Samael wandered the celestial halls aimlessly, his usual exuberance dulled by the weight of his thoughts. His encounter with Sera and the seraphim left a bitter taste in his mouth, not because he had been excluded—he was used to that—but because something deeper gnawed at him. He needed clarity, and there was only one being in all of Heaven he trusted to provide it.

He found Veritas in her usual place, the Chamber of Reflection, a space of quiet radiance where truths often surfaced unbidden. The room was serene, bathed in soft golden light, and Veritas sat at its center, her silver hair flowing like liquid moonlight around her. Her sharp yellow eyes met Samael's as he approached, and a gentle smile crossed her lips.

"Samael," she greeted, her voice warm and inviting. "I was wondering when you'd come to me. Sit, and tell me what troubles you."

Samael sighed as he lowered himself onto the glowing floor across from her. For a moment, he said nothing, staring down at his gloved hands as if the words he sought might appear there. Finally, he began, his voice tinged with frustration.

"It's about what happened earlier... with Sera and the seraphim. I wanted to help create humanity. I had ideas, good ones! But they dismissed me, said I was too young, not ready. And Sera—she didn't defend me. She just agreed with them. It's like... no matter how much I try, I'll never really belong."

Veritas listened patiently, her tail curling around her as she considered his words. "I understand how you feel, Samael," she said softly. "Being excluded, feeling as though your contributions aren't valued—it's not an easy burden to bear. But tell me, did they reject your ideas, or you?"

Samael hesitated. "They used some of my ideas," he admitted. "But they changed them. Made them... different. More peaceful. More boring, if I'm being honest. I appreciated that they used them, but it's like they didn't trust me to be part of the process. I just feel left out."

Veritas nodded, her cat-like ears twitching slightly. "It's not uncommon, Samael. The elders often think they know best, and sometimes, they forget that wisdom can come from the younger among us as well. But I sense there's more troubling you. What else weighs on your heart?"

Samael looked up at her, his blue and purple eyes flickering with uncertainty. "It's... it's about the humans," he said finally. "When I saw Sera creating them, I was amazed. They were so... pure. Innocent. Curious. But then she started talking to them, telling them who they were, what they were supposed to do. It felt... wrong. Like they didn't even have a chance to figure it out for themselves. They were barely alive, and already, they were being told their purpose. Their job."

Veritas's eyes softened, and she leaned forward slightly. "I understand what you mean," she said. "It was the same for me, and for the other Virtues. When we were created, we were given our roles immediately. Told what we were meant to embody, how we were meant to serve. There was no discussion, no choice. It was simply what we were."

Samael nodded, a faint bitterness creeping into his voice. "It was the same for me too. The moment I was born, they told me I was to teach reverence and humility. That was it. No asking what I wanted, no considering what I might be good at. Just... orders. And I accepted it because I didn't know any better. Because I thought that's just how it worked."

Veritas's gaze grew distant, her sharp eyes clouded with thought. Samael's words echoed in her mind, stirring something she had long buried. The truth she had always held so dear now seemed veiled in an unsettling light. The roles they were given, the lack of choice—it was all so systematic, so rigid. Could it be that their very creation was flawed? That their purpose, so carefully assigned, had robbed them of something vital?

She shook her head slightly, dismissing the thought before it could fully take root. This was not the time to unravel such a truth, not here, not now. But the realization lingered, a seed of doubt that refused to be ignored.

"Samael," she said gently, her voice steady despite the storm brewing within her. "What you're feeling is valid. And perhaps there is merit in questioning the way things are done. But for now, focus on what you can do. Your role may have been given to you, but how you choose to fulfill it—that is where your freedom lies. And perhaps, in time, you will find a way to shape things for the better."

Samael frowned, but he nodded slowly. "I just... I don't want the humans to go through what we did. They're so new, so full of potential. They deserve to have a say in who they are, in what they want to be."

Veritas smiled softly, her tail brushing lightly against his arm. "Then perhaps that is something you can strive for, Samael. To ensure that they have the freedom we never did. But tread carefully. Change is not easily embraced, especially here in Heaven."

Samael leaned back, his mind racing with thoughts and possibilities. He still felt the sting of exclusion, the frustration of being sidelined. But Veritas's words offered a small measure of comfort, a glimmer of hope. He didn't have all the answers, but maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make things different—not just for himself, but for humanity as well.

And as Veritas watched him, her own thoughts churned with unease. The realization she had come to—though she dared not speak it aloud—was one that could shake the very foundations of Heaven. But for now, she kept it to herself, unsure of what to do with a truth so profound, so unsettling, that it threatened to upend everything she believed in.

———————————————————————

Veritas found Azazil in the tranquil Garden of Radiance, where he often meditated. The garden was filled with ethereal flora, their glowing petals swaying in a breeze that seemed to originate from the heavens themselves. Azazil was seated on a smooth stone, his golden-white tail curled around him as he gazed at the cascading light of a celestial fountain.

"Veritas," he greeted warmly, his serene blue eyes softening as he noticed her approach. "What brings you here? You look troubled."

She settled beside him, her robes shimmering like liquid light as she let out a deep sigh. "I needed someone to talk to... someone I trust. And I trust you, Azazil, more than anyone else."

Azazil's kind expression didn't falter, though a flicker of concern crossed his features. "You know I'm always here for you. What's on your mind?"

Veritas hesitated for a moment, her silver hair catching the light as it fell over her shoulder. "It's about the humanity project... and my conversation with Samael."

Azazil's wings shifted slightly, their golden hues glimmering with faint light. "Samael?" he asked gently. "What did he say?"

She recounted her earlier discussion with Samael—his feelings of exclusion, his unease about the way the first humans were created and immediately assigned roles, and how it mirrored their own experiences as celestial beings. Azazil listened intently, his gaze unwavering, his calm demeanor a source of comfort.

"He's right, you know," Veritas continued. "We were born into this existence and told what we are. Told what we must do. We never had a choice, Azazil. None of us did. Not me, not you... not even Samael."

Azazil's serene expression shifted, a hint of sadness appearing in his glowing eyes. "It's true," he admitted softly. "We accepted our roles without question because we believed in the divine plan. We trusted that our Creator knew what was best for us and for the universe."

"But what if..." Veritas hesitated, her cat-like ears twitching slightly as she lowered her voice. "What if it's not enough? What if we're more than just our assigned roles? What if the humanity project is just another way to perpetuate the same cycle?"

Azazil looked at her thoughtfully, his tail moving slowly, almost pensively. "Are you doubting the purpose we were given?" he asked, his tone free of judgment.

"I don't know," Veritas confessed. "I've always believed in truth, Azazil. It's who I am. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that truth is more complex than I ever imagined. Samael's words have stirred something in me, something I can't ignore."

Azazil was silent for a moment, his gaze focused on the fountain's flowing light. "Asmodel has expressed similar thoughts," he said finally, his voice measured. "He's spoken to me about the weight of our purpose, the lack of freedom we have as Virtues and Seraphim. He questions why we cannot choose our own paths."

Veritas looked at him sharply. "And what do you think?"

Azazil met her gaze, his serene blue eyes filled with a quiet wisdom. "I think his questions are valid, but they are also dangerous. To question our purpose is to question the foundation of Heaven itself. And yet..." He paused, his voice softening. "And yet, I can't help but feel that there is more to existence than what we've been told. More to us."

Veritas sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I came to you because I knew you'd understand. You're the only other Virtue I can talk to about this. The others would see it as blasphemy."

Azazil placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his touch radiating warmth. "You're not alone in your thoughts, Veritas. And I'm here to listen, always. But we must tread carefully. These doubts... they can lead to places we might not be ready to face."

Veritas nodded slowly, though the unease in her heart remained. "Thank you, Azazil. I just... I needed to share this with someone."

Azazil smiled, a soft and reassuring expression. "You don't have to carry this burden alone. Whatever happens, we will face it together."

As Veritas stood to leave, she couldn't shake the feeling that her doubts were only the beginning of something much larger. And as Azazil watched her go, a quiet thought lingered in his mind: What if she's right?