Kokabiel's POV

  I woke up to an unusual silence and somewhat familiar heaviness. I opened my eyes to find Gabriel on my right, using my left arm as her pillow while a tied up Penemue was wiggling on the floor with an unusual heavy breathing. I shook my head with a wry smile.

  I don't need omniscience to know what happened. Gabriel snuck in, hoping to sleep beside me like old times, and caught Penemue trying to do the same. She probably didn't want to share or Penemue suggested something lewd, and ended up tied on the floor. But she doesn't mind it seems.

  "mmmhphhhh!" Penemue tried to attract my attention. If I had the capacity, I would have gotten a nosebleed like Azazel. The posture and disarrayed state of her clothes was tempting.

  I sighed phased through Gabriel's death grip. She groaned in protest, and I patted her head gently, making her drift into a peaceful expression again. She really is like a child.

  I then looked at the other person in the room and bent down, adjusting her clothes and then plavcing her on the bed. She was promptly used as Gabriel's pillow much to her silent protests. I just smiled looked around my room.

  My room looked exactly as I'd left it about 70 years ago. The star charts I'd been working on still spread across my desk, mathematical calculations half-finished in the margins. An ancient scripture lay open to page 247, bookmark perfectly placed where I'd stopped reading.

  My spare cloak hung on its hook by the door. Even the coffee cup I'd forgotten to put away sat on the windowsill, frozen in time like everything else in this room.

  Gabriel had kept it like a shrine.

  The thought made something twist uncomfortably in my chest. Guilt, probably. Or maybe grief for the pain I'd caused by leaving. Emotions were still strange to navigate after so long without them. Like learning to walk again after centuries of sitting in wheelchair.

  Through the walls, I could sense the others beginning to stir. Michael had been awake for hours already. His presence hummed with barely contained energy in the administrative building, probably already three hours deep into paperwork that never seemed to end.

  Raphael was in her laboratory. I could feel her there, separated from the rest of Heaven by wards she'd reinforced so many times the magical barriers had developed their own personality. Keeping people out, or keeping herself in? Both, probably.

  Azrael moved through the soul processing centers with his usual calm efficiency. Death didn't take breaks, after all. Souls needed guidance, transitions needed monitoring, the great cycle continued regardless of family drama.

  I began the automatic process of getting ready. Washing my face, straightening my hair, putting on clean clothes. Simple human rituals I'd maintained even after sacrificing my emotions, back when they were just motions without meaning.

  Now they felt grounding. Small acts of self-care that proved I was still here, still trying to be something more than just a weapon. I walked towards my old office, next to Michael's to see what I missed.

  Sariel was trying to hide his emotions when he saw me in my old chair, looking over documents like centuries ago. He muttered softly. "It's good to have you back Lord Kokabiel."

  I smiled and nodded. "It's good to be back Sariel. I apologize for the troubles my absence has caused. "

  He wiped his eyes quickly. "No my lord, you don't need to apologize. You have your own burdens to carry. We are just glad we can have you among us again."

  I smiled gratefully then started sorting through the documents. "It's organized well."

  He nodded. "Lady Penemue usually takes care of these things. She learned from you, so things have been efficient."

  My eyes involuntarily twitched as I looked at some documents. "Sariel."

  "Yes my lord?"

  "Why are there so many property destruction reports? And why have you guys been going around spreading my name in gospels ? I can't even read without being embarrassed. 'The wrath of heaven fell upon the wicked blasphemers to purge them of the sin of their rebellion. Mighty Kokabiel cleansed the lands of the devils corruption, thus he shall be prayed to whenever evil shall rise... ' I can't even continue." I shook my head.

  "But it's the truth my lord. and humans love dramatic descriptions."

  "But this one here says I placed my laurel crown on Jesus and helped him ascend and punished the sinners! I barely met the guy twice."

  "It felt poetic my lord."

  ".... cleaning duty, 1 month."

  "But my lord...."

  "Wanna make it 2 years?"

  "... I'm good."

  He bowed and left with a smile. Seriously, Even Michael gets about same times of mentions as me, maybe less. I think he intentionally let them spread this to get back at me for leaving.

  A gentle knock interrupted my thoughts. I could see who was it.

  "It's unlocked, Gabriel."

  The door opened slowly, and Gabriel peeked inside like she expected to find the room empty despite sensing my presence.

  Her golden hair was slightly disheveled, she'd clearly come straight from the bed without bothering to fix herself up.

  The moon necklace I'd given her yesterday hung around her neck, and I could see where the chain had gotten tangled while she slept. She'd worn it to bed.

  Relief flooded her features when she saw me, so visceral and powerful that she actually sagged against the doorframe.

  "You're still here," she spoke softly.

  "I'm still here."

  "I know I can sense you, I know my divine awareness tells me you're real and not a hallucination, but I had to see with my own eyes because sometimes my awareness lies to me and shows me things I want to see and—" She stopped herself, closing her eyes and taking a breath. "Sorry. I'm being irrational."

  "You're being someone who's been hurt and is scared it'll happen again. That's not irrational. I'm sorry to make you feel that way."

  "I know. You keep saying that." She wiped at her eyes roughly. "I don't know how to stop being scared. I don't know how to just... trust that you'll be here tomorrow."

  "I don't know either. But maybe we figure it out together?"

  She nodded, still clutching the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her upright. "I'm organizing a family breakfast with everyone. Michael's cooking, which is terrifying because Michael treats recipes like military operations, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

  "Right. At least I can't get food poisoning. "

  Gabriel chuckled. "He improved a lot. So, You'll come?"

  "I'll be there, sister." I said firmly. "I promise."

  That seemed to satisfy her. She nodded once, and then fled down the hallway before I could say anything else. But I could hear her humming as she went. That old hymn we used to sing when we were young and Heaven felt infinite.

  I gave myself a few more minutes to collect my thoughts before leaving my office. But it felt different now. Emptier, maybe. Or maybe I was just more aware of the absence. I stopped as looked the paintings hung to remember our fallen siblings.

  Kamael, Uriel, Tsadkiel, Kabiel, Raziel, Aniel and Metatron.

  I still remembered some of our memories of laughing together, walking down the same corridors. But now I stand here, alone, while they have become just memories.

  Angels I passed in the corridors stopped to stare. Some smiled with genuine relief. Others looked away quickly, expressions complicated with emotions I couldn't immediately parse. A few younger ones; angels born or created right before the great war, stared with something like awe mixed with fear.

  I'd been a symbol to them. Heaven's Wrath. The one who stood against the impossible and won. The perfect warrior who needed nothing, felt nothing, wanted nothing except to protect them all.

  Now I was just... a person. Flawed and uncertain and trying to figure out how to be a brother again.

  The weight of their expectations was uncomfortable.

  I found the dining room without issue. The room itself was modest by Heaven's standards. Just a large space with a table that could seat our family, windows overlooking Gabriel's personal gardens, simple elegance without overwhelming grandeur.

  Michael was already there.

  He stood at the counter with his back to me, movements precise and controlled as he prepared food with the same careful attention he brought to everything. Each ingredient measured exactly. Each step of the recipe followed to the letter like it was holy scripture.

  The kitchen around him was immaculate. Every utensil cleaned immediately after use. Every surface wiped down. No mess, no chaos, everything controlled and contained and perfectly ordered.

  It was the most Michael thing I'd ever seen.

  "You're treating breakfast like a operation again, brother." I observed, stepping into the room.

  His shoulders tensed slightly, the only sign that my arrival had startled him, before he continued working without turning around. "Food preparation requires precision. Deviation from established procedure results in suboptimal outcomes."

  "It's scrambled eggs, Michael."

  "Scrambled eggs prepared incorrectly are a crime against cuisine."

  "We don't even need to eat."

  "That's not the point." He finally turned to face me, and I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. Dark circles that shouldn't exist on an angel's face. The slight tremor in his hands that he was working very hard to suppress.

  He looked like someone who'd been holding himself together through sheer force of will for so long he'd forgotten how to let go.

  "The point," he continued carefully, "is that Gabriel asked for family breakfast. Gabriel, who hasn't asked for anything family-related in decades. Who stopped trying to bring us together after you left because every attempt just reminded everyone of who was missing. So I'm going to make sure everything is perfect because she deserves that much at minimum."

  The words were measured, delivered with perfect calm.

  But underneath I could hear the desperate edge. The fear that if he didn't make this perfect, Gabriel would stop trying again. And if Gabriel stopped trying, they'd all drift apart completely until there was nothing left of their family except shared memories of better times.

  "Can I help?" I offered.

  Michael's eye twitched. "You don't cook."

  "I learned a bit in human world."

  "You once tried to make tea and somehow set water on fire."

  "That was one time, and the water was cursed."

  "Normal water isn't cursed, Kokabiel."

  "Well, mine was. Clearly."

  He smiled. Just for a second, a tiny crack in his perfect composure. Then it was gone again, locked behind that professional mask.

  "You can set the table," he said finally. "Try not to destroy anything."

  I moved to the cabinets where plates and silverware were stored. Everything was exactly where I remembered. Gabriel had probably forbidden anyone from changing anything, desperate to keep everything frozen in time from when I'd still been here regularly.

  The plates were ones Yahweh had made millennia ago. Simple ceramic with delicate gold trim, durable enough to last eternity but beautiful enough to make meals feel special. I'd eaten from these plates more times than I could count. They felt heavier in my hands than they used to.

  I set them around the table slowly, trying to remember where everyone used to sit. Michael at the head, because someone had to organize things. Gabriel to his right, close enough to manage conversation.

  Raphael next to Gabriel, because she'd always felt more comfortable with Gabriel as a buffer. Azrael across from Raphael, because he'd found the symmetry aesthetically pleasing. Penemue next to Azrael and , close enough to make her jokes but far enough that Gabrielcouldn't immediately reach her when she got too annoying.

  And me... where had I sat?

  I stared at the table, trying to remember. Had I been next to Michael? Across from him? The memories felt distant and uncertain, like looking at something through fog. My transformation during the mission had made it hazy again. That's the price of power I guess.

  "You sat at the foot of the table," Michael said quietly. He hadn't turned around, still focused on cooking, but he'd been watching somehow. "Across from me. Gabriel insisted on it. Said if she put you in the middle you'd spend the whole meal trying to escape."

  "Was she right?"

  "Usually, yes." He flipped something in a pan with practiced efficiency. "You'd last about fifteen minutes before inventing an urgent matter that required immediate attention. Gabriel learned to serve dessert quickly."

  The image of that younger me, still capable of feeling but desperately uncomfortable with family intimacy, making excuses to flee, felt both familiar and foreign. I'd been running even before I'd sacrificed my emotions. Running from connection, from vulnerability, from anything that might make me weak despite trying think I was doing fine.

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  "I won't run this time," I said quietly.

  "You keep saying things like that. Like you think it'll reassure us." Michael's hands stilled over the stove. "But words are easy, Kokabiel. You always had pretty words, even before you lost your emotions. You knew exactly what to say to make people feel better. But knowing what to say and actually following through are different things."

  "And then after thirty years, we accepted that you weren't coming back, unless you wished to. That you'd either gone somewhere we couldn't find you, or you'd deliberately left and didn't plan to return. Do you have any idea what that acceptance felt like? Letting go of hope? Admitting that our family was broken permanently?"

  "Michael—"

  "So forgive me if I don't immediately trust your words, brother. I've gone through losing my brother when Lucifer... fell." His voice was still calm, still controlled, but I could hear the tremor underneath.

  "You're here now. That's good. I'm glad you're here. But you being here for one day doesn't erase fifty years of absence. And I can't..." He stopped, closing his eyes. "I can't let myself hope again. It's great that you are better Kokabiel. I am happy for you, truly. But I felt so helpless without you. You ran heaven smoothly, managed the alliances with other pantheons. Then left me in charge.

  There were times I felt lost, and I wanted to seek your wisdom, brother. Because despite being younger, you are wiser than any of us. Father chose you a for reason. I am tired brother, of being the perfect leader when my siblings were all broken inside."

  The vulnerability in that admission from Michael, who never admitted weakness, was almost shocking.

  I wanted to insist I wouldn't leave again, that I'd learned my lesson. That I understood now what my absence had cost. But Michael was right. When I travel to other worlds, I'd be away, not knowing how long it would take for me to return.

  But I'll eventually come back here, always. It is my home after all.

  "Then I won't ask you to trust me," I said finally. "I'll just... be here as much as possible. I'll keep in touch when I'm away. And eventually, maybe you'll trust me again. Or maybe you won't. But I'll still be here either way."

  Michael studied me for a long moment, then nodded once. "That's all I'm asking for, brother. Just be here. Don't become a ghost. That's enough for now."

  He turned back to cooking, and I finished setting the table in silence.

  Azrael arrived next.

  I didn't hear him enter. Death had always been good at appearing without warning.

  "Brother," he greeted calmly.

  "Azrael."

  "You look better than yesterday," he observed. "More settled."

  "I slept in my old room. Familiar place helped."

  "Gabriel preserved it exactly as you left it."

  "I noticed."

  "She did the same with your training grounds, your meditation chamber, even your seat in the war room. Wouldn't let anyone change anything." He said it matter-of-factly, without judgment, just stating facts.

  "Michael tried to convince her to let go. Said keeping everything frozen wasn't healthy. She refused. Said as long as your spaces remained, part of you remained too."

  "She's been hurt," I said quietly.

  "None of us were okay," Azrael corrected gently. "Gabriel's just the most obvious about it. Michael buries himself in work. Raphael in research. Penemue in denial. I..." He paused, considering. "I simply continue existing, performing my duties, moving forward because stopping isn't an option. We all cope differently."

  "And which is healthiest?"

  "None of them. All of them. Grief doesn't follow rules, Kokabiel. It just is."

  "The others don't see it that way," I said.

  "The others are still too hurt to see it that way. Give them time. They'll get there eventually." He paused, then added quietly, "And if they don't, that's okay too. You can't control how others process their pain. You can only control your own actions going forward."

  Michael set a plate of food in front of each of us without comment. The eggs were perfectly cooked, exactly the right consistency, plated with geometric precision. It looked more like art than breakfast.

  I took a bite. It tasted... fine. Technically perfect, no flaws in preparation or seasoning. But it lacked something ineffable. Like Michael had followed every rule of cooking except the most important one, putting love into the food.

  "It's good," I said anyway.

  "You're a terrible liar," Azrael said mildly. "But the gesture is appreciated."

  Michael's eye twitched, but he said nothing.

  Raphael arrived looking marginally more put together than yesterday. Her green hair was properly styled, her medical coat was clean and pressed, and the dark circles under her eyes were slightly less pronounced. She'd clearly made an effort.

  She stopped in the doorway when she saw all of us gathered, and something complicated flickered across her face. Relief, anxiety, hope, fear, all tangled together into an emotion I couldn't name.

  "I'm not late, am I?" The question came out too fast, almost defensive. "I was calibrating the regeneration matrix and I thought I had more time but sometimes when I'm working I lose track of minutes and they turn into hours and I'm not trying to avoid anyone I just lost track—"

  "Raphael," Michael interrupted gently. "Breathe. You're not late. Gabriel and Penemue aren't even here yet."

  She took a visible breath, forcing herself to calm down. Then she walked to her usual seat, next to Gabriel's empty chair, across from where I sat—and carefully arranged herself with perfect posture.

  "Good morning, brother." she said stiffly.

  "Morning, sister" I replied.

  "How's your research going?" I asked casually, because it seemed like safe territory.

  Raphael's head snapped up. "My research?"

  "You mentioned a breakthrough yesterday. Something about angelic regeneration?"

  "Oh. That." She fidgeted with her silverware. "It's... progressing. I've been working on methods to accelerate healing for angels who've sustained severe damage. Theoretical work mostly, we haven't had any actual cases requiring it since the war, but I wanted to be prepared if something happened."

  "That's wonderful, although I hope there isn't another war. I'm tired of those."

  Silence filled the room. We all remembered the war. How it changed all of us.

  She looked around at all of us sitting in silence. Michael with his carefully maintained composure starting to crack, Azrael with his quiet steady presence, me with my newly relearned emotions, and something in her expression softened.

  "We're all a mess, aren't we?" she said with a watery laugh.

  "Complete disaster," Azrael agreed.

  "Barely functional," Michael added.

  "Held together by stubborn determination and Gabriel's desperate optimism," I finished.

  That got a real laugh from Raphael, even if it was wet and shaky. "Gabriel's going to walk in and find us all having emotional breakdowns before breakfast."

  "She'll probably join in," Michael said dryly. "Make it a family activity."

  "Group crying sessions. Very therapeutic."

  "I hate all of you," Raphael said, but she was smiling now.

  "No you don't," we said in unison.

  The moment of levity helped. Not healing, we were far from healed, but it eased some of the immediate tension. Raphael wiped her eyes one final time and returned to her seat with slightly more composure.

  We were just settling back into our places when Gabriel burst through the door, dragging a mortified Penemue behind her.

  "Everyone's here!" Gabriel announced with forced cheerfulness that was trying so hard to be genuine. "This is perfect! We're all together like a real family and everything is wonderful and not awkward at all!"

  The statement was immediately undermined by the fact that Penemue looked like she wanted to sink through the floor.

  Penemue had changed. Not physically, angels didn't age or change appearance unless they chose to, but in demeanor. The confident, flirtatious angel who'd always had a joke or teasing comment ready was gone. In her place stood someone mature and uncertain, like she wasn't sure she belonged here.

  She stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the table . "I've don't remember the last time I joined you all. It feel like a distant memory. Usually the archangels were part of this."

  "You're always welcome here" Gabriel said firmly, still gripping her arm. "This is family breakfast. You're family. Therefore you belong here. Simple logic."

  "But I—" Penemue looked around at all of us, her expression desperate. "Where do I even sit? I don't remember where I used to sit. It's been so long and everyone's seated already and I don't know where I fit."

  "Next to Azrael and Kokabiel," Michael said tiredly. "You always sat next to Azrael because you said he was the only one who appreciated your jokes. And Kokabiel... for obvious reasons."

  "I never said I appreciated them," Azrael corrected mildly. "I said I understood their theoretical comedic structure even if the execution was lacking."

  "That's basically appreciation from you."

  I sighed. "I remember always keeping one hand below to stop her from being handsy. "

  Penemue blushed and moved toward her seat with the caution of someone approaching a wild animal. She sat down so carefully it was like she thought the chair might collapse. Her hands immediately gripped the table edge, knuckles white with tension.

  Gabriel took her own seat between Michael and Raphael, and immediately began distributing food with determined enthusiasm. "Everyone eat! Michael worked very hard and we're going to appreciate his efforts even if it kills us!"

  "We're kinda immortal," Raphael pointed out.

  "The sentiment stands!"

  Azrael who always knew exactly what to do in moments like this, picked up his fork and took a deliberate bite of eggs.

  He chewed thoughtfully. Swallowed. Then looked directly at Michael with his usual calm expression.

  "You overcooked them by forty-five seconds."

  Michael's entire body went rigid. "I followed the recipe exactly."

  "Recipes are guidelines, not absolute laws. You treated food preparation like an administrative procedure."

  "Cooking is chemistry. Chemistry requires precision and exact measurements."

  "Cooking is art. Art requires intuition and feeling."

  "I'm absolutely certain the eggs don't care about your philosophical interpretation of their preparation."

  "I'm absolutely certain they do."

  The sheer absurdity of watching Michael and Azrael debate egg preparation with complete seriousness, like it was a matter of cosmic importance, broke something in the tension.

  "You guys are seriously bickering over eggs of all things?" I raised an eyebrow.

  Raphael snorted despite herself. Then tried to cover it with a cough. Failed completely and just started laughing—still slightly wet from crying, but genuine.

  Penemue's death grip on the table loosened slightly. Gabriel's forced smile shifted into something more real.

  And Michael, despite his obvious desire to maintain dignity, looked faintly amused.

  I took a bite of the eggs. They were indeed overcooked by forty-five seconds. But they were also food that Michael had prepared specifically for this moment, for this breakfast that Gabriel had desperately wanted, for this family that was broken but trying.

  "They taste like home," I said quietly.

  Michael looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "That statement makes no logical sense. Home doesn't have a taste."

  "Yes it does!" Gabriel said immediately, looking around the table at all of us. "It tastes like being together. Like family."

  She smiled at me "It's so sweet of you to say, brother Kokabiel."

  The words hung in the air for a moment.

  Then everyone started eating.

  Slowly at first. Carefully. Like we were all still afraid this moment might shatter if we moved too quickly.

  But gradually, tentatively, conversation started flowing. We laughed at stupid jokes, bickered like kids without parental guidance. It was wonderful. Like time hasn't passed by at all.

  After breakfast , I took a tour of heaven with Gabriel bouncing happily beside me. It was nice.

  But like always, good things never last.

  I suddenly got a red alert on my chat group notifications.

  I widened my eyes as I excused myself for a while from Gabriel.

  [Warning ! Warning! ]

  [Chat group member The Fool has died!]

  Klein is dead!? What in heaven's name....