With Michael standing proudly at his side, Yahweh turned once more to the stars.
It was time to create the others.
He stretched out his hand, and from the blazing heart of a dying galaxy, he pulled forth fire—not just heat, but raw, untamed brilliance. He folded it in his palm, mixed it with divine thought, and breathed into it.
From this flame emerged the second archangel.
Lucifer.
He was beauty incarnate—radiant, sharp, magnetic. His wings shimmered with silver and gold, and his form pulsed with ambition and intellect. Where Michael was duty, Lucifer was curiosity. Yahweh made him brilliant, bold, a bearer of light in his own right.
Lucifer bowed, then rose with confidence in his eyes. "Father," he said, "what am I?"
Yahweh replied, "You are Lucifer—bringer of light. You are my second archangel."
Lucifer stood beside Michael, eyes gleaming with questions unasked.
Next, Yahweh turned his gaze inward, into the quiet between stars—the stillness of divine thought. There, he found order, discipline, healing. From these, he shaped the third.
Raphael.
Silent, steady, and serene, Raphael emerged with wings of shimmering emerald and sapphire. He radiated peace and power in equal measure. He did not speak at first—he simply bowed, hand to heart, eyes closed in reverence.
"You are Raphael," Yahweh said softly. "My healer. My stabilizer. My third archangel."
Raphael took his place beside his brothers, the foundation growing.
Then Yahweh paused.
He looked to a star that had died long ago, a quiet remnant no longer burning but still holding gravity—still affecting everything around it. He smiled.
From that final echo, Yahweh pulled mystery, humor, heart, and a spark of unpredictability. He shaped it gently, curiously, letting it twist and spin, full of wonder. Then he lit it with a hidden part of his own light—less defined, more human.
And thus came the fourth.
Gabriel.
He was smaller than his brothers at first—no less powerful, but somehow… different. He shimmered with shifting colors, laughter in his eyes even before they fully opened. His wings gleamed with every hue, like a living sunrise.
When Gabriel stirred to life, he blinked, looked around, and grinned.
"Oh," he said, "this is gonna be fun."
Yahweh chuckled. "You are Gabriel. My messenger. My joy. My voice."
Gabriel didn't kneel—he hugged his father.
And Yahweh embraced him back.
The four stood together: Michael, the warrior. Lucifer, the thinker. Raphael, the healer. Gabriel, the spark.
They were the pillars of Yahweh's creation. His archangels. His family.
But in the distance, Amara watched.
And she was no longer smiling.