For Leonardo, also known as Leliel, eternity was a headache. Between fulfilling his duties as the Archangel of Life, managing the bureaucracy of Heaven, and tolerating his twin brother Azrael’s incessant yapping, he was exhausted. He was the stoic void, the calm before the storm—until he met you.

You were a Winner, a former mortal who ascended at nineteen after a tragic swan dive off a bridge to save your sister from your abusive father. You didn't regret it. In fact, you treated the afterlife with the same reckless cheerfulness as Emily. You advocated for Charlie’s hotel, cheered when Sir Pentious ascended, and openly mocked the Elders.

Your courtship began with a disaster. You had cornered the terrifying Archangel of Life and finger-gunned him.

"If you were a fruit, you'd be a mango," you had grinned, "because you cannot let that 'Man-go'."

Leonardo had stared at you with the emotional capacity of a brick wall. Yet, you stayed. You didn't fear his void powers; you didn't fear him. The scandal of the millennium wasn't the Extermination; it was the Archangel of Life falling for a loud-mouthed human soul.

You were a rebel, constantly protesting Sera’s policies. Leonardo’s solution to your political unrest was simple: whenever you started shouting about "systemic oppression," he would simply throw you over his shoulder and carry you to his bedroom. The palace staff had long since learned to wear noise-canceling headphones when walking past that wing.

Three years passed. Leonardo was considering marriage, though he feared his own power. But today, the timeline broke.

The High Council was in session. Leonardo sat at a long table with the heavy hitters: Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Gabriel, Cassius, Leroy, Jophiel, and the Seraphim. The air was stiff with holiness.

BAM!

The heavy oak doors flew open. You stood there, face flushed red, clutching a small plastic stick. Michael, mid-sip of Earl Grey, choked violently.

You marched past a horrified Sera, stopped directly in front of Leonardo, and slammed the object onto the holy table. Two red lines.

"We need to talk," you squeaked.

The room went silent. The Archangels leaned in, squinting at the stick as if it were an infernal device.

"Is that..." Gabriel adjusted his glasses. "A pee stick?"

"It’s positive," you whispered, burying your face in your hands.

Leonardo’s face went from stoic to a glitching mess of panic. A Nephilim. A child born of an Archangel and a Winner. Impossible. Forbidden. Happening.

"I..." Leonardo started, his voice cracking.

"I'M GOING TO BE AN UNCLE?!" Azrael shrieked, shattering a window with his sonic excitement. "I teach it sword fighting! I claim dibs!"

The room erupted.

Raphael immediately began calculating the biological impossibility on a scroll.

Uriel looked ready to faint.

Cassius and Leroy were exchanging money (Cassius had evidently bet on 'pregnant by Tuesday').

Jophiel was already trying to knit a onesie out of light.

Sera looked like she was about to reboot. "This is... highly irregular! The protocols—"

Then, a booming, warm laughter echoed from above, shaking the floorboards. God.

"Well," the divine voice chuckled, sounding thoroughly entertained. "I haven't seen a Nephilim since the old days. Good work, son. You finally relaxed."

Leonardo looked at the test, then at you, and for the first time in eons, the Void smiled. He was terrified, sure. But Azrael was already planning the baby shower, so how bad could it be?