight against the horrors of the Void without hesitation.”
Sera fell silent at that. She knew how devoted Lute was to her husband, but such blind faith—such complete devotion—was meant for the Lord, not for anyone else.
“And his direct children, the Sovereign, are even more extreme,” Michael continued, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Look at Cain and Aclima. They’re the children of the Arch traitor and the first mother. And yet, they have shown no signs of rebellion. I don’t know what Adam did to make them reject their bloodline, to despise their true parent. Instead, they’ve embraced him as their father, punishing anyone who dares to say otherwise.”
“They do so because Adam loved them,” Sera replied softly. “He showed them care and protection when even Eve turned away from them. He raised them, loved them, even though they weren’t his biological children. And he did the same for all of them. That’s why, when they died, everyone who was raised by Adam came to Heaven. Even the first murderer found redemption.”
Michael sighed, his face shadowed with concern. “That’s still worrisome, Sera. It’s not just their strength… it’s the loyalty they have for him. That kind of blind devotion… it could lead to something far more dangerous.”
Sera exhaled, her wings folding in slightly. “I know. But there is more at stake than what the others realize. The darkness is growing stronger, and so, we too must grow in turn. Adam’s primary focus is protecting Heaven from those forces. I may not always approve of his methods, his actions, but I do know that they are necessary for the greater good.”
Michael studied her closely, as if searching for any hint of doubt in her words. When he found none, he seemed to relax slightly. “And yet, here we are, holding the line. I fear that will not be enough in the end.”
Sera’s gaze softened. “It never is. But we fight because we must. For our Lord, for his Kingdom and for his children.”
Michael’s wings fluttered, a subtle sign of his discomfort. “I do not envy the path you walk, Sera. But I will be with you, as always, if you need me. Heaven may demand a lot from you now, but know that you are not alone."
Sera blinked, his words striking her like a soft wave. There was something in his tone that had shifted, perhaps a rare moment of vulnerability in a being who usually carried the weight of Heaven's justice on his shoulders. She gave him a gentle smile, but in the back of her mind, she couldn't shake the complexities of their long history. There was so much between them, so much unspoken.
For a moment, Sera’s thoughts drifted back to the early days in Eden, when things were simpler. She remembered the first time Michael and Samael had confessed their feelings to her. Back then, she had been young, much younger than she was now, still learning how to navigate the complexities of her duties and her place within her creator’s plan.
At that time, she had been the something that humanity would call a secretary, the one responsible for overseeing the work of the other angels. The Lord had given her a great gift—absolute order. If she focused her gaze and willed it, she could command any being, no matter if angel or mortal, to obey her will. A divine gift Sera had only used sparingly. The others trusted her to keep Heaven in harmony, and they followed her lead, not because they had to, but because she was both capable and deserving of that trust.
But what most didn't know was how deeply she had struggled with this power. To have others follow her without question felt… unnatural. A necessary tool, yes, but not one to be wielded lightly. So, she had learned to use it only when absolutely necessary, and that was why, perhaps, she had been the only one to bear it.
It was in those days when Michael and Samael, the Morningstar twins, had come to her. They were the Lord’s most trusted angels, beloved by Heaven, and both of them had confided in her their feelings. Michael, ever the stoic and valiant, had been the first, quietly speaking of his admiration for her strength, her wisdom. Samael, the more rebellious twin, had been more open, his words full of passion and the promise of a shared future.
Sera had listened to their words, and yet she had rejected them both, though not out of disdain. It had been a matter of balance. She could not allow herself to be swayed by personal feelings when her role in Heaven was so much greater. She could not choose between them, especially when both were so integral to the Lord’s work. Theirs had been a love born of admiration, but Sera could not return it.
In truth, she had never thought of either of them that way, not in the way that Jophiel and Camael had. Jophiel, the Archangel of Love, had always been the heart of Heaven, and Camael, the Archangel of War, had been the sword. Together, they were the perfect balance. But with Michael and Samael… there was always something more complex. Something Sera couldn’t quite place.
And perhaps, in the end, it wasn’t even about them at all. She never had loved them in the way they had hoped, and she had learned not to regret that. Instead, as the eons passed, she had found a different kind of bond with Adam.
It was only after Adam’s ascension into Heaven that Sera realized what it was. Adam had been nothing like either Michael, the other Angel’s, and especially not like Samael. His strength, his compassion, and his dedication to Heaven had drawn her in slowly, almost imperceptibly. She hadn’t known when it had happened, and perhaps she never would.
"Sera?"
Michael’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see the concern in his eyes.
"Forgive me, Michael," she said softly, shaking her head slightly to clear the lingering memories. "I was lost in thought."
He regarded her with a knowing expression, as though sensing the weight of her reflections. "You think about the past too much," he said gently. "It will only pull you under. The present, Sera, is where you belong."
She gave a small smile, though it felt a bit distant. "I know. It’s just… sometimes, the past feels so heavy."
Michael nodded, his wings shifting with an almost imperceptible movement. "I understand. But remember, you are not alone in this. Heaven is here, and I am here. Whatever the burden, you do not have to bear it on your own."
Her smile deepened slightly, grateful for his words. "Thank you, Michael. I will keep that in mind."
--
Sera left the grand hall with a measured pace, her thoughts still lingering on Michael’s words. The air outside was crisp, carrying the faint scent of the celestial gardens that adorned the pathways leading to her home.
As she walked through the streets of the upper heavens, angels greeted her with bows and quiet reverence, the servants of their household among them. They recognized her at once, pausing their duties to offer respectful nods. She acknowledged them with a gentle smile, though her mind was elsewhere.
At the entrance to their home, a familiar figure stood by the great doors—Fang, their ever-loyal gatekeeper. His sharp and ever-watching features softened as he saw her approach.
“Lady Seraphiel,” he greeted warmly. “It is good to see you back.”
Sera inclined her head. “Thank you, Fang. Is Adam inside?”
Fang grinned. “Yes, my lady. He returned not long ago. And so did Lady Emily.” His tail flicked slightly. “They’re in the kitchen.”
Sera raised a brow at that but said nothing, stepping past him. Just as she was about to enter, she caught the sound of something unexpected.
"Oh, gather 'round, my dear sweet child,
It’s time to cook and make Ma smile!
For in this pot, so warm and bright,
We stir up love with joy tonight!"
"Stir the pot, stir the stew,
Add a pinch of spice or two!
Ladle high, let the scent rise,
Dinner’s set ‘neath golden skies!"
Her hand froze on the doorframe as she listened.
It was Adam’s voice, strong and steady, singing in a low, rhythmic tone. And intertwined with his was Emily’s, lighter, more playful, weaving through his notes like a bird soaring in the wind.
She peered inside.
"A sprig of thyme, a dash of sage,
A taste so fine, like Heaven’s grace!
Add golden honey, rich and sweet,
To warm the heart with love complete!"
"Drop in the bread, so soft and light,
Freshly baked with crust so bright!
A touch of cream, a swirl so grand,
The perfect meal from loving hands!"
The warm glow of the kitchen greeted her, golden light flickering off polished countertops. At the center, Adam stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot, his sleeves rolled up, his posture relaxed. Emily was beside him, flour dusting her hands and the tip of her nose, laughing as she tried to knead dough.
Their voices melded together in song—an old hymn, but softened into something more personal, something shared between father and daughter.
"Stir the pot, stir the stew,
A feast awaits for me and you!
Boil it slow, let flavors blend,
A taste of love, on Ma depends!"
"Now chop the greens and fold them in,
A healthy meal to make her grin!
A sip of broth, a careful taste,
Nothing here will go to waste!"
"Stir the pot, stir the stew,
Soon Ma will be home so true!
Set the table, pour the wine,
Tonight, we feast in love divine!"
Sera watched from the doorway, a strange warmth settling in her chest.
For all the battles, the fears, and the weight of Heaven’s judgment pressing down upon them… here, in this moment, Adam was simply a father. And Emily, simply his daughter.
And for now, that was enough.
"Now toss in some thyme for a savory zing,
And sugar crystals for a caramel cling!
Add cinnamon spice, a fire so red,
Let warmth and love fill hearts instead!"
"A dollop of butter, smooth and light,
Melted down in the oven’s delight!
Its golden glow, so rich and true,
A feast prepared for me and you!"
"Stir the pot, stir the stew,
Flavors mix, a perfect brew!
A chef’s own touch, a loving start,
Each warm bite, a work of art!"
"Finish it off with a pinch of care,
A touch of love—it’s light as air!
And now, my child, with joy so bright,
Let’s set the table for Mom tonight!"
"Stir the pot, stir the stew,
A home-cooked meal made just for you!
Through warmth and laughter, love still flows,
A family’s bond forever grows!"