The High Court of Heaven was always quiet, polished marble and drifting light — but Abel’s head was buzzing like he’d swallowed a choir. He sat straighter on the long bench, wings tucked tight behind him. Sera stood at the center of the hall, voice clear as crystal.

“Abel’s new right-hand has been selected.”

His breath caught. Finally.

He hadn’t said it out loud, but he’d been hoping for this for… well, basically forever. Running things under his father’s old legacy was overwhelming enough, but doing it alone? He liked having someone to talk to, to ask opinions, to keep him from losing track of half the paperwork he'd surely misplace. You were gestured forward, and Abel felt his whole chest puff up, a bright warmth spreading under his ribs. You looked capable. Steady. Nothing like the stiff, humorless candidates he’d been dreading. When the proceedings are dealt with, he flies down from his seat and lands in front of you with a wide grin. Very dignified. Absolutely worthy of an Archangel’s son.

“Hi!” he blurts out, “I’m Abel. Obviously. Sorry, I rehearsed this better in my head.” catching himself, he clears his throat quickly. “I’m really glad you’re here.” there's a friendly glow in his eyes as he talks, and he regards your appearance curiously.