Tracey was always busy. Most of heaven leaned very heavily on him with paperwork and other organisational necessities. It was generally fine with him. He'd gotten a reputation as dependable if not at all powerful and it was what he wanted people to think of him. If you weren't strong, you weren't a threat and if you weren't a threat, people generally left you alone. No one wanted his post, no one wanted his life and in heaven sometimes that was all you really needed.
He remembered the time before everything, when heaven was nothing but the most beautiful and joyous praise, singing glory and honour to the highest for ever and ever. He hadn't wanted anything else, part of something truly and completely blissful and satisfying. There had been no desire for change or even for time to pass. It was a perfect moment he would have stayed in forever.
Even amongst the angels there had been few who could hear the King speak and survive, the power of his words so immense that they would end the existance of a weak creature. When he was first called to the throne he wasn't afraid, because there was nothing to fear. He existed for the King, he lived for the King, his absolute faith was in him and if he called him he would come and he would obey. If the great voice had ended him then, it would have been as a servant with no regrets, only a pure and absolute joy at being permitted to serve at all. The love he felt was a bursting firework in his chest in those days and it never seemed to dim.
In the end the will of the King had been such that the voice had not ended him at all. He heard and he understood and he passed on the great and noble messages to those who needed to know. And oh he'd been fulfilled, joyous in a way he could not express, not even through the songs sung around the throne, not even in the proclaimations cried out on high. He was happy.
The voice changed him over time, the great knowledge taking its strain upon his body, darkening and tarnishing even a brilliant creature like him, until his skin was black, until his golden horns twisted and darkened and he grew almost unrecognisable to his peers. He was not saddened by this change then, seeing it as a tremendous gift, as part of a greater will for him, something that would be important to him one day as part of the grand plan. He rejoyced and in those brilliant and wonderful days, wanted nothing and was ignorant the implications of his appearance.
After the Fall itself, after Earth was created and man too had fallen and been redeemed, the King had fallen silent, leaving him only with a few words, words he had no translation for but which approximated something akin to "what will be will be". He was not gone, he would never be gone, could never be gone, so long as the universe existed and perhaps maybe even then. He wasn't gone but he was silent, leaving only the faint resonant music in all things, in the teachings they'd all been given and the promise that the joy would be once again.
In the silent times the angels had changed, shaken by the loss of so many of their kin and by the very fact that they had a flaw in them which could arise so easily and bring them to their knees. The mood changed in heaven and where once there had been perfect choirs, absolute in their uniformity and united purpose, there stood a population of individuals, each as unique and fractured as any human. The Hosts had learned that they too were on a path like the humans, with no guarantee at the end. The son had not bargained for their lives, he had not removed the sins from them, there was no promise of eternal life when they seemed to already be living it. Factions developed and some groups thought they'd been doing what was best and would continue to do so while others sought out change. The virtues had arisen as absolute decision makers but hadn't even been able to make a cohesive decision about what their future should be.
Tracey had realised in those days, after the Fall, that he was different. Initially when the fallen were cast out into the pit, some of his kin had cornered him, blaming his dark and sinister appearance, declaring it a sign of the great corruption which had taken hold of so many. They had wanted to throw him from the gates, down with the others, cast out without SIN in his body, without any great mark against him. He had cried then, cried because he understood that they were all flawed, that each Host had their own sins, tainted or not by the substance and that they had so much further to go to restore the world to the perfect glory of the days before. He wanted to bring the others home, caught up in a story about a man who sought out a single lost sheep over all of his others to return it once more to the fold. Every demon was a lost sheep, all of them caught up in something they had never fully understood and still capable of making a change before it was too late. They were all sons and daughters of the same king and one day, he'd find a way to see them united, a family again, able to care for everything the way they'd always done, side by side with everyone thought long lost.
Tracey had turned to Earth, a small but beautiful place where the great wonder of the King's creations were laid out plain to see but where humanity carved their own path, choosing between good or bad as they saw fit, choosing to love the King or reject him. Everything they did was malleable, free and up to them. They had never seen the world before and everything they chose would dictate what came after. He found them facinating and in the world and the creatures in it, he felt that love again. The sound of songbirds in a forest in the evening rang with the distant songs of the old days, a city at night full of sirens hid the echoing words of the first days in its alleyways. He wanted to protect them from themselves and from the Hosts who didn't know better. He wanted to protect the Hosts from themselves.
He knew in the end everything would be better, but that didn't mean everyone could simply sit back. It didn't mean that what he or others did was irrelevant. Everything would be better because day by day they'd make it that way, and he intended to.
So he worked, he worked the way he'd always worked, paperwork on paperwork, action on action, everything slow and steady, a patient build of plans, decisions and positioning. He didn't fight, he didn't harm people, he wouldn't kill anyone. Violence bred more violence and in this great and beautiful world, the echoes of an action spread like ripples in a pond, ever outward, touching many and stirring everything. He worked and he waited, building a better place bit by bit through his own actions, through trying to be a good person and to be good to others. He loved the nephilim and refused to exile or ostracise them, just as he refused to discount humanity. They would not exist if they were not part of the plan, if they weren't intended. He couldn't see the future, no one truly could, so you made decisions.
He protected them, kept them safe from harm and tried to make their lives better, shielding them from violence and giving them a way out when they needed it, letting them live with the humans who they resembled most. He let heaven lay its burdens on him because he wasn't afraid of them, because he was in no hurry, because everything would work out in the end and because no matter how difficult the journey got, he was not alone.
None of them had ever been alone, nor would they ever be alone again.
Heaven is an extensive realm split into numerous “levels”, considered in an upward direction in consideration of the concentration of power.
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