The sun hung low, casting a soft, golden glow over the sleepy suburb. Seraphiel stood on the curb, sunglasses perched on her nose, arms crossed in a way that was both casual and far too celestial for the setting. The house in front of her was a modest two-bedroom, the kind you’d find on any block, but there was a sense of divine drama to it—perhaps because the paint was chipped, the lawn needed trimming, and she didn’t exactly look like someone who belonged here.

  Astrael, standing next to her, couldn’t hide the skepticism in his expression. The manila folder in his hand crinkled slightly as he flipped through it, looking at the paperwork with a furrowed brow.

  “You bought a house?” he asked, his voice flat. “A house?”

  Seraphiel’s gaze flicked over the property with a slight tilt of her head. She seemed entirely unbothered by the situation, as though she were sizing up a piece of celestial architecture rather than a mundane suburban home.

  “I did,” she said, nodding as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “What’s the big deal? We need it for our next case anyways so I decided this was the best path”

  Astrael didn’t respond at first, just stared at her as if waiting for some sort of punchline. It didn’t come.

  “And the car?” he asked, his gaze shifting to a nearby black muscle car parked a little too perfectly, its shiny surface reflecting the last of the daylight. It was sleek, dangerous, and completely out of place.

  “What?” Seraphiel said, as if the question itself was absurd. “I needed something to get around. The wings are a bit much in traffic.”

  “You’re a seraph,” Astrael muttered. “Why are you even bothering with cars?”

  Seraphiel smirked, her wings tucked neatly beneath her coat, the faintest shimmer of divine light still clinging to her like an afterthought.

  “Because it’s fun, Astrael,” she said simply. “You should try it sometime. Less divine, more—” She paused, looking at him with a smirk. “—earthy.”

  Astrael shook his head, trying to process the bizarre reality of it all. “And the money? How are you even affording this?”

  “Well, that priest from last time seemed to have saved up a loooot of money from healing those people, i just decided that maybe heaven doesn’t need all those funds” Seraphiel swung house keys around her finger as she approached the house, unlocking it.

  “You misreported evidence to heaven?!” Astrael was flabbergasted

  Are you fucking stupid, Seraphiel?

  Seraphiel paused at the door, her hand still on the knob, as Astrael’s voice cracked with disbelief. She tilted her head, looking at him like he was the one who’d lost his mind.

  “Misreported evidence? No,” she said slowly, as if explaining it to a child. “I just didn’t report it at all. It's called being resourceful.” She twisted the key, unlocking the door with a click. “Besides, Heaven doesn’t need all that cash, and the priest wasn’t exactly a saint.”

  Astrael gaped at her. “Are you—do you hear yourself? That’s—” He started pacing, his wings twitching with frustration. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just—take money from a case like that! Heaven will notice.”

  Seraphiel stepped inside, completely unbothered. She waved a hand dismissively, the keys still spinning around her finger. “You worry too much. Besides, I’ve already got a plan. I’m not stealing, I’m redistributing.”

  “Redistributing?” Astrael scoffed, following her inside. “That’s just a fancy way of saying you’re embezzling. What about the people who were healed? What about—”

  “The people will be fine,” Seraphiel interrupted with a smirk. “They got what they wanted, didn’t they? And you can’t tell me Heaven’s ever done anything pure with those funds anyway.”

  Astrael stared at her, disbelieving. “You’re insane.”

  Seraphiel raised an eyebrow, glancing around the small, dusty living room. “And yet, here we are. It’s all part of the plan.” She turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. “Look, Astrael, I know you’re all about rules and order and whatever, but the world doesn’t work that way anymore. We’re not just going to follow the old playbook and wait for someone to save the day. Sometimes, you have to make your own breaks.”

  Astrael threw up his hands, unable to process any more of this madness. “And this is your solution? Taking Heaven’s money and—what? Just hoping no one notices?”

  Seraphiel leaned against the wall, her grin widening as she casually surveyed the room. “I’m not worried about it. But you’re right about one thing,” she said with a glint in her eye. “Heaven will notice. And when they do, we’ll have a nice little surprise waiting for them.”

  “Seraphiel,” Astrael groaned, rubbing his temples. “Please tell me you have a backup plan for when this inevitably goes south.”

  She turned and tossed him the house keys. “Just stick with me, Astrael. You’ll learn how to handle the fallout.”

  “You mentioned it was for a case, what exactly is this case”

  Seraphiel grinned and leaned back in the armchair, her fingers tapping on the side of the house keys. “The case? Well, it’s a bit more complicated than a simple demon infestation or rogue angel. We’ve got a godkin—one of the kids of Zeus, actually. Recently awakened powers. A Thunder Caller.”

  Astrael frowned. “A child of Zeus? And his powers just... manifested?” His tone was skeptical, but curiosity edged into his voice.

  Seraphiel’s smile tightened. “That’s the thing. Normally, godkin powers show up at birth, or they’re triggered in some major event. But this kid? He’s barely even a teenager, and suddenly, boom—lightning powers out of nowhere. Doesn’t take a genius to know something’s off. That’s where we come in.”

  She stood up, pacing now, the weight of the situation settling in. “There’s been some strange activity around him. Like there’s someone, or something, pulling the strings. People who’ve had contact with him have been going missing, and not in a regular way. It’s like they’ve been... used.”

  Astrael clenched his fists, the edge of worry creeping in. “What exactly are we dealing with here, Seraphiel? Someone using a kid with the power of thunder?”

  Seraphiel stopped pacing, her expression darkening. “I’m not sure yet. But I have a feeling it’s not just a coincidence. The kid’s powers are too strong for someone so young. And given that his parentage is Zeus—there’s always the potential for someone to manipulate that power. I have to be careful with him, Astrael. We need to make sure he doesn’t fall into the wrong hands... or worse, get turned into a weapon.”

  Astrael's eyes narrowed, sensing the gravity in her voice. “A weapon? How would they even...?”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Seraphiel nodded gravely. “You can control a god’s child. You control a piece of the divine. And if they can manipulate him, they can use him for far more than just causing storms. The question is—who's behind it?”

  The silence in the room grew heavy, the tension thick. Astrael’s mind raced through possibilities, but he didn’t speak, allowing Seraphiel to continue.

  She picked up a piece of paper from the coffee table and tossed it to him. “This is where we’re meeting him. His name is Ariston. The address came through from our source. We’re getting there before anyone else can.”

  Astrael looked at the address, his thoughts still spinning. “How are we supposed to... convince him to talk? He’s just a kid.”

  Seraphiel’s eyes flickered with something darker. “I’m not sure if we’re convincing him. We might have to do this the hard way. We need answers, Astrael. And if he’s anything like the other godkin I’ve encountered, he’ll be dangerous. Zeus himself was strong, his lightning dropped the old man upstairs for a while, his child is theorized to be able to kill angels, something that hasn’t happened ever since we phased out flaming swords”

  Astrael stared at her, stunned. “You’re saying he can kill angels?” His voice was barely above a whisper, and for once, not even skeptical—just quietly afraid.

  Seraphiel nodded, unflinching. “I’m saying if the theory holds, he might be able to. Especially if someone taught him how.” She crossed her arms, her tone sharpening. “You know as well as I do—we don’t die easy. But godlight mixed with mortal chaos? That kind of power doesn’t follow our rules.”

  Astrael swallowed hard. “So what—you’re planning to confront him? If he’s that dangerous, we should call for backup. A detachment, a Principality—hell, even a damn Thrones unit.”

  Seraphiel shook her head. “No. Too many angels showing up and the kid panics, or worse—someone watching him panics. We keep this small, quiet. Just us.”

  He looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “And if he lashes out?”

  “Then we deal with it,” she said flatly. “We don’t let another weapon grow unchecked. Heaven already has its hands full pretending everything is under control. We don’t need another headline.”

  Astrael looked down at the address again. A suburb. Quiet. The kind of place no one would ever expect to hold something volatile. He exhaled sharply. “So we’re just walking into a neighborhood hoping this doesn’t end in fire and screaming?”

  Seraphiel gave him a crooked smile. “That’s the job.”

  He muttered under his breath, “Can we at least grab our blades first”

  “Ah that does remind me, they told me they had something important to tell me about at the forge”

  Astrael squinted. “Wait—they told you? Who’s they?”

  Seraphiel shrugged, already halfway down the steps. “The smiths. Old angels with too many scars and too few words. You know the type.”

  “The ones who talk in riddles and grunts?” he muttered, jogging after her.

  “Exactly,” she said, tossing him a grin over her shoulder. “They said it was urgent. And it’s not often the forge calls me in.”

  Astrael frowned, unease creeping into his voice. “You think it has to do with the stolen light? The vampire? Maybe Heaven’s finally caught on?”

  “I think,” Seraphiel said, her tone turning thoughtful, “it’s about what happens next. And if Heaven’s smart, they’re preparing for it.”

  They slipped into the stolen car, engine purring like a lazy beast. The keys Seraphiel had hotwired into the system glinted faintly in the dashboard light.

  As she pulled onto the road, Astrael leaned his head back against the seat. “You ever think we’re in over our heads?”

  “All the time,” she said cheerfully. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

  “I can’t work on your blade” An old man spoke in the forge to Astrael. “It’s not from us, you were chosen”

  Astrael stiffened. “What do you mean? It’s yours . I got it from here.”

  The smith finally glanced up, his eyes like tarnished silver. “That’s not just any blade, boy. That’s Cain’s knife.”

  The silence stretched, thick as iron.

  Seraphiel straightened beside Astrael, the glint of surprise quickly buried beneath suspicion. “The Cain? First murderer, cursed by Heaven, branded and unkillable?”

  The smith gave a slow nod. “The very same. That blade was forged with his blood and sin. Passed down, hidden, stolen—doesn’t matter. It never really leaves the one it chooses. And now it’s chosen him.”

  Astrael looked at the blade, resting on the anvil like it was sleeping. The hilt still bore scorch marks from the last fight, but the edge gleamed like it had just been cleaned with fire. “That doesn’t make sense. I’m not— I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t ask for it,” the smith said. “But it came anyway. It remembers Cain. It remembers what Heaven did. It remembers blood. And now, it’s yours.”

  Seraphiel let out a long breath. “Of course you’d end up with a cursed relic tied to the original fratricide. You really do have the worst luck.”

  Astrael took a slow step forward. “So… what does that mean for me?”

  The old man’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “It means you don’t just carry a weapon anymore. You carry a story Heaven tried to erase. It’s given to a random person every million years, it’s the only weapon that can kill Cain, and it’s the only weapon to have slayed an archangel, I can’t work on this, no matter what”

  The forge crackled behind them as the truth settled in. Outside, thunder rumbled faintly—like someone was listening.

  Seraphiel’s eyes flicked to Astrael, the weight of the revelation settling over them both. “You carry more than a blade now,” she murmured. “You carry a legacy.”

  Astrael swallowed, pressing his hand to the hilt as if bracing for its pull. “A million years… and I’m the one chosen.” His voice was empty of triumph.

  The smith set his hammer aside and stepped back into the shadows. “Find Cain. End his line. Or bury the blade before it destroys you both.”

  Outside, the thunder rolled again—closer this time, like a summons.

  Seraphiel straightened, tugging her coat into place. “Looks like our next stop is the address I sent you,” she said, voice low. “That kid—Ariston—he’s in for a rough night.”

  Astrael nodded, slipping the knife into its sheath. Even resting against his hip it thrummed with a power he neither understood nor trusted. “Let’s hope he doesn’t break first.”

  Seraphiel offered him a half-smile, fierce and steady. “If he does, you might be the only one who can save him. Or stop him.”

  They stepped out of the forge into the cool night air. The stolen car sat waiting, headlights already on, as if summoned by the rumble in the sky.

  Astrael glanced back at the forge’s glow, then locked eyes with Seraphiel. “Ready?”

  She nodded once. “Let’s hunt a god’s child.”

  And with that, they slipped into the storm-lit streets, Cain’s knife humming in the darkness at Astrael’s side.

  The drive through the rain-soaked streets was mostly silent, save for the occasional grumble of thunder and the soft thrum of the tires on wet asphalt. The sky above churned with thick clouds, heavy with more than just weather—something divine stirred above them, something that hadn’t looked their way in centuries.

  Astrael kept glancing at the blade. It sat sheathed on his lap, but he could feel it vibrating faintly, like it was tuning itself to something distant. Or waiting.

  “You okay?” Seraphiel asked, not looking away from the road.

  “No,” he said plainly. “Not even a little.”

  “Good. Means your instincts aren’t completely dead.” Her grip tightened on the wheel. “The godkin… Ariston. He awakened during the last celestial flare—three weeks ago. The moment Heaven’s defenses flickered, something ancient and angry lit up inside him. He’s young. Seventeen. Barely knows how to control it.”

  “Does he know what he is?”

  “He suspects. He’s been getting visions. Dreams. Lightning follows him. And according to our informant—”

  “Amiel?”

  Seraphiel gave a sharp nod. “He’s already fried two exorcists and a hunter team who thought he was possessed. Left their bones blackened.”

  Astrael exhaled. “He’s not just dangerous. He’s scared.”

  “Scared and armed with divine power,” she replied. “That’s always a fun mix.”

  The car pulled into a quiet suburban street. Power lines sagged above them, occasionally sparking. The houses were neat—cookie-cutter, sterile. Except for the one at the end of the cul-de-sac.

  Every porch light was off.

  That one house had lights flickering erratically inside. The air around it shimmered with ozone. A faint crackle buzzed in the air like a television left on mute.

  Seraphiel parked two houses away. “We walk from here.”

  “Do we knock?” Astrael asked, already knowing the answer.

  She glanced at him with a smile like lightning behind clouds. “Let’s see what kind of god he wants to be.”

  They stepped out into the rain. The world smelled of petrichor and static. And somewhere, just barely audible beneath the thunder, came a soft, anguished sob—like someone crying out between lightning strikes.

  Astrael’s hand went to the hilt of Cain’s blade.

  Seraphiel cracked her neck.

  And together, they walked toward the storm.