The afternoon sun, usually a warm, comforting presence over the verdant valley where the Order of the Green Thumb resided, felt strangely muted. A stillness hung in the air, a quiet anticipation that settled on Finn like a heavy cloak. He had been tending his personal garden, a riot of rare herbs and meticulously cultivated flora, a testament to centuries of accumulated knowledge and subtle manipulation of life force. He’d been pruning a Lunaria annua, its silvery seedpods shimmering like miniature moons, when the light shifted.

It wasn't a natural shift. This was a sudden, dramatic alteration in the very quality of the light itself, as if the sun had doubled in intensity, bathing the world in a blinding, ethereal glow. Finn shielded his eyes, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Years, centuries even, spent mastering control over his abilities hadn't prepared him for this.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered his hand. He wasn't alone anymore.

Standing before him, bathed in the radiant light, was a figure that defied description. Archangel Michael, a name whispered in countless prayers throughout the ages, now stood materialized in Finn’s humble garden. The archangel was not a being of flesh and blood as Finn understood it, but rather a conduit of pure, incandescent energy contained within a humanoid form that shimmered and pulsed with divine power. Light emanated from him in waves, warming Finn’s skin despite the inexplicable chill that had permeated the air. He was clad in armour that looked forged from starlight, and his wings, vast and magnificent, stretched towards the heavens like banners of pure gold.

Michael didn't speak at first. He simply was. His presence resonated with an authority that transcended earthly power, a force that commanded respect not through fear, but through the sheer overwhelming weight of his divine purpose. Finn, despite his accumulated centuries and the godlike potential that resided within him, felt suddenly small, insignificant. He instinctively dropped to one knee, a gesture of deference learned long ago in the stables of his youth, yet entirely appropriate in this moment.

"Finnigan O'Malley," Michael's voice echoed, not from his lips, but from within Finn's mind. It was a voice of profound resonance, carrying the weight of eons and the gentle cadence of unwavering compassion. "For centuries, you have walked among mortals, a silent benefactor, a beacon of hope in a world often shrouded in darkness."

Finn remained kneeling, his head bowed. He knew that his actions hadn’t gone unnoticed. He had always felt the subtle hum of observation, the faint pressure of celestial awareness. He just hadn’t anticipated such a… direct encounter.

"Your deeds have not gone unnoticed," Michael continued, his gaze encompassing the garden and, it seemed, the very soul of Finn himself. "You have accumulated a karmic merit unlike any other mortal. The echoes of your compassion resonate throughout the heavens."

Finn risked a glance upwards. "I... I simply did what I could, what I thought was right," he stammered, the words sounding clumsy and inadequate.

Michael smiled, a gentle, radiant expression that could melt glaciers. "Humility is a virtue, Finnigan. But do not diminish the impact of your actions. You have healed the sick, eased suffering, and inspired hope where there was none. You have used your unique gifts not for personal gain, but for the betterment of others."

The archangel extended a hand, its touch a surge of invigorating energy. "The celestial realms recognize your contributions, Finnigan O'Malley. And we have come to offer you a place among us."

Finn’s breath caught in his throat. A place among the celestial beings? The concept was staggering, incomprehensible. He had always considered himself a guardian of the mortal realm, a silent observer, a hand in the shadows. The thought of ascending to Heaven, of abandoning his earthly duties, was… unsettling.

"A place… in Heaven?" he echoed, the words barely a whisper.

"Indeed," Michael confirmed. "Your unique connection to life force, your innate ability to nurture and heal, are qualities highly valued in the higher realms. We believe you possess a potential that is yet untapped, a purpose that extends beyond the mortal plane."

He paused, his gaze unwavering. "Heaven is not a place of idle worship, Finnigan. It is a realm of constant creation, of tireless effort, of unwavering dedication to the cosmic balance. We are always seeking individuals with unique talents and unwavering hearts to join our ranks."

Finn was still struggling to process the sheer audacity of the offer. To go from stable boy to alchemist to… celestial being? The leap was too vast, too surreal.

"What… what would I do?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. "I am but a humble gardener, a manipulator of herbs and essences."

Michael's smile widened. "Ah, but you underestimate yourself, Finnigan. You are more than a gardener. You are a Life Weaver, a conduit of vital energy, a master of alchemical arts. And it is precisely these qualities that are needed…" He paused, a twinkle in his eyes. “… as the Celestial Groom."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implications. Celestial Groom. It sounded… ridiculous. After centuries of manipulating reality, of bending the laws of nature to his will, he was being offered a job tending horses?

Finn stared at the archangel, his mind reeling. The radiant light seemed to dim slightly as his initial awe gave way to confusion, then a touch of bewildered amusement.

He, the Green Sage, the miracle worker, the man who had manipulated time and extended his lifespan beyond comprehension, was being offered a job… cleaning up after heavenly horses.

The irony, he thought, was almost divine.