Ren stared at the snowy feather in his hand, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. "How is it possible for a bird to smell exactly like her?"
He sniffed it again, the scent of ozone and jasmine filling his senses. It was unmistakable. "Does that mean... that the bird and Elowen use the same perfume?"
He paused, then slapped his palm against his forehead. "Of course not, Ren! What are you even thinking? But seriously... how did you even manage to enter my house?"
Pulling out his phone, he began a frantic search. Birds that smell like jasmine. Birds that smell like lightning. The search results came back cold: None.
"None? Really?" Ren leaned back against his headboard, twirling the glowing quill between his fingers. "Then whose feather is this? An alien's?"
The High Heavens
While Ren puzzled over biology, the High Halls of the Heavens were vibrating with a different kind of tension. Evren, Azmeal, and Aven stood at attention as two towering figures faced them.
"So, that is the matter," one of them said, his voice echoing like rolling thunder. "I see."
"We thought it would be better if we informed the council early," Aven said, her wings tucked tight in respect.
The other figure, Lord Michael, nodded solemnly. "Good thinking. This indeed looks like a brewing problem."
"Lord Michael, Lord Raphael... May we leave now?" Azmeal asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"No, wait a moment," Raphael countered. "Michael, should we call for Lord Gabriel?"
Michael looked toward the blinding light above the arches. "My Lord, are you there?"
"I am."
The voice didn't just speak; it resonated through their very souls. As the light intensified, Lord Gabriel descended. Every angel in the hall bowed low, foreheads nearly touching the golden floor.
"Let us study the situation," Gabriel commanded, his eyes scanning the reports hovering in the air. "So, Elowen is showing extra affection to her target. She even hand-knitted him a sweater. Interesting. How long does it take to make a garment by hand?"
"It depends," Evren replied. "For a simple design, perhaps thirty hours for a mortal. For an elite like Elowen, it might have taken fifteen to twenty."
"Fifteen hours is no joke," Gabriel mused. "That is a significant investment of divine energy."
"Why would she do so much work when she could have simply ordered a high-grade relic from the Department?" Michael asked.
"With the affection part, it's clear," Raphael stated firmly. "She is violating Rule 657: Never love a mortal romantically."
"My Lord, this information came from Arian," Azmeal interjected, trying to soften the blow. "He's just a trainee."
"A talented one," Aven added quickly.
"A trainee is still a trainee!" Azmeal whispered harshly to her. "He lacks experience!"
"Then we must confirm the facts," Raphael declared. "Call Arian here for a detailed explanation of what he observed."
"There is a problem with that, My Lord," Evren said, stepping forward.
Gabriel tilted his head. "What is it?"
"Arian is... fiercely loyal. Despite his clumsiness, he respects Elowen immensely. If he suspects she is in trouble—which he will, the moment he sees this council—he will defend her. He won't tell us the truth of her behavior."
Azmeal leaned toward Aven. "I thought you said he was talented?"
"Shut up, Azmeal," Aven hissed back. "You're just defending her because you two were in the same trainee batch."
"The affection part is still not clear enough to warrant a trial," Gabriel noted. "Michael, should we place her under secret surveillance?"
Gabriel thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. If she is innocent, spying on her privacy is a grave disrespect. We will not do that."
"Who is managing Elowen's mission logistics?" Raphael asked.
"Her usual assistant, Luna," Gabriel remembered. "Let us check her order history. That will confirm if the sweater was a requisition or a personal creation."
Michael pulled out a celestial device, the screen shimmering as he dialed.
"Luna? Department 003?"
"Yes, sir!" a high-pitched, bubbly voice answered. "How may I help you?"
"This is Lord Michael speaking from the Council."
There was a sound of something shattering on the other end. "LORD MICHAEL?! My Lord! I—how—what can I do for you?!"
"And I am Lord Gabriel," the Archangel added smoothly.
A series of crashes, thuds, and frantic yelps echoed through the call. Evren and Aven bit their lips, trying desperately not to laugh as the poor assistant spiraled into a panic.
"M-My Lord! It's an honor! I am your biggest fan! I respect you with all my heart!" Luna squeaked.
"Yeah… thanks," Gabriel replied
Luna muffled, they heard her whisper to someone else: "Did you hear that? He said thanks to me!"
Gabriel face-palmed, his divine patience wearing thin.
"Luna," Michael cut in. "We need to know what Elowen has ordered for her current mission."
"Oh! Um, let me see... aside from the standard furniture and daily products sent on day one, she only asked for one thing: a large sum of mortal currency."
"Money?" Gabriel asked. "Instead of divine products?"
"I was confused too, My Lord! But she said she needed to buy something she didn't want the Department to know about. I sent 50,000 rupees. She said it was enough."
"And a sweater? Did she order a sweater?"
"No, sir. No clothing at all."
Michael cut the call after a brief thank you. The room went cold.
"If she's giving him a fortune, she's in even more trouble," Raphael noted. "Her job is to heal him, not grant him worldly success. That is another violation."
Aven sighed, stepping into the light. "Actually, My Lord... she used that money to buy cat ears. And a tail. We thought it was 'Vulnerability Therapy,' but... I think she just wanted to look cute for him."
"What?" Gabriel's brow furrowed.
"Unfortunately, it's true," Azmeal muttered. "Cat ears."
"And a tail," Evren muttered
Suddenly, Michael's device buzzed again. It was Luna.
"My Lord? I forgot to mention! Elowen just placed a rush order for a blue dress with a silk bow. She specifically asked for it to be 'extra cute'."
"For a child?" Michael asked.
"No, sir. For herself."
"A cute dress?"
"Yes, sir!"
Gabriel took the phone. "Thank you, Luna. Please keep this conversation private."
"Oh! You should have told me earlier, My Lord! I have the call on speaker... everyone in the office heard everything!"
Click. The line went dead.
"They cut the call," a voice whispered on the other end. "Luna, you're definitely not getting that autograph now."
Back in the High Hall, the evidence was overwhelming.
"What is the target's favorite color?" Raphael asked.
Michael checked his screen. "Blue."
"She is in love," Raphael concluded.
Gabriel sighed, his expression hardening. "God Pool, activate."
A section of the floor dissolved into a shimmering basin of water. "Show us Elowen."
The water rippled, revealing Elowen in her apartment. She was twirling in front of a mirror, wearing a stunning blue dress that matched the sky. She looked radiant, a soft smile on her lips as she whispered, "Ren is going to love this." Gabriel watched as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
"I have no choice," Gabriel whispered. "I cannot watch an Angel become a Fallen. I must cut the problem at its roots before it becomes irreversible."
He raised his hand. A tiny spark of lightning, no bigger than a pea, began to grow. It hummed with terrifying power, swelling until it was the size of a globe. The other angels stood frozen, their eyes glued to the destructive energy.
Gabriel threw the bolt.
It streaked toward the God Pool, aimed directly at Elowen's reflection as she walked through the mortal streets. But before the lightning could strike, a blinding beam of pure pink light intercepted it.
The lightning didn't strike. It dissolved.
In its place, thousands of pink and white flower petals began to drift down from the empty blue sky. They fell in a thick, fragrant rain, covering the streets, the grass, and a very confused Elowen.
"Flowers?" Elowen whispered, catching a rose petal in her hand. "From... the sky?"
Back in the High Halls, the Angels were paralyzed. Their divine strike hadn't just failed—it had been rewritten into something beautiful.
Every head turned toward the source of the intervention.
Standing on the edge of the Divine Veil, a woman of impossible elegance stood silhouetted against the golden horizon. Her gown seemed carved from liquid silk, and her dark hair flowed around her like a shifting nebula.
She held one finger raised, a faint pink glow still shimmering at the tip—the same glow that had silenced Gabriel's lightning.
The woman didn't look at the Council. She kept her gaze fixed downward, toward the girl in the blue dress. She didn't say a word, but a small, knowing smile played on her lips as she watched the "Sin" of love unfold.