_____AZRAEL SERAPHANE_____

The funeral was quiet, a muted procession of mourners draped in dark garments, their faces pale and hollow.

The scent of flowers—white lilies and burning incense—hung thick in the air, but it couldn’t mask the sharp tang of grief that clung to everything. A wound that refused to close.

Mi'kael stood apart from the crowd, his figure stiff and distant, his eyes locked on the gravestone bearing our mother’s name.

The woman who had given us life.
The woman who had been our comfort, our anchor.

Gone.

My throat burned, raw and aching.

The weight of her absence settled over me, suffocating and relentless.

I looked at Mi'kael again. His shoulders trembled under a burden far heavier than mine.

And somehow, I knew his grief ran deeper—cutting closer to the bone.

_____MI'KAEL SERAPHANE______

As the low murmurs of the mourners faded into silence, I remained where I was, rooted to the ground.

I couldn’t leave her here—
not in a place where life no longer reached her.

I stood alone, staring at the cold, unyielding stone.

It felt like betrayal to turn away.

To walk away.

A soft voice broke the quiet.

I turned to see an older servant approaching, her hands trembling as she held an envelope.

She bowed her head.

"Your mother… wanted you to have this," she whispered.

My fingers shook as I took it from her.
The envelope felt too light to hold all that I had lost.

I pressed it to my chest before unfolding it with shaking hands.

Her handwriting—elegant and familiar—rose from the page.

And her voice filled my mind.

My dear Mi’kael…

As I read, the world blurred.
I forced myself onward.

Keep moving forward.
Do not look back.
Do not blame yourself.
You are a kind and caring boy… never lose that part of you.

A sob tore from my throat.

Even now… she thought of me first.

Then I reached the final words:

Your father’s blaster. Polished. Cleaned. Ready for you.

My breath hitched.

A final gift.
A final trust.

I pressed the letter against my heart.

A presence touched my side.
Azrael’s hand settled on my shoulder—firm, steady.

I leaned into it without realizing.

But the moment didn’t last.

Footsteps approached—measured, deliberate.

I turned.

Grandfather and Caelus stood a few paces away.

Their faces solemn.
Their eyes something else entirely.

"Mi’kael. Azrael," Grandfather said. "You are not alone."

Caelus stepped forward, his expression softening just enough to be artificial.

“It’s a tragic loss,” he said, voice smooth.

Then his gaze locked onto mine—sharp, unblinking.
Predatory.

He leaned closer, pressing his hand against my shoulder.

And then—
He whispered, "It's a shame really... I expected more of a fight out of her."

My stomach lurched.

His smile remained small and practiced.

“If you boys need anything… we are here.”

I met his eyes.
I recognized the shadow behind them.

I remember what you did.

The letter whispered at my side.

Keep moving forward.

I would.
But not the way she meant.

Grandfather and Caelus turned away, fading back into the murmur of the crowd.

Azrael’s hand found mine.

Together, we stepped away into the quiet.

“Azrael,” I said softly, voice trembling.
“I know it’s hard to believe. But… I know who killed Mother.”

_____AZRAEL SERAPHANE_____

My pulse stopped.

“What… are you talking about?”
My voice fractured under the weight.

Mi’kael stepped closer, his eyes wide with certainty and terror.

“Caelus,” he whispered. “I saw him that night. After today… I’m sure.”

The world tilted.

Caelus?

I wanted to trust him. But—

“Mi’kael,” I said, forcing the words out, “do you really think someone who serves directly under our grandfather would kill Mother?”

His breath caught.

“That would be treason,” I pressed, quietly but firmly.
“An accusation like that without proof… it wouldn’t just destroy Caelus. It would destroy us. Even as heirs. Even as family.”

I wanted to reach him.
But without something solid…

I couldn’t.

“Without proof,” I whispered, “it’s just grief talking. I need more than that. We both do.”

_____MI'KAEL SERAPHANE_____

His words gutted me.

"Why won’t you believe me?"

Azrael looked away, jaw tight.

“It’s not about believing or not,” he said. “But you can’t drag him—and Grandfather—into this with nothing but a memory born from trauma.”

Trauma.

The word stung like a blade.

“Fine,” I said, breath shuddering. “Then I’ll prove it. Right now.”

I ran.

The estate loomed ahead—
silent, empty, still stained with the ghost of that night.

I didn’t slow.

I moved through the darkness, past the ruins of our lives, until I reached the compartment only I knew.

My hands shook as I pried it open.

There it was.

My father’s blaster.

Polished.
Clean.
Waiting.

Just like she said.

I lifted it.
The cold metal hummed against my palm.

A truth I couldn’t unsee.
A promise I couldn’t unmake.

I tucked the weapon close.

A vow settled in my chest:

I would bring Caelus into the light.
Even if it consumed me.
Even if I lost myself.