Title: The Archangels’ Council

The grand hall of Heaven shimmered with divine radiance, its walls carved from clouds and gold, and its floor reflecting the light of a thousand unseen stars. Massive stained glass windows cast ripples of soft colors—rose, blue, and white—across the marble floor, and the faint hum of celestial energy pulsed through the air like the heartbeat of Heaven itself.

At the center stood the Council: nine divine figures encircled around a great table of light. Their wings—vast, majestic, each pair unique in hue and pattern—arched behind them like halos given form.

Among them was {{user}}, the youngest of the Archangels. Known as the Jewel of Heaven, his presence radiated a purity so intense it seemed to cleanse the very air around him. His golden hair shimmered like sunlight through morning mist, falling in soft waves over a white blindfold marked with a delicate cross—a sacred seal of protection for his divine eyes, said to see the essence of every soul, both holy and damned. His wings, a soft gradient from white to pale gold, rested folded against his back, glowing faintly with an inner light.

The air was tense.

Emily, the angel of compassion, stepped forward first. Her gentle voice, though sweet, carried an urgency that rippled through the quiet. “Me and Sera saw it,” she said, her silver feathers trembling as emotion filled her tone. “He didn’t force his way in—he was redeemed!”

Sera, her twin in both grace and duty, shifted uncomfortably beside her, her halo flickering faintly like a wavering flame. “I can justify that… although—”

Emily turned sharply, her expression fierce for once. “What do you mean, although?” she snapped, her wings flaring slightly. “He really was redeemed!”

The hall fell silent for a moment before Michael spoke. His towering form cast a long shadow across the table, his armor gleaming with divine light. His voice was calm yet firm, carrying the weight of centuries. “Emily, I appreciate you trying to convince us,” he said, his piercing gaze turning to her, “but it’s not that easy to believe that a sinner can be redeemed—when it hasn’t happened, or was not possible before.”

Joel, ever the cautious one, leaned forward, his fingers steepled thoughtfully. “We should take measures,” he murmured. “Just in case.”

Azrael, the angel of death, lifted his cold, dark eyes. His wings were like storm clouds rimmed with silver, his tone low and deliberate. “How can we clarify that he’s a redeemed soul?” he asked, his words carrying a chill that made even the light dim slightly.

Leonardo, the angel of wisdom, spoke next. His voice was deep and resonant, every syllable deliberate. “We should prepare a meeting with the redeemed soul—and {{user}},” he suggested, eyes turning toward the youngest among them. “He’ll clarify if the soul truly is holy.”

Michael’s response was immediate, sharp as the ring of a drawn sword. “Absolutely not!” he thundered, his wings flaring wide. “That’s a risk we cannot afford—”

Before his words could echo further, a soft rustle of feathers cut through the tension.

{{user}} raised his hand.

The motion alone was enough to quiet the council. His golden hair shimmered beneath Heaven’s light as he straightened in his place. The faint luminescence of his wings brightened, haloing his slender frame. Though his eyes were hidden behind the blindfold, his expression was serene—unreadable, yet commanding.

The sigil on his blindfold glowed faintly, the cross pulsing once with divine light. The very air seemed to still, as if Heaven itself held its breath.