CHAPTER 80: SOLO GONE WRONG
Far below, in the lower level of the Abyss.
Helel ran until the world felt like it was pressing teeth into his lungs.
Not metaphorical teeth.
Not poetic teeth.
Actual pressure.
Actual bite.
The Abyss did not chase like a beast.
It did not sprint.
It did not roar.
It simply was, and the deeper he cut, the more it became undeniable that the place had been designed not to stop you, but to make you regret wanting to move at all.
He didn’t climb.
He didn’t spiral.
He didn’t search for paths or safe landings.
He cut downward.
Through gravity.
Through Hellion laughter.
Through theatre-hunger.
The Abyss had no wind.
No lift.
No mercy.
Only weight.
And the deeper he went, the more the air became thick with that strange, rotten delight the Hellions carried in their throats.
Like an audience already seated, waiting for the next tragedy to perform itself.
The stone under his boots was uneven, sharp-edged, carved by time and cruelty.
His boots struck it fast.
Hard.
Rhythmic.
Like a drumbeat announcing war.
Like a countdown.
Like the sound of a blade being sharpened by running.
He didn’t stop to listen.
He didn’t stop to think.
Because thinking meant imagining what Yael might be enduring.
Because imagining meant seeing it.
And if he saw it, he would tear the Abyss apart with his bare hands before he reached the end of the stairs.
So he ran.
Somewhere in the dark, a Hellion voice called, sing-song.
“Brother, brother, the show begins!”
Helel’s lip curled, not even bothering to look.
“Oh shut up!” He snarled, voice heavy with breathing.
The hellion darted in from the side like a thrown knife, moving like something born to interrupt.
Helel didn’t slow.
He didn’t shift his footing carefully—
He simply kicked it as soon as it appeared.
Helel slammed into its ribcage with the clean brutality of instinct.
The creature folded.
It fell backward.
Then dropped through the crevasse in the middle of the Abyss tower screaming, laughter breaking into panic mid-fall.
Helel didn’t spare it a glance.
He continued to descend.
The stairs narrowed.
Widened.
Narrowed again.
Then the architecture changed.
The stairs widened into a junction.
A hollow space where the darkness pooled deeper, thick as oil.
And behind a broken pillar of black stone, there was movement.
Not Hellion.
Not shadow.
Not one of the Abyss’s hungry tricks.
It was… a familiar posture.
A silhouette at first.
But a body that held pain like discipline.
Helel’s entire body jolted, as if his blood recognized the shape before his eyes did.
Yael.
Hurt but alive and could be considered well.
Helel’s breath caught at once.
Just enough for rage to flood him hot and clean.
Then settle into relief so sharp it almost hurt.
“You annoying stressful little brother— Yael!” Helel breathed, voice breaking on the name like it had teeth too.
He crossed the distance in three strides, grabbed Yael, and pulled him into a one-armed hug that was half relief and half furious verification.
Like: You are real, you are here, you are not gone— I found you.
Then he added muffled to the younger brother’s warm shoulder. “Ha! I knew you’d escape.”
Yael’s body was tense for a heartbeat.
Then he lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
And in that single look, everything was said.
“You came.”
“Of course I did.”
“We’re not done.”
Yael didn’t smile.
Helel didn’t laugh.
But both of their eyes were alive, and that was enough.
Helel’s hand tightened on Yael’s shoulder, grip firm like a confirmation of a vow.
Then the air shifted—
A second figure stepped out from deeper dark.
Calm.
Silent.
A presence like an old blade drawn from a forgotten war.
Muriel.
The name didn’t hit Helel’s mind first.
The weight did.
The kind of weight that made the world feel suddenly less like chaos and more like a battlefield.
Helel stiffened.
His grip tightened on his sword, blade angling toward the new arrival without thought.
The motion was automatic.
Protective.
He shifted Yael behind him instinctively.
A shield.
A brother.
A wall.
Muriel didn’t greet.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t waste breath.
He didn’t come forward with drama, didn’t posture.
He simply looked at them like a commander checking whether the soldiers in front of him were still capable of moving.
Then he spoke one sentence.
One instruction.
The kind you gave to men when the world was burning and you didn’t have time for fear.
“We move.”
Helel blinked, recognition fully snapping into place like a lock.
“You’re… Muriel.” He said the name like it was both a warning and a memory.
Muriel’s gaze didn’t linger.
It didn’t soften.
It didn’t even confirm familiarity.
It simply accepted that the name had been spoken, and that the next step was action.
Also, as if the Abyss itself had been listening for that cue…
The emberlight flickered.
The distant hum of Hellion laughter swelled.
Not louder in volume.
Louder in meaning.
Like curtains rising.
Audience waking.
The Abyss, delighted, shifted its stage lights.
Somewhere far below, Samael smiled without being seen.
Because he felt it.
The moment his prey started running.
The moment the next act began.
And the Abyss…
Prepared to set its stage.
Back in the Eternal Realm—
Suryel behaved.
That was the first thing that flagged suspicion.
Not spoken.
Not performed.
Not announced.
Just quietly worn like a clean robe over a bleeding wound.
She did not storm the Abyss.
She did not cry in the Lapis Lazuli corridors.
She did not press her forehead against the Archive Tower’s walls and whispered prayers into the light.
She did not beg Metatron.
She did not seek Authority nor Ophiel.
She did not ask her brothers for comfort in the way she knew they would offer it.
She behaved and she studied…
Quietly.
And if anyone thought obedience meant surrender.
They did not understand what kind of creature Suryel was when she stopped burning outward.
Suryel was not the type to break loudly.
She was the type to forge silently.
The Archive Tower became her sanctuary.
Not because it soothed her.
But because it sharpened her.
The tower smelled like ink and ancient memory.
Like pages that had outlived wars.
Its shelves rose high and endless.
Like the spine of a creature too old to name.
Scribes passed in quiet lines, their hands full of scrolls, their eyes trained forward.
Sentinels stood like statues in corners, armored in discipline, gaze never wandering.
The Eternal Host moved through the halls in soft murmurs, careful as if the tower itself was listening.
Suryel moved through it all like she belonged there.
Like she had always belonged there.
Hours disappeared under the shelves.
Her fingers traced titles like she was counting weapons:
Transmutation.
Spatial Folding.
Sigil Theory.
Containment Geometry.
Emotional Veiling: The Discipline of Expression.
That last one was new.
That one hurt.
She didn’t learn it from the book.
She learned it by watching Azriel.
Azriel never hid emotion.
He simply never let it escape.
His face was a door with no handle.
His voice was a blade with no tremor.
Suryel practiced in reflections.
On glass windows in her Abode.
On polished marble on the Lapis Lazuli floor.
On the faint gleam of cutlery at the Eternal Dining Hall.
She watched her reflection smile when she wanted to scream.
Watched herself blink slowly when grief tried to claw out through her eyes.
Watched herself become…
Quiet.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
Azriel noticed.
He didn’t say it aloud.
But the thought brushed through him with something like dry amusement:
She’s staring at me… like a cat.
A student watching the world for weakness.
Suryel also spent time watching Metatron.
Not stalking.
Not worshipping.
Observing.
Metatron moved like an event rather than a person.
He didn’t simply walk through a hall.
The hall seemed to remember to straighten itself around him.
His presence made the air feel like it was recalling its place in the order of creation.
And he let her follow him like his shadow.
That was the strangest part.
No reprimand.
No command.
No correction.
Only that steady, merciless allowance.
Sometimes he welcomed her help when she got bored.
Or when she got too annoyed, buzzing with uncontainable energy she needed to burn into something useful.
As if he had opened a book and decided she was worth reading.
Sometimes, when she turned a page in the Archive, she felt it…
The pressure.
The attention.
Not intrusive.
Not warm.
Just there.
A gaze that did not blink.
Suryel learned to endure it.
To exist under it.
To become precise beneath it.
She let her flight simulations become brutal with Logistics.
She ran them until her wings trembled.
Especially when Gabriel was not around.
When no one would tell her to breathe.
When no one would soften the edges.
Until the sigils burned hot around her joints.
Until her lungs forgot how to do anything except obey.
Fold.
Turn.
Dive.
Stop.
Dive and fold again.
Mock battles followed in the Training Ground.
No real enemy.
Just constructs.
Just patterns.
Just endless repetition of violence without consequence.
She liked it.
Not because it was fun.
Because it was honest.
You hit.
You get hit.
You learn.
And the realm does not ask you to smile through it.
Her spear became her constant.
Not a weapon.
A sentence.
A statement.
She learned to fold through space like a needle through cloth.
She learned to hide inside distance itself.
She learned how to make her reach… Honest and dishonest.
One day, while reading in the Archive, she paused at a passage.
A line that made her thoughts spark with curiosity and idea.
“Transmutation is not transformation,
It is authority over agreement.
Matter behaves because it is told to.”
Suryel read it again.
Then again.
Then stared at the ink like it would stop being ink and start becoming a door.
Authority over agreement.
Matter behaves because it is told to…
Her eyes drifted, slow and thoughtful, to the cube.
Belial’s containment.
He sat like a jewel in a prison.
Perfect edges.
Perfect seals.
Perfect arrogance inside.
Belial lounged within it like a king in exile, head tilted, eyes half-lidded, smiling at nothing.
He looked like he was about to get bored.
And boredom, on a Hellion, was a dangerous thing.
He noticed her attention instantly.
Of course he did.
Belial was the kind of creature who could smell interest like blood in water.
Suryel did not speak at first.
She just watched him.
Face calm.
Thoughts sharp.
Belial’s grin widened.
“Oh? Why hello little birdie… are you staring at me?”
Suryel played it cool and turned a page.
Slow.
Casual.
Like she wasn’t holding a probably disastrous idea behind her back.
“Belial… are you bored?” She asked finally, eyes still sparkling.
Belial blinked.
A real blink.
Surprise, quick as a spark before his eyes shone like hers did.
Then his smile returned, pleased and predatory. “Is that concern I hear?”
“No.” Suryel said. “It’s just a question.”
Belial rolled onto his side inside the cube, chin propped on his hand, looking at her like she was a show he didn’t want to miss.
“Ask again.” He purred. “But make it sound more interesting, then I might answer.”
Suryel shut the book.
The sound was soft.
Final.
Her gaze met his, glinting once.
“Are you bored?” She repeated, then added, voice like glass.
“Or are you simply waiting for the right moment to do something stupid?”
Belial laughed, delighted. “Atta girl.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Suryel’s expression did not change.
That was new.
That was the point.
Belial’s interest sharpened like a knife finding its edge.
“My answer’s no.” Belial continued. “You’ve been quiet. So either you’re healing… or you’re sharpening. So I am… simply waiting. I’m still enjoying.”
Suryel stepped closer to the cube.
Not aggressive.
Not afraid.
Just… present.
“You like lawlessness.” She muttered, eyes growing thinner.
Belial’s eyes gleamed. “I like freedom.”
Suryel tilted her head slightly. “Then you must hate this.”
She tapped the cube lightly with one finger.
Belial leaned in, watching her fingertip with theatrical reverence, as if she was a priest touching an altar.
“I hate confinement… yes.” He admitted. “But I adore endurance. So I am having the most wonderful time, honestly.”
Suryel nodded as if she believed him.
Then she said, almost thoughtful and empathetic. “If you were allowed more freedom within the Eternal Realm… would you behave?”
Belial stared.
Then laughed again, louder.
“Oh sweet little birdie.” He crooned. “Of course no.”
Suryel’s eyes didn’t blink. “Oh don’t worry. That wasn’t a real question.”
Belial’s laughter died slow.
His grin dimmed but stayed.
His attention sharpened into something like curiosity.
Suryel placed her palm on the cube.
The air shifted.
Belial felt it immediately.
Not pain.
Not threat.
A pattern.
A sigil logic.
A weave being drawn.
He leaned closer, eyes wide with excitement.
“What are you doing?” He whispered, like he didn’t want to scare the moment away.
Suryel’s voice remained calm. “Shh! Let me focus. If you must get an answer, it’s transmutation. Now quiet.”
Belial’s breath hitched.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
For once, he didn’t speak.
Her hand glowed.
Not bright.
Not dramatic.
Just a clean, steady light, like truth deciding to exist.
The cube trembled.
The edges flickered.
Not breaking.
Rewriting.
The containment cube did not collapse.
It changed.
The geometry folded inward, then outward, like a cage learning a new language.
Suryel spoke one sentence.
A binding statement.
Not a prayer.
Not a request.
An order.
“Belial…” She said. “As long as you are within this realm, you will not harm anyone, you will answer to me and if you choose to leave, you will no longer be bound.”
Belial’s eyes widened.
His grin stretched into something almost holy.
“Oh!” He breathed. “Oh, you are simply wonderful!”
The cube melted into a tether.
Not a chain.
Not a leash.
Something worse.
Something intimate.
A sigil-thread anchored to Suryel’s authority.
Belial stepped out.
Just like that.
He did not escape.
He was released into a narrower kind of freedom.
He inhaled.
The Eternal Realm air hit his lungs like precious wine.
His shoulders rolled.
His posture expanded with his black wings.
The motion almost animal and yet elegant.
He looked like a beast remembering it had legs.
Then he turned to Suryel.
For the first time… His smile carried something almost like respect.
“You bound me here with you…” he said softly, reverent. “You bound me.”
Suryel stared at him.
Emotionless.
Controlled.
A door with no handle.
“I did.” She said. “So give me your choice— Are you going to behave or leave?”
Belial’s grin became feral. “I get to choose? Then gladly, I’ll stay.”
He leaned close, voice a stage whisper. “In fact, I am ecstatic! You have no idea how much I missed exploring this place back in the days when I was allowed. And I can’t wait to see your uptight brothers faces.”
That was when Raphael arrived.
He took one look at Belial smiling and standing outside the cube conversing and right beside Suryel.
Raphael froze like the realm had just spat on his face.
His expression moved through three stages in one heartbeat:
Shock. Horror. Rage.
“Belial! How did you get out!?” He grabbed Suryel by the arm and positioned her behind him then his voice went dangerously quiet. “Suryel what did you do?!”
Azriel arrived into the room no sooner.
One glance—
An assessment.
His eyes went to the tether tied on the hellion’s wrist.
Then to Suryel’s hand.
To Belial’s smile.
His jaw tightened.
“Explain.” Azriel said with a sigh.
Suryel turned her head slowly.
Eyes calm.
Face smooth.
“I transmuted the containment into a tether.” She answered. “He has freedom within the realm. But he answers to me.”
Raphael stared at her like she’d confessed to arson in a library.
“That is not safe— We need a solution. Re-containment.” He snapped. “That’s, that’s—”
“A risk.” Azriel finished Raphael’s sentence, voice low.
Belial leaned back, arms open, delighted.
“Gentlemen.” He greeted brightly with a bow. “Be proud, she’s grown.”
Raphael looked like he wanted to physically remove his own soul and throw it down the Archive Tower stairs.
Azriel’s gaze stayed on Suryel.
“How could you think to do this?” He said. “Without permission.”
Suryel nodded once. “I did. And I think I did get permission.”
Raphael’s voice sharpened. “Metatron didn’t authorize this.”
Suryel’s eyes flicked upward for half a second.
Then back down, meeting their burning stare.
“He didn’t stop me?” She said with a shrug.
The air tightened.
A subtle pressure.
Metatron listening.
Allowing.
Raphael felt it and went pale with anger.
“You cannot just rewrite containment laws!” Raphael hissed.
He looked at Azriel and added. “Is this allowed?”
Belial leaned toward Raphael, smiling sweetly.
“She did it successfully. There was no repercussion. Or was there?”
Raphael’s hand twitched as if considering drawing his rope blade right there.
Azriel’s voice stayed cold. “Belial. Silence.”
Belial gasped theatrically. “Ouch. We’ll be seeing more of each other so I’m just trying to be friendly.”
Suryel finally spoke again, tone almost gentle. “Belial…”
He shut his mouth.
“I’m behaving.” Suryel added. “And so will he, that was our agreement.”
Raphael’s eyes widened, pointing at the hellion and then her. “You call this behaving?”
“Yes.” She replied. “Because… I did not go to the Abyss. Even though I wanted to.”
Belial laughed like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard in eons.
Azriel looked like he would rather swallow a nail.
Raphael dragged a hand down his face. “Metatron is going to—”
Metatron’s pressure shifted.
Not a voice.
Not a punishment.
A silent, razor-clean acknowledgement.
It was written and suspended on air.
Observation: My student improved containment through transmutation.
Result: Increased control over lawlessness… Increasing risk.
Conclusion: Allowed.
Raphael’s eyes flicked upward.
He looked like he wanted to scream at the ceiling.
Azriel exhaled slowly.
Controlled.
Then he said, almost like a threat disguised as acceptance. “Fine, sunbird...”
Raphael snapped his head toward his twin. “Fine?! You’re going to accept this?”
Azriel’s gaze didn’t move. “Since she did this, we must also adjust to the situation accordingly...”
His eyes flicked to Belial. “Since you will be walking around…”
Azriel’s eyes returned on Suryel as he smirked with the tenure of someone who had dealt with younger siblings before. “You will now always walk under surveillance. We’ll be assigning Sentinels to accompany you.”
Suryel frowned.
She had forgotten to consider that.
But she mirrored Azriel’s usual silence, as if unaffected by the consequence or supposed punishment.
Belial beamed, eyes glittering as they stared at each other. “Oh, I love family outings!”
Raphael muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience.
And so it began.
The twin brother’s sufferings, as Metatron logged it.
Suryel walked the Eternal Realm with Belial at her side like a shadow who had learned manners.
Two Sentinels always followed.
Not close.
But not distant.
A watchful ring of silent steel and holy discipline.
Belial hated them.
He made that very clear.
He kept glancing at them with the irritated expression of a performer forced to share a stage with unpaid extras.
“They keep staring.” He complained. “Make them go away, birdie.”
“They guard.” Suryel corrected. “You can live with it. And don’t call me that.”
“They’re judging me.” Belial insisted, laying on the grass dramatically.
“They exist.” Suryel sighed, resuming drawing. “Get over it.”
Belial laughed, delighted. “Oh, you’re becoming insufferable… I adore it.”
Then, after a beat. “Am I starting to adore you?”
He laughed. “Oh! I think I am!”
Suryel ignored him and just rolled her eyes.
She walked near the edges of the realm, where the world fell away into luminous nothing.
The cliffside was quiet.
Windless.
Sacred.
The kind of place that made people think about peace.
Suryel thought about falling.
Not in fear.
In memory.
That feeling she’d felt once, long ago.
That tug.
That strange sense of something below.
Not death.
Not void.
Something old.
Something asleep.
Belial followed her gaze.
His grin sharpened.
“What are you thinking about, birdie?” He said softly.
Suryel didn’t answer.
She stared at the cliff.
Then looked away, as if bored.
“Caves.” She said casually.
Belial blinked. “Caves?”
Suryel nodded, as if discussing weather.
Her voice dropped. “I’m… bored.”
Belial’s grin widened like a curtain rising.
“Oh!” He whispered back. “Then we’re going exploring.”
Belial turned and began walking, ecstatic.
Suryel followed instantly, curious.
The Sentinels shifted.
One stepped forward slightly.
Suryel glanced at it.
Expression calm.
“I’m not leaving the realm.” She said. “I’m just walking. Leave us alone or I will.”
The Sentinel hesitated.
Then allowed.
Because Authority had not forbidden it.
And because Metatron’s silence was permission written in invisible ink.
Belial leaned close, voice buzzing with joy. “This is going to be so wrong and yet so fun. Are you ready?”
Suryel’s lips twitched.
Not a smile.
A decision.
“Just lead the way.” She said. “You know you want to.”
Soon they stood at the sand bar again.
Suryel looked around first, wondering where the Sentinel that stopped her before was.
Then she shrugged and followed Belial in.
The caves were older than comfort.
Older than decoration.
The stone here did not feel like it belonged to the Eternal Realm’s gentle design.
It felt like something the realm had built around.
A scar sealed beneath marble.
Belial walked ahead, eyes gleaming, delighted like a child in a forbidden room.
Suryel kept her spear folded in space.
Not visible.
But present.
They descended.
The air cooled.
The light dimmed.
The stone began to hum.
Belial’s grin faltered.
Just a fraction.
His excitement didn’t die.
It sharpened into recognition.
“Sun—” He whispered. “Sun… bird…”
Suryel’s eyes narrowed. “What.”
Then colder. “And do not call me sunbird. Only my brothers can do that.”
Belial stopped.
Nodded.
His voice softened into something unusually serious. “This isn’t just a cave.”
Suryel stepped past him.
The tunnel widened into a chamber.
And there, curled in the dark like a coiled myth, was something that felt enormous.
Scaled.
Ancient.
Sleeping.
It looked like a human.
But had leathered wings on its back— A dragon.
Like she had read in books that had felt too fantastical to be real.
Its body was the color of deep night and old gemstones.
Its breath moved slow, heavy, like the realm itself was inhaling through it.
Suryel froze.
Her heart didn’t race.
It momentarily stopped.
Because she knew, in that instant, she was standing in front of something that did not belong to her.
Something that did not answer to her realm’s laws.
Belial’s voice came out as a delighted whisper. “Luxor.”
Suryel turned her head slowly. “You know it?”
Belial’s grin returned, fever-bright.
“Him. Everyone knows him.”
Suryel swallowed.
“Why is it— I mean, why is he here… and sleeping.”
Belial’s eyes gleamed.
“Why do you think? He’s as old as the realms.”
Suryel stared at the sleeping dragon.
Her spear flickered into her hand.
Not aggressive.
Just instinct.
Belial took one step closer.
Suryel snapped and whispered.
“Belial! Come back here!”
He didn’t stop.
Suryel’s tether tugged.
Belial paused, laughing softly.
“What?” He whispered.
“He’s sleeping.”
Suryel’s eyes were ice.
“Exactly. So don’t disturb him.”
Belial turned his head slightly, smile wicked.
“You’re not… curious?”
Suryel’s jaw tightened.
“I am curious. That’s why I’m staying safe and saying don’t.”
Belial chuckled.
Then leaned closer anyway.
That was when the dragon decided to open his eye.
Just one.
“Why are you both so noisy?”
A slit of molten awareness in the dark.
The cave shuddered.
The air thickened.
The world held its breath.
Suryel’s blood went cold.
Belial’s grin widened like a man who had just thrown a match into a powder room.
Luxor moved.
Not fully.
Just enough.
A rumble rolled through the chamber, so deep it felt like the realm itself was groaning.
Suryel’s voice came out low, deadly.
“... Belial?”
Belial whispered back, thrilled and still.
“Yes?”
Suryel didn’t shout.
She didn’t panic.
She did the smartest decision she’d ever done in her life.
“RUN.”
Belial laughed and ran with her.
The dragon’s fiery breath surged behind them like thunder waking up.
The cave trembled.
Stone cracked.
Dust rained down like judgment.
“You fucking lawless! Why?!” Suryel hissed, breath tearing.
She folded space.
Once.
Twice.
Dragging a laughing Belial through distance like ripping cloth.
They folded and burst into the Lapis Lazuli corridor like two criminals escaping a crime scene.
Footsteps.
Approaching.
Fast.
Suryel didn’t even think.
They ran into her Abode immediately.
Suryel launched herself onto her bed and flipped the blanket over her like she was hiding from a crime she absolutely committed.
Belial snickered quietly, then calmly walked and leaned back on the sofa near the window like he belonged there.
They closed their eyes.
Perfect.
Innocent.
Dead asleep.
Azriel and Raphael were on…
Baby-sitting duty.
They did not call it that.
But the exhaustion in Raphael’s eyes named it anyway.
Raphael paced the corridor like a man trying not to commit violence.
Azriel stood still, silent, thinking.
Raphael finally snapped.
“Metatron is still letting her keep him.”
Azriel didn’t respond.
Raphael continued, voice sharp with frustration.
“Why does he keep on letting her keep Belial?”
Azriel’s eyes flicked, minimal.
“Yes.”
It was not an answer he understood.
Raphael’s hands flared outward.
“WHY?”
Azriel’s voice was calm.
“Because she bound him.”
Raphael’s jaw clenched.
“You meant because she made a mistake.”
Azriel looked at him, flat.
“No.”
He said. “Because she made a choice.”
Raphael exhaled, furious.
“And now we are here. Watching. Keeping her and a hellion from going rogue. While Helel is still off-grid in the Abyss and Yael is—”
He stopped.
Azriel’s gaze sharpened.
Raphael realized what he’d almost said too loud.
Raphael lowered his voice.
“Muriel is also there.”
Azriel’s face didn’t change.
But something dark moved behind his eyes.
“We don’t have news.” Raphael muttered.
“Not anymore. The Sentinel encryption went silent. No reports. Nothing.”
Azriel’s voice came out like steel.
“Helel and Yael are both alive.”
Raphael laughed bitterly.
“That’s optimism, not a fact.”
Azriel didn’t blink.
“It is certainty and hope.”
Raphael rubbed his forehead.
“I hate this.”
Azriel nodded once.
“Yes… I do too.”
Then Raphael froze again.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
He turned toward Suryel’s Abode door.
It was slightly open.
Their footsteps stilled.
Raphael’s stomach dropped.
Azriel moved instantly, silent as shadow.
They approached.
Raphael whispered. “If she left with Belial—”
Azriel’s voice was lower. “She didn’t.”
Raphael stared at him. “How do you know?”
Azriel’s eyes narrowed.
“Because… the realm hasn’t screamed yet.”
They reached the door.
It was already open.
She always left it so.
Azriel passed the threshold.
Raphael followed closely behind.
Inside, there was soft light.
Stillness.
Faces illuminated.
Suryel was snug in bed.
Wrapped under a blanket.
Sleeping soundly.
Breathing slow.
Peaceful.
Belial was on the sofa near the window.
Also sleeping.
One arm draped over a throw pillow.
A picture of innocent captivity.
Raphael stared.
Azriel stared.
The room was too perfect.
Too arranged.
Raphael’s voice came out suspicious. “She’s… asleep.”
Azriel’s gaze swept the room.
Then landed on the futon.
On the edge of the blanket.
Is it too neatly folded? He thought.
Like it had been placed with intention.
Raphael stepped in slow.
Eyes narrowed.
He said quietly. “Do you think… they were out.”
Azriel whispered back. “Yes. But the evidence…”
Belial snored.
An almost ridiculous, theatrical sound.
Raphael flinched like he’d been slapped.
Azriel’s jaw tightened.
He leaned down toward Suryel.
She did not move.
Her lashes did not flutter.
Her breathing stayed steady.
Azriel whispered. “Suryel?”
Nothing.
Raphael’s voice was low, lethal. “She’s got to be faking.”
Azriel’s eyes thinned. “You’re sure?”
Raphael didn’t answer.
He just stared at the futon.
Then he said quietly, like a verdict:
“She was reading a book on how to hide her face.”
Azriel’s throat tightened.
Because that meant…
That meant she’d learned it from… him.
And Azriel hated that he understood the significance.
Suryel remained still.
Perfect.
Belial remained ‘asleep.’
Raphael’s gaze flicked between them.
Then, like exhausted men choosing survival over truth, the twins decided to let it go for now.
They turned to leave.
Already back at the corridor.
Then Raphael spoke, voice barely above breath, but it still echoed.
“Helel’s last message said…” He swallowed. “He was going to the deep end of the Abyss.”
Azriel’s eyes darkened. “The lower levels in the Abyss tower.”
Raphael nodded. “I hope… they’ll be back soon.”
Silence.
Suryel did not move.
Belial did not move.
But in that silence, something sharp lived.
A listening.
An absorption.
A mind filing information away like a blade being placed into a sheath.
Raphael exhaled slowly.
“We lost contact.”
Azriel’s voice was controlled. “Yes.”
Raphael’s eyes were haunted. “And Yael…”
Azriel didn’t finish it.
He didn’t need to.
Raphael looked at him.
And for a moment, if they just went back in the room, looked closer…
They would have seen it.
The subtle crease on her brows.
The minute stilling of breath.
The truth awake beneath the blanket.
Raphael whispered.
“Metatron is letting this happen.”
Azriel’s gaze lifted slightly, as if feeling the Archive’s attention through walls.
“Yes.”
Raphael’s mouth tightened.
“Why…”
Azriel’s voice came out like ice.
“Because…” He said. “Students… like storms, must choose their direction.”
Raphael looked back at Suryel’s Abode.
At the room that pretended innocence.
And suddenly, he didn’t feel safe.
He felt watched.
Not by Metatron.
By Suryel.
Raphael’s steps stopped.
They looked at each other again.
They turned back to her Abode to look one more time.
Suryel was still laying in bed, her back toward the door.
Belial was still on the sofa, the same way.
Azriel closed the door quietly.
The click sounded too much like a lock.
They walked away.
And behind that door, Suryel remained perfectly still.
Until their footsteps faded.
Then, under the blanket, her eyes opened.
Not wide.
Not emotional.
Just awake.
Belial’s eyes opened too, gleaming like stage lights.
He didn’t sit up.
He only whispered, delighted.
“You’re behaving.”
Suryel stared at the ceiling.
Expression empty.
Voice quiet.
“Yes.”
Belial smiled wider.
“And plotting.”
Suryel blinked once.
Slow.
Precise.
Her voice came out soft as silk.
Sharp as a blade.
“Yes.”
Then she turned her head slightly toward the window.
Toward the direction of the cliff.
Toward the cave.
Toward Luxor.
And something in her tone changed.
Not louder.
Not dramatic.
Just… decided.
“I’m done being helplessly complicit in this situation.”
Belial laughed, muffled into the cushion like a man trying not to wake the house while committing crimes.
“Good.” He whispered. “So next time…”
Suryel’s eyes narrowed.
Belial’s grin became wicked with excitement.
“… Let’s take action properly.”
Suryel closed her eyes again.
Not to sleep.
To calculate.
To plan.
To fold her next ten steps into something sharper than fate.
And outside her Abode.
The Eternal Realm stayed quiet.
As if it did not yet realize… That one of its residents learned to perfect how to dodge having to lie—
With a straight face, as lawlessness’s protege.
And that the dragon beneath its sea had opened an eye.
Author’s Note:
Suryel is a A++ student LOL.
She’s absorbing mentors ‘best’ behaviours like a sponge lmao.
I said best, not good :D LOL again.
