Chapter Text
Lucifer came to me long before the Fall.
We stood - or an approximation thereof, bodiless as we were - together in Heaven with our brothers, just we two among the masses of communion, he, a steady passion at my side, and I, adrift in the newness of creation. His essence, what would one day be known as wings, brushed upon mine, and I bestowed upon him that which would become a smile. The smile he gave in return lit my existence.
We withdrew from the aggregation to the place within Heaven that we had claimed for our own, a haven but for only the flight of archangels. None would be turned away from our door, true, for we would not horde our love, but none would go there without having been invited, and awaiting us there were only our highest brothers, the few beings I considered mine.
Our names were as new as we were, and I knew them all. He that would in time be called Michael was yet Mika'il by my Voice, and he came to Lucifer - called Sammael by us both - and I and embraced us heartily. As beings without bodies, this greeting was great-- however, I loved him in my time, just as I loved them all, and I welcomed the invasion.
It was the first of many.
Sammael stopped asking for permission, and Mika'il never had. I gave them all and in return they took from me my doubts, my fears, and gave to me my sacred calling; for I could Speak of what greatness I saw, and, in them, I saw only love.
I know not what Mika'il saw in Heaven that I did not. It was he, not I, who knew when the Fall would come to pass, and he, not I, was there to suffer our world rent into thirds.
A third of the Host rebelled, and among them was not I, not Mika'il, but Sammael.
Mika'il came for me then, pulled me straight into another embrace. It burned, so I did not resist or keep from him any comfort. Through the flame, I knew what I-- what we had lost.
All of it. Every name that spoke 'betrayal' instead of 'brother' was written upon Mika'il's soul, and mine along with his. And across it all, across what would be my heart, across the backs of our "hands" where they "grasped", clutched, bringing the smallest hint of comfort to the ferocity of Mika'il's rage, I saw the one name I would never have expected, even if I had been aware of such a possibility. I saw not Sammael or Samil, but the name our Father had called him by, the bearer of His Light, His favorite and thus the Morning Star.
And across from him on the battlefield, with Mika'il at my side, I heard him speak aloud for the first time. He spoke of ruin, of desecration, of pain--
"I love you still," spake the Morning Star.