~~50 years before the Arrival~~

~~Keziah~~

Light flooded her mind. Knowledge came next, pouring through her vessel, bestowing her with context and meaning. Light. Mind. Words that had no meaning before now had them.

Wet. She was in water.

She stepped out from under a waterfall and looked around at the room where four other people waited with warm smiles. They wore revealing white silks, beautiful, flowing gold tattoos, and enormous wings of white feathers jutted from their backs.

Angels. Like her.

Keziah took a breath. Yes, that was her name. Keziah. She looked around the room again and took a breath of relief. Home. Etched deep into her mind, she knew, this was home. Heaven. Gold walls that sparkled but did not shine too brightly. White stone. White hanging curtains of see-through silk. A small waterfall flowed down from a colossal hole in the ceiling overhead, entering a shallow pool below that she stood within, water that reached her waist.

She stretched out her wings, engaging muscles she knew she had, but only upon using them for the first time did she truly understand what they were, where they were, and how they were. She did the same for her fists. Strong fists. She looked down at her naked body and admired the perfect beauty of it. She was one of God's warriors, after all, and all angels were beauty and perfection incarnate, crafted and sculpted.

The four angels standing on the edge of the indoor pool gestured to a wall where a giant mirror awaited. She walked through the water and admired her reflection while the water gently flowed around her hips.

She was a muscular woman, with defined abdominals, and strong arms, and thick legs. The knowledge given to her upon birth told her the truth: she was larger than most female angels, a little taller at nearly seven feet tall, and built with a little more muscle, more meat. But despite that, she had a narrow waist, highlighting her feminine figure, and large breasts that sat upon her chest well, pushed outward by the muscle underneath. A few gold tattoos flowed along her dark, dark skin, and her eyes shone a sparkling blue.

No. Not blue. Words flew through her mind, and she latched onto them. Souls would recognize them as blue. She would know them as azure, one of the thousands of God's most beautiful colors.

She blinked at her reflection and ran her fingers along her hair. White, almost shining. A modern choice for hair color, the information in her mind told her. One side of her head had long, flowing hair, while the other was... cornrows? Tiny braids tight to her scalp that ran horizontal along her skull. Beautiful, and modern again.

Modern. What was modern? She dug through her mind and the nigh-infinite knowledge waiting for her there. It was the nineties, according to the information, and the souls that spoke with angels. What were the nineties? And what were souls? She could see the definitions in her mind, but they were just words.

And behind those words were three runes. And these she understood.

She turned and looked at her side in the mirror. Yes, God had given her a body for battle, muscles defined and strong, but also pristine beauty, with a large buttock that complimented her muscular physique and large breasts. A perfect body for one of his soldiers.

She held out a hand to the mirror and summoned potram. In a gentle flash of gold light, she was clothed. The rune was light, like the feather of an angel's wing. She froze and tilted her head, admiring the clothes God gave her. Flowing white silks that did a poor job of covering her skin, but that was not their goal. Their goal was to look gorgeous and be freeing. She smiled, slowly turned, and admired the jewelry: a necklace, earrings, nipple piercings under the silk, a navel piercing, and rings, all subtle, meant to accent her body, not detract attention from it.

The other runes were too heavy for her, royam and batlam. She tried them, took a deep breath, and tried again, but they resisted.

"I am... Keziah."

"Then rest, Keziah," an angel said. "You are mere minutes born. Rest."

She nodded. Rest made sense. Eventually, she would step out of the room, and she knew what awaited her: Heaven, and a billion experiences that would overwhelm her. Souls. Angels. The golden cities of the Heavenly Islands. The beaches of silver and gold sand, and their crystal, brilliant waters.

She stepped out of the pool onto the golden steps, and waited at the door. Not a door, but an archway with only hanging white silk to cover the entrance, and the pool turned into a small river that flowed within a shallow gold trench under the curtains, and out into Heaven beyond.

Another angel nodded deeply to her, and she returned it in kind.

"Keziah, Rapholem. First rank, and freshly born in Yathael," they said.

Rapholem. First rank. Yathael, one of the nine Heavenly Islands. More words her fellow angels did not need to explain to her. She knew them already.

She was an angel. A warrior of God. It was her duty to care for the souls of Heaven, defend them, let them move on and into the Great Tower when they wished, and if it came to it, it was her duty to sacrifice her life to defend Heaven's walls from invaders.

All words. And as she stared at the silk curtain separating her from giving those words meaning, she stopped. But an angel took her hand and smiled at her.

"It is always overwhelming for a newborn angel," he said. "Take your time, Keziah."

She nodded, took a breath, and braced herself. That was what the Rapholem did. They were the shields of Heaven, of God. It was their duty to survive any attack.

She stepped out into the golden city, the center of the Heavenly Island Yathael, and she froze.

Above her, endless galaxies floated by, nebulae and stars, moons and sparking comets. Nighttime in Heaven. What would it look like during the day? Would this facsimile of the surface world, this night sky of wonder and magic, look like the day, with a burning sun searing the sky with all its glory?

She gulped and looked out at the streets before her. Human souls, running and playing, throwing discs or balls to catch. Some flew kites. Some danced on rooftops, or in the archways where white silk curtains were their only barrier between their rooms and the outside world. Some sat on benches in groups and told stories, laughing. Some kissed and hugged each other, but this section of Yathael allowed children, so they did not take it further.

With a trembling step, Keziah walked down the street, and her four angels walked with her. Some children ran by, waved up at her, but wrapped in their own game, they did not wait for her to return it, instead devolving into a mess of laughter as they chased each other, playing tag. Some men and women nodded to her, perhaps knowing she had just been born, or perhaps because they had never seen her before.

They walked past rooms full of souls, sitting on white chairs set in a circle, while a gabriem sat with them, speaking about pain and loss. Keziah listened, rent asunder by words. Parents lost to disease. Siblings lost to shortsightedness. Children lost to tragic accidents. A room for the grieving to grieve, except in reverse. This was the afterlife.

She continued down the gold streets, propelled, each step fraught with mental impact she could not comprehend, but each room she peeked into, each soul she met demanded she keep walking.

A woman watched her husband in a scrying pool; the man still alive, the woman in wait. And nearby, a man did the same with his daughter. Both smiled, watching the most precious people in their existence struggle to live without them. The woman, the man, they would wait for their loved ones in Heaven.

Keziah continued on.

The colossal city of flowing, golden buildings, full of rooms with only curtains for walls, opened up before her. Gardens with sparkling water and small waterfalls. Giant palaces with no walls at all, only pillars, filled with chatting souls wearing white togas and similar attire. Past the city edge, literal clouds awaited, and souls walked over the fluffy white, losing themselves in delightful conversation.

Human laughter. Human delight. It struck her with wonder.

She recognized things before her angel comrades explained them. The sanctum, a giant room with no windows because the contents allowed the people within to experience any fantasy they wanted; a sort of virtual reality, the souls explained, for the truly odd or unique experiences only a human imagination could invent.

As Keziah's wandering took her into a different section of Yathael, the atmosphere changed. Shallow pools sat out in the open, and within, souls and gabriem angels sat, naked. In each and every bathhouse Keziah passed, many of the souls within were having sex, sometimes with each other, but usually with a gabriem.

One gabriem, a male, sat and relaxed in the pool, back to its wall, his elbows resting on the pool edge, while a tiny little woman danced on his lap. A small peek over the man's shoulder showed it was no simple lap dance, but a sexual one, the angel's large girth buried deep inside the woman. Beside her, only a meter away, a female gabriem sat on a male soul's lap, giving a similar dance. Both souls were small compared to the angels, but that only seemed to make them enjoy the sex more.

The sights continued, always the same. In some pools a single male soul spent time with several female gabriem. Sometimes it was the other way around, or the soul and angel were reversed. Sometimes they were the same sex. In some pools, it was an orgy. And on more than a few occasions, she found a pool full of human souls with no angels at all, and the souls pleasured each other with smiles on their faces.

But Keziah never spotted an angel being romantic with another angel, not once.

In the distance closer to the city edge, was a special river. The knowledge in her mind told her what it was, but the sight of the flowing water with gold orbs floating within struck her with awe. The river of memories. Here, souls could summon the memories of someone who had passed on into the Great Tower. The river would give the memories a body to steer, but it would not be a true creation; souls never stayed in Heaven forever, and the ancestral mimic would not have a soul. But if a soul wanted to speak with an ancestor, they could.

As she watched the souls step into the water, and the floating orbs of gold floated past them, it quickly became apparent most souls did not want to summon their ancestors. They wanted to summon their pets, and they did. The river gave the reborn pets bodies, gave them their memories, and even their souls back. Animal souls were unique to human souls, and the river of memories could draw them back from the Great Tower to be reunited with their owners.

Souls stepped out of the river with pets of all kinds. And they always came up from the water with tears in their eyes, as they stepped back onto the gold and white roads of the gold city, their faithful companion at their side or in their arms.

Keziah stayed there for a while, watching souls step into the river, scoop up a gold orb floating by, and summon their memory. Each and every time, their faces lit up with a magnificent wonder that robbed Keziah of breath. She stared at them, fascinated, mesmerized by the hurricanes of emotion the humans brought to bear.

Keziah had been wrong. Dead wrong. She was not beautiful. She was nothing. She was a cutout creation, a sculpted thing with none of the depth of a soul, none of the layers. Souls were a cascade of nuance, an avalanche of experience and growth. Souls were... like the Great Tower.

It was the souls who were beautiful, not angels.

The Great Tower. What was it? Knowledge flowed through her mind, but it lacked any details. The Great Tower was existence. It was life. It was death. It was the world they stood on, and the worlds below. It was where souls were birthed, where they gathered life experience, and brought it back to the Great Tower itself to... to what?

Keziah stretched her wings and took to the air. Something was wrong.

"The library," she said as her angel escort followed her. "Take me there."

The other angels nodded and guided her, but the look on their faces told her what she would find.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keziah poured through the books. Colossal shelves of gold surrounded her, lined with uncountable knowledge, books with covers of rich colors of angel eyes: quartz, obsidian, amethyst, and silver. Most books were the creations of humans, but the non-fiction books, the ones that accounted of the details of Heaven in her infancy, were written by angels. Diaries. Accounts of the Great Tower through millions upon millions of years. But no account reached back far enough.

There were no answers.

She looked to the angels escorting her, but found only the same disappointment. They sat around the colossal table with her, looked at the books they had all read before, and shook their heads.

"Only the council may read the first books," they said.

Sighing, Keziah picked up her gold book and set it back within the shelves of the great library. She wandered the halls, past hundreds of thousands of books from the human mind, and wandered through the quiet permanence of the books written by angels. Words upon words, and she devoured them, searching for an answer to a question she could not yet articulate.

She stopped and faced the four angels escorting her. They waited, eyes heavy. They knew what she was going to say before she had found the words.

"Where is God?" she asked.

They shook their heads. They did not know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They left her after that. It was a process all new angels went through, learning about Heaven, Hell, the Great Tower, life, only to be left confused by the gaps in their knowledge. And once she, a newborn angel, was left empty and confused, her escorts deemed it fit to abandon her to her fate.

Keziah left the great library and sat upon the outer walls circling her home, the Heavenly Island Yathael. Thousands of fellow rapholem stood upon the wall, facing out toward the great clouds of Heaven, and the distant vortex that penetrated its base. Not since the First War had anything from Hell reached Heaven through the vortex, and even that, Keziah could not know for sure, not when the first books were forbidden by the council.

So she sat, letting her legs dangle off the high wall of gold brick, and stared out toward the inside of Yathael, to the great gold city and its flowing streets, tall buildings, and beautiful souls.

"Keziah," a voice said.

She made to stand, but the man shook his head and raised a hand. Instead, the man sat with her, and did as she did, letting his legs dangle over the top of the great wall of gold stone and merlon outcroppings. Humans called them castle walls, and it was true; they looked like the walls of human history. All the stranger for two angels wearing the loose, revealing silks of their potram runes, to sit upon and face within. Some adventurous humans at the base of the wall looked up at them in curiosity, and the new angel spared them a nod.

"Captain Benjamin," Keziah said.

"I didn't realize we'd already been introduced." The man smiled at her. He had dark tan skin, deep eyes, and long black hair with no facial hair. Humans would have described him as Indigenous American, the way they said Keziah looked African. He was handsome, like all angels, but the truth had robbed her of the joy of seeing that handsomeness. He was a cutout creation, like her.

"Others told me to see you," she said. "And I... had planned to do that."

"But?"

"But I am... despondent."

"Oh?"

She nodded and gestured out toward Yathael, a city of joy and beauty and pleasure and healing, with beaches of silver, flowing rivers of crystal blue, and trees of green, all surrounded by white cloud, underneath a sky of stars and nebulae and galaxies. She should have been overjoyed with her existence. She was not.

"I have been born into misery, captain."

The captain sighed, nodded, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It has become routine, young angel, that we must apologize to the newly birthed for the state of Heaven. God has abandoned us." The words stung. "The council ignores us. And the purpose of the Great Tower and the inner-workings of its cogs remain an unknowable mystery."

Each word crushed her grace, and she slumped.

"Why was I born at all?" she asked. "Lucifer is trapped in the Forgotten Place -- we can only assume, anyway. The demons war among themselves, and even if they didn't, they could not reach Heaven without Lucifer's help. Heaven does not need new angels. Heaven--"

"For the souls, Keziah."

She shook her head. "I am no gabriem. The souls do not need me, a rapholem. I am... cold, as the souls would say."

Benjamin smiled at her and patted her shoulder with a wing. "I am a gabriem, so listen to my words, young rapholem. Heaven is in a state of decay. Many of us are millions upon millions of years old, and the dread eats at our minds and grace. Some of us are reborn so many times, our previous lives are blurs. Worse still, some angels kill themselves, unable to accept the dread."

"I do not understand. This dread must surely have been a part of God's plan?"

Benjamin shook his head. "I do not think it was ever in God's plan to leave the Great Tower, young rapholem. If we could bask in God's presence, surely the dread would never affect us. But..." He shrugged and gestured out to the city with a wing. "It does not matter. For all the pain and misery you have been born into, it is worth it, Keziah."

"How?"

Benjamin's smile was perfect. The smile of a gabriem, of a man who had helped untold humans, and likely untold angels, for aeons.

"Go to the river of memories."

"I visited--"

"No. Go to the river of memories, young rapholem, and watch. Truly watch. You will understand."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took a month before she listened to her captain's order. She spent the first month of her life sitting on the walls of Yathael, watching the city at a distance, and let the talons of the dread sink into her grace. She was a holy warrior of God, and God was nowhere to be found. The only people who might know, the council, would not speak to her or any other angel. Even when a council angel stood at the gate and oversaw the flow of new souls, the council angel ignored all other angels. Silence was an angel's reward for faith and duty.

Before despair dragged her down into an early death, she took to the sky, and flew to the river of memories.

There were many rivers in Yathael. The city was colossal, large enough to house hundreds of millions of souls, and it had many sections. Some sections were lush with green. Others were filled with titanic buildings of gold, with silver ornaments and white silks. The roads shone, and the souls walking them vibrated with joy. But not all souls were happy.

Keziah returned to the first river of memories she had visited on her first day of life. Riverbanks of silver sand sparkled under the starlight above, and this far from the city's center, the air was still with silence. Trees grew tall and wide, covered in lush leaves, and hidden colors glittered within the cracks of their bark. It was a place of quiet, and peace.

The long river showed a few souls, each spaced out and left to their solace, save for their escort. Each soul that came to the river of memories had a gabriem angel, ready to guide and tend them, and many souls leaned on their angel for advice or support as they delved into the past. Some souls summoned the memory of an ancestor, someone who had long since died, went to Heaven--or Hell, had since passed on to the Great Tower, and the river created a soulless vessel for their eternal memory. If you wished to speak with Genghis Khan, you could.

But most souls came for something very different.

"Mister Tolly," a gabriem said. "If you would just--"

"This is it, right?" a man said, stepping out from the treeline and along the silver sands. Even with his prime body, gifted to him by Heaven herself, it was clear the man was old. Souls who had died of old age had an air about them that their new bodies could not hide.

The man walked down the beach as if he had seen it before, as if the long shore of sparkling silver, and the perfect water flowing between its banks meant nothing to him. The endless beauty above shining in the dark, wonders beyond imagining, none of it caught the man's eye. The gabriem woman, gloriously beautiful and half naked with how revealing her potram rune was, did not catch the man's eye either.

"You're sure this thing will bring him back?" Mister Tolly asked, voice firm and filled with classic cynicism. Keziah liked him. She watched from the other side of the river hid her smile.

"Yes, Mister Tolly," the gabriem said. Usually, angels referred to people by their first names. Whoever this Tolly was, he must have insisted the angel call him by his last name. Delightfully stubborn. Keziah liked him more. "But it is not a simple matter to call upon the memory. You must enter the water and reach out of the flow of the river. Your mind will touch the Great Tower, and--"

"Don't lecture me about memories, angel! Now cover up your tits." He gestured back at the woman and her revealing toga.

Was he here to resurrect a child? The truly young, too young to reason, did not go to Heaven or Hell. They merged with the Great Tower directly, unburdened by resonance. More than their memory could be called. A piece of their soul could be summoned.

More than a few mothers and fathers had summoned the memory of a child lost in the single day Keziah had come to the river. Those were the times a gabriem was truly needed, to catch the frail souls as their emotions fluctuated between sorrow and elation, only to fall to sorrow again when they realized the memory of their baby could not grow in Heaven. You could only grow by being alive, truly alive.

Sometimes the parents left with their babies. Sometimes they did not. And sometimes, parents returned to the river with a baby they had been caring for for weeks, or months, or years. A joyful pain, to hold your lost baby, but never able to see them grow, to develop awareness and identity. With great tears, the parents let their baby go. In those moments, Keziah was thankful she was no gabriem.

"Mister Tolly," the angel said, standing on the riverbank as her patient waded in until he was waist-deep. "I am trying to make this process easier for you. If you would please just listen to me."

"I don't need some half-naked harlot to tell me how to call my back my boy!"

The angel glared, fists on her hips. Keziah did her best to bite down a chuckle, and failed.

Mister Tolly, speaking Estian as everyone did, looked perhaps in his late twenties, with pale skin, long red hair, freckles, and a tall, lean frame. Like all fresh souls, he wore a white toga that covered most of him, but he did not hesitate to get it wet as he stepped into the water, and watched the floating, gold orbs pass on by.

Whether he knew what to do or not, Mister Tolly closed his eyes, scooped up one of the gold orbs, lowered it into the water, and waited.

The gabriem sighed, looked across the river to Keziah, and spared a small nod. Keziah returned it. The gabriem was beyond beautiful, but they both knew she was nothing compared to the man in the river. His hunched posture he no longer needed. The bite in his words. The way he flexed one cheek more than the other when he spoke. The squint in one eye. The aggressive inflections in his voice that almost danced along a sea shanty's pitch. Habits forged through life, nuance that contained a billion layers of depth no angel could duplicate.

The man stood back up, and a bundle of beige and white came up from the water with him. It did not move at first, but a gasp from Mister Tolly awoke the being from its sleep.

The dog -- a pembroke welsh corgi -- barked up at the man, and Mister Tolly choked on a sob. He clutched the dog close to him, squeezed him, spun him around, and water swung free of his toga as he buried his face in his dog's mane. The corgi barked excitedly, little legs paddling air as his owner held him above the water.

"Told ya!" the old man said, and he walked through the water back to the shore, and grinned up at the angel before he fell to his knees in the silver sand. He clutched his dog tighter, buried him in hugs, and the dog returned his love with as many licks as he could muster.

An old man and his dog.

Children too young to reason were not the only ones who bypassed Heaven and Hell entirely. Pets, and all animals, went to the Great Tower when they died. And if you had the memory of them, you could summon their soul from the Great Tower itself, through the river, and by the grace of Heaven, it would be given a body, and the memories that belonged to it.

Tolly set down his dog, and the boy ran circles around his owner before pressing up against his leg to stand. And grumpy Mister Tolly clapped his hands together once and gestured down at the dog. The joy on the old man's young face was beyond knowing.

"This is Tofu," Tolly said to his gabriem.

The woman laughed. "Tofu?"

"I never gave tofu a shot, growing up. The food, I mean. But then I did, and I ended up liking it. Then I got a dog, and the rest was history." Nodding, Mister Tolly got up and patted his toga. "Leash?"

"It is Heaven, Mister Tolly. A leash is--"

"Yeah, okay, but Tofu can get hyper. I'm sure he'll try and steal someone's ice cream."

Chuckling, the gabriem set a hand on the old man's young shoulder, and gestured back toward the trees. They walked together, and headed back to Yathael's streets, with Tofu on his master's heels.

Keziah watched them leave and smiled. She drew a wing around herself, combed her feathers, and watched other souls step into the river under the guidance of a gabriem. A couple, a man and woman, summoned a six-month-old child, only to let the child back into the river, to let her soul move on. A woman summoned the memory of an ancestor. But most who came into the river left with a pet in their arms. A dog. A cat. Birds, rodents, horses, mustelids. Everything. Connections formed with a creature that could not speak their language, and yet every soul that stepped out of the river with their pet reborn had a smile that could not be made any other way.

Sighing, Keziah stood up, stretched her wings, and took to the sky. Benjamin was right. This was worth fighting for. This was worth existing for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, she walked the walls with Benjamin once again, both wearing their batlam runes. The rune no longer felt heavy, and she flexed her fingers experimentally, watching the massive silver and gold gauntlet follow the curve of her digits. To her right, the wall showed the endless clouds of Heaven's landscape, and the vortex beyond. To her left, Yathael, full of movement and wings.

"We do it for them," she said, and she gestured to the city with a wing.

Benjamin nodded, smiling. His armor was not nearly as bulky as hers, and his helmet left his face exposed.

"I am sorry you were born into this afterlife," he said. "Maybe it was different before my time. Maybe it was different, before humanity evolved into what it is now."

"Do you think the dread was brought on by the growth of human civilization?"

The captain shrugged. "I do not know. Perhaps the council knows."

Her head sunk. "But the council will not speak to us."

"Yes. We have no choice but to press on, young rapholem, and after what you saw yesterday, can you say you would abandon the souls of Heaven?"

"But I am a new angel. Was I truly needed?"

Benjamin gestured to her with his wing, smiling. "We need every angel, Keziah. Souls need us. And you will find reason to live through their happiness."

She took a deep breath. It was true. A million facts walked through her mind, not gained by experience or living, but by the nature of her birth, facts put into her by the fountain, facts that made her a holy warrior from her first breath. But facts meant nothing. Knowledge meant nothing. It was experience that gave life, even an afterlife, meaning, and humans carried that in abundance.

"I am rapholem," she said. "I... do not know how to care for souls. I can protect, but is my protection even required?"

Her captain laughed and gestured to the city. "You are still young. And in Heaven, you have freedom. Go back to the city, and indulge in its pleasures, Keziah. Do not enter the great library. Do not delve into history that will not answer your worries. The dread comes for us all, but for now, you are young and immune to its claws. Go, spend time with souls, and enjoy God's purpose."

"But I am not a gabriem. I--"

Again, her captain laughed and shook his head. "Trust me, Keziah. There are many souls that will prefer your... nature, to that of a gabriem's."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~30 years before the Arrival~~

Twenty years later.

Sometimes she wondered if angels should be called holy warriors at all. Benjamin insisted she spend more time with souls, instead of manning the walls with her fellow rapholem. Angels did not practice, not truly, so they did not test their weapons except rarely; the knowledge of combat was already in their minds. In truth, the holy warriors of Heaven were in a constant state of relaxation, and had been so for two thousand years, according to the great library. Not since the Spire's War had the council given a true order, and not since then had the angels gone to war. If it could even be called a war. Only a small portion of Heaven had gone to Hell. Humans would have called it a 'police action'.

Such chronic downtime undoubtedly stirred angel minds to frustration. Angels were supposed to be timeless, but the dread proved that incorrect. They needed stimulation.

And souls provided that stimulation in spades. Not always good stimulation, either.

"Please?" the young man asked.

"Please?" the young woman asked, with considerably less enthusiasm, and considerably more hidden desire.

Keziah stared down at the two souls. From this close, they could see through the tiny slits of her helmet to her azure eyes.

"Who let you up here again?" she asked. They stood on the castle wall surrounding Yathael, and thousands upon thousands of angels stood with Keziah, spaced out along the large gold bricks. Rapholem and mikalim all, they watched and waited, eyes cast out to the endless clouds and the distant vortex where nothing ever happened, as it always never happened.

The young man almost glowed with joy. "We just asked. We've never been told no."

"The walls of Yathael," Keziah said, "are here for your protection. If we are attacked, you would be in danger here."

The woman, a small thing with short blond hair and blue eyes, smiled up at Keziah and tugged on the hems of her white silk where they peeked out of the joints of her armor.

"Heaven's never been attacked," she said.

"Yeah," the man said. He too had blond hair and blue eyes, but was not related to the much smaller woman. "We have this conversation all the time with every rapholem, Keziah. You're protecting us from something that'll never happen."

Keziah did not sigh, despite the desire to do so. "Vigilance must be maintained."

The young man, Trevor, was not easily dissuaded. This was his fifth attempt to seduce Keziah in a single week, along with his girlfriend Penny. Surely there were gabriem that would be happy to indulge their sexual desires?

"It's fine, right?" Penny asked. "I see rapholem and mikalim down in the city all the time."

Keziah watched the little woman squirm. For all the small girlfriend's shyness, it was clear she was the mastermind behind this unending attempt to draw Keziah down from the wall.

Sighing, Keziah took off her helmet, exposing her dark skin, and how her white hair ran along one half of her head as cornrows, and hung free from the other, long and straight. Both souls stared at her dreamily.

"You two are certainly insistent," Keziah said, and with a small puff of gold light, dismissed her helmet entirely.

"Definitely," Trevor said. "Penny sa--I mean, I saw you near the river of memories, and I just knew we had to get to know you."

Keziah squinted at the two souls and glanced down the wall to the nearest rapholem. He spared only a quick glance to Keziah, long enough for the much older rapholem to smile at her with his gaze, before he set his eyes back out on the endless clouds of Heaven. This was, apparently, not an uncommon occurrence for the rapholem, to be pestered by eager souls.

"Come on, please?" Penny asked. "Just walk with us! The gabriem are nice, but they're... they're um..."

"Soft," Trevor said, nodding.

"You want a muscular woman?" Keziah asked. Penny was a dainty little thing, and certainly not muscular.

Penny squeaked. "Uh, I think he meant too nice. The gabriem are so nice! Always, constantly nice."

Keziah nodded. "That is true. Though all you need do is ask, and they can be more... assertive. Gabriem default to gentle, but many souls enjoy some very dominant fantasies with gabriem."

But Penny would not be convinced. "It's not the same."

"The same as what?"

"You know," Trevor said. "It's not really the same when the person you're talking to is just... doing anything and everything they can to make you happy, you know? Penny and I picked up on it from day one. Every gabriem is doing all they can to make us content."

"And that is a problem?"

"Yes!" Penny said, practically a squeak. "We like talking with the other angels, the rapholem and mikalim more, because they argue with us. Or, maybe not argue, but at least they have opinions of their own, and they don't mindlessly do whatever we want." Nodding, the little lady clutched Keziah's spear grip and gave it a tug toward the stairs of the wall. "Come on, hang out with us."

'Hang out' would undoubtedly include sex, and a lot of it. Souls were insatiable.

Sighing, Keziah dismissed the spear and tower shield, leaving her in only her massive armor. She towered over both the souls, and they looked up at her with wonder and awe. The stroke to her ego was delightful, and she steeled herself against it. An angel could get lost looking into the eyes of a soul, especially ones full of wonder.

To be worshiped, to indulge in being worshiped, was... problematic. The encyclopedia of knowledge Keziah was born with had made it clear the dangers of giving into such a desire. To be looked upon with awe for an angel's power and perfect beauty? The very thought was tantalizing, and it sent little sparks of warmth through Keziah's body as the two souls stared at her. What was a young angel to do but drown in such bliss?

A young angel was to steel herself until she was comfortable not letting the awe in the eyes of a soul tempt her.

"You'll come with us?" Trevor said, turning around at the stairs.

"Yes, I will come with you. It is my duty to serve the souls of Heaven." Keziah glared down at the young man, and followed him down the stairs, the wide gold bricks running down the tall wall to the awaiting clouds below. "But beware that I am no gabriem. I will not simply agree to whatever absurd request you might have."

The boy grinned back at her and led them toward the gold city.

Trevor had died in a car crash with his girlfriend, Penny, the two young college students having gotten far too excited about their new car. It was a tragedy as old as time, young people undone by their youth and excitement. Despite their insistence to the contrary, young people were not immortal, and did not, in fact, bounce when hitting solid surfaces at high speeds.

A true shame, as Trevor and Penny were good people. Kind, caring, and full of life. But death did not play favorites.

Trevor guided them through the city streets, and Keziah released her batlam rune, wearing potram instead. Both boy and girl stopped and stared at her for several moments before they resumed walking, though Trevor glanced back at her many times, eyes drinking in the sight of her revealing potram clothes, her dark skin, her gold jewelry, and her gold tattoos. Trevor was not a small man, but Keziah was nearly seven feet tall, muscular, with large breasts and abdominal muscles her clothes teased. She was a perfect warrior woman.

But the issue was not her perfect form, and their inability to stop staring at it. The issue was her, drowning in their gazes. The issue was her losing her sense of self and duty, and quickly getting lost to the lure of being a god to the eyes of these young souls. It was intoxicating, and these two were throwing their adoration at her as if she truly were some sort of deity.

They walked the streets, some gold, some silver, and made their way into the city past the tall buildings, many with open floors with no walls, held up my pillars and draped with white silk curtains, partly see-through. Through many, it was easy to see souls indulging in many joys, usually sexual, but not always. Some angels gathered around a young boy who painted. Others gathered around an older woman -- old in mind, young with her new prime body -- who sculpted.

Many souls did not create art, to Keziah's utter disbelief. She could not wrap her mind around artistic creation, on how to summon novel ideas, or even derivative ideas, from the blank canvas of the soul's wiles. Every action, every thought, Keziah had instructions in her mind for, at least to some degree or another. She was a creation, but souls were creation itself. And that was more godly than anything.

"Do the angels use the sanctums much?" Trevor asked. "For their own fun, I mean?"

Keziah shrugged. "Not in the way souls do, no."

"Why's that?" Penny asked.

"An angel's true desire is to please souls. If we pursue a joy that does not include a soul, it is... strange."

"That's so weird," Trevor said. "You can do anything in the sanctums. Anything! Penny and I tried out some pretty weird stuff, and apparently, giant minotaur and little nymph girl are perfectly reasonable fantasies?"

Keziah rolled her eyes and hit Trevor on the head with her wing, and when Penny giggled, she did the same for the little woman.

"I suppose it would be a waste," Keziah said, "for you two to learn some control now. Damage done. You are in Heaven, free to indulge in whatever reckless desire you want."

"Exactly," Penny said. "But it has to be dangerous if it's going to be fun!"

"Yeah," Trevor said. "I mean, I suppose Penny and I could play sanctum, uh, 'games', with strangers. That way things might not go according to plan. But Penny's shy."

Penny squirmed, grabbed Trevor's arm, yanked on it, and hit his chest with her forehead, hiding her face. She really was a tiny thing, and judging from the conversation, enjoyed being so, compared to her large boyfriend. Minotaur and nymph? From the tiny, devious little peeks Penny made to Keziah, such sexual games had been her idea.

"So what you want," Keziah said, "is for an angel to be willing to say no?"

"Exactly," Trevor said. "Well, I mean, argue with us! Tell us what you want, instead of just 'whatever you desire is my desire' sorta canned response."

Keziah shook her head. "It is not a 'canned' response. That is how gabriem truly feel."

"I guess," Penny said. "But it's still no fun when someone just agrees with everything you want. And the last gabriem we asked about this said rapholem and mikalim are less friendly."

Imagine coming to a land meant to please, only to find yourself displeased, by it being overly pleasing. Keziah rolled her eyes subtly.

The two youngsters took her to a den, where several other young souls lay about on white furniture. The walls were solid gold, and the floor was lush with a thick white carpet that felt almost like clouds on the skin. Outside the room, people went about their business, souls pursuing whatever desires they wanted, while here in the den, a half dozen young souls stared at Keziah with awe. Friends of Penny and Trevor? So much for the young woman being shy.

"This," Keziah said, gesturing at the small group with her wings, "is far more than simply the two of you."

"Yeah," Trevor said, rubbing the back of his neck. "The others haven't ever seen a rapholem up close, and they were intrigued. And a bit scared."

"Scared?"

"Yeah, scared! Look at you. You're... a bit scary."

Keziah glanced at a tall mirror that adorned a wall and analyzed her reflection. Upon birth, she had seen her perfect body as supremacy. It made sense for simple souls to look at her and be afraid. But that was then. Even now, the room filled with young souls looking at her with wide eyes, she could no longer understand why she thought that. Did they not understand how special they were? How meaningless she was?

Still, as the eight souls, men and women, stared at her, Keziah's resolve wavered. The way they looked at her, gawked, ogled, and let their mouths drop open with awe as she stood between them, sent more warmth tingling down her spine.

"You're... huge," a woman said. A tall woman herself, and curvy too, but a tiny thing compared to Keziah.

"Rapholem are the shields of Heaven," Keziah said. "We must be sturdy. We are the rock that breaks the water."

The souls nodded, but she could see her words were not registering. They wanted to listen to her speak, but not because they wanted to hear her message. They wanted to hear her voice. They wanted to see her form. They wanted to admire her.

If Keziah were older, could she resist? This deadly lure. This siren song.

Worship. Pride.

The eight souls sat around her, half lying on their sides, half touching themselves as they stared at her, and their hungry gazes sent more warmth through Keziah's body. If she were a gabriem, she could use an aura to calm them, but as a rapholem, her auras were useless here.

She offered each soul a cold stare, but that only seemed to arouse the youngsters even more. Perhaps if she stepped on them? No, that would undoubtedly backfire. But then again, why was she resisting? Why not be the deadly angel they feared and worshiped?

She slid her flimsy toga from her shoulders, undid the knot that held it to her hips, and let the fabric fall and disperse in a golden puff of light.

"Wow," Trevor said. He sat nearby, staring at Keziah's profile, and Penny sat on his lap, also staring at Keziah. One of his hands groped his lover's breast through her toga, and she barely noticed, her eyes unable to break away from Keziah's body.

Keziah glanced at her reflection once again. This was what these souls worshipped, this glorious, tall, muscular body that still wove feminine curves like a blade. Large, soft breasts that sat on her hard chest. Abs that highlighted the curves of her slim waist. Her firm, plentiful buttocks, large curves that sat upon her hard, thick legs. She was the epitome of the human form, perfection incarnate, forged by Heaven herself to be the ultimate expression of power and beauty.

Keziah's body responded to the staring eyes. Her nipples hardened, lifting the gold ring piercings that dangled from them. Her blood flowed down between her thighs, and the tiny gold ring piercing her clitoris hood sent a small electric jolt through her. She had never stood naked in front of souls like this before, with the obvious intent to be the center of their sexual desire, but the power of their eyes drinking her in set her body alight.

What would a gabriem do? They would be polite. They would ask the souls what they could do for them. These souls did not want that. They wanted Keziah to demand her own desires. And she had them.

Keziah pointed at Penny, glared at her, squinted as if the tiny woman had offended her, and pointed at the carpet at Keziah's feet. Penny gulped, crawled off her lover's lap, and knelt in front of her, eyes wide and staring up at Keziah before settling her eyes on Keziah's awaiting slit.

"While I am here, you are all my servants." With a frown, Keziah spread her enormous wings and buried the room in gorgeous white feathers. "Now. Devour me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~♥♥♥~~

Over the hours, they flowed and moved through various positions. Flesh moved against flesh. Bodies buried her wings, but that was all right. She was far too strong for their light weight to hurt them. Lips wrapped her nipples, and she encouraged them to suckle on her amazing breasts as she relaxed on her back. She spread her legs, and four men slipped in between her thick thighs.

"Angel," one whispered. "Can I... get under you?"

She chuckled, sat up, and helped escort the young man under her body on the bed. With a satisfied moan, she lay upon him and let the women resume worshiping her breasts, her flat, tiny waist, her muscular arms and shoulders, while the three other men found positions around her legs.

Chuckling, Keziah reached out, and guided Trevor to sit on her waist instead. The boy stared down at her, wide-eyed, lost to his desire, drinking in her azure eyes and her dark skin before his eyes locked onto her breasts and gold nipple piercings. Penny and the other women took Keziah's breasts, pushed them together, and Trevor quivered from head to toe as his cock disappeared into Keziah's bosom.

With the help of the other women, the other men were treated to her body, too. Hands roamed between Keziah's delicious legs, and guided the cocks of the other men into her, the man underneath her penetrating her large, flawless ass, while two other cocks pressed against her pussy. Their shafts rubbed against her clitoris and lips, soaked themselves in her juices, and fought for room. Keziah reached around Trevor, down to her thighs, and spread her lips apart for the two men.

Both men pushed into her, two cocks side by side spreading her pussy apart, and Keziah closed her eyes and melted back onto the man underneath her. They could not penetrate her deeply in such a position, but the girth of two cocks fighting for space inside her slit more than made up for it, and she clenched her boiling pussy on them, earning groans from the two men, and delightful sparks of bliss from her insides.

The men coated her in cum. Trevor soaked her breasts in white, and the other men coated her insides, as well. The girls watched in fascination, mouths hanging open, eyes drifting over Keziah's skin as Trevor's second, third, and fourth orgasm painted her breasts nearly the same color as her white hair.

And when the men were finally spent, the women replaced them. They locked their lips around Keziah's nipples once again, buried her pussy with their tongues, licked the curves of her ass, the underside of her neck, and the dip of her navel. And, at Keziah's guidance, the men pleasured the women with their fingers and tongues as well, all while the four ladies focused on worshiping Keziah's body.

A haze of sex and infatuation that lasted the entire day.

~~♥♥♥~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She sat up between the eight bodies and looked across their naked flesh. Breasts upon breasts, lips upon lips. Thighs still coated in layers of wet mirth. Arms strung about, half hugging as the souls panted with exhaustion and sweat.

Gabriem enjoyed this sort of indulgence almost nightly. It was Keziah's first time having an orgy. Did the souls worship the gabriem as they worshiped her? It transcended sexual attraction and into awe and reverence, the men and women staring at her, even as the four boys each found space to penetrate her at the same time. Hands and mouths had massaged each and every inch of her body, and the men and women both had covered her in juices. And when they were done, they caressed her skin, combed her hair, rubbed her muscles with oils, and spoke of her beauty and power in hushed whispers. They exalted her.

She could become addicted to this. Easily. Perhaps she already was. She knew of gabriem who spent years in a constant orgy, but she had thought their reason purely sexual, not because of worship.

Penny and Trevor both nuzzled up against her front, half strewn across her lap. Large as she was compared to the little souls, they had no trouble fitting together against her thighs, and both souls kissed her breasts before wrapping their lips around her nipples. Instant shocks of pleasure coursed through Keziah's body once again, but not solely due to their hungry mouths. Their eyes lured her in, drowned her in their admiration, and she set her hands on their heads and combed their hair with her fingers as they kissed her areola and licked her gold nipple rings.

"Are you not satisfied?" she asked.

Penny pulled away, every inch of her dainty, naked little form blushing. "Yes, but... we still want to touch you."

Trevor nodded, not bothering to release his suckling grip on her breast.

Keziah held back the urge to moan. Orgasm aftershocks still danced along her thighs, and despite satisfying eight souls, she could go again, if tempted. And Trevor was tempting her. But she found some semblance of self-control and gently pushed the young man free of her breast.

"It is important souls do not become... entrenched, in certain indulgences," she said. "Heaven has many joys to be tasted. You should try many, and soothe your souls with its fruits."

"That's what the gabriem said," Penny said, nodding. "But..." Shrugging, the little lady reached out and ran a hand along the feathers of Keziah's wing. "But, I mean... we can stay here for a while, right? You like it here with us, right?"

Again, Keziah took a slow, deep breath, and reached into her mind for the part of her that knew better. She was no gabriem, and certainly no muse, and yet here she lay, naked bodies pressed to hers, and if she let them, the souls would fuck her again, and again, and again.

"Alright," she said. "Just for tonight."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~10 years before the Arrival~~

Twenty years later.

Keziah leaned back on the white couch and set a hand on the head of the young woman devouring her breasts. As Penny, sweet little Penny, bathed Keziah's nipples in wet warmth, Trevor, underneath Keziah, groaned as he struggled with her weight. Keziah was quite a large woman, after all, but Trevor was more than willing to manage her mass for an opportunity to penetrate her ass.

Keziah smiled out at the room filled with souls. The group had grown from eight to thirty over the years, equally men and women, and tonight, each had spent themselves pleasuring Keziah. Orgasm after orgasm, all under the hypnotized gaze of worshiping souls.

Relaxing back on Trevor's body, Keziah guided Penny's mouth down her sternum, down her perfect stomach glistening with sweat, down her smooth mons, down to--

The curtains swung open, exposing the light of day into the den of bodies. Souls stirred from their sleep, naked and squashed together, and they blinked at the newcomer. An angel.

Keziah sat up, set Penny on the couch beside her, and stood up, leaving Trevor behind.

"Kelila," Keziah said. She summoned her potram clothes and stood strong, steadfast, and ignored the naked bodies at her feet.

"Keziah, was it?" Kelila asked. She folded her arms across her chest, pale skin almost shimmering, and like all gabriem, her potram clothes were absurdly revealing, exposing a tall, slim body of soft, enormous curves. Keziah was muscle. Kelila was the sort of softness souls dreamed about embracing. Her hair was red, and flowed down to her hips. And her jade eyes took in the aftermath of the monumental orgy as if she had seen it a million times before.

Kelila was ancient. A muse. As old as human civilization, and older still. She had seen it a million times before.

"Yes, Kelila. I... did not know you were inquiring about me."

Kelila again cast her glance around the room, and the souls within stared at her. Greater angels rarely spoke with souls. They rarely spoke with regular angels either. Keziah stood her ground and did her best to appear strong and stoic, as all rapholem should be, but Kelila locked eyes with her, and Keziah's grace trembled within.

"Come with me, Keziah," the muse said with a gentle flutter of her wings. "I would speak with you. Now." And before Keziah could respond, the muse walked -- strutted -- out of the den.

Keziah spared a glance back at her flock, gulped, and left. The muse took to the air, and Keziah flew after her.

"There is a reason gabriem are the ones who help souls in Heaven," Kelila said, gliding almost silently through the skies above Yathael. "There is a reason rapholem and mikalim such as yourself do not bathe themselves in the adoration of so many souls so quickly."

Keziah winced. "Have I been neglecting my duties?"

Kelila chuckled. It was a warm sound, almost a song.

"Duties? Heaven has not had duties for a billion years, young rapholem, beyond a few small skirmishes with Hell. Your captain and general do not mind if you spend time with souls, Keziah. It is encouraged, as few things hold off the dread as well as the love of souls."

Keziah almost gasped. Angels did not speak of the dread to each other, not so casually. Perhaps the rumors of the greater angels' callous words were true.

"Then, may I ask why a muse graces me with her presence?"

Kelila looked at Keziah as they soared, and the woman, beauty incarnate, smiled. It was a natural facial expression on a normal gabriem, but a muse was not normal, and Keziah struggled to maintain eye contact.

Instead of answering, Kelila found them a tall building to perch upon, and she sat on the rooftop edge so her legs dangled over it.

"Sit," she said.

Keziah sucked in a silent breath and sat.

"The reason gabriem help souls more than mikalim and rapholem," Kelila continued, "is because they are more familiar and comfortable dancing on the edge of adoration and companionship. Dancing on the edge of temptation."

"Dancing on the edge?"

"Many souls become infatuated with angels, Keziah, as you are no doubt aware. To have a dozen souls, men, press themselves shoulder to shoulder so they can penetrate every part of you, all at the same time, is a sexual indulgence many gabriem enjoy nightly. I am aware you have been enjoying being at the center of such attention for twenty years now."

Keziah suppressed the urge to squirm.

Kelila smiled. "But that is not the issue. The issue is when a soul's desire reaches beyond the sexual, and into worship."

Worship. The word alone sent little jolts through Keziah's body, and she wrapped her wings around herself.

"You think I have let myself become the target of worship," Keziah said.

"Yes, I do."

"And that... warrants the intervention of a muse?" There were only nine muses in existence, just as there were only nine reapers and nine guardians, and the greater angels did not randomly involve themselves in minor affairs. A young rapholem like Keziah hardly earned the attention of a being so powerful, they could affect the surface world.

"Call it a favor to a friend," Kelila said. "An old friend."

"An old friend? Wha--"

Kelila dismissed her point with a gentle flap of a wing, and Keziah let it go. Curiosity burned in her, but if the greater angel did not wish to share, Keziah could not make her.

"It is intoxicating, though, isn't it?" Kelila sighed with unknown pleasure, leaned back, set her weight on her palms, and stared up at the star-lit sky, lost in memories Keziah could not fathom. "I have bathed in the worship of untold souls over tens of thousands of years, Keziah. In Heaven, I have swum through bodies, floated on flesh, and basked in idolization, lust, and infatuation. But it is nothing compared to the worship of a soul still on the surface. To enter the mind of a living soul? You have no idea the power their gaze brings. There have been souls on the surface who worshiped me as a literal god, built shrines to me, and when I touched their dreams, they sculpted the first works of art in my image. Us muses have tasted godliness closer than any other angel, Keziah, and we flirt with that temptation each and every time we touch the minds of living souls."

Keziah stared. It was true that muses were the most beautiful of the angels, and Kelila's long, flowing red hair, her freckles, her absurd curves, and her jade eyes were radiant even by angel standards. Muses normally kept to themselves, avoiding even souls, and now, it was clear why. Kelila had to resist temptation with every breath.

"Have you noticed," Kelila said, "as humanity grows and civilization expands, Heaven -- and Hell -- change to match? When I was first born, millions of years ago, Heaven was not cities of gold and beaches of silver. My memories blur, and the march of time alters all, but I can still remember wisps of the past, of how Heaven was not as solid back then, and how souls were far less... deep. Five hundred thousand years ago, a soul was not as you know them now, but even then, God's plan was there, and kernels of human desire blossomed in their minds."

Keziah stared, listening, absorbing. What the muse spoke of was not found in texts in the great libraries, accounts of the evolution of the afterlife before humans developed language.

Kelila closed her eyes, face still aimed up at the starry sky. "It makes you wonder, young rapholem. What were Heaven and Hell like a billion years ago? What were we angels like? The dread comes for us now, but why now? I can only surmise it is because humanity has grown, has changed, evolved, and become this massive thing that we struggle to manage. It affects Heaven, changes it, changes us, and the Great Tower evolves. Who knows what the future will hold? For over two billion years, the Great Tower has stood, and in the past two centuries alone, humanity's numbers have swelled beyond comprehension. Time itself stretches to accommodate, and where millennia once blurred together, now each and every day is long and full of events. Time has slowed."

Keziah listened, frozen, and Kelila leaned over to her.

"That is a deadly change, Keziah. It means every moment of every day, every minute, every second, where an angel once watched over the flow of time with years passing as breaths, now you can lose yourself to those moments. And where once a million souls were dotted on by angels, untold wings per soul, now souls outnumber us, and we are drowning in their gazes. Heaven and Hell overflow with souls. Demons feast and grow in numbers far greater than the council will admit, and we angels manage the souls as best we can. And sometimes, even a rapholem can fall prey to the lure of Lucifer's weakness."

From frozen to petrified, Keziah tried to gulp, and failed.

Kelila continued. "Do not fret, young rapholem. I am here to save you from yourself." The beautiful angel slid in closer, a tad smaller than Keziah, and the muse smiled up at her. "Do you know why Lucifer was cast down?"

"God created His first four children. Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel, and Michael. Lucifer was the only one who would not bow to souls. He thought it absurd and decided he would rule the Great Tower instead, including the surface world."

"Yes," the muse said, and she brushed her closer wing along Keziah's. "Most consider it his hubris, that he thought he could rule all humanity. But us muses have a different theory that perhaps Lucifer himself did not realize. That he craved the worship of souls, the same as you crave to go back to your group at this very moment. You want to drown in their bodies, and their gazes. You want to stare into their eyes, drink of their souls, and wash yourself with their juices."

Keziah winced and looked down. "I do."

"As Lucifer did, I am sure. The archangel likely wanted what you want, but on a cosmic scale we simple angels could never appreciate. Imagine, a being beyond imagining, drowning in the gaze of billions of souls, worshiping him with every fiber of their being?"

"I have thirty souls in my group," Keziah said, "and that is enough to leave me overwhelmed. They look at me -- my body, my wings. They listen to my voice, and they throw themselves at my feet. They listen to my voice and bend to my will."

Kelila smiled. "But..."

"But... I am an angel of Heaven. A holy warrior. A rapholem, a knight of God. It is my duty to serve them."

"Then I suggest you tell your congregation that you are their servant, and not the other way around." Nodding, Kelila nudged Keziah with an elbow. "Remind them. Bow to them. Kneel to them. It may not be what they want, but it is important for both them, and for you."

Keziah gulped. Twenty years she had spent telling these souls what to do, and twenty years they had indulged her every request. Twenty years her captain let her leave the wall, and flirt with temptation. Perhaps he thought she was above temptation? He was wrong.

"I will do so," Keziah said.

"Good."

The two angels looked down at the distant streets below, teeming with souls, millions of them, and Keziah sighed.

"Is this a common occurrence?" she asked. "There are many angels. Surely--"

"Quite common. There are dozens of angels in Yathael alone lost to this addiction at this very moment. It may take them a thousand years to free themselves of its grip."

Keziah stared. "A thousand years. Does no one help them?"

"Of course. Gabriem help when they can, and I would have left a regular gabriem to tend to you, if I had not been asked to intervene."

A thousand years. A millennium of every moment of every day, drowning in flesh, penetrated by tongue and length, filled every moment of every day, while fingers massaged every inch of her body, breasts pressed to hers, and soulful eyes gazed at her with veneration.

"Then I must... thank you. I was lost."

Kelila laughed. It sounded like a song.

"Don't say that, young rapholem. You wish you were back in your den, right now, with young women rubbing their small bodies against you, and older women using their breasts to caress every inch of you, while men struggle to find space to fill you."

The memory was beyond pleasant and almost drowned Keziah once again.

"Yes."

"Then far be it from a muse to deny you the simple pleasures of Heaven, young rapholem. Go back to your congregation and tell them there has been a change. Make sure they understand. And then, maybe tomorrow, find a soul who does not know you. Maybe find several. Offer yourself to them, and you will again enjoy the touch of souls. Just, without the worship. Far be it from a gabriem to tell you not to dance on the edge of temptation."

"Without adoration." Keziah nodded and made to stand, but Kelila held out a hand and stopped her. "Muse?"

"Keziah. Young rapholem. I..." The muse looked back down to the distant streets below, and listened to the hum of the thousands that walked the silver and gold. "If Netanel speaks to you, understand that he speaks from a place of sorrow. Listen to him and leave him be."

"Netanel? Net--Netanel, the guardian angel!? What would he wish with me?"

"Nothing," Kelila said, and her eyes hung heavy as she watched the streets below, legs dangling, and soon, wings drooping. "Nothing."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~One year before the Arrival~~

Nine years later.

She stood upon the divine stairway, and watched new souls enter Heaven. Down the stairs, the gold portal opened onto a white marble stairway, and fresh souls stepped out from the gold mist into pure confusion. Keziah watched each soul, and her heart warmed with each one that realized what they were looking at.

To their left and right, endless clouds flowed beneath the beautiful sky of the universe. Above, the stairway led to the great gates of Heaven, colossal structures with gold bars as tall as human skyscrapers. Near the gate was where Keziah stood, fellow rapholem standing upon each large stair in full armor with spear and shield at arms. The stairway was wide, and the two rows of rapholem numbered in the thousands, making sure each human who ascended the stairs did not fall, and questions were answered.

Keziah had manned the stairs almost every day since her conversation with Kelila. Sometimes she visited the souls of Yathael, to indulge in sexual bliss, or to witness the grace-breaking emotional depth of souls who summoned their pets from the river of memories. On several occasions, Keziah bore witness to a soul rediscovering a loved one, a wife or husband who waited in death for their mate to join them in the afterlife, and on those occasions, Keziah stared with wonder. How could she have ever felt herself worthy of worship, compared to the emotional depth of a soul?

She looked down the stairs to the nearest rapholem. A man from Avinoam.

"Welcome to Heaven," he said to a soul walking up the stairs past them.

The woman, a soul not yet gifted her prime body, walked over to the angel beside Keziah, and gawked up at him and his armor. She had to be ninety, but even without her prime body yet, the stairs of Heaven and its soothing aura would not let her feel pain, and she stood up straight, probably for the first time in many years.

"Heaven?" she asked. "But... I'm not... religious."

"Heaven extends her arms to all who cherish others, soul. To all who empathize." The rapholem, Yinon, spread his wings wide, and the soul stared at his feathers with awe. "You valued life, and the lives of others. Heaven welcomes you." He was oddly cheerful for a rapholem, almost as cheerful as a gabriem, carrying none of the stoicism rapholem were known for. Angels may have been creations, but they were not so simple as to be summarized by a single sentence.

The joy on the soul's face was the purest salve, and Keziah smiled inside her helmet. But the old woman also looked at Yinon's wings with awe, and a small, familiar jolt of envy worked its way through Keziah's insides. Yinon did not react to the soul's wonder, and instead gestured her up the stairs. The soul smiled, nodded, and marched up the stairs to the colossal, golden gates.

Why did Yinon not bask in the woman's eyes? Why did he not drown in her awe? There had been awe, and the mere sight of it by proxy had been enough to stir Keziah. Why was she so sensitive to the desire to be worshiped compared to most other angels?

A question for the council. The silent council.

Keziah glared out through her helmet at the council angel who stood at the apex of the stairs not far from her. Zadkiel. Like all council angels, they stood twelve feet tall, with thick armor that left only their glowing gold eyes exposed. Keziah had never seen a council angel without their armor, and she knew better than to ask. The juggernaut of might stood completely still, palms resting on the grip of their enormous sword, its tip aimed down and resting upon the base of a white and gold pulpit. But it was the six wings that drew the attention of most souls as they walked by.

It was Zadkiel's shift, according to Benjamin. A shift of a hundred years without movement, without sound, without anything other than the vigil. Keziah did not know if she could hold still for a hundred years straight. Some rapholem on the wall did so, ancient rapholem millions of years old who had somehow resisted the dread, but to Keziah--

An image wandered through her mind, and she froze. The endless clouds of Heaven before her, the vortex in the distance. A memory? The strange image stood out in her mind, different from the others. The height of the viewer was slightly off.

She blinked, and the strange image vanished. She looked to the rapholem on her left, but the man stared ahead, unknowing, and spoke to another passing soul.

A new image cut through Keziah's mind again, and the souls on the stairs changed. Her, standing on the stairs of the gates of Heaven as she was now, but again the height was slightly off. The hazy memory mingled with reality, souls overlaid each other, all a blur that she could not piece together. And just like that, the strange image was gone, and she was herself again, standing her vigil on the stairs of the gates of Heaven.

She looked up to the council angel Zadkiel, and with the same strange inevitability, a haze clouded her vision. A different council angel stood there. Sazariah? Six wings, and the same two-handed sword all council angels wielded, but the shape of the body was slightly different. All council angels were androgynous, but they did not look identical, and some difference in the silver and gold armor gave them away.

The image faded, and once again, Zadkiel stood at their post, unmoving, watching the souls walk on by and be granted their prime bodies by the gates of Heaven.

"Yinon," Keziah said.

"Yes, Keziah?" Yinon did not look her way, but only so he could watch the souls walk on by.

"Are you seeing anything strange?"

"Strange?"

"Yes... strange."

Her fellow rapholem shrugged his wings. "I see only souls and angels, Keziah." At last he looked at her and tilted his head, the narrow slit of his helmet showing confused eyes. "What do you see?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Yes. I see... I see what you see."

Yinon looked back at the crowd and scanned it. "Then you see nothing strange, Keziah. I see nothing strange. I have done many vigils on these stairs, over thousands of years. I see what I always see."

Keziah nodded. "Then perhaps I am simply distracted."

"Perhaps." And as if she had not said a word, Yinon returned to his duty, and happily answered the questions of passing souls.

Keziah looked around at the other angels, including those across the stairs facing her. None of them reacted out of the ordinary, not even a flutter of their wings. Whatever she had witnessed, apparently only she had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~One month before the Arrival~~

The strange memories -- if that was what they were -- came and went randomly. Innocent things, they danced through her eyes and went just as quickly, giving her glimpses of places she was looking at, except through the eyes of another.

She spoke of them to no one. Something was going on, and everyone knew it. Angels whispered of the dread growing in power, and the increasing number of angels committing suicide. The older you were, the higher the chance you would kill yourself. Young angels like Keziah were freshly born, and growing in number as the great dread had its way with the angels of Heaven. A few supposedly died on trips to Hell, but they were the exception. Most angels died at their own hand.

Angels were dying in droves, and the council said nothing.

Some angels whispered of rebellion, but no one took them seriously. No matter how problematic the council became, every angel wanted to help the souls of Heaven. Deep down in their bones, in their grace, every angel wanted to serve the Great Tower, the souls of Heaven, and to perpetuate the great cycle. Even though they knew not why, for what grand purpose the cycle existed, for what reason the Great Tower existed, they wanted to help it.

But angels spoke of the council, spoke of their silence, and some demanded answers. A few demanded action.

It was not until a reaper, Ezekial, approached the three council in Avinoam, only to be sent away without the council breaking their silence, did more angels speak loudly about the council. The Heavenly Islands Avinoam and Ravid were the first to speak openly, and angels visited from the islands, inquiring with the other islands about the council. Each island had three council angels. Perhaps other council angels spoke, the angels wondered. No, they did not. All twenty-seven council angels were silent.

For the first time in the history of existence, angels were concerned their leaders were corrupted in some way, broken, or... something. Why did they not speak? Were they succumbing to the dread, too? They were ancient, the oldest of all living angels. But as far as anyone knew, no council angel had ever committed suicide.

Keziah stood her watch on the stairs of the gates of Heaven and ignored the troubles as best she could. With her fellow rapholem, she could at least pretend everything was fine. And with new souls forever walking the stairs up to Heaven, Keziah was given the opportunity to meet their eyes. The eyes of new souls coming to the afterlife were full of confusion and trepidation at first, but the sight of them exploding with joy and euphoria was intoxicating. A reason to continue living.

Another unknown memory cut through her mind, but not of the stairs before her. Something else. A place full of bone, black metal, and red flame. A place where the sky was darker than night and showed no stars. A bridge of bone crossed over lava, and upon the bridge, souls marched toward a colossal gate of doom. Wind seared their flesh, hot enough to burn, and small pebbles blew along the hurricane winds, cutting their skin. Small fires lined the bridge, burning in braziers and dangling black skulls.

Each soul that reached the enormous archway of death was grabbed by an angel wearing the royam rune, the rune Keziah had yet to wear. The angels plucked hot pokers from fires and branded the forehead of each soul. The fires were from Hell, as were the pokers, tools for the angels to use. The poker itself sported no number, but that did not stop it from burning and cutting a number into each forehead it touched, drawing a scream from the soul each time. 34. 412. 621.

On the archway above, words were written in Estian. 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.' The Gates of Hell.

Keziah had never seen the Gates of Hell before. Young angels were never given that duty, and she had yet to visit. Then how could she see it? How could she... remember it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~The day of the Arrival~~

On that day, everything changed.

Keziah stood near the top of the stairs, not far from the gate of Heaven, and not far from the council angel Zadkiel either. Despite her attempts to control herself, her gaze flicked toward the large angel frequently, looking to see if the monolith so much as flinched. They did not. Committed to their hundred-year vigil, Zadkiel stood at the pulpit, and guarded the path to bliss and joy.

A random bonk sound announced something strange, and all nearby rapholem looked to the gate. A soul stepped back, clutching their head.

"What gives?" the woman soul said. "That hurt!" She stepped back from the gate and stared up at the colossal gold bars she had tried to step between and through. Tried, and failed. No soul who had climbed the stairs of Heaven had ever failed to pass through the gate, not in the history of existence.

The gabriem at the gate stared at her. The nearby rapholem stared at her. And for the first time, the council angel turned, a juggernaut that almost creaked with age, and stared at the soul, their six wings spread.

A siren erupted, and drowned the area in sound, a thousand invisible trumpets crushing the stairs with one obvious message: intruder. All the souls covered their ears, some falling to their knees, and once they realized the angels stared at a single soul, they stepped or crawled away from the woman.

"What's going on?" the woman asked, rubbing her forehead and looking around in bewilderment. "What's going on? I don't understand! I don't--" Gold beams shot down from the sky, surrounding the soul in a cage. "I don't understand! Someone tell me, what's going on!? Please, I--"

The floor opened up beneath the soul, a hole. Keziah ran up the stairs, abandoning her post, and she stared down at the floor. It wasn't just a hole. It was a portal, and it closed only moments after swallowing the helpless soul. But Keziah had seen into it, saw the razor spikes of its inner walls, the screaming remnants within, and the raging flames far below. That was the portal to Hell, the portal that waited beyond the Gates of Hell.

It had come here. It had come to Heaven. It had taken a soul.

Keziah looked up at Zadkiel, but the council angel said nothing. They frowned, a mostly hidden thing behind the t-slit of their helmet's opening. They stepped back to the pulpit and resumed their vigil. It took every bit of control Keziah had to not scream at her superior's superior's superior, to demand an explanation. But if the reaper Ezekial could not pull an answer from the council, what chance did she, a young, first-rank rapholem have?

She took her post once again, and every angel nearby did the same. But not even her fellow rapholem could fully wipe the look of confusion from their eyes.

It happened six more times over the next few days, souls who failed the cross the gate, and were ripped away by the portal to Hell. And two weeks later, it happened again, to two red-headed souls, a brother and sister.