Kokabiel's POV

  The transition between dimensions felt like stepping through fabric made of compressed starlight. One moment I stood in the One Piece world, golden light dissolving my form as I waved goodbye to friends I'd fought beside. The next, my essence reassembled on familiar French soil. But things weren't the same as I left them.

  "Time dilation," I said aloud to the empty air, my voice carrying none of the emotion churning beneath my carefully maintained composure. "Different dimensional flows. The One Piece world's temporal rate versus this one's. I should have calculated that before leaving."

  But I hadn't. I'd sensed the corruption, felt the urgency, and simply left without considering the consequences. Without telling anyone. Without leaving so much as a note.

  Gabriel was going to be furious. No, worse than furious. She'd be hurt in ways fury couldn't capture.

  I manifested my twelve wings, Black as the void between stars, with countless points of light within each feather that shifted and moved like living constellations. They marked me as different from my siblings, a reminder of what I'd become after sacrificing my emotions.

  Taking flight felt natural. My wings caught currents of spiritual energy that humans couldn't perceive, carrying me toward Heaven faster than any mortal eye could track.

  The journey gave me time to think. To prepare mentally for what awaited. Justified anger, accusations I couldn't defend against, pain I'd caused through carelessness and poor planning.

  Michael would be disappointed. Raphael would try to act cold. Azrael might be the only one who understood, but even he'd have questions. Penemue... I didn't know what to expect from Penemue. And Gabriel...

  Gabriel would be devastated. She always took things the hardest, felt everything most deeply. That was both her greatest strength and her most vulnerable point.

  Heavens gates materialized before me like it always did, reality shifting to accommodate the dimensional overlap where our realm existed alongside but separate from the human world. The golden gates stood magnificent and eternal, carved from materials that predated human civilization.

  The guardian angels on duty straightened immediately when they saw me approaching. I recognized several faces, angels I'd personally trained in combat techniques, some members of my Guardian Angel Corps who'd volunteered specifically to serve under my command.

  One of them, a younger angel named Sariel with silver hair and violet eyes, stepped forward. His expression cycled rapidly through shock, relief, joy, and then something harder. Accusation mixed with residual hurt.

  "Lord Kokabiel." His voice was carefully controlled, formal in a way it had never been before I left. "It's good to see you once again. You have returned... After all this time."

  The formality stung more than open anger would have. It meant I'd lost something with them, some connection that formality now needed to replace.

  "I have, Sariel. " I said simply, landing before the gates with barely a sound. My wings folded behind me, the starlight within them dimming slightly. "Is Michael available?"

  "He's always available for you, my lord." Sariel's tone made it abundantly clear that wasn't meant as a compliment. "Though I cannot say whether he'll be pleased by your return. We have been looking for you for decades."

  Fair enough. I'd vanished without warning for half a century by their time. I wouldn't be pleased with me either.

  I walked through Heaven's gates into streets I'd known since their creation. Everything looked the same—pristine white stone, gardens of flowers that never wilted, architecture that blended beauty with divine function. But the atmosphere had changed.

  Angels I passed stopped to stare. Some smiled with genuine relief. Others looked away, expressions complicated with emotions I couldn't immediately parse. Resentment? Residual hurt? Both mixed with relief that I'd returned at all? I am their symbol of hope and strength, yet that very symbol was gone for so long.

  The administrative building where Michael typically worked stood at Heaven's center, a testament to organized beauty. I'd helped design it millennia ago, back when Yahweh was still alive and we'd all worked together on Heaven's renovation. Michael didn't sit on heaven's throne. For him, he couldn't imagine anyone else other than Yahweh there.

  The memory felt distant now, like looking at someone else's life.

  I climbed the marble steps, each footfall echoing in the quiet halls. Other angels saw me and quickly found reasons to be elsewhere. Word of my return would spread through Heaven within the hour.

  Michael's office door was carved from a single piece of celestial oak that Yahweh had personally grown eons ago. The wood remembered its creator, humming faintly with residual divine energy whenever someone touched it.

  I knocked twice. A simple courtesy, but one Michael appreciated.

  "Enter."

  His voice was measured, perfectly controlled, giving absolutely nothing away.

  I opened the door and stepped inside.

  Michael sat behind his desk surrounded by organized chaos. Stacks of reports, glowing prayer requests floating in neat formations around him, documents requiring his signature arranged by priority.

  He looked exactly as I remembered: blonde hair perfectly styled despite hours of work, blue eyes sharp and intelligent, posture immaculate even while buried in administrative duties. Perhaps a little tired.

  He looked up when I entered. For one heartbeat, maybe two, his expression remained neutral—the perfect mask of the Heaven's administrator.

  Then something cracked. Just slightly. Just enough for me to glimpse the pain beneath the professional facade.

  "Kokabiel." He said my name like he was testing whether I was real. "You've actually returned. I thought you disappeared."

  "I have." I closed the door behind me, the soft click giving us privacy from potentially listening ears. "I apologize for my absence, brother. Something urgent required my immediate attention, and I—"

  "Something urgent." Michael repeated the words slowly, carefully, as if examining them for meaning. "Something so urgent you couldn't spare even a single moment to inform your family where you were going? To let us know you were alright, or simply decided to abandon us?"

  Each word was measured, professional. Which somehow made them cut deeper than shouting would have.

  "Michael, I—"

  "Do you have any comprehension of what your disappearance did to this family?" He stood abruptly, his hands pressing flat against the desk's surface. His famous composure was fracturing, anger bleeding through cracks in his control.

  "Gabriel searched for you for thirty years. Thirty years, Kokabiel! She organized search parties, sent angels to every corner of creation, drove herself to complete exhaustion trying to find even a trace of you!"

  His voice was rising despite his attempts to moderate it, decades of suppressed emotion finally finding an outlet.

  "And when she finally accepted that you weren't coming back, when she realized you'd simply left us—" He stopped, closing his eyes and taking a measured breath. When he opened them again, the anger had mixed with something far worse. Grief.

  "She withdrew completely. Locked herself in the Garden of Eden and refused to see anyone. The sister who always brought us together, who made Heaven feel like a home instead of just another duty to perform, she essentially died alongside you. The Gabriel we knew stopped existing."

  Each word landed like a physical blow. I'd known my absence would hurt them, but hearing the specifics, the details of how deeply I'd wounded them...

  "I didn't intend for my absence to last so long," I said quietly. "The dimension I traveled to experienced severe time dilation relative to this one. What felt like perhaps a week for me translated to fifty years here. I didn't account for that variable when I left."

  "Then you should have calculated it before you left!" Michael's voice cracked, genuine anger flooding through. "You're supposed to be the wise one! The one who sees everything, who plans for every contingency! How could you not consider—"

  He stopped himself mid-sentence, closing his eyes tightly. His hands were shaking slightly where they pressed against the desk.

  When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but somehow more painful. "I'm sorry. That was unfair. You're not omnipotent despite what everyone seems to think." He sat back down slowly, exhaustion evident in every movement. "I'm just... tired. So incredibly tired. Now I know why you didn't want to stick around doing all this." He chuckled lightly.

  He gestured vaguely at the work surrounding him. "Running Heaven's administrative functions, maintaining the prayer response systems, keeping everything operational while our family disintegrated around me. It's been..." He trailed off, lacking words.

  "Difficult," I finished for him.

  "That's an understatement." He rubbed his eyes with one hand. "You should know that things have changed significantly. Raphael barely leaves her laboratory anymore, she's thrown herself into medical research with an intensity that borders on obsession. She barely speaks to anyone."

  "And Azrael?"

  "Azrael is... well, Azrael is Azrael. He's handled your absence better than the rest of us, somehow. Still performs his duties as the Angel of Death without complaint. But even he's different. Quieter. More withdrawn." Michael's expression became even more troubled. "But Penemue—"

  "What happened with Penemue?" I felt concern spike. Penemue had always been the energetic one, flirty and mischievous, constantly trying to get reactions from people.

  "She's become melancholic. Withdrawn." Michael's voice carried genuine sadness. "She doesn't joke anymore, doesn't flirt, doesn't try to provoke reactions. It's like someone extracted something vital from her personality and left an empty shell performing her duties mechanically."

  He looked at me directly, his blue eyes meeting mine with uncomfortable intensity. "You were that vital component, Kokabiel. To all of us, but especially to her. She looked up to you more than any of us realized. And despite her antic, she cherished you more than anything."

  The weight of that responsibility, that importance I held in their lives, settled across my shoulders like physical pressure. I'd known they cared, but this level of dependence wasn't healthy for any of us.

  "Perhaps," I said slowly, thinking through the implications, "it would have been better if I'd erased your memories of me before leaving. Let you all continue living happily without the pain of my absence. That would have been better than seeing you all fall apart."

  Michael's hand slammed down on the desk so hard the wood cracked under the impact. The sound echoed in the office like a gunshot.

  "Don't you DARE!" His composure shattered completely, genuine fury flooding his features in a way I'd rarely seen. "Don't you dare suggest that taking away our memories would somehow be mercy! We're not dolls to be edited for convenience! We're not problems to be solved by erasing yourself fromour lives!"

  I stared at him, genuinely surprised by the vehemence of his reaction.

  "You think forgetting would hurt less?" Michael's voice was shaking with the intensity of his emotion. "It wouldn't! We'd just feel an emptiness we couldn't explain, a void in our hearts with no name to give it! A constant sense that something crucial was missing without any way to understand what! Is that what you want? To haunt us as a ghost we can't even remember?!"

  "I simply want you all to be happy," I said quietly. "Even if achieving that happiness means removing myself from the equation entirely. Specially when my existence only brings sorrow."

  "Then you're a complete idiot." Michael's blunt response carried no heat now, just exhausted honesty. "We're not happy without you. That's the fundamental point you seem incapable of grasping. Your presence matters. Your absence creates a wound that doesn't heal just because we can't remember what caused it."

  Silence fell between us, heavy and uncomfortable in ways our conversations had never been before.

  Finally, Michael sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair and messing it slightly. "Go see the others. Raphael first, probably—she'll try to act cold, but she's been just as hurt. Then Azrael and Penemue."

  He paused, his expression becoming even more serious. "But save Gabriel for last. She... she needs you most, but she's also been hurt the deepest. Be prepared for that."

  I nodded slowly, understanding the warning. "Thank you, Michael. For everything you've done to hold Heaven together during my absence."

  "Don't thank me," he said tiredly, already turning back to his work as a defense mechanism. "Just don't disappear again. Please. I don't think any of us could survive it a second time. And once you're done, help with these papaerworks!"

  I smiled slightly. "I don't think I will, brother."

  Michael grumbled and focused on his work again, but I could sense he was more relieved and relaxed.

  I met Penemue on the way. She smiled but I could sense the conflict within her. I gave her a quick hug and spoke, "How have you been Penemue?"

  Penemue clung tightly and sighed. "As well as one can be. God, I feel like an abandoned woman." She tried to joke.

  "Sorry Penemue. I didn't mean to hurt you all."

  She shook her head. "I'm happy that you are back again. But everything has changed here. It feels so... cold."

  I replied on instinct. "Angels don't get cold Penemue."

  She gigled despite the somber mood. "I missed this. It feels you are different. Like you used to be before. I'm glad you recovered my lord."

  I smiled and patted her head. " Thank you, Penemue. It means a lot. You have changed a lot."

  She looked a little shy. "Umm, yes. I was too forward before. Then I did some research and observation and figured this would be more appropiate to gain attention."

  I chuckled and turned around. "You never needed to change. I'll cherish you no matter what. Never feel that you are not enough."

  "Mmhmm." She hummed softly. I didn't look back but I can sense she had a happy smile on her face.

  Raphael's laboratory occupied an entire building in Heaven's medical district—a sprawling complex where angels trained in healing arts and conducted research into divine medicine.

  Her personal lab was separate from the main hospital, a private sanctum where she could work without interruption. The building was smaller than the others, but every inch was optimized for research efficiency.

  The door was locked. Heavy wards hummed against my senses, keeping intruders out.

  I knocked.

  "Go away!" Her voice came through the door, muffled but sharp as a blade. "I'm in the middle of critical research! Come back in a century or don't come back at all!"

  "Raphael. It's me."

  The silence that followed was absolute. Not even the sound of breathing.

  Then footsteps. Quick, angry footsteps approaching the door.

  It opened barely a crack, revealing one green eye staring at me with an expression that cycled rapidly through shock, relief, joy, and then hardened into something colder.

  "You." The single word was flat, deliberately emotionless. "You're back."

  "I am." I kept my voice gentle, non-threatening. "May I come in?"

  "No." The response was immediate. "You lost the privilege of casual visits when you vanished for fifty years without a word."

  Well, that's completely fair.

  "Then may I at least apologize through the door?"

  "You may try. I make no promises about listening."

  I could see her eye through the crack, could read the hurt beneath the attempted coldness. Raphael had never been good at hiding her emotions, not really. She felt everything intensely but tried to appear clinical and detached.

  "I'm sorry," I said simply. "I left without explanation, without considering how long I'd be gone or what my absence would do to you all. That was thoughtless and cruel, even if unintentional."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "Unintentional." She repeated the word like it tasted bitter. "You're one of the most intelligent beings in creation, Kokabiel. You don't do things 'unintentionally.' You simply didn't care enough to consider the consequences."

  That hurt because it carried some truth. I'd been focused on the mission, on stopping the corruption, on saving that world. I hadn't prioritized my family here because I'd assumed they'd be fine, that they were strong enough to handle my temporary absence.

  I'd been wrong.

  "You're right," I said quietly. "I should have cared more. Should have planned better. Should have at least left an explanation."

  Silence again. Then the door opened wider, revealing Raphael fully.

  She looked different. Still beautiful—all angels were—but worn in ways I'd never seen before. Dark circles under her eyes suggested she rarely slept. Her normally immaculate white medical coat was stained with various experimental compounds. Her green hair, usually perfectly maintained, was pulled back in a messy bun.

  She looked like someone who'd buried themselves in work to avoid thinking about pain.

  "Don't apologize to me through a door like some stranger," she said, her voice cracking slightly despite attempts to stay cold. "If you're going to apologize, do it properly."

  I stepped forward, and she immediately backed up, maintaining distance. The laboratory behind her was organized chaos. experiments in various stages, medical texts open to specific pages, equipment I didn't recognize scattered across multiple tables.

  "I missed you, all of you." I said simply, honestly. "Every day I was gone, even though time moved differently there. I thought about all of you constantly."

  "But not enough to come back." Her voice wavered. "Not enough to at least send word you were alive."

  "I couldn't. The dimensional barriers—"

  "I don't care about dimensional barriers!" The coldness shattered, emotion flooding through. "You're Kokabiel! The almighty Heaven's Wrath! You've broken through supposedly impossible barriers before! If you'd really wanted to send word, you would have found a way!"

  She was right again. I probably could have found some method to communicate if I'd prioritized it enough.

  "You're right," I admitted. "I made you all lworry when I should have—"

  "Stop!" She held up a hand, her eyes glistening. "Stop being so reasonable and agreeable! I want to be angry at you! I want you to argue back so I can justify feeling hurt!"

  I understood the impulse. Anger was easier than grief, easier than admitting how deeply someone's absence had wounded you.

  Instead of arguing, I simply stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.

  She went rigid, her entire body tensing. "Don't—I don't want—let go—"

  But I didn't let go. I just held her, one hand on her back, the other gently stroking her messy hair.

  For several heartbeats she remained stiff, trying to maintain her anger, her protective coldness.

  Then she broke.

  Her hands clutched my shirt as sobs wracked her body, all the pain and loneliness and hurt flooding out at once. "I hate you," she gasped between sobs. "I hate that you left. I hate that I couldn't stop thinking about you. I hate that nothing I researched or discovered mattered because you weren't here to share it with."

  "I know," I said softly, continuing to stroke her hair. "I'm sorry."

  "And I hate that you're apologizing because it means I have to forgive you eventually and I'm not ready to forgive you yet!"

  "You don't have to forgive me immediately. Or ever, if that's what you need."

  "Stop being so understanding!" She hit my chest weakly, without real force. "You're supposed to be the emotionless one! Why are you better at this than before you left?!"

  Because I'd relearned humanity in my journey. Because I'd been forced to feel again, to understand emotions I'd sacrificed. Because Robin and Luffy and the others had reminded me what it meant to care about people beyond duty.

  But I didn't say any of that. I just held Raphael while she cried, letting her release decades of suppressed pain.

  Eventually, her sobs quieted into hiccups, then into shaky breathing. She didn't pull away immediately, just rested her forehead against my chest.

  "Don't leave again like that," she whispered. "Please. I don't think I could survive it twice."

  "I can't promise I'll never leave Heaven," I said honestly. "But I promise I'll always come back. And I'll never leave without explanation again."

  She was quiet for a long moment, then nodded against my chest. "That will have to be enough, I suppose."

  We stood like that for a while longer, her drawing comfort from the contact, me simply being present in a way I hadn't been for decades.

  Finally, she pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes. "I look terrible."

  "You look like someone who's been working too hard without enough rest."

  "Same thing." She managed a weak smile. "You should go see the others. Azrael has been... stable. But Gabriel..." Her expression became troubled. "She needs you, Kokabiel. Maybe more than any of us."

  I found Azrael in the place I always found him, overseeing the transition of human souls, ensuring their passage from life to afterlife proceeded smoothly.

  He stood on a crystalline platform overlooking streams of light that represented souls moving to their final destinations. His black wings were spread slightly, his expression serene as always.

  He sensed my approach without turning. "Brother. You've returned."

  "I have." I landed beside him. "I apologize for—"

  "Don't." His voice was calm, measured, carrying no accusation. "You went where you were needed. That's what we do. That's what Father taught us."

  I studied his profile, looking for hidden hurt, suppressed anger. Found only that familiar tranquility.

  "You're not angry with me?"

  "I was concerned. Uncertain if you'd return." He finally turned to look at me, his dark eyes reflecting light. "But angry? No. I know you, Kokabiel. You don't abandon family lightly. If you left, it was because something demanded your attention more urgently than our comfort. Despite you becoming half robot, you didn't change that part."

  His understanding somehow made me feel worse than anger would have.

  "The others don't share your perspective."

  "The others aren't me." A small smile touched his lips. "They feel more deeply, react more strongly. That's not weakness, it's simply different. Gabriel especially. She's been..." He trailed off, searching for words. "Lost. Going through motions without truly living."

  "Michael told me she withdrew into the Garden."

  "For over twenty years now. She tends the flowers you planted together but doesn't speak, doesn't smile, barely acknowledges visitors." Azrael's expression became troubled, one of the few times I'd seen genuine concern on his features. "She's become a ghost haunting her own life."

  I sighed. Perhaps this was all my fault. I shouldn't be the archangel Kokabiel. Perhaps orginal Kokabiel was evil, but his existence didn't impact so many things. I knew I am someone who shouldn't have existed in this world. But I convinced myself that this was better, that everything I did made things better.

  But My strength and actions have changed things. Heaven is much stronger yet it feels empty. They would have worked together and overcome their difficulties on their own, and grown. But I chose to act without thinking, taking eveything upon my soulders.

  By doing so, I made them lose their will and purpose. There was nothing left for them to do except follow their usual duties. And that's not a good way to spend your life.

  Guilt twisted in my chest. "Perhaps I really should have just erased myself from all your memories. Let you live happily without—"

  Azrael's fist connected with my jaw before I finished the sentence.

  The punch carried genuine force, enough to snap my head to the side. I could have blocked it easily, but the surprise made me freeze.

  "You—" I touched my jaw, stunned. "You just punched me."

  "Yes." Azrael's calm had vanished, replaced with genuine anger. "Because you just said something monumentally stupid. Erasing memories? That's your solution?"

  "I simply want you all to be—"

  "Happy? We're not happy now! How would forgetting you make that better?!" His voice rose, Azrael actually raising his voice. "You think removing memories removes pain? It doesn't! It just makes the pain inexplicable, a wound with no source, emptiness with no name!"

  He grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. "We're not perfect despite everyone saying we are, Kokabiel. Heaven isn't perfect. We're all carrying burdens, struggling with grief over Father's death, trying to find purpose in a world where our creator is gone. But we'd rather carry those burdens and remember you than live in artificial happiness built on erased truth!"

  I stared at him, seeing the most emotional response Azrael had shown in centuries.

  "We're broken," he continued, his voice lowering but losing none of its intensity. "Father's death broke all of us. Your departure cracked us further. But broken doesn't mean worthless. Broken doesn't mean we should be edited into something more convenient."

  He released my shoulders, stepping back and taking a breath to compose himself. When he spoke again, his voice had returned to its usual calm, but warmth remained beneath it.

  "Go talk to Gabriel. She needs you most. She's been hit hardest by your absence." His expression softened. "And Kokabiel? She doesn't need you to be perfect. She just needs you to be present. Can you do that?"

  "I can try."

  "Then try. That's all any of us can do."

  The Garden of Eden existed in a space slightly separate from the rest of Heaven, a pocket dimension where Father had created the first humans Adam and Eve, where perfect beauty and eternal peace were supposed to reign.

  After the Fall, after humanity's expulsion, the Garden had become Gabriel's sanctuary. She tended it, preserved it, treated it as sacred ground.

  I walked through gates that opened at my approach, recognizing me despite decades of absence. The Garden looked exactly as I remembered. Trees heavy with fruit that never spoiled, flowers in perpetual bloom, streams of crystal-clear water flowing in patterns that created natural music.

  Beautiful. Perfect. Yet empty.

  I found Gabriel exactly where Azrael said she'd be, sitting in front of the crystal flower garden we'd planted together millennia ago. Flowers that grew from crystallized light instead of soil, each one unique, each one representing a moment of joy we'd shared.

  She sat with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, staring blankly at the flowers. Her golden hair fell around her like a curtain, and even from behind I could see how thin she'd become, how much weight she'd lost.

  "Gabriel?"

  No response. She didn't turn, didn't acknowledge my presence at all.

  I walked closer, each step feeling heavier than the last. "Gabriel, it's me. I've come back."

  Still nothing. Like I was speaking to a statue.

  I circled around to face her, kneeling so we were at eye level.

  Her eyes were open but unfocused, staring through me rather than at me. Dark circles shadowed them, and her skin had lost its usual glow. She looked like she'd stopped living years ago but her body hadn't realized it yet.

  "Gabriel, please. Talk to me."

  Nothing.

  The sight of her like this, so broken and hollow, hurt more than any physical wound I'd ever received.

  I did the only thing I could think of, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into a tight embrace.

  For several heartbeats, she remained completely limp, unresponsive.

  Then something sparked. Her hands moved slowly, weakly, pushing against my chest.

  "Let go," her voice was barely a whisper, rough from disuse. "You're not real. Just another hallucination."

  "I'm real," I said firmly, holding her tighter. "I'm here. I came back."

  "You left." Her pushes became stronger, actual force behind them now. "You left and you didn't come back and you're not here now you can't be here this is just my mind breaking again—"

  "Gabriel, I'm real. Touch me. Feel that I'm solid."

  Her hands stopped pushing and instead pressed against my chest, feeling the reality of my presence. Her eyes focused for the first time, really seeing me.

  Then they widened. Filled with tears that had been held back for decades.

  "You..." Her voice cracked completely. "You bastard! You selfish idiot! You left! You just left without a word and I searched everywhere, I sent angels to every realm, I prayed to Father even though I knew he wouldn't answer anymore, and you were just GONE!"

  The tears fell freely now, her fists pounding weakly against my chest.

  "I hate you! I hate that you left! I hate that I couldn't find you! I hate that I kept hoping you'd come back and you never did and now you're finally here and I still hate you!"

  I held her through it, let her vent everything she'd been holding inside, all the pain and anger and grief pouring out in a flood. "It's alright, sister. Let it all out."

  "I hate you," she sobbed against my chest. "I hate you so much."

  "I know, but I still love you." I said softly, stroking her hair the way I'd always done when she was upset. "I'm sorry, Gabriel. I'm so sorry."

  She cried for what felt like hours, soaking my cloak with tears, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. I just held her, providing the physical presence she'd been missing, letting her know she wasn't alone anymore.

  Eventually, the sobs quieted into hitching breaths. She pulled back slightly, looking up at me with red, swollen eyes.

  "Where were you?" Her voice was small, vulnerable in a way I'd rarely heard. "Where could you possibly have been that was more important than us?"

  "Another world. Another dimension entirely. Something had infected it, corruption that would have consumed everything. I went to help stop it." I brushed tears from her cheeks gently. "Time moved differently there. What felt like a week for me was fifty years here. I didn't realize until I returned."

  She was quiet for a long moment, processing that. "You saved another world."

  "Yes."

  "While ours fell apart."

  The accusation hurt because it was accurate. "Yes."

  She looked away, fresh tears falling. "I thought... I thought maybe you'd finally had enough of our nagging. That you were tired of pretending to care when you couldn't feel anything. That you'd decided to just leave and never come back."

  "Gabriel, no. I'll Never do that."

  "Then why didn't you tell us you were leaving?! Why didn't you at least say goodbye?!" Her voice rose again, anger mixing with hurt. "Do you have any idea what it's been like?! Wondering every day if you were dead, or captured, or had simply decided we weren't worth your time anymore?!"

  "I thought it would be a short trip. I thought I'd be back before you even noticed I was gone. And nothing in the world could truly harm me. I would be fine...." I stopped as she glared angrily. An old man once told me that you should just keep quiet and apologize when women are angry. Guess it also applied to angels.

  I met her eyes directly. "I was wrong. And I'm sorry."

  "Sorry doesn't fix fifty years!" She hit my chest again, harder this time. "Sorry doesn't give me back the time I wasted searching! Sorry doesn't heal how broken Heaven became without you!"

  "I know." I caught her hand gently when she went to hit me again, holding it against my chest. "I know sorry isn't enough. But it's all I have to offer right now."

  She stared at our joined hands, more tears falling silently.

  "I just want you all to be happy," I said honestly. "Even if that happiness means I'm not part of your lives."

  "Then you're more stupid now than when you left!" She was crying again but her voice was strong. "We can't be happy without you! That's what you don't understand! You're part of us! You are MY stupid brother! Removing you wouldn't make us whole, it would make us broken in ways we couldn't comprehend!"

  "But my presence causes you pain—"

  "Your absence causes pain!" She shook my face slightly for emphasis. "Your presence might be complicated, might require adjustment, might challenge us, but your absence is a wound that doesn't heal! Don't you understand the difference?!"

  I looked at her and saw the desperation beneath the anger, the fear that I'd actually go through with such a plan.

  "I understand," I said softly.

  Some of the tension left her body, but she didn't release my face. "You can't stay here forever. I know that. You're different from us, always have been. You need to travel, to act, to save us from threats we'll never see. I understand that now."

  Her voice became quieter, sadder. "But I can't pretend it doesn't hurt. I can't act like everything's fine and nothing changed. Father's death broke us all, and your absence..."

  She trailed off, fresh tears falling. "We all just fell apart. And I tried to hold everyone together like I always did, but without you here I couldn't do it. I couldn't be strong enough for all of us."

  "That was never your responsibility, Gabriel."

  "But I made it my responsibility anyway." She managed a weak smile. "Because that's what big sisters do, right? "

  "I thought you are my adorable little sister?" I corrected gently, remembering that argument we'd had countless times.

  "I'm—" She stopped, actually smiled slightly through her tears. "We're arguing about age again."

  "We are."

  "I missed that." Her smile faded. "I missed arguing with you about stupid things. I missed you being here to annoy with my attempts to get everyone together for meals. I missed you pretending to be annoyed but actually enjoying it. I missed..." Her voice broke. "I missed everything about you."

  I pulled her back into a hug, and this time she didn't resist. Just clung to me like I might disappear again if she let go.

  Gabriel spoke quietly. "If you are thinking like that because of how weacted before... I'm sorry. You know we were all hurt and confused , not knowing what to do after Father's death. Michael usually tries to comfort us, but even he was broken.

  So we all looked to you. Despite nbeing the youngest, you were always more mature than us. You always knews the right thing to say. But we lost you too in that war. And we were just... angry. We lashed out and acted like it was your fault, because we needed something or someone to blame, otherwise we would be rackd with guilt of our failure."

  I kissed her forehead gently. "I never blamed you guys for that. I knew you were grieving. Losing someone precious is never simple. You all lost a lot, even myself."

  Gabriel sniffled. "I was so mean to you. I thought you'd be hurt and be angry, and after some arguement, we'd let out our grief and be happy again. But you just took it all quietly, never correcting us. It made us feel even worse that we blamed the brother who saved us all, and helpless that we couldn't help you at all."

  She tightened her grip. "If you took that to heart and chose to stay away for that, I promise I will apologize every single day. We all will. We will show you that we never stopped loving you, and never will. You mean a lot to us. Specially since there are so few of us left."

  I wiped her tears away. " Silly girl, I never thought of that. You are are precious little sister. You can be mean to me if you want to. And I will still love you as always. It's supposed to the job of a big brother."

  Gabriel his her face, muttering softly. "Stupid brother, I am older." But I could feel the smile that appeared on her face. It made me feel... happy.

  "I can't promise I'll never leave Heaven," I said honestly. "But I promise I'll always tell you before I go. And I promise I'll always come back. No matter how long it takes, I'll always find my way home to you."

  "That's not enough." Her voice was muffled against my chest. "But I guess it'll have to be."

  We sat like that for a long time, her drawing comfort from my presence, me simply being there in a way I should have been decades ago.

  Finally, she pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes. "I must look terrible."

  I chuckled and picked her up andshe yelped. "Wait! what are you doing!"

  "You need a shower. You're stinky. It's not cute at all."

  Gabriel glared. "I'm not dirty! Angels can't get dirty!"

  "So what's this smell I'm getting. Even the flowers can't hide it." I joked.

  Gabriel showed me hear pearly white teeth and bit down, fiercely. Not that it could hurt me.

  I laughed and said. "Why are you biting me ! Are you an angel or a dog?"

  She let go after a couple shakes. "Don't say that again! humph." She got down and started walking happily towards her room, and I followed behind with a smile.

  Suddenly, there was a stabbing pain in my heart. This... felt familiar somehow, like I lived through this moment, saying those same words. But I never remembered saying that. My memory might be hazy but omniscience can't hide it.

  So what was that? I paused for a moment trying collect myself. Gabriel looked behind worriedly, "Is there something wrong, brother?"

  I shook my head and smiled. "No, everything is perfect as it can be."

  She tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. "You should know, we haven't had dinner together in decades. As a family, I mean. After you left and I... stopped trying, everyone just drifted apart. Michael buries himself in work. Raphael in her research. Even Penemue stopped her usual antics."

  She looked up at me, hope flickering in her eyes for the first time. "Do you think... do you think we could try again? Having dinner together, I mean. Like we used to . Even if we're broken now, even if we're not who we were, do you think we could at least try to be a proper family again?"

  The hope in her voice, fragile but present, made my decision easy.

  "Yes. We can try."

  "Even if we're not perfect?"

  "Especially because we're not perfect." I stood, offering her my hand. "Perfection is boring anyway."

  She swayed slightly, weak from not taking proper care of herself. I steadied her, then reached into my pocket dimension and pulled out items I'd collected from the human world over the years, jewelry I'd thought she might like.

  "Here." I offered her a delicate necklace with a pendant shaped like a crescent moon, and a beautiful circlet decorated with small crystals that caught the light. "I brought gifts. I know they don't make up for anything, but—"

  Gabriel snatched them from my hands with surprising speed, her eyes lighting up for the first time since I'd returned. "They're beautiful!" She immediately put on the necklace, fumbling slightly with the clasp until I helped her. Then she placed the circlet on her head, adjusting it carefully.

  "How do I look?"

  "Like a beautiful princess from a fairytale," I said honestly.

  She smiled, a real smile this time. "hehe, you always know what to say, even when you're terrible at understanding your own emotions."

  "I'm working on that."

  "Good. Keep working." She grabbed my arm with both hands, tugging insistently. "Come on! We need to gather everyone for dinner! Right now! Before anyone can make excuses!"

  "Gabriel, wait—"

  "No waiting! We've waited fifty years! No more waiting!" She was pulling me toward the Garden's exit, suddenly animated in a way she hadn't been before. "We're having family dinner tonight, even if I have to drag everyone there personally!"

  Her enthusiasm was infectious, even if tinged with desperation. She needed this, needed to feel like the family might not be completely broken beyond repair.

  As we walked—well, as she dragged me—through Heaven toward where the others would be, something odd flickered in my consciousness. A memory that wasn't quite a memory. A sensation of saying this before, in some other time or place.

  A small girl who looked at me with love and exasperation. A voice calling someone with affection, but not me. Weird, I couldn' hear it properly.

  The image was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving only a faint ache in my chest that I couldn't explain.

  I shook my head slightly, dismissing it as nothing. Probably just emotional resonance from seeing Gabriel's joy returning. Or my outer god omniscience making me see things again. Hope not.

  We gathered the others one by one. Michael who protested he had work but came anyway. Raphael who claimed she was too busy but followed with barely hidden joy. Azrael who simply smiled and said he'd been expecting this. Penemue who looked stunned to be included, tears forming when Gabriel hugged her and insisted she come.

  The dinner itself was awkward at first. Decades of distance and hurt couldn't be erased by a single meal. But gradually, as food was shared and small conversations started, something began to shift.

  Michael told a story about a particularly ridiculous prayer request he'd received. Raphael actually laughed freely. Azrael contributed dry observations that made everyone smile. Penemue managed a few of her old jokes, testing the waters. She tried to get handsy with the excuse of a physical checkup, before she was yanked away by Gabriel. Like nothing had changed.

  And Gabriel sat in the center of it all, directing conversation, including everyone, slowly stitching torn bonds back together.

  We weren't healed. Not even close. But for the first time in decades, we were together.

  And sometimes, that was enough to begin with.