The Tribunal had adjourned, but the air inside the Court of Judgments stayed heavy, almost suffocating. It was as if the very walls of Heaven were holding their breath, afraid of what might come next.
Lucien sat alone in the Defense's private chamber, hands steepled before him. He knew Thalia's testimony had landed like a hammer against ancient glass, but whether it shattered the Tribunal or simply left cracks was yet to be seen.
A knock.
Not tentative. Sharp. Measured.
Lucien looked up as the door opened, and to his surprise, Velmiel himself entered.
The prosecutor's golden armor still gleamed, but his expression always polished and proud now seemed drawn, tense at the edges, as if some unseen weight pressed down on him.
Lucien stood, keeping his voice neutral. "To what do I owe the honor, Velmiel?"
The Archangel's eyes flashed, not with anger this time but with something more dangerous.
Desperation.
"We need to speak," Velmiel said curtly. "Privately."
Lucien studied him for a long moment before nodding.
The door closed, muffling the distant murmurs of the Court beyond.
Velmiel paced once, twice, before turning on Lucien.
"You are destabilizing the very foundation of Heaven."
Lucien folded his arms. "Good. Maybe the foundation was flawed to begin with."
Velmiel's fists clenched at his sides. "You think you're clever. You think that if you parade relics and forbidden witnesses before the Tribunal, you can undermine the Law itself."
Lucien tilted his head. "I don't need to undermine anything. It's already crumbling. All I'm doing is pointing out the cracks."
Velmiel's wings flared slightly, golden and rigid. "You have no idea what forces you are playing with, Lucien. If you keep pushing, it will not end with Seraphiel's trial. It will bring down the very pillars that hold the Celestial Order."
Lucien's eyes sharpened. "Good. Maybe it's time we built something better."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, to Lucien's astonishment, Velmiel's expression shifted not into rage, but into weary sorrow.
"You think you are fighting tyranny," Velmiel said quietly. "You think you are rebelling against corruption. But you don't understand... without Order, the universe itself unravels."
Lucien's heart beat faster. There was something in Velmiel's voice something real.
"What are you saying?" he asked, cautious.
Velmiel looked him dead in the eyes.
"The Tribunal is not judging Seraphiel because they want to. They are forced to."
Lucien frowned. "Forced? By who?"
Velmiel stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"There are powers... older than the Thrones. Older than Heaven itself. They demand balance. They demand obedience. If we do not act, they will."
Lucien's mind raced. Powers older than Heaven? It sounded insane and yet, something deep within him, some ancient instinct, whispered that it was true.
"What powers?" Lucien pressed. "Name them."
Velmiel hesitated.
Then shook his head. "You are not ready."
Lucien laughed bitterly. "That's convenient."
Velmiel's jaw tightened. "Mock me all you want, Advocate. But understand this: if you succeed in exonerating Seraphiel, you may save her... but you may doom us all."
Lucien stepped forward, inches away now.
"I would rather face the unknown," he said lowly, "than live one more day under a lie."
Velmiel's gaze flickered admiration, perhaps, or pity. Maybe both.
"Then may the Maker have mercy on all of us," he whispered.
Without another word, Velmiel turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him.
Lucien exhaled shakily.
This was bigger than he had imagined.
Later that day, Court reconvened.
The atmosphere had changed.
It wasn't just tense now it was hostile.
Eyes that had once watched with detached curiosity now gleamed with barely concealed fury or fear. Even some of the lesser angels scribes, messengers seemed to be whispering among themselves, casting furtive glances at the Thrones seated in judgment.
Lucien stood alone at the defense table. Seraphiel, as ever, remained silent in her containment circle her expression unreadable, but her light still burning defiantly.
The High Arbiter banged his staff once.
"Proceed," he intoned.
Lucien stepped forward, voice strong.
"For my next witness, I call"
A sudden crack of thunder shook the chamber.
Everyone froze.
From the far side of the Court, the grand entrance doors slammed open.
And into the courtroom walked
A demon.
The creature's form was cloaked in black smoke, its features hidden beneath a hood of shadow. It radiated power a wrongness that made angels instinctively recoil, wings flaring, hands moving toward weapons that did not exist in the sacred space.
Gasps filled the hall.
The Arbiter stood. "This is an outrage! No demon shall set foot in this Court!"
Lucien didn't flinch.
"I called him," he said calmly.
The Court erupted in shouts and protests.
Velmiel rose, voice like a blade. "You summoned a demon into the Court of Judgments?! You violate the highest sacred law!"
Lucien raised a hand.
"This being this witness holds evidence critical to the defense."
The High Arbiter's face twisted in anger.
"No evidence offered by a demon can be trusted."
Lucien smiled grimly.
"And yet you trust the silence of angels who fear the truth?"
Silence fell again.
The demon stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and bowed low before the Court.
When it spoke, its voice was surprisingly soft.
"I do not seek your trust," it said. "Only your ears."
Lucien turned to the Tribunal.
"Are we truly so afraid of the truth that we would turn it away, simply because of the mouth that speaks it?"
The High Arbiter hesitated.
Then, slowly, with clear disgust, he sat back down.
"Proceed."
Lucien nodded to the demon.
"State your name."
The demon lifted its hood.
And the Court gasped again.
Because beneath that hood was not a hideous monster.
It was... an angel.
Fallen, yes his once-golden wings now scorched black but unmistakably angelic.
Lucien's voice rang through the chamber.
"State your name for the record."
The fallen angel's voice was clear.
"I am Caeriel. Once of the Third Choir. Former Warden of the Gates."
Lucien turned to the Tribunal.
"And he is here... to reveal what really happened the night Heaven first fell silent."
---
The Testimony of the Fallen
The Court of Judgments sat in stunned silence.
No one moved. No one spoke. Even the High Arbiter, a figure as ancient as the stars themselves, could only stare at the fallen angel standing at the center of the courtroom.
Lucien, however, wasted no time.
He seized the moment, stepping forward, voice calm but cutting.
"You have sworn to speak the truth, Caeriel. You stand under the binding of the Court. Any deception will be revealed, and the consequences will be yours to bear."
Caeriel bowed his head, the remnants of his once-glorious halo flickering faintly around him.
"I understand," he said. His voice, though soft, carried an echo of something eternal and broken.
Lucien turned to the Tribunal.
"My Lords and Ladies of Judgment, I present a witness not to incite outrage, but to bring light to what has long been buried in darkness."
There were murmurs among the Thrones. Velmiel remained standing, fists clenched so tightly the air around him shimmered with tension.
The High Arbiter finally spoke, voice gravelly. "Proceed, Advocate. But know this one lie, and this creature will be cast into oblivion without a second thought."
Lucien nodded. He turned back to Caeriel.
"Tell the Court," he said clearly, "what you witnessed on the Night of Silence."
Caeriel's gaze swept over the room. His eyes once shining silver, now tarnished and grey seemed to pierce straight into the soul of every angel present.
And then he began.
"It was not rebellion," Caeriel said.
His words fell like stones into a still pond, sending ripples through the gathered assembly.
"I was Warden of the Gates," he continued, voice steady. "I stood watch over the Threshold, the last boundary between Heaven and the Outer Realms. On the Night of Silence... I saw the Thrones themselves open the Gates."
Gasps echoed through the chamber.
Lucien's heart raced. This was it the first real fracture in the pristine image of the High Court.
Caeriel pressed on.
"I saw them welcome beings from beyond entities not of creation, not of this universe. They bartered with them. Promises were made. Secrets exchanged. In their arrogance, they sought knowledge and power to make Heaven unassailable."
He paused, and his shoulders sagged slightly, as if the memory itself were a burden too great to bear.
"But in doing so, they violated the Law they were sworn to uphold."
Velmiel's voice, sharp as a sword, cut through the stunned silence.
"Blasphemy! Lies! This creature seeks only to poison our minds!"
Lucien raised a hand.
"You will have your chance to cross-examine, Prosecutor," he said coolly. "For now, the witness will be heard."
The Arbiter gave a grudging nod, allowing the testimony to continue.
Caeriel looked directly at Velmiel then no fear, only weary defiance.
"I was commanded to guard the Gates," he said. "To let no one through. When I refused to stand down... they cast me out."
His voice cracked slightly, the first sign of deep emotion.
"They rewrote the story. Called it a rebellion. Branded those who questioned them as traitors. And so the first of us Fell... not because we sought power or defied the Light but because we sought to protect it."
Silence reigned.
Lucien let the truth sink in before asking, "Did Seraphiel take part in this... transaction with the Outer Beings?"
Caeriel shook his head firmly.
"No. She was one of the few who stood against it. That is why she is here now. She was too dangerous to their secret."
More whispers spread through the Court. Some angels looked shaken. Others, furious. A few simply sat there, their faces pale and stricken.
Lucien pressed on.
"Are there others who can corroborate your account?"
Caeriel hesitated.
"Few remain," he said finally. "Most were destroyed. Silenced. Or worse... converted."
Lucien nodded grimly. "The prosecution will no doubt question your credibility. They will say you are a fallen angel a traitor. What do you say to that?"
Caeriel straightened.
"I fell," he said, voice ringing through the Court, "but not because I betrayed Heaven. I fell because I would not betray the truth."
A hush settled over the Tribunal, deeper than any before.
Lucien stepped back, letting Caeriel's words hang in the sacred space.
The High Arbiter turned to Velmiel.
"Cross-examination."
Velmiel rose like a thundercloud, golden armor burning with barely restrained wrath.
He stalked forward, wings flared, and fixed Caeriel with a glare that could shatter mountains.
"You expect us to believe your word over that of the Thrones?" he hissed. "You, a fallen wretch who spat on the Light?"
Caeriel met his gaze unflinchingly.
"I spit only on lies."
Velmiel's eyes narrowed. "Then answer this: if you witnessed such a betrayal, why wait until now to speak? Why hide in the shadows for eons?"
Caeriel's voice was steady.
"Because every attempt to reveal the truth ended in blood. Because the very Court you serve would have erased me from existence before I spoke a word. Because until now, no advocate dared challenge the Tribunal itself."
Velmiel sneered. "And what of your crimes? The mortals you corrupted? The chaos you sowed?"
A flicker of pain crossed Caeriel's face.
"I am not without sin," he said quietly. "But not all who fall choose evil. Some fall... because they choose truth over obedience."
Lucien watched carefully.
The Court was listening.
Really listening.
Even Velmiel seemed to sense it. His attacks grew sharper, more desperate.
"You claim Seraphiel is innocent," Velmiel snarled. "Yet you consort with the damned! How can the Court trust anything you say?"
Lucien stepped in smoothly.
"Objection. Badgering the witness."
The Arbiter nodded once. "Sustained."
Velmiel glared, but withdrew.
The High Arbiter leaned forward slightly, his voice unusually gentle.
"You may step down, Caeriel."
The fallen angel bowed once more, a slow, dignified gesture, before retreating.
As he passed Lucien, their eyes met.
Caeriel spoke softly so that only Lucien could hear.
"Be careful, Advocate. You are closer to the heart of the storm than you know."
Lucien nodded once.
He already knew.
And he was ready.
Outside the Court, unseen by most, shadows shifted.
Far beyond the High Walls of Heaven, ancient eyes turned toward the Tribunal.
And they were watching.