Signs have sprouted up over the lawn. The last time I was here, there was only one booth, but now there are booths everywhere. They seem to be grouped in threes – red, blue, and green. I can’t read the symbols on the colored banners, but I recognize Uriel’s from when Raffe pointed it out to me. His is the red banner.

The other two banners in each booth cluster are azure blue with symbols that are curved lines and dots and misty green with dashed lines that flow both thick and thin. Even though I can’t read them, I like them better than Uriel’s, which is all angles and screaming in red.

Angels fly all over the sky and walk over the lawn that used to be a golf course. They begin gathering around the colored banners, looking like distinct teams. Many of the angels are chanting, ‘Uriel! Uriel! Uriel!’ near the red-bannered booths like they’re at a football game.

The second largest group gathers around the misty green booths and shouts, ‘Michael! Michael! Michael!’

And a few others collect around the azure blue booths and begin shouting, ‘Raphael! Raphael! Raphael!’

Most of the angels mill around in the sky or between the booths, as if they’re still deciding. But as Raffe’s supporters keep chanting, more soldiers join them and begin shouting his name.

I’m so surprised that I stumble to a stop in the middle of the lawn. My guards have to shove me to get me to go again.

‘Raphael! Raphael! Raphael!’

I hope he’s somewhere nearby, hearing his people shouting his name.

He belongs here.

That thought echoes through my mind because I still have a hard time believing it. Angels are not meant to be alone, and he’s been alone for far too long.

Does he dream about this? To have his wings again and be welcomed back into the host? To lead his soldiers and be part of his tribe again?

‘Raphael! Raphael! Raphael!’

Of course he does. Isn’t that what he’s been telling me all this time? He belongs with them and not with me.

I wonder if he has his angel wings back yet. Is he just on the verge of getting everything he wants? On the verge of going back to his world?

I throw the rest of my thoughts into the vault in my head and lean as hard as I can to close the door. I don’t quite succeed. That’s been happening a lot lately.

A brawl breaks out at the cluster of booths to my right. Some take to the air. Others grapple on the ground. Angels who had been meandering on the lawn fly over to watch the fight.

Four warriors battle against a dozen while spectators cheer. No one uses his sword. This is apparently more of a contest than an angry fight.