[There is a reason the stories will remember him as a priest even in his own world where he was a farmer prior to Heaven. When asked about this core concept of his faith, when it is challenged and confronted, not with the sarcasm of one who won't hear otherwise, but one who might want to, what comes from his lips is patient and calm, a tone of guidance.]

God has a plan, this I am sure of, but...I think it's larger than any single one of us. Our own movements, unless He deems otherwise, don't matter. I have been many places, and have seen many things. Many cultures, many ways of clothing oneself, of preparing food, of caring for family, of seeing to the dead. Many ways of defining truth, evil, justice, and love. The Archangels never had any damning comment unless the Fallen Angels had something to do with any of it.

What man does belongs to man, to his own life. The only task God has given us is to take care of our home. Our tests, unless God has intervened with His own hand, are only against ourselves.

Because mine is one instance where God has directly intervened. But, even so... The only thing that defines "right" is that I survive. My imminent death is the only condition in which Lucifel is permitted to turn back time.

[He doesn't think twice about giving the angel's name, so caught up in the discussion itself he forgets how uncomfortable the name made Clayton.]

The meaning in free will is that it can be whatever its owner wants it to be. That is anything but a burden, in my mind. The purpose of free will is that it is ours, and should never be taken away.

[He's about to comment on that, himself, when Beckett responds to his friend's name.]

Lucifel. [Surprisingly, he hasn't had much of an issue beyond Clayton's initial reaction, partially because of said reaction and partially because it simply never came up.] That's his name in the original tongue. It does live on in "Lucifer" and "Helel", though, so you are...somewhat right.

[And then there's Phosphorous, which has no ties to the original version of the name whatsoever, it just happens to be the closest translation. Oh, Babel, you made things so complicated. Lucifel somehow keeps straight all the names he earned when Babel split the common tongue asunder, and Enoch has no idea how he does it. The gift of tongues has limited use when it comes to proper names.

Anyway, they are talking about his best friend; he can't help but smile brightly even given the situation.]

The highest of Archangels, called God's own right hand by the others. His sense of humor takes some adjusting to, but it's the strongest friendship I've ever had.

Ah...not entirely? Clayton seemed a little disturbed by it, but he never explained why, and it has come up with no one else.

Honestly, I don't know what to make of it.

[He sounds a little tentative, himself, hearing Beckett's tone. He's never heard him hesitate like that. That's the tone of someone bearing bad news.]

...Does everyone else live in worlds where the stories are bound and determined to make everyone good out to be monsters?

[He is confused by this. Extremely confused. First God willingly giving up souls to demons for punishments they couldn't have known about, and now the highest of the Archangels cast out?]

Lucifel is prideful, but he is the most loyal angel I know.

"Satan"? I have heard that name, I think, or one like it... It isn't related to Lucifel at all.

[Despite all of this, Beckett's interpretation of Lucifel's role in the story at large is more or less correct, aside from Satan being a different being entirely.

That said, he's interested in what the future might think of angels and Heaven - Beckett's scholarly approach has piqued his interest, an angle he doesn't usually see when it comes to Heaven and its denizens. He wonders if this sort of thing is normal in the future, and what such a discussion between people might look like, two or more people looking very logically at something with scant logical evidence to approach by its very design. A worship of conjecture, devotion shown by attempting to understand rather than lauding the inability to?

He's a little disappointed that he's stopped.]

I don't know the name as a disloyal angel though, I think. But...the Grigori. At least two were still loyal, but otherwise they thought themselves superior creators.

[Something's made Beckett uncomfortable. What is it? What has he said? That other book, it must have something to do with that, which...]

Dio mentioned an "apocryphal" book about myself and the Grigori - is that the same book?

[Dio. Another friend dead and gone. With Clayton's departure, somehow it hits him harder. There's too much death, and it isn't like home, he can't simply just move on, go away, grab his immortal friends and cling to them like glue...

...except he's not even immortal anymore. So if he'll die one day too, why does it still hurt?]

[There's a noise of appalled disbelief, half muted snort and half scoff.]

The only "apocrypha" about any of this is how little credit the writer gave us! And this notion that we were somehow made immoral by the zeal of angels with misguided notions of guidance! We were offered help that seemed to do no harm; we are no more immoral for it than they were malicious.

Not to mention it's...wrong, beyond that. We were already making weapons of copper. Azazel and Semyaza taught crafting weapons from iron - which was never forbidden, only something we were meant to discover ourselves. Fortunes and makeup existed long before their fall, and travelers have guided themselves by the sun and stars since we looked up and saw they were reliable.

[His voice quiets, then, beyond the disbelief and into...almost pain.]

I pity whoever thinks we are so spiritually weak, and so...slow of mind. This book is named after me...how could anyone think I would ever disparage humanity like this?

[Absolving mankind of blame by implying they're simpleminded and weak! Enoch can't take that. He's human, himself, after all, and more well-traveled than most of his time. He's seen the things humanity has come up with, and thanks to Lucifel, the things they will come up with.

He makes a single noise of protest at hearing that, indeed, these ideas were attributed directly to him, as his own words, but Beckett keeps talking and he doesn't try to stop him, until he's stopped, himself.]

I'm sorry. We could resume this in writing when you have stopped traveling for the night, if it would be more comfortable?

That's all right. I take it there was...a lot of time, between the events and this writing, and yet more between that and your life.

[Enoch quiets considerably. The more he thinks of Beckett's discomfort, the more unsettled it makes him feel.]

You...you didn't want to finish that sentence. "If it were you"... Has something in my story, or this story that claims to be mine, hurt you?

...I'd imagine so. It's already happening as I live. Heaven as I know it is not the same as the Heaven my peers and all the people for three hundred years after think exists.

[It was a shock, for himself, but after centuries of living with it as fact, the fiction he'd grown up with feels too far away to own anymore.]

I could...try to answer questions?

[He probably shouldn't, honestly - Heaven wasn't meant to guide humanity directly. But he's aching for the company of someone else in the know, now, after spending so long separated from all his divine companions.]