The sky above Eden was overcast, a soft, pale gray—an unusual sight for a place meant to be paradise. The air was heavy, thick with sorrow, as if the very earth grieved alongside its inhabitants.

Sera descended into the garden, her wings carrying her past the towering trees and lush fields that once felt so vibrant. Now, they seemed muted, their beauty overshadowed by the weight of recent events.

She spotted the seraphim gathered in the clearing, their expressions solemn and weary. Zadkiel was at the forefront, his light blue eyes filled with exhaustion. He had taken on much of the responsibility in her absence, and it showed in the stiffness of his posture.

As she landed, the seraphim turned to her, their eyes flickering with mixed emotions—relief, uncertainty, and the lingering remnants of grief.

Sera took a steady breath and addressed them.

"I owe you all an apology," she said, her voice softer than usual. "I should not have left you so suddenly. I let my emotions cloud my judgment, and that was unfair to all of you."

The seraphim remained silent, though a few nodded slightly.

"I'm here now," Sera continued. "Give me an update. What has happened in my absence?"

Zadkiel stepped forward, his wings twitching as he prepared to speak. "We have done everything we could, Sera. The site has been cleaned, and no trace of what happened remains." He hesitated before continuing, his voice quieter. "But Adam... he is not well."

Sera's eyes darkened with concern.

"He has not moved from the tree," Zadkiel explained, gesturing toward a distant grove. "The same tree where he and Lilith would sit after tending to the garden. He refuses to eat, refuses to sleep. He just... stays there. He grieves, but he does not speak to us. And when he does, it is only to blame us for what happened."

Sera felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest.

She nodded. "I will speak with him."

Zadkiel bowed his head and stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

As Sera approached the tree, she spotted Adam sitting beneath it, his back pressed against the rough bark. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his arms resting limply over them. His usually bright green eyes were dull, red-rimmed from endless tears. His face, normally filled with boyish pride and confidence, was now hollow, expressionless.

Sera hesitated for a moment before stepping closer.

"Adam," she called softly.

No response.

She moved closer still, standing just a few feet away from him.

"Adam," she said again, her tone gentle. "I know you are grieving. I know you are in pain. I came to—"

"You," Adam interrupted, his voice hoarse and bitter.

Sera's wings stiffened slightly at the venom in his tone.

"You and the seraphim... You did this," he said, his fingers curling into fists. "You pushed her away. You pressured us. You forced her into a role she didn't want, and when she resisted, you kept pushing. And now she's gone."

Sera lowered her head. "I know."

Adam scoffed, his laugh hollow and humorless. "Oh, now you know? How convenient for you to know now that it's too late."

Sera closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself. "I am not here to make excuses, Adam. You are right to be angry."

"Damn right I am," he muttered.

"But," she continued, "I am not the only one at fault."

Adam's body tensed.

"You hit her."

Silence.

Adam's breath caught in his throat, his fingers digging into his arms as if bracing himself.

"I made many mistakes, and I regret them deeply," Sera admitted. "But you, too, made a choice that night. You let your fear control you. You let your frustration cloud your judgment. And when Lilith stood her ground, you did not stand with her. You turned against her."

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body trembling.

Sera's voice softened. "We both failed her."

Adam exhaled shakily, his anger giving way to something more fragile—something raw.

"...I know," he finally whispered.

His shoulders slumped, and he turned his gaze downward, staring blankly at the grass beneath him. "I know," he repeated, voice cracking. "I—I wanted her to stay. I—I loved her. But I was scared. I didn't know what else to do. And now..."

His breath hitched, and suddenly, the dam inside him broke.

Adam buried his face in his arms and sobbed.

Sera remained still, watching him for a long moment before kneeling beside him.

"...I am sorry, Adam," she said softly.

Adam sniffled, his voice muffled. "I don't deserve an apology. Lilith does."

Sera placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "That does not mean you are unworthy of grief."

Adam's sobs quieted slightly, but he did not lift his head.

After a moment, Sera continued.

"God wishes to hold a memorial for Lilith," she explained. "A time for us all to grieve, to honor her life, and to say our peace."

Adam stirred slightly.

Sera hesitated before adding, "That includes you."

Adam's breath came out in a shaky exhale. "A... memorial?"

Sera nodded. "A ceremony of remembrance. A way to let go, to mourn together, rather than alone."

Adam frowned, his brows furrowing deeply. "I don't know if I can..."

"There is no requirement, no expectation," Sera reassured him. "But it may help. It may allow you to process everything. And it would allow you to honor Lilith's memory."

Adam swallowed thickly, still unsure.

Sera let the silence settle between them before quietly asking, "Would you like to be there?"

Adam opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again.

He wiped at his swollen eyes with the back of his hand, exhaling shakily.

"...I'll go," he finally muttered. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough. "I'll be there."

Sera gave him a solemn nod. "Thank you."

Adam shifted slightly, resting his head against the tree trunk, his exhaustion visible in every movement.

Sera rose to her feet.

"Lilith didn't deserve this," Adam murmured suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

Sera's chest ached.

"...No," she agreed. "She didn't."

And with that, she turned and left Adam to his grief, his broken heart left to mend at its own fragile pace.

———————————————————————

The Grand Hall of Heaven was alight with golden hues, its towering marble pillars stretching high into the endless celestial sky. A great assembly of angels—archangels, virtues, cherubs, and lesser angels alike—had gathered, their radiant forms filling the space with an ethereal glow. The air was thick with quiet anticipation, but there was an underlying tension as they waited for the announcement that had summoned them all.

God stood at the center, his presence a beacon of unwavering calm, yet there was an unmistakable weight in his expression. At his side stood Sera and the seraphim, their usual proud demeanor dampened by sorrow. Zadkiel, the half-seraphim who had been among the first to witness the tragic scene, looked down in silent grief.

Finally, Sera stepped forward. Her wings, normally pristine and poised, drooped slightly, and the exhaustion in her voice was evident.

"My brothers and sisters," she began, her tone solemn, "I bring you grave news."

A hush fell over the assembly.

Sera took a steady breath before continuing. "Lilith, the first woman, is dead."

Gasps rippled through the hall, whispers breaking out in pockets of disbelief.

"She was attacked outside of Eden, beyond the garden's borders." Sera's voice wavered, but she pressed on. "We... we found what remained of her."

For a long moment, silence reigned.

Then—

"A funeral will be held," Sera announced, "so that we may honor her, mourn her, and say our peace. This loss is a heavy one, but we must come together in our grief. We must—"

"What do you mean she was attacked?"

Michael's deep voice cut through the hall like a blade. He stepped forward, golden eyes narrowed. "Who did this? Was it a creature? Some force we have yet to know?"

Sera clenched her jaw before responding. "We do not know."

Michael exhaled sharply through his nose, arms crossed, clearly displeased. "And you're sure she's dead?"

Samael, who stood off to the side with the virtues, tensed slightly. He said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

"Yes," Sera replied, her voice firm. "There is no doubt."

More murmurs filled the room, some angels whispering amongst themselves in confusion, others outright mourning.

The virtues were visibly shaken.

Levia's eyes brimmed with tears before they spilled over, her hands flying to her mouth. "No... oh no... she didn't deserve that..." Plutus, seeing Levia break down, instinctively wrapped his arms around her, his own tears welling up. "I—I thought things would get better—I thought—" He hiccupped, shaking his head as he tried to compose himself.

Belfagel stood completely still, her normally restless energy frozen. Her hands trembled as she stared into the distance, her face pale with disbelief.

Asmodel and Triel exchanged a look, their expressions grim.

"We should've helped," Asmodel murmured under his breath.

Triel's heart clenched. She had been so adamant about shutting Sera out when she begged for their aid. Maybe if she had set aside her bitterness, they could have found Lilith in time.

But while some virtues were overcome with grief, others were filled with something far more volatile.

Rage.

"Are you KIDDING me?"

Veritas's voice rang out, loud and venomous. All heads turned toward her.

She stepped forward, her yellow eyes ablaze with fury. "You dare stand before us and announce this as if it's some unfortunate accident? As if this wasn't entirely the seraphim's fault?"

Gasps rippled through the crowd, a shocked murmur spreading through the angels. Some looked away, hesitant to witness what was about to unfold. Others—Azazil, Plutus, even Belfagel—stood rigid, waiting.

Sera's body went still, but her eyes burned with quiet warning. "Veritas."

But Veritas was beyond caution. She stepped forward, her golden eyes blazing. "No. You don't get to say my name like that. Not after everything."

Azazil joined her, his usually calm and compassionate demeanor dark with barely restrained wrath. "She's right," he growled. "You ignored us. You dismissed Samael. You refused to listen when we tried to warn you. And now you come here, acting all solemn as if you didn't push her into this?"

The hall was filled with an uneasy tension. Some angels averted their gazes, while others stiffened in shock at the blatant accusation.

"You're mad at us?" Zadkiel, who had up until now remained silent, finally spoke. His voice was pained, conflicted. "I understand your anger, but do you think we aren't suffering? Do you think we don't feel guilt? We never wanted this!"

"Oh, you NEVER wanted this?" Veritas snapped, taking a step forward. "Funny, because I recall your kind taking every opportunity to trample over anyone who questioned you! Dismissing Samael, mocking the virtues, treating humanity like some experiment rather than living beings! You think your guilt means something? You think that changes ANYTHING?"

"Enough," Sera interjected, her patience thinning.

"No, I don't think I will 'enough,'" Veritas shot back. "You did this, Sera. You. And you know it."

Sera clenched her fists, but Veritas wasn't done.

"You played God with these humans, treating them like tools for your perfect little world. You failed them. And now you come here acting like you're mourning? Pathetic."

The room fell deathly silent. Even those who had silently agreed with Veritas were shocked at how cruelly she spat the words.

Some angels turned away, visibly uncomfortable.

Sera's entire body went rigid, her wings twitching in barely contained rage. She exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing down the fire rising in her chest. "I am aware of my mistakes—"

"Are you?" Veritas sneered. "Because the Sera I know—the one who spat on Samael, ignored the virtues, and ruled with an iron grip—would NEVER admit to being wrong. Tell me, Sera, was it God's forgiveness that changed you?" She laughed cruelly. "Or was it the cold realization that you're a failure?"

The crowd collectively inhaled, some cherubs covering their mouths in shock. Even the other virtues seemed stunned by Veritas's unrelenting venom.

Sera's wings flared, her grip tightening so hard she thought her nails might pierce her palms.

"I may have failed," she said slowly, her voice measured, "but at least I was THERE. Where were you, Veritas? I don't recall seeing you in the Celestial Hall. I don't recall you doing ANYTHING."

Veritas scoffed. "I was there for Samael. More than you ever were."

At that, Sera turned to Samael.

He stood in the back, his expression unreadable.

But he didn't look at her.

The avoidance stung more than she wanted to admit.

Veritas's eyes narrowed. "Oh, and don't you worry, I was plenty busy. More than you, at least."

Sera took a step forward. "Really? Because I don't remember you coming down to observe the project with Samael."

"I didn't need to." Veritas scoffed, crossing her arms. "I already knew it was a disaster. And I was right, wasn't I?"

Sera's gaze sharpened. "You speak so confidently for someone who has done absolutely nothing. You, the Virtue of Truth, of all people, sitting on your pedestal of self-righteousness while refusing to even see the world for yourself."

Veritas's lip curled. "And you speak so confidently for someone who let a woman DIE because of your incompetence."

Sera's eyes burned.

"Lilith is dead because of YOU." Veritas enunciated every word with precision, her voice dripping with venom. "Because of your arrogance. Your control. Your inability to see anyone as anything more than a tool."

Sera took a breath—once, twice, willing herself to remain composed.

"You're right."

Veritas blinked. "What?"

Sera looked her dead in the eyes, voice even and sharp. "I did fail Lilith. I pushed her too hard. I did not listen when I should have. I will carry the burden of that until the end of time." She stepped closer, her towering presence darkening. "But do NOT act as if you have the right to stand above me when you did NOTHING."

Veritas snarled. "Nothing? NOTHING? You think I needed to be there, in the Celestial Hall, to know what was happening? I already knew what you and the seraphim were doing. And I was RIGHT."

"Then why didn't you stop it?" Sera's voice was low, quiet.

Veritas froze for a brief moment.

"You knew," Sera continued, "and yet you sat back and watched. If I'm guilty of negligence, then you are guilty of apathy."

Veritas's fists trembled at her sides, but before she could lash out, Sera delivered the final blow.

"At least I tried."

The entire hall fell into complete silence.

Veritas was seething. Her whole body shook with barely contained rage. She opened her mouth—ready to rip Sera apart again—

But then—

"Enough."

The voice was calm. Gentle. But it held weight.

God.

Veritas immediately snapped her mouth shut, her fury momentarily overridden by sheer divine presence.

"Tonight is not about blame." His voice was gentle, but firm. "I understand your grief, your anger. But this is a night to honor Lilith. Not to fight amongst ourselves."

Veritas, though still visibly seething, clamped her mouth shut.

The room finally settled.

Sera exhaled, her shoulders sagging. "A memorial will be held tomorrow. We will mourn her together. That is all that matters now."

And with that, the meeting was dismissed.

The angels began to disperse, though the room was still thick with tension. Veritas shot one last glare at Sera before turning on her heel and leaving. Azazil followed soon after.

Samael remained for a moment longer, standing in quiet thought before silently walking away.

Sera watched them go, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

She had expected mourning.

But she had not expected this.

———————————————————————

The Hall of Virtues was anything but peaceful.

Veritas was fuming.

Her hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she paced back and forth, her golden eyes burning with rage. The other virtues sat or stood around her, some exhausted from the announcement, others lost in thought. But Veritas? She was seething.

"I can't believe her!" she spat, her voice sharp and venomous. "Standing there like she's some tragic figure, like she didn't cause this entire mess! Like she's some noble, grieving leader rather than the incompetent fool that she is!"

Triel sighed, rubbing her temples. "Enough, Veritas. It's over. You already said your piece, and frankly, you went too far."

Veritas stopped mid-step and turned sharply. "Too far? Too far?!" She scoffed. "Triel, I held back. I could've said so much more!"

"And you shouldn't have," Triel snapped, standing up. "This isn't about you and your hatred for Sera. Lilith is gone, and we should be focusing on honoring her. Instead, you're ranting about Sera like this is some personal vendetta."

Veritas huffed and crossed her arms, but she didn't argue further.

Levia, who had been quiet for most of the evening, finally spoke up. "I feel... awful." Her soft voice barely carried over the tense room. "We should have helped. If we had gone with Sera when she asked, maybe we could have found Lilith before it was too late."

Asmodel nodded solemnly. "I thought we were doing the right thing. Standing our ground, holding Sera accountable... but in the end, what did it even accomplish?"

Azazil scoffed. "Oh, don't start this again." He rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. "Sera and the seraphim made their bed. Lilith ran because they pushed her, not us. We had every reason to refuse to help. Sera didn't listen to us before, so why would she have listened then?"

The room fell silent at that. None of them could deny that Sera had caused most of her own suffering.

Plutus, usually the one to bring warmth into the group, sighed and forced a small smile. "Well, at least the humanity project is officially a bust now, huh?"

No one laughed.

Plutus let his smile drop and groaned. "Okay, yeah. Not my best attempt."

Levia, still sniffling slightly, gently leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his in a quiet show of comfort. Plutus immediately stiffened, his face burning dark green, but he didn't pull away.

Then, Veritas lit up. A slow, almost eerie smile spread across her face as a new idea took root in her mind.

"Wait. No. This isn't the end. It's a beginning."

Belfagel frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Veritas's eyes gleamed with something sharp and calculating. "Think about it. Sera and the seraphim screwed up massively. You really think God is just going to let them continue leading this project after everything?"

She stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was letting them in on some great secret. "This is our chance. Our opportunity to prove ourselves. If we convince God to hand the project over to us, we can actually fix this mess. We could—"

"Veritas," Triel interrupted, her voice dangerously low. "Are you seriously trying to use Lilith's death to gain power?"

Veritas waved a hand dismissively. "It's not about power. It's about setting things right. We're the Virtues, for Heaven's sake! We represent the highest ideals of this realm! We could make this project so much better than Sera ever could."

Asmodel frowned. "You just want to rub it in Sera's face."

Veritas scoffed. "That's just an added bonus." She smirked, but Triel caught the shift in her voice, the way the bitterness seeped through.

Belfagel, who had been quietly contemplating, finally spoke. "What would even be the point? The project is already ruined. Without Lilith, it's pretty much over."

Veritas's smirk widened. "No, Belfagel. Lilith's death is the key. It proves that the seraphim are incompetent. It's what gives us our chance."

Azazil chuckled darkly. "So, what you're saying is... Lilith's death is actually a good thing?"

The room went dead silent.

Belfagel stiffened, Levia's face paled, and even Plutus looked disturbed.

Triel's jaw clenched. "Do you even hear yourself right now?"

Veritas hesitated for the briefest moment, but then her confidence doubled down. "I'm just saying we should take advantage of the situation. We can't change the fact that she's dead, but we can make something out of it."

Levia was the first to react, stepping back with a horrified look. "I—I can't believe you'd say that. Lilith... she didn't deserve to die. And now you're talking about her like she's some—some political tool?"

Asmodel, usually the most level-headed, actually looked angry. "We should have helped her, Veritas. We should have done something. But now you're standing here talking like this is some kind of victory?"

Veritas's eyes flashed with irritation. "Oh, please. Don't act like you cared that much. We all made our choices, and Lilith made hers. Now we have to move forward."

Plutus scoffed, stepping away from her. "Yeah, move forward by spitting on her grave? Great plan, Veritas."

The argument continued, voices rising as the virtues turned against each other. Bickering, snapping, all tangled in their own anger, grief, and guilt.

But then—

"Lilith isn't dead."

The room froze.

All eyes snapped toward Samael, who stood in the center of the room, looking... exhausted.

No one spoke. No one even breathed.

Veritas stared at him, her expression unreadable. "What did you just say?"

Samael swallowed, his wings trembling slightly. "Lilith isn't dead."

In that moment, the Hall of Virtues was completely silent.