The cold detachment in Anastasia's face softened as her eyes swept over the familiar faces in front of her, lingering longest on her father, then Billy, and finally… Bastian. There was a flicker, a crack in her new armor, and then a warmth—real, unmistakable—washed over her expression. Her wings folded neatly behind her as she took a step forward, and in that moment, the old Anastasia seemed to resurface.
"Anastasia…" Wyatt's voice broke, barely more than a whisper, and before she could take another step, he'd run to her, arms wide and heart wide open. She met him halfway, collapsing into his embrace as his arms wrapped tightly around her, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face against her. Wyatt, the one who'd always been strong, couldn't hold back his tears. "I thought I'd lost you," he choked, holding her even tighter. "I thought… Ana, I thought you were gone."
"I'm here, Dad. I'm right here." Her voice was low and soothing as she held him, grounding him as much as he needed to ground her. "I'm okay. I'm stronger now, I swear." She placed her hand gently against his cheek, giving him that familiar little smile she used to whenever she wanted him to know she was alright. Wyatt's sobs slowly faded, leaving him breathless but relieved, and he cupped her face like she was something fragile he'd just found after years of searching.
Billy waited a beat before stepping in, his usual calm shattered by a smile that reached all the way up to his eyes. He clapped Wyatt on the shoulder, then wrapped his arms around both of them, his grip fierce and warm. He didn't say anything—didn't need to—but the silent relief in his embrace spoke volumes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were glossy, and he just shook his head, laughing quietly. "Don't you ever pull that again, you hear me?"
Anastasia laughed, brushing her hand across his shoulder. "No promises," she teased, but the way her voice shook betrayed the depths of emotion beneath her calm.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Bastian, standing a few paces back, still watching. He'd barely moved, his gaze locked on her, his face a mixture of disbelief and relief. She caught his eye, and that was all it took. Wyatt followed her gaze, nodding slowly with a faint smile and leaning close to whisper, "Go to him, Ana."
Anastasia nodded, letting her father's arms fall away before taking slow, tentative steps toward Bastian. Her pace quickened, each step pulling her closer to him, until finally, they broke into a run, crashing into each other like two halves reuniting. Bastian's arms enveloped her, strong and unyielding, and he buried his face against her neck, breathing her in, as though afraid she might disappear again.
They held each other, their silence broken only by the faint sound of his breathing. She pulled back just enough to look at him, and in that brief second, everything she'd gone through, all the fear and longing, slipped away. She cupped his face, thumb brushing across his cheek as tears filled his eyes, and he just looked at her, a bittersweet smile cracking through his shock.
"I thought I lost you," he choked, voice raw and breaking, but his smile grew as if he couldn't quite believe this moment was real.
She touched her forehead to his, her hand sliding to the back of his neck. "For a while, you did," she whispered, feeling the sting of her own words, "but I'm here now. I'll tell you everything, but just… just know I'm not going anywhere." Her voice shook with the truth, with the strange and painful beauty of this moment.
He didn't wait for another word, pulling her back into his arms and kissing her, a desperate, fierce kiss that felt like a promise and a plea wrapped into one. She responded in kind, the urgency building between them like an unbreakable bond pulling them closer. For a moment, the world disappeared, the pain, the fights, all of it drowned out by the certainty of his presence.
But then, just as their lips parted, as they held each other close, a cold, sinister voice cut through the air.
"Well, isn't this touching."
They froze, heads snapping in the direction of the voice.
The voice, refined and piercingly smooth, belonged to the Archangel Gabriel, accompanied by the formidable figures of Saint Michael and Saint Raphael. Their presence was immense, silent yet undeniably powerful, and they glided forward, barely touching the ground as if to emphasize their ethereal superiority. The sight of all three together made Billy and Bastian exchange a look—this was no casual visit.
Gabriel's gaze first fell on Billy, his voice rich and laden with an ancient, regal lilt. "Ah, Billy. It has been far too long, old friend. You have remained most dutiful, as ever."
Billy, caught off guard, gave a stiff nod, swallowing hard. "Er—Gabriel. An unexpected… pleasure."
Gabriel inclined his head, a faint trace of amusement in his eyes, before he turned his attention to Wyatt, whose entire posture grew tense under the scrutiny. "And as for you, Wyatt," Gabriel began, a soft warning in his tone, "consider yourself remarkably fortunate. That you remain endowed with the power of the demon hunter, despite your past dereliction, is nothing short of a mercy undeserved, but your recent exploits in purging evil from these lands are commendable, but heed me well—this is your final chance. Should you or any of your kin hereafter forsake the cause, your family's privileges will be revoked… indefinitely."
Wyatt's face twisted with anger, yet all he managed was a gruff, "Yes, sir," his tone more of controlled fury than obedience.
But Anastasia was having none of it. Her brows snapped together, and before she could think twice, she stepped forward, hands clenched by her sides. "Who in the hell do you think you are, threatening my family like that?"
Billy's hand flew to his mouth, Wyatt's eyes went wide, and Bastian's gaze whipped to her in sheer horror. But Gabriel merely raised a brow, as though intrigued. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, his tone dangerously polite, with a hint of a smirk.
"Forgive me. My manners must have escaped me," he added, his voice soft but unmistakably biting. "Allow me to introduce myself and my esteemed colleagues. I am Gabriel." He gestured to his companions. "Saint Michael, Protector of the Faithful, and Saint Raphael, Healer of the Broken. We are Archangels of the Highest Realm, bound by duty to uphold divine law."
Anastasia crossed her arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Well, Gabriel, Michael, Raphael—I don't know if you realize, but you need us. You need us to clear out these demons who are wreaking havoc down here while you're up there. So maybe, just maybe, you ought to be careful who you're talking to."
Gabriel regarded her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. A tense silence settled, his calculating gaze scanning her up and down. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Billy tried to interject, stepping forward, hands up as if to prevent an impending disaster.
"Anastasia, perhaps now's not the time—" Billy began, but Gabriel held up a hand, a signal that silenced him on the spot.
He looked at her with the patience of a stone, though the faintest edge sharpened his tone. "My dear, you are bold, yet terribly naive. We know of the clandestine meeting between you and your beloved mother. Indeed, it is she who disturbed the balance, and who must answer for her actions. Make no mistake, young one: her interference to keep you among the living has consequences—grave ones."
Wyatt's face went white, horror-struck, but Anastasia didn't back down. Power simmered within her, a defiant glow building at her palms. "If you think for a second that you're going anywhere near my mother, you're in for a very rude surprise."
At this, Michael and Raphael moved with a terrifying swiftness, their swords drawn in a flash of silvered light. Each blade hovered at her throat, mere inches from piercing her skin. Michael's voice was calm but laced with cold steel. "One more step, and you shall fall before a single inch is gained."
Gabriel held his stance, his face a picture of practiced indifference. "Now, now," he said with a dismissive wave. "There's no need for dramatics."
Anastasia's eyes narrowed, unwavering. "You'll die before you ever touch her. All of you."
Before anyone could act, Bastian stepped forward, grabbing Anastasia by the arm and gently placing her behind him. Gabriel's gaze shifted to him, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight. "Ah, so the prodigal son reveals his face at last." His tone was both amused and laced with contempt. "Tell me, Bastian, do you consider yourself beyond judgment?"
Bastian's jaw tightened, and he stared back, unyielding. But Gabriel's calm exterior suddenly darkened, his gaze steely, unmasked fury simmering just beneath. "You. Have. Mated. With this mortal?" His tone was biting, each word dripping with disdain. "Oh, Bastian, you are the very epitome of insubordination. You shall return to the Celestial City immediately to face judgment, as befits your transgressions."
Without thinking, Anastasia moved to stand beside Bastian, her voice firm. "Over my dead body."
Gabriel tilted his head, his smirk returning with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Very well," he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. "Then we shall return… to claim that which is rightfully owed."
With a final nod, Gabriel turned, the other two following suit. In a flash of divine light, they vanished, leaving a silence heavy with the threat they left behind. This wasn't over and now, their enemies weren't only the demons.