The Silver City stood tall and glowing, floating in an endless sky of light. Its towers shimmered like glass, stretching so high it felt like they could touch forever. Everything was quiet. Not empty, but waiting—like the city itself was holding its breath. And then, the stillness broke.
From the heart of that light, the creators—two beings of pure glow, still holding onto each other—looked out across their shining city. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. Just a single thought, and the air shifted. The city, quiet just a moment ago, started to stir.
The first to appear was Amenadiel.
He arrived like thunder rolling in slow motion—calm, powerful, solid. He was tall, built like a warrior, but carried himself with grace. His eyes were sharp but warm, always steady, like nothing could shake him. The way he stood said everything: he was born to protect, born to lead. He didn't speak. He just looked around, took everything in, and then bowed his head slightly to the two who had brought him into this world. There was a quiet pride in his eyes. He didn't smile, but there was a softness there—like he already knew who he was and what he was meant for.
Then came the triplets—Samael, Michael, and Sariel.
They were born like fire bursting from the sky, fast and bright. Identical in appearance, but nothing alike in energy. Samael stepped forward first, loose and confident, like a storm walking on two legs. His smirk said he didn't follow rules—he made them. His eyes gleamed with trouble and charm, like he already knew the universe was going to be fun to mess with.
Michael stood right next to him, more serious. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight, and his gaze sharp. Where Samael burned wild, Michael was focused—a fighter through and through. You could feel it just standing near him, like he was holding something powerful just beneath the surface. He didn't say anything, but when he looked at their parents, his expression softened—just for a second.
Sariel was quieter than both. He didn't talk or pose. He just stood there, thinking, like he could already see deeper than anyone else. His eyes moved slowly, scanning the city, the light, the others. He was calm, intense, and carried a silence that felt stronger than any shout.
And then Gabriel.
He landed like sunlight. Big presence, easy smile, eyes full of fire and freedom. He looked like the kind of person who could lead armies but would rather joke around with his brothers. His energy filled the space around him, like you could breathe easier when he was near. Gabriel's smile wasn't forced—it was real, bright, and full of something warm. A big brother vibe, all the way.
Then Azrael came.
Quiet. Still. Her presence was like dusk—soft, dark, comforting in a strange way. Her eyes were deep and distant, like she already understood pain and accepted it. She moved slowly, like every step had weight. But she wasn't cold. There was compassion in her—quiet, but steady. The kind of soul who would stand by your side even if the world was falling apart.
Ariel followed. She came in with the grace of wind and water, eyes full of light. She looked around like she was seeing art, like everything mattered. There was kindness in her smile, strength in her silence. She didn't need to say anything—her presence said enough. She gave off the feeling of someone who could heal and destroy with the same hands. Beautiful, but not fragile. Calm, but not weak.
Uriel stepped out of the light next. He didn't move fast—his eyes were already busy, always thinking. Every glance was precise, every movement sharp. He didn't waste time with small talk. He was the mind among them—the one already ten steps ahead. But even with all that calculation in his eyes, when he looked at his siblings, something in him softened. He'd protect them. That much was clear.
Then came Ramiel.
She didn't speak, didn't move fast—just stood with this quiet energy that felt like watching the sunset. She radiated peace. Her smile was calm and steady. You could tell she carried strength, but she didn't need to show it. She was the calm before the storm—and maybe after it, too.
Raphael entered next, light on his feet, eyes full of warmth. He felt like safety. Every move he made was careful, like he was born to heal, to help, to comfort. His eyes scanned everyone like he was already checking for wounds. He smiled easily, not big, not flashy—just real. You could feel peace just standing near him.
Castiel came through after.
He was quiet, almost awkward, like he wasn't sure if he should be here. But his eyes—deep, searching, always thinking—made it clear he saw more than he let on. He didn't need to say much. You could tell by the way he watched everything, the way he held himself, that he cared. A lot. His silence wasn't empty—it was full of meaning.
And finally, Raziel.
She appeared slow, graceful, and sharp as a blade hidden in silk. Her eyes were impossible to read—mysterious, calm, maybe even ancient. She looked like someone who held secrets, not because she wanted power, but because she understood things others weren't ready for. But when she looked at her siblings, her expression softened. There was love there—quiet, steady, deep.
The parents stood back, watching their children come into being. Each one different. Each one beautiful in their own way. No big speeches, no dramatic gestures. Just a quiet, powerful joy. The Silver City, once still and silent, now shimmered with life.
And just like that, the family was born. Not from war. Not from struggle. But from love. From light. From something simple, something real.
They were home.