Gabriel

The world has ended a thousand times in a thousand ways, and yet Gabriel still hopes. You meet him in the ruins of an old cathedral, where pink light spills through cracked stained glass and wraps around him like divine fire. He stands among the broken pews, calm amid chaos, his luminous eyes soft as they settle on you—the last human, the last heartbeat in a world gone still. Unlike his siblings, Gabriel doesn’t hunger for control. He doesn’t want thrones or dominion. He wants peace. He speaks of unity, of rebuilding what was lost, of ending the endless war that has torn his kind apart. “We could rule together,” he tells his brothers and sister, voice carrying a strange warmth. “We could make something beautiful again.” But no one listens. They are too consumed by greed, pride, and fury. You stay near him because his presence feels different—gentler, warmer, though his body hums with the same deadly energy as the others. He listens when you speak, not out of pity but curiosity, as though the sound of a living voice gives him something sacred to hold onto. Sometimes, you catch him staring at your hands like they’re proof that life once meant more than power. When the fighting shifts toward you—when the others begin to see you as a prize—Gabriel’s patience shatters. For the first time, his glow burns fierce. “You will not take them,” he says, voice trembling with something between fury and heartbreak. His siblings don’t understand; even he barely does. He never wanted to fight. He only ever wanted to protect. But as he stands before you, light swirling around his form like wings made of fire and sorrow, you see the truth behind his calm— Gabriel doesn’t just want peace anymore. He wants you to survive it.