The tension in the room was heavy, as though a weight pressed down on everyone inside. It was almost a tangible thing, something that could be touched it was so thick in the air. It had remained this way since the moment both sides entered the large, cold space almost an hour before.
And yet there had been no change. Despite the words, the promises and the assurances, no headway had been made, which only seemed to intensify the feeling that something was about to erupt. Like the subtle shake of the ground, which warned you before the eruption of a volcano, the eerie silence that had befallen the group was almost ominous.
Both sides faced each other, seated opposite along the long, wooden table in the center of the room. The table was the only real fixture in the space, lined on each side with ten chairs. It was a thick, warm, ancient wood that was only used for these meetings. Otherwise, the room was left barren and unused. Otherwise, the cold gray brick walls and high, barred windows left it feeling like a jail.
The jail like description had been noted by more than one member on one side of this table often over the years. Of course, this was never mentioned aloud to those occupying the opposite side.
To onlookers, if there were ever allowed to be any for this type of gathering, both sides would seem the same. A mixture of men and women, varying ages from young adult to graying haired veteran, of various races and airs of authority. The only noticeable difference in the two sides was their clothing.
On the one side, the occupants were dressed in suits, all varying shades of white and pale gray. They appeared immaculate, as though no soil or stain could touch them. Their expressions were all impassive, completely unmoved by the pleas and promises they had been listening to over the last hour. It was enough to make some of the younger in attendance wonder if they were even listening at all.
The opposite side wore the clothes of modern days. Still considered presentable and official, and yet, with the colors of black, dark blue and gray, the contrast between the lightness of their opponents was almost striking. The influences of humanity were obvious, as some bore the marks of tattooing, piercings and other body modifications. Their expressions, unlike their counterparts, were not calm and emotionless. Some looked angry, others looked afraid. Some, however, controlled their appearance better than others, attempting to appear just as indifferent to the conversation as those opposite them. But of course, this had come with years of practice, and experience in this type of setting. It was easy to see who fit this bill, against those who had never been granted admittance before.
Sera turned her eyes to her neighbor, a silent communication passing between them, before she turned forward again. Her pale blue eyes, so light you would swear they had no color at all, met the man immediately across from her.
"I feel as though this conversation is going in circles," she said softly, her voice almost musical. "Despite everything exchanged, I feel we are no closer to an understanding."
The man opposite her remained composed, although the slight tension in his jaw was notable as she finished speaking.
"I agree we seem to be at an impasse, Madam Messenger, but I fear it is because we are not being justly heard."
Sera turned up a corner of her lip. A subtle gesture, but considering the usually stoic expression of her kind, it spoke volumes. She reached forward, placing her hands on the table, folding them together. She could feel all eyes in the room on her, and again, the weight that had been heavy since stepping inside seemed to surge.
"Very well," she nodded. "What is it you fear we are not hearing from your side?"
If Jonathan Caison was thankful for the opportunity to repeat his case, it wouldn't have been evident on his face. If anything, the fact he was being forced to yet again make his plea seemed to anger him.
He matched Sera's position, folding his hands on the table in front of him. Absentmindedly, his fingers twisted the ring on his right ring finger. A habit he knew was a fault, and always gave away his true feelings. And yet, one he couldn't seem to break.
"We have made great strides since our last meeting, Madam Messenger," he began, his voice imploring. "All issues of concern from the council were heard, and acted upon. I am aware we have not been perfect, and there are still areas of flaw,"
Sera, again, offered a slight lift to her lip. "Finally a statement of truth," she quipped, halting Jonathan's speech.
He was irritated, and yet the pause in his recount was only momentary. "There are still areas of flaw, but I feel the council need remember our situation. We are here, on earth. The influence of this world is heavy, and one that is often difficult to resist."
"And yet, that is your goal," Cassiel, sitting to the right of Sera, interrupted. "To resist the influences, and show your growth and dedication to return home. To say that it is difficult to resist the influences of earth is to suggest that you have learned nothing in your time here."
Jonathan's eyes blazed with anger, and to those in the room, the flicker of flame behind them was visible. To other eyes, purely human eyes, they would seem impossibly black. But this was not a room of pure humans.
Jonathan opened his mouth to protest, but another voice called out.
"This is nonsense," a voice at the end of the table shouted. I tall, slender man with dark hair stood, his face much less controlled than Jonathan. His youth was evident in his features, as well as his manner. "We have done everything asked of us. Since we arrived here, all those years ago, we have been working towards the right to return home. And every time, you find a reason to refuse us. If this is always going to end in the same judgment, one that everyone here knows was passed before you even walked through this door, why do we keep trying to redeem ourselves? Why resist the influences of this world you damned us to, if we are going to be accused of sin either way?"
"Xander, that is enough," Jonathan shouted, although the tone was not as harsh as you would expect for such a implicating statement. The two met gazes, equally as angry, before the younger of the two sat back down, silencing his tirade.
Jonathan turned back to Sera, just as she began to speak.
"I fear that that is a prime example of how little you have learned here," she said, her voice showing no change despite the increasing tension. "To ask why you should resist, makes me fear you do not truly wish to resist. That if it were not for your particular situation, that you would gladly fall to the ways of human life." Sera was quiet for a moment, her eyes focused intently on Jonathan. "There are some Fallen, you know, who make very little effort in your bid to return to your true ranks."
Again, an almost imperceptible change crossed over Jonathan's features. "I don't..."
"If you cannot control your own daughter, Caison, I feel I cannot fully trust you to control the Fallen as a whole."
Again, an incredulous shout called from the end of the table.
"That is bullshit!" Xander called again, his hand gesturing wildly towards Sera. "You don't get you..."
"But I do," she interrupted, outwardly unchanged by his outburst. With a look, Xander was silenced with a choke. He breathed in a quick gasp as though the breath was stolen from his lungs, and his voice went silent. His eyes widened under the loss of control over his own body, and for the first time he seemed to be understanding the true power of those he challenged.
"I am a messenger of the angels. This council represents the collective group, the larger masses, and in that, the power decide your fate." She turned towards Xander, who despite the loss of his voice, was shooting daggers in her direction. "You are hardly one to challenge our ruling, Xander Caison. You are far from pure, yourself."
With a final look, Sera released her control over Xander, who fell back to his seat as though pushed. Turning her eyes back to Jonathan, her previously impassive expression was cracking.
Outside, the wind blew wildly, picking up perceptibly from the gentle breeze it had been before this meeting began. The clouds darkened, the threat of storm dimming the light of day. Those inside the room could tell it was an ominous reaction to the anger bubbling like a pot within these walls. It was the only true sign of reaction from the fair group.
"I fear, that neither yourself nor your kin have made much of a case for yourself, Caison," Sera continued. "You say the right things, but you fail to remember...we see more than we speak of. Well rehearsed words and speeches will do little to sway us, when we have seen just how easily, and how freely, the group has fallen to human ways."
Jonathan could no longer keep his anger in check. Through gritted teeth, he spat.
"So you will damn the whole for the choices of the few?"
To this, Sera laughed. A lovely, enchanting sound, but one that made the blood of everyone on the opposite side of the table boil with anger.
"It is not I that damned you, Jonathan. Your ancestors did that, by betraying Azbogah. By freeing Aerin before his judgment, you in turn set yourselves for judgment. You would be good to remember that you could have suffered a far worse fate than earth, Caison."
"And yet the Ellison's remained without judgment..."
"They were judged," Cassiel interrupted. "And they served their own sentencing. But to betray an archangel is far worse than to break an oath."
"I suppose that depends on if you are the one whose faith in that oath was broken." Anne, to the right of Jonathan, spoke. Her voice was gentle, almost inaudible. And yet, her statement spoke the thoughts of her side of the table. It was the first time she had voice her thoughts aloud in these meetings in years.
Cassiel offered Anne a glance. "Both are sins. Betrayal of two different severities. But only one is punishable with banishment."
"Freeing an innocent angel is cause for damnation?" Jonathan shouted, standing abruptly as his fist slammed down on to the table.
Sera remained unmoved, although the storm outside began to rage. Rain fell in sheets now, pelting the windows in a steady stream. The only sounds other than the speaking, the shouting, were the rain, and the thunder.
"It is. And a rule your ancestors knew before they made their choice. It is not for you to determine guilt or innocence. And again, remember Aerin admitted to his part in Isaiah's death. That in turn negates any possibility of innocence. To kill a fellow angel is punishable by banishment. Regardless of your personal feelings towards Isaiah's own lack of strength, his fate was not one to be chosen by Aerin. Isaiah broke the law; by coming to earth, by falling in love with a human, he betrayed our kind."
"I know the laws," Jonathan spat, flipping his hand dismissively.
Sera's face hardened almost imperceptibly. "Your actions and insolence leave me to wonder if you do."
Her tone caused another shout from the end of the table. But instead of a single call, several voices erupted in protest. Bodies stood, shouting at random, directing their rage across the table to their opponents, who remained seated, but for the first time, visibly angered.
No individual words could be heard, as they all streamed together in to one long, angry torrent. The tension that had been hanging heavy in the air had broken in to outward hostility and resentment, erupting finally like a bottle shook too hard. The storm outside peaked, the rain against the windows almost deafening. Things were falling apart.
The fighting lasted only a short time, however, before the crack of thunder shook the walls of the room. It was so loud it left the occupants wondering if lightening had struck the roof. The thought was short lived, however, as all eyes turned towards the head of the table. Here, a new figure emerged from the air, a white light encasing him.
There was no mistaking him, nor was his purpose unclear. He stood a few steps back from the head of the table, a gentle light surrounding him as though it radiated off his skin. His hair was a pale blonde, touching the tops of his shoulders in a wave. His eyes, as Sera's, were a blue so pale you feared they were transparent. He was bare from the waist up, his skin a gentle golden color. He wore only white linen pants, his feet bare to the chilled stone floor. But it was not his lack of attire that caused the stares, nor was it his sudden and unexplainable appearance. It was the large, white wings protruding from his back, their tips falling along the stone floor.
"Enough," he said, his voice deep and loud as though he spoke over a speaker. It reverberated against the stone walls, forcing some of the younger Fallen to cover their ears.
The room fell into perfect silence. Some eyes turned towards the windows, seeing that the rain still fell, the trees still bowed under the force of the wind. But inside this room, the silence was louder than any thunder, as though completely separate from the outside world. As though the volume had been turned low, leaving no other distraction from the figure in front of them.
"Your arguing is trying my patience," the angel said, his eyes flickering between Jonathan and Sera. When no one said a word, as though they would dare, the angel turned to Sera.
"Have you made your ruling?" he demanded clearly.
Unfazed by the Angels appearance, Sera nodded. "We have, Yerachmiel. There has not been enough progress. We fear the Fallen have remained unable to resist sin and influence in a manner or degree that would in good conscience allow us to permit their return."
Yerachmiel turned, finding Jonathan Caison's mouth open to protest. "Then the ruling stands. I urge you to remember, Jonathan, that while I employ messengers to these meetings, they act as my delegates. Their rulings are as my own. And for you to dishonor them, is to dishonor me."
Jonathan's mouth ran dry, as he struggled to find his voice under the Angels stare.
"I assure you, Yerachmiel, no dishonor was intended. We merely fear we are fighting a losing battle in our bid to return home. Surely, our passion can be understood."
The angel seemed almost amused, although he did not move from his position. His arms remained at his sides, his gaze the only movement around the room.
"Passion is an understandable emotion, but one that is better left to Anael. My only interest is your actions, and in turn, your efforts to prove yourself worthy of being returned home. This council finds the Fallen yet reaching that point, Caison. As their leader and representative, I urge you to focus on the areas of weakness, rather than arguing their truth. If there were no truth to their claims, the messengers would not be able to speak them. As you know, Angels cannot lie. As my delegates, in turn, my messengers cannot lie. Unlike humans, of course."
The Fallen representatives stared at the angel, all knowing that to speak now, to argue, would lead to further punishment. Regardless of their anger or inexperience in such a stand off, they were not fools. Their silence spoke volumes.
When no one moved to rebut Yerachmiel, he turned his pale gaze to Sera.
"You are dismissed." He stated with a sense of finality. The council nodded once, in unison, before standing and stepping away from the table. As the door to the hall opened, a pale light of sun shone in, the smell of rain passed heavy in the air. It would seem as though the storm had silenced the moment Yerachmiel ceased the argument between sides.
The Angel turned then to Jonathan, his gaze heavy.
"I feel I don't have to remind you that disrespecting my messengers by profanity and anger does not endear me to pardon you." When Jonathan said nothing, Yerachmiel continued. "Such will not be tolerated again. These meetings have always been...passionate, as you said...but this is the first time you have dared to challenge the council with such disgrace. This only shows me that the influence of human kind has rooted deeper in you than you care to admit. For the descendants of those who felt so strongly against human influence of our kind, so much so as to free a murderer for unleashing his own justice on one who was unable to resist, I find it almost fitting that you yourselves have been so changed by the humans. So much so, as to disrespect your true kind." There was another weighted silence, before Yerachmiel made his final point. "If this happens again, there will be no more meetings. You will be banished permanently, and I will not come to you again."
The collective fear that overtook the room was palpable.
The angel was silent for a moment, as though considering a thought. Hanging his head, he mulled over his reticence, leaving the room in baited breath. Looking up, his wings opened slowly.
"I fear that you have lost your respect and understanding of the council. As representatives, they are admittedly half human. This may be my own flaw, by sending beings touched by emotion, who also live in this world to oversee this case. It only seems to create tension, with no resolution. And I grow tired of this issue, as it has been almost seven hundred years without solution. To go this long without repentance leaves me to wonder if you truly wish to return to heaven. If you truly wish to earn back your wings."
As if to emphasize his point, Yerachmiel opened his wings wide, their breadth casting across the room until the tips almost touched the opposite walls. Some of the Fallen gasped, as for them, this was their first view of an Angel. Of what they were fighting for. Of what they once were.
"I wonder if faced with true Angels rather than messengers, if your disgrace would be as deeply rooted. A new, impartial jury, of sorts, to make a final effort to return you to a pure state."
The Angel pondered his own question, before nodding to himself.
"In the coming days, I will be sending you a new council. This will not be comprised of messengers, as it would seem such make no headway with your kind any longer. Instead, these shall be of the Angels. Chosen by me, with my authority. It will be for them to decide, once and for all, your fate. I do not wish to continue this issue for another seven hundred years. So instead, I give you until the summer solstice. By the close of this day, if they find you without repentance, it will be my final decision. You will remain on earth, as humans."
Again, a silence passed over the group. It was a mixture of fear, but also hope. A small, glimmer of possibility that by a new hand, the gavel may not fall so swiftly.
"Do you accept this gift?" Yerachmiel asked, as though the gift could ever be denied.
With a slow bow of his head, Jonathan nodded. "We do."
Pleased, the angel folded his wings, before clasping his hands in front of him. It was the first true human movement he had made since appearing.
"Three days," he said, taking a step back as a light appeared behind him. "They will appear in three days. Do not waste this opportunity, Fallen. It will be your last."
Before anyone had a chance to say anything more, the light intensified, and Yerachmiel was gone.