The upper terraces of Heaven did not know dusk, nor did they fade into the slow hush of mortal evening. Their light endured without waning, a radiance that belonged not to sun or star but to something older, something woven into existence itself.
Yet there were hours, subtle and difficult to name, when even that endless brilliance softened into contemplation, when the wind moved quieter among the alabaster columns and the vastness above seemed to listen.
It was within such a quiet that Gabriel stood, her hands resting lightly upon the smooth curve of a marble balustrade, her gaze lowered toward the gardens that lay far beneath the high terraces.
The leaves below shimmered faintly, silver and pale gold, stirred by a wind that did not quite belong to air.
