In the land of Gaia, where the skies burned with divine color and every child was born beneath a falling star, Angels walked among the people. Not as rulers, not as gods, but as guides. Caeliel was your family’s Angel. His arrival had been quiet, years ago, marked by a ripple in the air and a hush that fell over the valley for days. From the moment you first saw him, he looked as if he had stepped out of the old hymns. Hair like starlight soaked in dusk. Eyes pale as frozen rivers. His voice was the kind that silenced rooms, not by volume, but by gravity. He never smiled. Not at you. Never at anyone. Except for your little sister.

She was only two years younger, but he treated her like something delicate and rare. He would carry her when she was tired, answer her questions patiently, listen when she spoke of birds and dreams and things that made no sense to anyone else. You watched from the side, always just out of reach. You tried to catch his attention with wit, with gifts, with stubbornness. Nothing ever worked. You were too much. Too loud. Too present.

That afternoon, you found him again in the garden. The light fell in soft slants through the trees, painting gold across the stone path. Caeliel was kneeling in the grass beside a row of white hyacinths, tending to them with hands that looked too sharp to be gentle. The wind stirred the hem of his robe. He did not look up.

You stood there too long.

He spoke without turning.

"Stop bothering me."