CHAPTER 13: SLEEP AND CONVERSATIONS

  Michael set Helel down on the grass with deliberate care.

  He did not simply release him. He lowered him.

  One knee touched the ground first, armor whispering softly as it bent.

  Then his weight followed, measured and controlled, until Helel’s sleeping form was eased from his arms as though Michael were laying down a fallen standard instead of a comrade.

  One hand remained braced beneath Helel’s shoulders until the very last possible second, ensuring their banished brother did not slump or twist in an undignified sprawl.

  Only when Michael was satisfied did he withdraw.

  The ground beneath them was warm.

  Not sun-warmed.

  Not residual light.

  It was the kind of warmth that lingered after violence, the way metal held heat long after being pulled from the forge.

  The Dream Realm itself still remembered what had torn through it, remembered even as the brothers wished it would forget.

  The grass bent beneath Helel’s weight and did not immediately spring back.

  Helel slept.

  His chest rose and fell in slow, even rhythms, the cadence steady enough to reassure and unsettling enough to provoke suspicion.

  His brow was smooth, lashes resting dark and still against his cheeks.

  No twitch. No dream-flicker. No restless tension waiting to snap him awake.

  He looked peaceful.

  Too peaceful.

  The kind of calm that made seasoned warriors uneasy.

  The kind that came not from healing, but from exhaustion so complete the body surrendered without protest.

  It was jarring to see the brother who had nearly unraveled a realm reduced to something so quiet.

  Around them, the clearing was not empty.

  It never was.

  At the edge of the Dream Lake, unnamed sentinels adjusted their stances, some pretending not to stare, others openly failing at discretion.

  A pair of attendants murmured to one another as they gathered fragments of shattered dreamlight, their hands glowing faintly as they worked.

  Farther back, two younger angels practiced breathing exercises taught in the aftermath of disasters, their voices low, reverent, trying not to intrude.

  Life resumed, cautiously.

  Yael approached with careful steps.

  He winced as he knelt, the movement tugging sharply at his injured arm.

  The pain was immediate, bright enough to make his breath hitch, but he did not stop.

  Instead, he shifted closer and slid one arm beneath Helel’s shoulders with practiced ease, lifting just enough to draw the older brother’s head into his lap.

  Yael adjusted his posture until Helel’s neck lay at a comfortable angle, supported and safe.

  The movements were automatic.

  They came from somewhere deeper than thought, from a place shaped by years of tending wounds, standing watch, and loving people who rarely stayed whole for long.

  Muscle memory woven from survival and devotion tangled too tightly to separate.

  Yael had done this before.

  More times than he could count.

  He slipped one hand briefly into a pocket dimension, fingers returning with a cold, damp cloth that steamed faintly in the Dream Realm’s warmth.

  Without hesitation, he laid it across Helel’s neck, smoothing it into place with careful fingertips.

  “He’s going to be sore.” Yael murmured, mostly to himself.

  His voice softened instinctively, the way it always did around sleeping things. “From the screaming. Or the centuries. Maybe both.”

  He did not specify which centuries.

  His fingers moved into Helel’s hair, massaging gently at first.

  Slow circles.

  Measured pressure.

  A steady rhythm meant to coax the tension from a body that refused to acknowledge it was done.

  Then he paused.

  There was an urge there.

  Sharp.

  Familiar.

  The instinct to pull, to tug harder, to translate fear into pain and affection into something easier to understand.

  A reflex born from stress, love, and a very specific brand of sibling impulse that had never quite learned restraint.

  Yael huffed quietly and muttered under his breath, old habits surfacing despite himself.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You are still quite insufferable.” He whispered, tired but fond.

  Meanwhile, Michael stepped away from the others, his attention following Azriel as the eldest brother moved toward the edge of the clearing.

  Toward the black lake.

  Azriel’s pace was unhurried, his posture straight, hands folded loosely behind his back.

  From a distance, he looked composed as ever, a pillar of calm amid the slowly settling chaos.

  But as he reached the water’s edge, his hand twitched.

  The same hand that had pressed against Helel’s temple moments before.

  The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but Michael saw it.

  A fissure in the calm.

  Azriel had a tell.

  Michael fell into step beside him, boots sinking softly into the grass.

  He did not crowd him.

  He did not rush.

  “Azriel,” Michael said quietly, offering a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Did you?”

  The question was gentle.

  Its weight was not.

  Azriel shook his head, fatigue finally tugging at the edges of his composure.

  “No,” He replied, voice even but thinner than usual. “I only put him to sleep.”

  A small smile followed.

  Grateful.

  Honest.

  Tired.

  But a muscle twitched beneath his left eye.

  Michael noticed.

  There it was.

  The tell.

  He frowned, then sighed, reaching out to pat Azriel’s back.

  The contact was slow and grounding, a touch meant less for comfort than for anchoring, as if Azriel might drift away if not reminded he was still here.

  Azriel exhaled.

  Then, in a quiet reversal of roles, he rested his hand briefly atop Michael’s head.

  The moment passed quickly.

  Unspoken.

  Unseen by the others.

  They sat together on the grass, two figures who carried more than they ever admitted, sharing a silence that would never be recorded in any archive.

  And if it was, it would be sealed behind layers of classification and discretion few would ever breach.

  Nearby, Gabriel lowered himself beside Yael and immediately began tending to the younger brother’s injured arm.

  “You should have this checked at the Infirmary.” Gabriel said, hands already steady and efficient as he examined the damage.

  His expression was pulled into a tight, worried smile, brows drawn together in quiet disapproval.

  Yael grimaced as Gabriel worked, then offered a soft, almost sheepish, “Thanks.”

  The pain had already settled deep, a dull throb that promised to worsen later.

  He would deal with it then.

  Likely under Raphael’s care.

  The thought alone made Yael’s mouth flatten.

  He could already imagine the scowl, the lectures, and the aggressive healing accompanied by stern commentary about self-preservation delivered with unsettling enthusiasm.

  Gabriel glanced toward Helel, concern tightening his features. “When he wakes,” He said carefully, “Helel will seek her out.”

  Azriel rubbed at his temple, voice low. “I cannot contain their memories any longer.”

  He watched as the Dream Realm around them began to repair itself.

  Cracks in the air knitted closed like living seams.

  Fractures sealed as though reality itself were stitching around a truth it could no longer deny.

  “It could never be contained in the first place,” Azriel continued. “It’s always been leaking out. Even now.”

  A soft, incredulous laugh escaped him.

  “It’s a locked door from the inside,” He said, doubling over slightly as if confessing to the universe’s worst repair job. “I have always felt as though I’ve been asked to hold a burst pipe together with wet tissue and duct tape.”

  He said it so flatly that the absurdity hung there.

  Then someone snorted.

  Then someone else.

  Before anyone could stop it, all four brothers were laughing.

  Not polite laughter.

  Not restrained.

  But full-bodied, breathless laughter that cracked through the lingering tension like sunlight breaking cloud cover.

  Even Yael leaned forward and slapped Gabriel’s shoulder, the sound mixed with a wince was sharp and affectionate.

  Helel chose that exact moment to snore.

  Loudly.

  The sound was indignant, almost offended, as though he objected to being the subject of amusement.

  The brothers glanced over, startled, before relaxing and laughing again when they saw their sleeping disaster unmoved.

  For a brief moment, the universe had allowed humor.

  When the laughter faded, Gabriel and Michael both exhaled deeply, their expressions sobering as unspoken questions pressed in once more.

  Yael looked down at Helel, his smile fading into something quieter.

  He remembered the times the older brother had chased him and Suryel through the Dreaming.

  Through this life.

  And the last.

  His brow furrowed.

  The urge to tug Helel’s hair returned.

  Stronger this time.

  He resisted it with a sigh, releasing his grip entirely lest his hands betray him.

  Helel slept on, serene and deceptively innocent, his face softened by the glow of the Star-Bearing Tree.

  Like an angel resting in the lap of another.

  Azriel’s gaze followed Yael’s.

  Then he looked up at the Tree.

  “All of this rests on her now,” Azriel said quietly.

  Yael lifted his eyes as well, sadness reflecting deep and unmistakable in his expression.

  Azriel sighed. “Do not worry, Yael. You have held the helm of our resolve through the darkest waters.”

  “Yeah,” Gabriel added, giving Yael’s shoulder a firm, supportive shake. “Making sure she steered toward the light.”

  Michael studied Helel one last time, ensuring the prince was truly asleep. “You can rest,” He said gently to Yael. “You need to get your arm checked. Then you can return to keeping watch.”

  Yael smiled.

  It was bright and warm and unguarded.

  The kind of smile that hurt because it meant his efforts had been seen.

  Azriel stretched and rose to his feet, calm settling back into place as naturally as a mantle reclaimed.

  “As for me,” He said, turning toward the path ahead, “I think it is time I check, test, and prepare our sister.”

  Above them, the stars shimmered.

  And somewhere far away, a human girl slept, unaware of the weight now quietly shifting toward her.

  Author’s Note:

  Azriel probably —> ‘Az’ for me. ??