Fallen Angel

Chapter 22.1

It had been ages since Gabriël set foot in the Archivum. The grand dome housed thousands, if not millions, of books, transcripts, and scrolls. The carefully organised maze held the knowledge of the universe, since words were first put to paper. Its curator was none other than the Scribe of God, Metatron. Ranked as high in the hierarchy as the Lord Protector, but dismissed by most as a mere recorder of history. Yet, in his hour of need, Gabriël was certain the answers lay here.

"Gabriël?" Metatron looked up from his work as his fellow Archangel walked into the main hall. "My goodness, you've changed. I hardly recognised you."

"Hi, Metatron." Gabriël smiled in greeting. "Forgive me it took so long to visit you."

"Don't worry about that." He pulled Gabriël into a hug — which was surprising for someone who looked like a grandfather who could keel over any day — and then held him at arm's length. "How are you holding up? I know about... well, everything, obviously. I'm so sorry you were caught in the middle of this."

Gabriël pursed his lips. He'd forgotten that Metatron would know about him and Joan, even if nobody had told him. It was his power as the Scribe. His abilities allowed him to look into the past, and even follow present events, to transcribe them exactly as they occurred.
But no matter how hard he tried, Metatron couldn't see what was yet to happen, as the future was not set in stone. For every path laid down before a person was a different outcome. It was something Gabriël was brutally reminded of.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me," he said dismissively. "Forgive the intrusion, Metatron, but I need your help. Did you ever make a chronicle of the Archangel runes?"

Metatron's eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head. "I have. Why do you need it?"

"It may help me in my search for Michael."

The Scribe hummed and nodded. Gabriël frowned at this. Had Metatron expected him to come for the chronicle? If so, how? He was about to ask, but was silenced when Metatron raised a hand to beckon him. He guided Gabriël through the public library, going deeper into the dome. Once in a while, he stopped to look into a case, but all he did was grunt, shake his head and signal Gabriël to keep walking. Eventually, they came to the far end of the Archivum.
Gabriël halted at the sight of the desolate desk of Metatron's former student. It was covered in dust, but everything still stood as she had left it. He slowly walked toward it and traced the desk with the tip of his fingers. A memory flashed before his mind's eye — a heated argument, followed by heated kisses.

"Do you still hear from her?" asked Gabriël, looking up as Metatron rummaged through the papers on the opposite table.

"Sometimes. She sends me books by mortal authors she believes I'll like." Metatron glanced over his shoulder. "I didn't expect you to still think about her after all these years. Your relationship, if I can even call it that, was somewhat... stormy, after all."

"That's an understatement." Gabriël scoffed lightly. "But Dina and I had our moments. I want her to be safe."

"You know better than most that our Dina is a tough lady. Anyone messes with her, and she'll give them a run for their money."

Gabriël chuckled at that. He definitely remembered that about the tempestuous angel. It suddenly struck him that Joan wasn't that different. Maybe more agreeable and loveable, but both his first and final love were fierce fighters who didn't let anyone stop them from speaking their mind. He didn't believe that was a coincidence.

"Aha, found it!" 

Metatron pulled a thick papyrus scroll from under the mess on the table and placed it on top. He rolled it open, and it unravelled off the side of the table, rolling further into the shadows.