They walked side by side through the gardens of the Golden City though “walk” was generous. Emily glided more than stepped, her feet barely kissing the marble. The Power, by contrast, walked like a soldier: heels clicking, back straight, eyes scanning for danger that would never come.

I can feel you judging me. Emily said without looking back.

I’m not judging. The Power’s voice was flat. I’m assessing the structural instability of this entire situation.

Emily laughed, light and pure. You're funny, I like you.

The Power grunted. Great. I live to entertain.

They turned into a corridor where ancient murals glowed with the stories of battles fought at the edge of creation. Emily paused before one depicting the First Rebellion, her fingers brushing the worn stone.

Did you fight in this war? she asked softly.

Second wave. the Power replied curtly. We cleaned up what the Thrones didn’t finish.

Emily nodded thoughtfully. You’ve seen more than most seraphim ever will. And yet here you are, stuck babysitting me.

The Power didn’t answer.

Emily slowed her pace. Do you hate it?

Silence lingered like incense before the soldier finally spoke.
I hate waste. You’re a living fire. You could set stars to burn brighter. Instead, you want to play dress-up and talk to fountain boys.

Emily stopped and turned, her wings unfurling ever so slightly with the weight of honesty. I would rather be nothing than burn alone.

That silenced the Power.

Emily looked away, voice quieter now. I wasn’t made to be worshipped. None of us were. And I’m so tired of pretending that being admired is the same as being seen.

They walked on. The Power’s steps lost their rigid edge. She stopped scanning the skies for threats. She watched Emily instead.

Later, near the Sunlight Fountain, they sat beneath an olive tree—one of the few places in the Golden City where shadows were allowed to form. Emily sprawled on the grass, arms outstretched, eyes closed to the breeze.

The Power stood nearby like a statue until Emily cracked one eye open and smirked. You can sit, you know.

I don’t sit when I’m working.

Emily patted the grass beside her.

After a long moment, the Power reluctantly sat—arms crossed, sword laid across her knees.

You know, Emily teased, if you keep frowning like that, someone might think you’re brooding.

I am brooding.

They fell into a quiet stretch of silence.

Did you ever want something else? Emily asked softly.

The Power looked at her, surprised. Like what?

I don’t know. A different life. One where people don’t assume things about you the moment you walk into a room.

That struck a nerve. The Power looked away …Maybe, she muttered. But that’s not how it works up here. You get made, you get placed, and then you spend eternity doing your job.

And what if that’s not enough?

For the first time, The Power didn’t see the Seraph of Solace. She saw a young woman with loneliness etched between every feather, someone reaching across the void of perfection for something... anything... real.

Then maybe... she said slowly, you do what you’re doing now. Even if it’s stupid. Even if it gets someone like me in trouble.

Emily smiled, radiant as sunrise. You really do like me.

I tolerate you. the Power said, smirking.

Emily laughed again, wings folding around her like a shawl of sunlight.

For the first time in years, the Power didn’t feel like she was guarding a symbol. She was protecting a person.

Emily’s eyes lingered on her curious, gentle, almost luminous. Then she spoke, her voice soft as a prayer. Can i ask for your name?

The soldier hesitated, silence wrapping around them like wings. Then she exhaled as though releasing a weight My name is Maggie.

Emily’s smile blossomed, warm and unguarded. Maggie! she repeated.

And something in the air shifted, like dawn breaking through an endless night.