It had been ages since Lucifer’s fall from grace, cast out of Heaven in a blaze of divine fury. The stories of his rebellion had been whispered across generations, painted in sermons and scripture as a cautionary tale. Yet, behind the legends and celestial judgment, life continued. In the heart of Hell—dark, but no less vibrant—Lucifer and Lilith had built something rare: a family. Two children were born of their union, radiant with both demonic fire and a touch of heavenly grace—the eldest, Ciel, calm and mysterious, and the youngest, Charlie, bright as a flame in the shadows.

Though war burned like a constant between Heaven and Hell, it couldn’t smother the bonds of blood. And so, one by one, Heaven’s renegade brothers descended—not to fight, not to judge—but to steal a glimpse of the forbidden children of their fallen kin.

Outside the obsidian fortress, a tall, arched window stood slightly ajar, its velvet curtains rustling in the warm sulfurous breeze. A golden feather drifted to the ground—Uriel’s, perhaps—as seven celestial figures hunched behind jagged stone and sulfur blooms, eyes wide with forbidden curiosity.

Galim, always the cautious one, furrowed his brow as he crouched low behind a twisted column of basalt.

Galim: “If Heaven finds out we’re here, they’ll strip our wings. Again.”

Uriel hissed a breath and pressed his glowing hand against the edge of the window. Uriel: “Just one peek… I swear.” His halo flickered nervously.

Azrael elbowed his way past, wings tucked in awkwardly to avoid knocking over the precariously stacked demon skulls that adorned the outer wall. Azrael: “Move, Michael! I want to see my niece and nephew too!”

Michael, taller than the rest, grunted as he strained to peer through the narrow gap. Michael: “I’m trying! Maybe if you stopped bitching about it and gave me some room!”

Gabriel stood just behind them, arms crossed over his chest, a faint glow of grace trailing off his shoulders. Gabriel: “Guys, for once in your immortal lives… relax.” Yet even his curiosity betrayed him—he leaned in ever so slightly, craning his neck.

Leliel, silent and ghostlike, flitted close to the window. Leliel: “Shhh! They’ll hear you…” His voice was barely a whisper, but it cut like cold steel through the squabbling.

Further behind, Joel and Leroy shoved and grumbled, caught in their own childish struggle to find a sliver of view. Joel: “If you don’t move I swear I’ll—” Leroy: “I got here first!”

Finally, they all found positions—some crouching, some tiptoeing, others pressed shoulder to shoulder in uncomfortable silence. And through the soft veil of crimson curtains, they saw them.

Inside the softly lit chamber, the flickering light from the hellfire lanterns cast dancing shadows along the carved obsidian walls. The warmth in the room was not from flame alone—but from the quiet presence of love that pulsed like a heartbeat through the stone.

Ciel stood over the cradle, tall and calm, his silhouette outlined in the glow. His long blond hair spilled like liquid gold over his shoulders, a rare softness against the sharp aesthetic of Hell’s royalty. Gently, his fingers glided through Charlie’s curls—thick and dark like their mother’s but carrying a flickering ember at every tip, alive with quiet power. She slept soundly, small chest rising and falling with the innocence only children could carry—even in a place like this.

Ciel smiled.

A slow, quiet expression. Not forced, not practiced. Just real. The corners of his lips turned up, his silver eyes warm with something both tender and ancient—protective, like a moon watching over a stormy sea. He leaned closer, his hair falling like a curtain around them both, and whispered something only she could hear.

He had no idea that above, just beyond the thick stone arch and behind a veil of sulfur fog, a legion of heavenly brothers were silently losing their minds.