A seraphic novel - Book 2
After the devastating loss of their friend Christoph, life for Cecelia, Evie, and the rest of the Elite Wing has been anything but normal. Struggling to find balance between the mundane and the supernatural, they navigate a...
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That morning after the sunrise, the group went back inside to claim what little sleep they could. Cecelia settled into the guest room and quickly let sleep take her. As she slept, Cecelia had a dream.
She dreamt of Max. Max appeared angry, shouting at someone in a grand hall.
The Hall of Archangels was a breathtaking spectacle, an architectural marvel that seemed to be carved from the purest light. Majestic columns, made of iridescent crystal, soared to a vaulted ceiling that shimmered like a thousand dawns. The walls were adorned with celestial murals depicting the glorious victories and divine moments of angelic history, each scene pulsating with a life of its own. Ethereal light filled the space, casting a serene glow over everything, and the air was filled with a harmonious hum, like a chorus of a million voices singing in perfect unison.
Cecelia's heart raced as she looked around, realizing that the beings surrounding Max were not people, but angels. Each one radiated a divine aura, their wings glowing with an ethereal light. Among them, sitting on a grand throne made of shimmering gold and encrusted with heavenly jewels, was a strikingly beautiful and muscular blonde angel who looked displeased. Cecelia instantly disliked him, a visceral reaction to his cold, calculating demeanor. This had to be Archangel Michael.
"Michael!" Ceruleus's voice rang out, a clarion call that silenced the hall. "I know what you did. Come out and face me!"
Michael, his face a mask of controlled fury, stepped forward, his gaze locked with Ceruleus's. The two archangels stood in stark contrast—Michael, the embodiment of divine authority and order; Ceruleus, the symbol of rebellion and justice.
"What is this madness, Ceruleus?" Michael's voice was cold and measured, but there was an undercurrent of fear that he could not entirely hide. "You have no place here. You were cast out for your defiance."
"And I have returned for the truth," Ceruleus retorted, his voice unwavering. "You betrayed me. You feared my power, my loyalty to the Creator. You conspired to have me cast down because you saw me as a threat."
Gasps and shocked whispers rippled through the assembled angels. The council, usually a place of serene discourse, was now a battlefield of raw emotions.
"Your lies will not sway us," Michael said, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "You are a fallen angel, tainted by the mortal world."
Ceruleus took another step forward, his golden wings spreading wide. "I have seen the truth, Michael. I have walked among humans, I have fought beside them, and I have learned what it means to sacrifice for love and justice. I am not tainted—I am renewed. And I will not rest until the truth of your treachery is revealed."
Michael's composure cracked, his eyes narrowing in anger. "You dare to challenge me here, in the heart of Heaven?"
Ceruleus's gaze was steely, unyielding. "I dare because it is my duty. I dare because I will no longer be silent. I am Ceruleus Maximus, Archangel of Justice, and I will see you answer for your sins."
The grand hall fell into a tense silence, the angels watching with bated breath as the confrontation between Michael and Ceruleus reached its boiling point.
Michael and Ceruleus stood face to face. Neither backing down. Then something happened that no one in the room would have predicted. Michael turned heel and left, walking past Ceruleus and out of the room.
The room erupted in voices. Some of the archangels got up to welcome Ceruleus back. Others like Gabriel and Uriel left to follow behind Michael. Cecelia wasn't sure what any of this meant.
Then something happened that Cecelia wasn't expecting. Ceruleus turned to look at her, and it was as if those gold eyes were staring right at her. "Cecelia," he questioned.
Cecelia awoke with a start, her heart pounding. The memory of Ceruleus's golden eyes lingered, and the sense of urgency and purpose from the dream stayed with her. She knew, without a doubt, that something monumental was unfolding, and she was somehow a part of it.
After nine long months, she finally knew Max was alright in Heaven. She had seen him again, and their celestial connection was still intact. Yet, questions swirled in her mind—if this were happening in real-time, how did time move in Heaven? It felt as if he had just arrived. She had questions only her Elites could answer.
Cecelia glanced at the time on her phone. It was 7 AM, she'd only been asleep barely an hour. Still too early, she thought, so she lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. She waited for the minutes to pass, praying for sleep to reclaim her and bring her back into dreams of her precious Max.
