The seraphim, their patience worn thin from weeks of stagnation, were restless as they gathered in the Celestial Hall. Sera was late, again, leaving them to their frustrations and brewing resentment. One by one, the angels voiced their grievances, their annoyance growing louder with each passing moment.
"This is getting us nowhere!" one of them exclaimed, slamming their hand against the table. "How long are we supposed to wait for humanity to fulfill its purpose? We were entrusted with this task, and we are failing."
Another seraphim nodded in agreement. "If Sera won't act decisively, then we will. It's our duty to ensure the success of this project."
A small but determined group of seraphim, emboldened by their shared frustration, decided to take matters into their own hands. Without informing Sera or consulting with anyone else, they descended to Earth, their luminous forms glowing against the backdrop of the Garden of Eden.
As they approached the garden, they found Adam and Lilith sitting beneath a tree, enjoying the gentle breeze. The seraphim's arrival was swift and imposing, their presence disrupting the tranquility.
"Adam. Lilith," one of the seraphim called out, their tone sharp and commanding. "We've come to discuss your failure to fulfill your purpose."
Lilith immediately stiffened, her emerald eyes narrowing. "Failure?" she repeated, her voice laced with defiance. "We've done everything you've asked—tended the garden, maintained its beauty. What more do you want?"
"Your purpose," another seraphim said coldly, "is to populate the Earth. To bring life to the human race as God intended. Yet here you are, wasting time."
Lilith rose to her feet, her expression unyielding. "We will have children when we're ready," she said firmly. "Not when you demand it."
Adam, however, cowered under the seraphim's imposing gazes. "Lilith," he said nervously, glancing at her. "Maybe we should listen to them. They're our creators. They know what's best."
Lilith turned to Adam, her face a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. "Adam," she said quietly, "don't tell me you're just going to obey them like a spineless puppet."
Adam's face reddened with anger, his fear of the seraphim momentarily replaced by a surge of indignation. "Hold your tongue, Lilith!" he snapped. "They're right. This is what we were made for. Why can't you just accept that?"
The seraphim, witnessing Adam's compliance, lavished him with praise. "Adam," one said, their voice dripping with approval, "you truly are the perfect man, made in our image. Obedient, humble, and dutiful."
Another seraphim cast a disdainful glance at Lilith. "Unlike you, Lilith. You were created to complement Adam, yet you defy us at every turn. You are lesser than him in every way."
Lilith's hands balled into fists, her frustration boiling over. "Enough!" she shouted, her voice shaking with fury. "I will not be treated like some tool for your amusement. I am no lesser than Adam, and I will not bow to your arrogance!"
Her defiance enraged the seraphim, who stepped closer, their voices rising in unison. "You will do as you're told," one hissed. "You and Adam are under our authority. Defy us, and there will be consequences."
Adam, emboldened by the seraphim's favor, turned to Lilith, his expression dark. "Stop this, Lilith," he said sternly. "You're embarrassing yourself."
When Lilith refused to back down, Adam's anger reached its peak. In a moment of blind rage, he raised his hand and struck her across the face.
The sound of the slap echoed through the garden, followed by a heavy silence. Lilith's cheek burned with pain, but her eyes blazed with a mixture of shock and fury. She touched her cheek, her voice low and trembling with emotion.
"That," she said coldly, "was the last straw."
The seraphim looked on in stunned silence as Lilith turned away from Adam and the garden. One of them stepped forward, their voice panicked. "Lilith, where are you going? The earth isn't fully developed yet. If you leave the garden, you could die!"
Lilith didn't even glance back. "I'd rather fucking die living freely," she said, her voice icy, "than live in this so-called paradise as your prisoner."
Adam called after her, his voice desperate and demanding. "Lilith! Come back here now!"
But Lilith didn't stop. Her bare feet carried her across the lush grass, her figure disappearing into the distant horizon. She didn't falter, didn't hesitate, and never looked back.
The remaining seraphim stood frozen in the Garden of Eden, the once-serene paradise now heavy with tension and panic.
"She left," one seraphim whispered, their voice trembling. "What do we do now?"
Adam paced anxiously, his hands wringing together. "Bring her back!" he snapped, his face red with frustration. "You're the ones in charge, aren't you? Just... do something!"
But the seraphim exchanged nervous glances. None of them knew how to proceed. Their authority had been defied, their control shattered. It was uncharted territory.
"We can't just summon her back," one of them murmured. "She has free will. If she refuses to return..."
Another interrupted, their voice rising in panic. "This is a disaster! If Sera finds out—no, if God finds out—we'll be blamed for everything!"
As if summoned by their fear, Sera finally arrived at the Celestial Hall. Her sharp eyes scanned the gathered seraphim, immediately sensing the tension.
"What happened here?" she asked, her tone firm but curious. "Why are you all in such a state?"
The seraphim exchanged uneasy glances, none of them wanting to be the first to speak. Sera's patience waned as the silence stretched on. "Well?" she pressed, her voice growing colder. "Someone explain."
Finally, a single seraphim stepped forward. Zadkiel, half-seraphim and half-archangel, stood tall despite the weight of the moment. His light blue wings shimmered faintly, but his expression was somber.
"I'll tell you," Zadkiel said, his voice steady yet filled with quiet fury. "Lilith has left the garden."
Sera's eyes narrowed. "Left?" she repeated, her tone sharp. "What do you mean, 'left'? Why would she leave?"
Zadkiel took a deep breath, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "Because of us. Because of what we've done. A group of us descended without your approval, demanding that Adam and Lilith fulfill their purpose and begin reproducing. When Lilith stood her ground, they became hostile. Adam, swayed by their words, struck her in anger. That was the final straw for her. She chose to leave rather than remain here under such conditions."
Sera's expression hardened as she processed the information. Her gaze swept over the other seraphim, who now looked anywhere but at her. "And who, exactly, is responsible for this?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.
No one spoke at first. But Zadkiel, unwilling to let the truth be buried any longer, pointed to the small group of seraphim who had initiated the confrontation. "They are," he said plainly. "But it's not just them. This entire project has been mishandled from the start. Samael and the virtues saw it, and I see it too. We've been arrogant, controlling, and blind to the consequences of our actions."
The accused seraphim bristled, their pride wounded, but they didn't dare speak up against Zadkiel. Sera, however, was stunned. She hadn't expected such a blunt condemnation, least of all from one of her own.
"And you," Sera said, her voice quieter now, "you admit to these faults, Zadkiel?"
Zadkiel nodded, his blue eyes unwavering. "Yes. I've kept silent for too long because I didn't want to displease you or God. But I'm done. I hate what we've become. I hate what we're doing. This isn't creation—it's tyranny. And I want no part of it."
Sera stood in silence for a moment, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She felt a strange pang of guilt, one that had been growing ever since her conversation with God. Zadkiel's confession only made it worse.
Finally, Sera turned to the guilty seraphim. "You will remain here and reflect on your actions. Do not interfere further."
With that, she spread her wings and ascended, her path taking her down to Earth. She landed in the garden near Adam, who was pacing nervously. The sight of her made him freeze, his face pale.
"Sera," he stammered, "I—I didn't mean to—"
"Silence," Sera commanded, her tone icy. She approached him slowly, her gaze piercing. "You struck Lilith, your equal, your partner. Do you understand the gravity of what you've done?"
Adam hung his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was angry. She wouldn't listen. I thought..."
"You thought wrong," Sera interrupted, her voice sharp. "Lilith is not your subordinate. She is not a tool. She is her own person with her own will, just as you are. And now, because of your actions, she has left the safety of the garden."
Adam sank to his knees, his hands covering his face. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
Sera's gaze softened slightly, though her tone remained firm. "Sorry won't bring her back, Adam. It won't undo the harm you've caused. From this moment on, you will learn to control your anger and respect those around you."
She turned away from him, her heart heavy as she looked out over the garden. The beauty of Eden now felt like a mockery, its perfection shattered by the chaos they had wrought.
Sera stood rooted in the Garden of Eden, her wings trembling as the weight of everything crashed down on her. The sight of Adam, kneeling in remorse, only deepened her sense of failure. She had been entrusted with nurturing humanity, guiding them, teaching them love and understanding—and she had failed. Not just with Adam, but with Lilith.
Lilith, who was now out there somewhere in the vast, undeveloped Earth. Alone. Vulnerable. And Sera knew, deep down, it was her fault as much as it was Adam's or the seraphim's. She hadn't nurtured Lilith. She hadn't protected her. Instead, she had pressured her, controlled her, demanded compliance without understanding her needs.
God's words from their last meeting echoed in her mind, cutting through her growing panic: "It isn't just about completing a task, Sera. It's about teaching them to love, to nurture, to learn to love me through your guidance."
"I misunderstood everything," Sera realized, her heart sinking. She had focused so intently on the task of creation—on results—that she had missed the essence of what God had wanted. And now, everything had spiraled out of control. Lilith was gone. Adam was broken. The seraphim were in chaos. And her failures had set it all into motion.
Her breaths quickened as her panic grew. What if Lilith died? The Earth wasn't ready to sustain life beyond Eden yet. If Lilith perished, it would be on her. And how could she face God then? How could she explain that she hadn't just failed to guide humanity, but had driven one of them away entirely?
"I can't do this alone," she thought, her resolve cracking. "I never could. And I've pushed away the only ones who could've helped me."
Her wings drooped as the truth settled in her heart. There was only one angel—or group of angels—she could turn to for help now. The same ones she had dismissed, ignored, and hurt.
The virtues.
Sera's stomach twisted at the thought. They had been right all along, about everything. And she had rejected their wisdom, their warnings, their pleas to approach the humanity project differently. Worse, she had allowed her pride and the seraphim's arrogance to drive them away, leaving Samael—the one who had believed in her most of all—broken and alienated.
Would they even hear her out now? Could they? After everything she'd done?
Sera took a shaky breath, her wings fluttering weakly as she rose into the air. She had no choice. If there was any hope of finding Lilith and salvaging this project, she needed their help. And more than that—she needed their forgiveness.
As she flew toward the Hall of Virtues, her heart pounded with a mixture of fear and desperation. For the first time in her existence, Sera felt truly small. She prayed silently, not for herself, but for the virtues to have the compassion to listen. And for Samael, her Little Morningstar, to still have even a shred of faith left in her.