Fallen

Chapter Four

The gentle scent of the days rain had long ago faded, and yet there was still a hint of its fragrance in the air. A soft breeze blew through the open windows, bringing the sounds and attar of the night beyond in to the room. Just beyond those windows were the vast gardens of the Otherworld compound, their faint scents and sounds mixing against those of Los Angeles. The volumes of books, lining the walls on either side from floor to ceiling were ignored. The comforts of plush, heavy seating were abandoned.

The occupants inside paid it no mind, however. The subtle beauties of Earth were of no interest to either at the moment. Each was preoccupied, but both with very different agendas.

His hands busy shuffling the papers on his large wooden desk, Jonathan sighed. This office was his private space, and one that he usually found solace in. In the weeks leading up to this day, he had felt increasingly sure of his place. Even more certain that the fate of the Fallen would be resolved, and all his hard work would be granted absolution.

That had not been the case. He had realized it only moments after first entering the Summit hall, as the gazes of the messengers fell upon him. He was not of the gift to read minds, but he hadn't needed to be. Despite their lack of expression they were still easily read by those who knew them.

They had been judged before the meeting had even begun.

This hadn't been the first time such a meeting had not turned the results he had desired. For seven hundred years, they had all ended the same. His father, his grandfather, his great grandfather; all Leads of the Fallen, all facing the same disappointment. But even so, Jonathan couldn't help but feel angry that yet again they had been denied.

Now, in the aftermath, he faced another issue entirely.

Yerachmiel had appeared. This was something that, to some, might be considered a benefit. That he was still aware of their fate, that the Angel was still invested in what was happening to them on Earth. But to Jonathan, the fact the archangel had materialized in that hall showed just how thin his patience now ran.

A feeling that was now confirmed, as in the days to come, Jonathan would be faced with a foe unfamiliar. Angels. True, pure Angels would now be determining the fate of the thousands of Fallen on Earth, and do so in the course of less than three months. To Jonathan, it was absurd. If the messengers and the Fallen had not been able to find resolutions over centuries, how three Angels, knowing nothing of Earth and life with humanity would find a just verdict was senseless.

But that was not the focus of the opponent in the room. Micah cared very little for the events of the day, or for the coming of the Angels. News travelled quickly through the community, of the quick downturn of the meeting, and the appearance of the Angel of Earth. Micah knew this was his chance to make his case.

"I understand you have other issues on your mind, Jonathan," Micah said, clasping his hands behind his back. He remained standing in front of Jonathans' desk, as the man continued to fret and ponder the implications of his fate.

"That I do," Jonathan said with a snap. His eyes quickly jumped to Micah, immediately nervous. He knew to cross the son of a messenger, especially in this climate, would be foolish. Regardless of his own tensions.

Micah, however, was unfazed.

"I do not wish to add to your troubles," he continued. "I am fully aware of how the meeting today turned, and of what is to come in terms of the fate of your group."

Jonathans' eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, before he leaned back against his chair. Abandoning the papers in front of him, the frantic plans for the appearance of the Angels, he now granted Micah his full attention.