The Firstborn’s Question — Powers and Principalities, Tome I
By B.J.P. Bisoneaux
A 1,000-word short-story adaptation from Powers and Principalities, Tome I, by B.J.P. Bisoneaux. BISONARTZ.
Mikael heard the whispers without turning his head.
Firstborn. Shield. Light.
They passed among the Cherubim gathered upon the plain of living crystal, and settled within him with the comfortable weight of things correctly named.
Below the assembly, Eden turned beneath its mists. Dragons slept along sunlit cliffs; the Wood reached through green continents toward the hidden Allstream. Above, the stars sang. Nothing had yet taught creation to mistake splendor for danger.
Mikael stood before the Unity, broad shoulders straight, light gathering naturally upon him. Lucifer waited at his right, Gabriel at his left. Two hundred thousand Cherubim filled the sanctuary the firmament had become.
The hymn rose through them. Gabriel gave it language, Lucifer devotion, Mikael grandeur. From the sea below, leviathans lifted their armored backs through waters that had never swallowed a ship.
Sophea Zoe raised Her hands.
“Children of Our abundance.”
The song softened beneath Her voice. She spoke of dignity and purpose, of power held in trust. Beside Her, Faramun-Ra burned with a golden flame that consumed nothing. Their children would guard what had been made.
Mikael bowed first.
He could feel the watching host. His obedience was beautiful, and he offered it without hesitation.
Then the Father called him forward.
“Mikael, firstborn of the Elohim, Shield and Light.”
General of the Celestial Militants. Guardian of heavenly order. The words opened inside him like the gates of a kingdom.
He knelt.
“I receive what is given.”
Faramun-Ra touched his brow. Power entered with such brilliance that some Cherubim turned away. Mikael felt the strength of gathered armies, the steadiness of ranks, the faces that would turn toward him awaiting command.
He loved that weight.
When he rose, Sophea Zoe was calling Lucifer.
The second-born approached slowly. His flame lowered as he knelt, growing almost transparent. She entrusted him with sight: to perceive hidden things without consuming them, to remember that his light had been given.
“I receive what is given,” Lucifer whispered.
Her hand touched him.
Beyond the veil, the Crystal shimmered.
Lucifer saw only what he could endure. Even that glimpse caught his breath. The mystery beneath existence had permitted him to look; gratitude overwhelmed every other thought.
Mikael saw his brother’s face change.
The Mother’s hand lingered. Silence gathered around Lucifer, deeper than the admiration that had followed Mikael’s appointment. Something within the firstborn tightened, then loosened so quickly he could almost believe it had never moved.
Gabriel received the charge of word and dream. The Seraphim stepped forward. Then came the Cherubim, each known, each called.
One nearly stumbled.
Orasiel, a young record-keeper with pale bronze wings, knelt trembling. Dark hair framed a face still unpracticed at concealing wonder.
Sophea Zoe spoke his name.
He was to preserve what pride might rewrite. Victories and warnings. Crowns and wounds.
“For memory is mercy when truth remains within it.”
The Father touched him, and Orasiel saw hands writing while cities burned, names cut into stone, monuments raised by victors and scarred by defeated fingernails.
He returned to the ranks afraid.
Gabriel’s decree rolled across the assembly, reminding rulers of service and servants of dignity. The host answered that the Allstream bore witness. Below them, wind moved over Eden. For a time, their callings fitted together as perfectly as the voices of their hymn.
Mikael returned to his calling with joy.
Upon Faymarck’s high fields he trained the Militants. He knew how to steady the frightened, correct the arrogant, make the lowest soldier feel appointed rather than overlooked. They loved him. He loved them, too: their strength, their loyalty, the wings opening when he lifted his hand.
Meanwhile Lucifer listened in the sanctuaries, where the Allstream sounded clearest.
When the brothers stood together above Eden, Mikael called the world beautiful.
“More than beautiful,” Lucifer answered.
“You always say more than others can see.”
Lucifer smiled. “I only suspect there is more than I can see.”
Mikael reminded him that he had received sight.
“I have been given mercy.”
The answer troubled Mikael. Then he noticed Orasiel passing with tablets and called him over.
The young Cherub bowed so low his wings nearly touched the floor.
He carried appointments for the eastern sanctuaries. He hoped, he said, to be faithful.
Mikael smiled, and Orasiel brightened beneath that attention.
“The heavens are not upheld only by those who stand at the front of armies,” Mikael told him.
The record-keeper departed clutching his tablets.
“You gave him courage,” Lucifer said.
“Courage is useful.”
Gabriel watched them without speaking.
The High Place rose above the sanctuaries of Faymarck. Within its veils, the Allstream could be heard like a river beneath reality’s foundations. Even the mightiest approached trembling; mercy concealed what their created minds could never contain.
In time the Elohim approached the High Place, where the Unity’s presence thundered behind merciful veils. Mikael entered first. He worshiped and emerged shining. Gabriel emerged silent.
Lucifer was summoned farther.
Mikael learned it on a terrace overlooking Eden. Gabriel brought word of the next gathering; their brother would miss its opening hour.
“He has been summoned beyond the High Place.”
“Beyond.”
“Yes.”
Clouds crossed the mountains below. Mikael kept his face serene.
“That is a great honor.”
“It is a great burden,” Gabriel said.
“You always soften difference with duty.”
“I name it accurately.”
Mikael turned slightly. “And I do not?”
The silence lasted only a moment.
“You are firstborn,” Gabriel said gently. “No decree has diminished that.”
“Of course.”
When Gabriel left, Mikael remained. Everything before him was magnificent. He had been entrusted with its defense. He had soldiers who loved him, strength beyond imagining, a place beside the source of every blessing.
Still, his eyes traveled toward the distant radiance.
He told himself he was glad for Lucifer. Wisdom governed every gift. Nothing had been taken from him.
Beyond the veils, his brother knelt before the Crystal’s reflected shimmer, weeping flame with gratitude.
Upon the terrace, Mikael stood alone with everything he had received.
And wondered why it was not enough.
Continue the story in Powers and Principalities, Tome I.
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