"May I have a moment, Serah?"

The monotone voice diverted Serah’s eyes from Michael. She turned to an awaiting Dominion, her voice guarded as she replied, "Of course."

Hannah’s grip tightened for a brief moment before she left in a pop of static electricity. A large hand grasped Serah’s shoulder then, heavy and strong, pulling her down while raising her up at the same time. It was comforting, yet concerning—welcoming, yet fearsome. The presence of an Archangel was uncommon, the touch of one practically unheard of. The lingering angels vanished in a heated murmur of gossip, leaving Serah and Michael alone with the Dominion.

"You have a new task," the Dominion declared. "Your presence is required at the border between the righteous and the wicked, at the edge of Earth where everything descends into flames."

It took Serah a moment to grasp the instruction. "Wait . . . the front lines?"

He nodded in confirmation.

"There has to be a mistake," Serah said. "My calling is with the children, not in this war."

"There are no mistakes," the Dominion said. "You’re a Power. This is what your kind does. You protect the innocent from evil, and there’s no greater threat than what exists there."

"What am I to do?" she asked. "What’s my directive?"

"You’re to report to the gates."

She gaped at him. "The gates?"

"You’re to demand a cease-fire from the leader of the uprising. The fighting has gone on long enough without reprieve. Too many have fallen. You have until the snow falls on you to establish the truce."

"I’ll do it," Michael chimed in. "I’ll go in her place."

"You can’t," the Dominion said.

"I can, and I will," he replied. "She has no history with him."

"That’s the point," the Dominion said. "He has none with her, no harbored resentment or long-standing grudges to get in the way. There’s a greater chance of cooperation if—"

Bitter laughter erupted from Michael. "Cooperation? You think he’ll cooperate?"

"There's a chance he will, if she can appeal to his original nature. Serah has proven herself to be patient and persistent at tapping into a soul's conscience. It's her talent. She cultivates it. If you went, Michael, the plan would never work."

"It won’t work either way," Michael declared. "He has no conscience to tap into! Don't you understand? We’ve sent men down there for ages to convince him to stop this utter nonsense, and he never listens! So I’m going instead, to spare her the pointless journey."

"It’s not your job."

"Not my job?" Anger stirred Michael’s voice. "When the final battle comes, it is my duty to face him—mine and mine alone."

"Yes, I'm aware, but it's not time for that yet."

"You may oversee the other angels, but you don’t order me around, Dominion. You don't dictate what I do. You don't tell me what it's time for."

"While true, Prince," the Dominion sneered, the first bit of emotion Serah had ever heard from one of them, "it’s not our order."

Michael hesitated before muttering, "it's His."

"Yes, and I’d hardly refer to God’s will as pointless. He has reasons even if no reason can be found." The Dominion turned his attention back to Serah. "It’s imperative you report to the threshold straightaway. He’ll be anticipating your arrival."

A loud crack ricocheted through the land as the last of the Dominion dispersed. Michael’s hand on Serah’s shoulder grew heavier, weighed down by resignation.

"Come away with me," he whispered. "We’ll spend the night together."

Serah reluctantly shook her head. Numbness coated her mind, slowing her reactions. She was in shock. The gates? She'd never known anyone to have gone, only hearing stories of the horrors that existed there. "You heard him, Michael. I have to report."

"Tomorrow," Michael insisted. "Nothing will change overnight, Serah. In fact, nothing will ever change when it comes to him. There's no point rushing just to get nowhere. Besides, you could probably use the extra energy."

It wasn’t difficult to convince her. Serah relaxed against Michael, her golden, shimmering wings folding into her. Her back flush against his chest, she let out a deep, submissive sigh.

The war had been brewing since the beginning of time. One night wouldn’t make a difference, right?

Michael wrapped his sturdy arms around her as he leaned down, nuzzling into her neck. "Where to?"

She gripped his forearms. "You choose."

It's a myth that Heaven is a singular place. There are no pearly gates leading to a fluffy sanctuary, no Saint Peter monitoring names and determining if people are allowed inside. Salvation isn't run by a book. There's no Naughty or Nice list, à la Santa Claus.

No, Heaven’s an idea. Heaven’s the space a free soul inhabits once it has been expelled from the body, the energy that once lived inside a person crackling on in its own little corner of the atmosphere. You could call it an illusion, pure imagination, but it's deeper than that. It's a magnificent dream on an everlasting loop. It’s still existing, even though you technically no longer exist.

Heaven’s what you make it, whatever you want it to be. A lifetime of obedience earns you an eternity of freedom.