The chamber doors slammed shut behind the archangels with a deep, solemn sound, as if the architecture itself breathed a sigh of relief for a few seconds of silence. The vastness of the hall remained still around them, filled only with the soft glow of the runes that traced the mirrored floor and the luminous circles that slowly orbited above Metatron's head. Without Michael growling, without Uriel threatening spontaneous combustion, and without Gabriel muttering administrative insults, the atmosphere immediately seemed more civilized.
Metatron observed the door for a moment, making sure they were truly alone. Then he turned his gaze to Vergil and Lucy, and a slight smile appeared on his serene face, the kind of expression of someone accustomed to dealing with absurd crises and who had already decided not to be easily impressed.
"There," he said calmly. "Now we can talk like rational beings."
Vergil remained standing, hands in his pockets, an impassive expression.
