Moonbound and Undying

Prologue

Stories would tell you that God created the world in seven days, followed by the Archangels and Angels, before finally crafting his beloved humans. But there is more to the creation of our world than anyone could have guessed.

God emerged from the void before life existed, the personification of creation itself. His existence predates even the Sun and Moon. In the early days of the cosmos, he was both the Light and the Darkness, holding within him all emotions—both positive and negative. He is the source of all creation, and his first acts were to bring forth the Sun and the Moon.

The Sun was born from God's initial act of creation, coming into being to bring light and structure to the universe. This Sun God was tasked with igniting the stars, including the sun of our world. As the bringer of daylight, his energy fuelled growth and progress, but he also wielded the power of destruction through the sun's scorching heat. The Sun governed the cycle of life and death, growth and decay. He was the "architect" of time and existence, ensuring that the seasons changed, crops grew, and life progressed in a linear, orderly fashion.

To balance the rigid order of the Sun, God created the Moon Goddess. She ruled over the night, dreams, and the hearts of all beings, guiding them through the realms of the unknown. The Moon governed the magical, emotional, and spiritual aspects of the world. Where the Sun commanded the physical, she commanded the ethereal—guiding souls, protecting emotions, and weaving the threads of fate. Her influence was felt in the tides, the shifting phases of the moon, and the flow of time. Together, these primordial forces governed the universe in harmony.

With the Sun and Moon as guardians of the world, God, who loved his creations deeply, believed the humans could govern themselves. He withdrew, content to watch over them from afar as the Sky, leaving the governing of the earthly realm to his beloved Angels.

However, what God did not foresee was the complexity of emotion that would stir within the hearts of his angels. They were beings of immense power, their feelings sharp, overwhelming, and nearly impossible to temper. Angels felt love more deeply than any human could understand. Their joy was a torrent, their sorrow a tempest, and their love—when kindled—was a flame that could consume them. Though they tried to shield these feelings from humans, their intensity was undeniable.

Humans, in turn, were mesmerized. They were drawn to the angels like moths to a flame, helpless against the divine gravity that pulled at their very souls. There was something irresistible in the perfection of the angels, and they followed this celestial pull, unable to resist the allure of beings that reflected the divine light so vividly.

For a time, the angels merely admired humanity from afar, finding beauty in their innocence, their creativity, and the pure way they loved. But admiration slowly turned to affection, and affection into something far more dangerous—romantic love.

Raziel, the second-in-command of the heavenly forces, watched this shift with growing concern. He understood what others did not: the love of an angel was not something that could exist within the bounds of mortal life. It was vast, all-consuming, and if left unchecked, it could unravel the delicate balance between Heaven and Earth. Worse still, such love could blind angels to their divine purpose, making them forget their sacred duties in favor of their human desires.

"Do you not see?" Raziel warned Michael in quiet counsel. "Their love is not a gentle thing. It is a storm. And in their union with mortals, we risk unleashing something that even we cannot control."

Michael, ever confident and steadfast, listened but remained unconvinced. "They are careful," he reassured Raziel. "We will watch them, but there is no need to worry. Love, even ours, is a gift, not a curse."

But Raziel saw what Michael could not: love, in the hands of beings as powerful as angels, was not just a gift—it was a force of creation and destruction. It was the spark that could ignite entire worlds or tear them apart. And when that love bore fruit, the children of angels and mortals—the Nephilim—were not merely hybrids. They were creatures born from the forbidden union of Heaven and Earth, wielding powers that neither realm was meant to contain.

Raziel feared what would come next: angels forsaking their duties, their divine purpose eclipsed by love and passion. The celestial order would falter. The Nephilim, children of such intense and unnatural unions, would grow unchecked. The world itself could be torn asunder by their power.

"Michael, this cannot last," Raziel pressed, his voice low and urgent. "Their desires will lead us to ruin. The heavens cannot endure such love—nor can the Earth."

But Michael, blinded by his own conviction, dismissed these fears, believing the angels capable of controlling their emotions, of balancing their duties with their love.

Michael was wrong.