CHAPTER 12: THE BREAKING

  Helel had already been breathing hard before the words tore out of him.

  “I need to remember.”

  His voice came up shredded, dragged from somewhere raw and unguarded, the kind of sound that did not ask for permission before existing.

  He was bent forward at the waist, hands braced against his thighs as if his body might fold further without the support.

  Each breath scraped through him like it had to fight its way past something broken, something splintered and lodged deep in his chest.

  His breathing echoed too long, bounced off invisible surfaces, returned warped, as though the space itself leaned closer, curious.

  The grass beneath their feet did not sway, yet the air trembled.

  Light bent wrong at the edges of the clearing, the way it always did when something was about to fracture.

  “Helel—” Yael started, then faltered.

  He stood a short distance away, fingers clenched tight around the edge of his cloak.

  His posture was careful, measured, like someone approaching a skittish animal he loved too much to startle.

  Every instinct screamed at him to move, to close the distance, to anchor his brother the way he always did.

  Restraint won.

  Experience won.

  He had tried to hold Helel back before.

  Yael remembered how badly that had ended.

  His fingers flexed and curled, flexed again.

  His weight shifted from foot to foot, contained energy with nowhere safe to go.

  He looked like a caged thing, torn between duty and fear, sunlight trapped behind glass.

  “Why can’t I remember?!” Helel shouted.

  He straightened abruptly, the movement sharp enough to cut.

  His hands clawed at his own head, fingers dragging through his hair, down his face, across his scalp as though the answers were buried just beneath the skin.

  His nails scraped hard, desperate, leaving faint lines of light where they passed.

  Sparks flared at his fingertips.

  They were bright.

  Unstable.

  Responding to the fracture spreading through him like lightning searching for ground.

  Helel began to pace.

  Back and forth.

  Too fast.

  Each step landed sharp and erratic, his thoughts spiraling faster than his body could follow.

  His wings twitched once, phantom pain rippling through muscles that remembered flight even here.

  His mind kept snapping back to her, no matter how hard he tried to outrun it.

  “If she’s my sister…” Helel said, voice breaking mid-thought as he dragged a hand down his face.

  He laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Then why is she human?”

  The answer hovered close.

  Too close.

  Like something he could almost see if he just turned his head at the right angle.

  Or maybe it was a lie.

  Maybe the truth was so absurd it refused to settle into language.

  But if it was true…

  His steps slowed.

  If it was true, then the answer was unbearable.

  Because that would mean he had almost let her slip through his hands.

  Not because he couldn’t stop it. Not because he was too late.

  But because he was careless.

  Because he was playing with patience. He enjoyed provoking Michael. And wanted to see what would happen if he pushed just a little further, laughed just a little louder, treated consequence like a toy.

  The realization cut inward, sharp and merciless.

  “If Suryel is my sister…” Helel muttered, the words going cold as they settled in his throat. “Then didn’t I almost let her die?”

  Memory surged.

  He remembered dragging himself up the moonstone stairwell as slowly as he could, deliberately late, savoring the delay like it was harmless rebellion.

  He remembered how the dawn felt wrong that day. Cold.

  How the shadow hung too heavy on her frame as she lay there.

  Motionless.

  In pain.

  Fading.

  Too still— Far too still.

  Color drained from Helel’s face as the image solidified, no longer a blur but a blade.

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  If he hadn’t reached her…

  If he hadn’t pulled her back in time.

  His hands rose, trembling, cupping his face as the weight of it crushed down on him. His palms shook.

  “GOD!”

  The sound tore out of him, guttural, raw, utterly sacrilegious.

  Azriel’s shoulders went rigid, the fine hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.

  Michael’s jaw locked, command instincts flaring like warning beacons.

  Gabriel sucked in a sharp breath and shut his eyes, expression twisting like he had just driven his toe straight into solid stone.

  Yael flinched as if someone had sworn in a sacred place.

  Helel collapsed.

  He folded in on himself, dropping to the ground and wrapping his arms around his legs, rocking slightly as broken whispers spilled from his mouth.

  Words tangled together, apologies with no clear recipient, jokes gone sour halfway out.

  The shadows responded immediately.

  They thickened.

  Pooled.

  Crept closer.

  Not quite voices.

  Not quite silence.

  They pressed in, curious, hungry, drawn to the rare fracture opening wide inside him.

  The dream-realm dimmed by a fraction, like something holding its breath.

  Several distant figures backed away now.

  One attendant made a sign against ill fortune before retreating.

  A low murmur rippled through the outer ring.

  No one interfered.

  Michael, Gabriel, and Azriel all felt the same cold, sharp shiver slide down their spines.

  “Don’t try to force it, Helel.” Azriel said quietly.

  He stepped forward and knelt beside him, movements precise, controlled.

  He laid a calming hand on Helel’s shoulder. The touch was restrained. Reverent. Almost afraid of what too much pressure might unleash.

  Helel screamed.

  “Where are my memories?!” His voice cracked the air. “Who has been messing with me?!”

  His head snapped up.

  His eyes locked onto Azriel.

  The realization hit with surgical clarity.

  Azriel. Keeper of transitions. The one who unburdened souls of memory and carried them to be cataloged and stored within the Archive Tower, Metatron’s endless library.

  Helel had never questioned whether Azriel could do that to one of their own.

  Until now.

  Until memory clawed its way free.

  He remembered watching Suryel and Yael.

  Following her into the Archives when she dreamed her way there.

  He remembered the pull.

  A book was calling to him.

  A book never called unless you were its owner.

  He had reached for it.

  He was about to open it.

  Azriel had appeared almost instantly, fingers closing around his wrist, holding his hand shut.

  He wore the same infuriating big brother look then as he did now. Gentle. Firm. Final.

  ‘It was my book.’

  Horror and ignition collided in Helel’s eyes.

  “AZRIEL!” He snarled.

  He surged to his feet and swung.

  The force tore outward from him, ripping through air and soil alike.

  The sky fractured like glass.

  The ground roared in protest.

  The shockwave barreled straight toward the Star Bearing Tree, power enough to tear the dream-realm loose from its foundations.

  Yael moved without thinking.

  He stepped into its path, throwing his weight forward, arms raised on instinct.

  The impact hit him like a collapsing star.

  Bone cracked.

  The sound thundered through the realm.

  Yael’s arm splintered under the force, pain blooming white-hot and blinding.

  He swallowed the scream, jaw locking tight, teeth grinding as his heel dug deep into the soil between the tree’s roots.

  He held.

  Eyes glazing, vision tunneling, but he did not fall.

  The older brothers saw it for what it was.

  The bridge to the Eternal Realm, all over again.

  “Michael. Gabriel.” Azriel’s voice went cold, dread locked down behind eons of discipline.

  “On it!” They answered together.

  Michael crashed into Helel, forcing him to his knees, barely managing to hold him there.

  One hand locked around Helel’s neck, the other wrenching his arms behind his back in a brutal, practiced grapple.

  It was containment, not punishment.

  A commander’s restraint.

  Gabriel launched skyward, horn already raised, scanning the horizon.

  He hovered on standby, ready to reinforce Michael or call down the Eternal forces if this tipped one inch further.

  He hoped it wouldn’t.

  Azriel vanished and reappeared like a cut in the air, his hand already pressed to Helel’s temple.

  Helel’s rage exploded again.

  Pain.

  Betrayal.

  Recognition.

  He remembered this too.

  When all three older brothers had turned on him before.

  He had been holding a flower that day.

  Small.

  Yellow.

  Soaked in blood that was not his.

  His eyes went wide.

  A young, innocent face flashed through his mind.

  Flowers braided into her hair.

  A name redacted from memory.

  The face vanished just as quickly— His little sister.

  “No!” Helel choked, a sob tearing free. “Don’t go!”

  The plea came out raw, desperate.

  He wanted more. Needed more. Even if it hurt.

  Azriel met his eyes. Pain flickered once through his own before resolve hardened.

  The blow was precise.

  Controlled.

  Darkness rushed in.

  “Please, Azriel” Helel murmured weakly as his strength gave out. “Don’t take it away. I need to remember.”

  Michael caught him before he hit the ground, gathering him close like a commander catching a fallen soldier.

  One arm took his weight, the other steadied him as Helel slipped into unconsciousness.

  Silence settled like dust.

  The Star Bearing Tree stilled, then slowly began to sparkle again, light returning in hesitant waves.

  Azriel stared at his shaking hands.

  Gabriel landed beside him, horn pressed to his temple.

  “Oh, Helel...” Yael whispered hoarsely, clutching his broken arm. “Suryel…”

  The dream-realm breathed on.

  And nothing felt whole anymore.

  Somewhere, deep in the Archive Tower, a book trembled on its shelf.

  Waiting.

  Author’s Note:

  ??Whoo boi. Well that was rough buddy. ?? I was listening to Tartini's Devils Thrill and Mozart's Dies Irae Requiem while rewriting and polishing this. LOL Enjoy~