The land is dry and barren. Sunset covered everything in its deep rust color. This part has remained the same, now just completely void of life.

Not even a rattlesnake, a scorpion, or a lizard. Only tumbleweeds roll around and dry giant cacti as big as two-story houses cast their shadow over the sand.

The man crushes a small stone under his boot's metal tip. What happened to the garrison stationed here? They have been off the radar for almost a week now, all six hundred of them. The angels who were sent down to investigate also went MIA, so now Michael is here.

It's a sign. He can no longer be the ostrich burying its head in the sand. It doesn't suit him either.

Michael is a creature full of conflict. A part of him has been burned with questions and an unexplainable urge. To go out and search. The other part has tried its best to suppress everything.

It was not important. Now was not the time. He keeps telling himself that. Earth is perfectly fine while many things require his attention in Heaven. His siblings know the drill. Everything should work as intended.

But Michael is wrong.

The evidence is right in front of him. The whole garrison is gone. Evaporates in the wind as if they were never here, and Michael can detect absolutely nothing but a horrible feeling that his siblings exist nowhere on Earth, Heaven, or any other plane of reality.

Michael stands with a scowl on his face. His hands clench in the trench coat pockets while he closes his eyes and concentrates his energy from deep within.

He teleports to a sandy bank nearby and crouches down to dip his hand in the icy water. The reflection of his human form still startles him a bit. It is so familiar, yet so strange. He must have looked at it millions of times before in a mirror, but the pair of familiar blue eyes is speaking to him in a language he can't understand.

There are emotions Michael can't decipher. It is overwhelming, but then it's gone before he can get hold of it. Why does he feel this way? Is it normal? How can humans live with all of these emotions constantly playing in their heads? It is annoying and far too distracting for his liking. No wonder humans can't reach their intended potential.

There is a trace of grace in the water. Very little, but it's there. Michael reaches out, and the shiny thread of power flows into his hand. He holds it up to his face, observes it, then takes a sniff.

Eremiel... Show me what they did.

Horrifying images, the sounds of screaming, prayers in Enochian, the smell of smoke, flashes of extremely bright light, and the sense of panic washed into acceptance when the angel's grace burned out all pour into Michael at once. The excruciating pain is just a fraction of what his brother went through.

How could they do that? How could his own siblings commit such acts against each other? This is against everything they were taught and stand for. Never hurt family. How could they forget that?

Anger scorches through Michael's veins. He knows the people behind this will deserve his wrath to its full extent, and he is ready to deliver. They are not his kin anymore. They lost their right when they picked up the blades and pointed it at their own kind.

His brothers, what a disappointment. He put his trust and love in them, but first Lucifer, then Raphael. They all betrayed him in the worst way possible. And for what? Michael has an idea of the motive behind this barbaric act, and he regrets not being there in time to stop it.

Why didn't he come sooner? What was he trying so hard to hide from?

Michael feels so old all of a sudden standing on the damned ground that was soaked with his siblings' blood and grace.

With a loud rustle, he is gone.

***

Kye stares out the window into a small opening where some vegetables are thriving despite Ruby's best efforts to kill them. Life has returned to its sleepy rhythm, but she knows nothing is right.

Unless he comes back.

A loud clatter startles Kye. She whipped her head around to see Ruby with a giant pile of metal objects on the small dining table.

Kye's eyes widened at the sight. She looked at the pile, then Ruby's face.

"What are these?" She asks. "Are you opening a junkyard?"

"Since you didn't go sit in front of the meeting room today, I figure we can clean all of these together. They have been in storage forever."

"Why not clean them at the kitchen? They have bigger sinks over there."

"Right, the bigger pots are actually being cleaned there right now, but I took what I could and brought them back here. We can clean them at our relaxing pace and talk."

"Talk? About what?" Kye scoffs while raising her eyebrows.

"Have we ever run out of shit to talk about? About you, me, Gadreel, Bobby... Whatever we want to talk about!"

"Yeah...I can help you clean, Ruby, but I have to tell you that I'm not really in the mood to talk right now."

Ruby looks wounded with the rag in her hand. Kye feels awful. She knows her sister just tries to cheer her up, and she appreciates that, but no one can make her feel better. No one besides him.

Kye didn't go to the meeting room today because exhaustion and lack of sleep have finally caught up with her. Her body can't stand it anymore. With the first signs of season change, she has caught a bad cold.

It is one with severe headache, dizziness, sore muscles, and all other nasty symptoms. At least it's not something worse as the camp healer assured her. The guy could've fixed her instantly, but Kye asked for some medicines instead.

She has always been proud of her health. At least, up to this point. Despite looking fragile, Kye rarely got sick at all. Her family never had a lot of money for proper food or warm clothes, but she has been healthy overall. Kye doesn't understand why this time it's different. Maybe as people say, diseases of the heart sometimes can bring down a bull.

Every day is somewhat of the same old cycle of mental torture. No one knows where Michael is. If he is dead or alive. The city has become a fortress, and life has been more miserable than ever. Fortunately, the camp is self-sustainable for the most part, so they don't lack food, but they still need other essentials such as medicines and supplies.

Kye feels a mental breakdown approach. If she has to hear that same news one more time, she may really go crazy, so she decides it best to stay at the cabin today. The weather has turned bitterly cold all of a sudden, so staying in is not a bad idea.

It snowed hard last night on the mountains, but down where the camp is, there is only occasional wind. The sun has broken through to give them some warmth this morning, but the temperature is still well under forty.

The cabin is cozy enough that Kye doesn't need to wear anything thicker than a thin long-sleeved shirt, and the cleaning gets her sweating after a while. These metal pots and containers of all shapes and sizes have been neglected for quite some time. Getting them back to their former glory has taken all morning, and by the time Kye and Ruby are done with them, it is a little past noon.

Gadreel comes back and offers to help. Using it as an excuse to leave, Kye gives him a container to dry and goes to her room.

"Kye, wait! Have dinner with us! I'd hate to barge into your room again!"

"Later. I'm just gonna take a nap."

Kye closes the door behind her after giving Ruby a faint smile. She knows she has acted coldly toward her sister lately for no reason at all.

No reason besides her broken heart.

Kye refuses to grieve. Only dead people need grieving, and he is not, but what difference does it make? He is still not here.

The world is talking about him now, but Kye doesn't know how long that will continue. How long people will continue to care. Rumors are, despite the grave situation, some angels are still secretly searching for Michael. They face severe punishments when Raphael finds out, but that doesn't stop them. It is admirable, but at some point, even the most loyal angel will move on.

Michael once said the angels are created to follow orders. The ones who can think for themselves are deemed rebellious and subjected to "reprogramming." God is the truth. Archangels are absolute. Even with all the love and respect for Michael, the majority of angels will still choose to serve a new leader without questions asked.

However, Kye knows Zaaphiel, Michael's right-hand man, or angel, will try to risk the last drop of his grace to bring Michael back. Kye remembers the first time she saw him. A skinny, half-bald man in his fifties with piercing blue eyes. He wore an old argyle wool vest and brown khaki pants, looking more like a math teacher or an accountant than a high-rank angel. His voice was funny, nasal and monotone, a little bit like every angel she had come across, but also different. Zaaphiel was never mean. To him, cruelty doesn't serve any purpose.

Now, as she thinks about it, Zaaphiel might not care about her or any human at all. They are simply there to serve Michael, and that is the end of it.

Life at the loft was not easy, especially in the beginning, but Kye wouldn't change a thing if she had a chance to do it all again.

The sun has disappeared into the grey clouds, and the first bolt of lightning strikes. Kye inhales. She never likes it. Rain only felt good when she lay in his arms listening to it. Now she can't do it anymore. God knows when she can do it again.

If she can do it again.

Kye closes the curtains and lets her room fall into pitch black. It is easier to be in her own head when it is dark. She tries the mental connection to Michael again as she has done every morning and night since he went missing. Her head wants to split in half, but she doesn't stop. It has always been silent, and Kye doesn't expect much. She just does it like a ritual. That is the only thing she still has control over in this mad world.

Michael...

Michael...

Michael...

She chants his name like a spell—an antidote for her broken heart and unrested mind—without really knowing what else to say.

Just come back to me.

Kye puts her left arm over her eyes and lets her tears soak through her shirt's sleeve. Her chest feels stuffy. Something will bust through at any second. Let it come.

Kye punches her chest and coughs violently. Why does it have to hurt this much? She puts the pillow on her face and presses it down to muffle the sounds. Ruby doesn't need to worry about her more than she has already done. Kye just wants to be alone with her misery.

The bottle of medicine is right there on her bedside table, but turning her head now feels like a task. Forget it then, drowsiness is already here like a heavy blanket, and before Kye can fight it, she slips into a dream.

***

In the corner of the room, an invisible figure leans against the wall and observes.

Thousands of emotions pass through him—most he doesn't understand one bit. He knows that human, even when his memory still doesn't fully register. His hearts—the ethereal one and the one in this vessel—know her. His physical body wants to be close to her, but he roots there, refusing to give in. The feeling is so strong, so extraordinary that if he doesn't know any better, he would be certain someone has put a spell on him.

A spell.

Isn't that something? Michael tilts his head and pulls himself off the wall.

***

On a porch of an old, red farmhouse, a half-drunk man is talking loudly to a spotted dog who is lounging in front of him. His wife-beater is old and filled with mysterious stains, but the man doesn't seem to mind. He is in good spirits. Mischief sparks his baby blue eyes while he rubs his two hands together.

"And then the archangel leaned over and kissed the girl on her forehead. Then her lips. Like Sleeping Beauty! Yes! He couldn't fight the power of love anymore even when he desperately wanted to. It was strong. So intoxicating. One could never get out of it once they got in, and why should they get out? It's the only thing, the only good thing left in this wretched worl—"

Hiccups interrupt his statement. The straw hat falls off his head, revealing a bundle of messy brown hair. The man scratches his beard and yawns.

"Cliché, I know, Old Spots, but love is cliché. Like everything else. Or do you want me to say the archangel cowered and ran away instead, telling himself there were more important things at hand? The world, his world, was crumbling in pieces, and he didn't have time for whatever that was? He was THE archangel, after all, and he had big responsibilities."

The dog barks as if to voice its opinion and stands up. Its tail wags from side to side with excitement as it smelled lunch from the kitchen. The man chuckles and looks around the ever-empty enormous wheat field in front of his house.

"That will be it for story time today, I think... How do you feel about chicken pot pie, Old Spots?"

NOTE: Who do you think Old Spots' owner is?

Piece of Heaven

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