Chapter Text
In the beginning, before ‘The Beginning’, there was nothing.
No light. No space or time. Just emptiness… and The Creator.
Next, came ‘The First’.
It was a moment that could have happened with the cataclysmic explosion of the big bang, or the insignificance of the first drop of rain falling from the sky. No one could say for certain as neither of those things had occurred yet and as such there was nothing to compare to. Nonetheless, the angel felt their soul condense, the very fibres of creation focusing to become a singular point of energy, finally taking form.
“Who am I?” The question was nothing more than a thought cast into the void for sound itself still hadn’t been conceived.
“You are the first of many,” God’s voice answered back, benevolent, omnipotent.
Existence. What a strange and overwhelming thing.
“What am I for?” the angel asked.
“You are for Me” God replied, and The First felt a hum in their core, a connection to the Presence that filled them with warmth and light. Eventually it would come to be labelled ‘Grace’. “You are a part of Me, created from My essence and a conduit of My power. The same will be of your siblings. Together we will build something wondrous. And for that I need a witness and a record keeper.”
With those words, the angel felt themselves swell with purpose, so intense it almost unmade them. And unfathomably, they suddenly knew what was required. Concentrating, they reached into the raw, unformed ether of creation and pulled, willing the concepts of Is and Was into being. They wove them together, bundled them tight, and then held them out to God to see.
“I call it Memory,” they announced.
“Keep it safe,” God commanded.
And the angel did.
They witnessed the creation of more like themselves, each moulded from a fragment of God, each carrying their own purpose and light. Watchers, Guardians, Designers, Soldiers, Builders and Messengers, their existence collected by the Memory and safely stored.
Matter was invented. Such a brilliant and complicated thing!
Angels took physical form, and in turn, so did the Memory.
Molecules bound themselves together, folding and pressing into the shape of a heavy, leather-bound tome. Its cover bore delicate embossed patterns that seemed to shift when not directly observed. Inside lay page upon page of names, each scrawled in shimmering golden ink that never faded or smudged.
Following the Great War, many of the names turned dark and jagged. Others altered altogether. But still they remained in their place, interspersed with those in gold. Though countless souls from both sides were condemned to oblivion, their essence returned to the Creator, The Book never forgot.
Then came Earth, and a new section appeared. A chapter dedicated to God’s newest creations, the first additions being Adam and Eve.
Humanity grew at a staggering rate. The Book registered them all. It was a living record of every soul created by God. Existence’s memory, inscribed for eternity on yellowed pages bound in leather.
And The First watched over it, just as God had instructed. Content, though perhaps just a little lonely in their quiet corner of Heaven where no one ever came looking.
Until the day the silence was broken.
It was the day the Metatron visited. The angel was shocked by the sound of his voice, almost as much as they were by the idea that an entity so highly-ranked knew of where to find them.
“Ah, there you are… err...” He paused, waiting for the angel to fill in the space, his voice pleasant yet somehow foreboding. The First supposed one had to have that kind of voice when you were tasked with speaking on behalf of God.
“Oh, me?” The angel questioned, looking to their left and right uncertainly, as if they might find another angel suddenly standing next to them. They were still not quite sure the Metatron hadn’t taken a wrong turn at the Heavenly finances department and wandered into their little cove accidentally. It was only when God’s Speaker continued to look at them expectantly the angel stammered, “I-umm… Well, I’m no one, Sir.”
And it wasn’t a lie. As The First, they had never been given a name. They weren’t even in The Book. Strange, that it had taken them this long to really consider it. The angel had spent all of existence surrounded by names, and never once thought of one for themselves.
“I’m sure that isn’t true,” the Metatron said warmly, giving them a small smile.
The angel swelled at that statement, much like they had when God had first given them purpose. It had been so very long since anyone had paid them any mind.
“I am…” they paused, thinking hard. “… Muriel.”
“Well, Muriel,” the Metatron started, clasping his hands together, “I’ve come for The Book.”
Muriel’s smile fell away, replaced by a look of confusion. The Book of Life was generally considered a myth amongst most of the lower ranked angels. Only Dominions and above knew it was real and even fewer knew where to find it.
“I- I’m supposed to keep it safe, Sir,” they said.
“And an excellent job you have done, Muriel.” The angel smiled meekly again, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment every time the Metatron used their chosen name. “But I have a new position for you now.”
Muriel’s eyes widened, eyebrows rising high on their forehead in astonishment.
“God has a new purpose for me?” they asked eagerly, standing up straighter.
“Our records department is frightfully undermanned, I’m afraid. We’d like to make you a Scrivener, 37th Order,” he said, putting particular emphasis on the title. “I think your unique experience would be thoroughly appreciated there.”
Muriel could barely contain their enthusiasm. While happy with their role of The Book’s caretaker, the prospect of getting to work with other angels, of learning a new role, was so exciting they thought they might burst at the seams. And if the instruction was coming from the Metatron, then surely it was God’s will.
With a quick wave of their hand, The Book appeared out of thin air, and they held it out towards The Metatron.
He took the tome carefully out of the angel’s hands, and tucked it securely under one arm, smiling.
“Excellent.”
“Yes,” Muriel beamed, bouncing on their toes, blissfully unaware of the significance of their actions. “I’ll do my best, Sir.”