Long ago, I once read a line in a book: “Demons shed fewer tears than they do blood.” Only now do I understand what it truly means. It’s not that they grit their teeth and swallow their suffering. It’s that they simply don’t feel it. Nerves are a foreign concept to them. My longing and hatred for Lucifer, once thought to be bottomless, now lasted only seconds. Overwhelming sensory instincts took over my entire attention.
It was a primal intuition, animalistic. Like a beast on the savannah sensing the approach of a lion pride’s alpha. Even if the lion made no move to strike, the pressure of its presence would still pin you in place. When I was still an angel, my first impression of Lucifer had always been pure elegance. Even after his fall, even as he exuded an invasiveness no member of the divine race could match, that elegance never left him. It was always the first thing I noticed.
But now, through these demonic eyes, the Lucifer I saw was no longer the elegant Sovereign of the Demon Realm. He was something else entirely, something that had nothing to do with appearance or bearing. His refined brows, beautiful lips, tall frame… they were nearly forgettable now.
Power. Power as fathomless as the abyss. That was the only thing that reached me now. And more frightening than Mammon’s volatile strength was Lucifer’s—this was not the destructive burst of a wild beast, but a cultivated force capable of casually shaping, commanding, or destroying entire worlds.
Sensitivity was both the greatest strength and greatest weakness of demonkind. Even without seeing Lucifer’s face, I knew, instinctively, that he was the one who ruled this realm. That was something angels could never feel.
Fortunately, Lucifer seemed used to the strange assortment of people always hovering around his son, and his eyes didn’t linger on me for long. He merely said, “I have an engagement with the satans tomorrow. Make sure you attend.”
Mammon shrugged with his usual carelessness. “Got it. Uncle Samael already told me… Why do you always look at me like you don’t trust me?”
“Because I know in the end, you’ll sleep through it and miss everything.”
“I won’t. My good friend will make sure of it. Right, Miller?” He slung his arm around my neck.
“Uh, yeah.”
Lucifer waved his hand. “Fine. Go.”
“Wait, Dad—look at Miller. Don’t you think he’s really handsome? I like him a lot.”
“Mhm.”
He said it, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. He hadn’t looked at me properly once. I’d noticed from the beginning that his gaze kept drifting toward the bedroom. And like him, my mind wasn’t in the conversation either. My true body was less than a hundred meters from here. If I rushed in now and touched it, I could return to being Michael.
But even something so simple was impossibly hard here. Charging into the bedroom was out of the question. Even the slightest suspicious move would get me blown to dust by one of Lucifer’s casual spells. Of course, I couldn’t tell him who I really was. No matter how much I felt for him, I couldn’t ignore the chasm that separated us.
Today, I could no longer love or trust him with the wholehearted conviction I once had as a youth. Even Mammon, wielding the greatest physical power in all the Demon Realm, seemed less dangerous than Lucifer. This sudden, alien feeling sat heavy in my chest, and even long after we left, I found it hard to breathe.
Mammon, on the other hand, was in a great mood. He flew me around the city on dragonback for a long time, then took me to a so-called “afternoon tea” in the Demon Realm—at eight in the evening. It was a high-end place filled with fashionably dressed demons of status. Compared to them, I looked like I’d rented my outfit from a costume shop. While there, I overheard a conversation from a group of mixed-race demons that made me uncomfortable.
Minotaur: “I really don’t get those angels. Building a massive gate anyone can waltz through, then decorating it like some holy temple. And they keep remodeling it! They’re obviously in decline, but they waste all that divine energy on nonsense. Isn’t that just making life hard for themselves?”
Caprid: “Hey, are all you angels like that?”
Fallen Angel: “My whole bloodline was born in the Demon Realm. Call me one of them again and I’ll take your head.”
Caprid: “Geez, chill, it was just a joke…”
Minotaur: “Can we get back on topic? What’s the deal with that gate?”
Fallen Angel: “Who knows what the divine race is thinking. They’re obsessed with symbolism, and with stamping God’s name on everything. Making the gate so grand—it’s like they’re saying, ‘Look at the majesty of the home God built us. You’re destined to fall before us.’”
Archdevil: “Who the hell believes in God anymore? That damn gate just makes me think of those damn Corinthian columns, always covered in ridiculous angel wings. And every year they get taller. Like my damn dick, about to poke through my front door.”
That typical slurred demon drawl oozed derision. The archdevil’s crude remark set off another round of raucous laughter. Then came a slew of jokes about Heaven:
“How do you describe twelve angels raising both hands? The twelve zodiac signs.”
“Why is the most divine sword called ‘Flame’? Because by the time demons showed up, it had already burned out of existence.”
“What’s the thinnest book in the world? An Introduction to Angelic Power.”
The last joke came from the minotaur.
Minotaur: “Question—what do the divine race rely on to defeat us?”
Archdevil raised his hand: “Ooh, I know—Michael!”
He seemed to be the highest-ranking among them, so the others just gave dry chuckles and awkwardly looked away. Then he added:
“Made of red and white rose petals.”
I never thought that metaphor would make its way to the Demon Realm. And with that added flourish, the entire sentence took on a new meaning. Not only did their table laugh, so did the surrounding ones. Clearly, times had changed. Even with the Demon Realm gaining dominance in the war, Lucifer no longer commanded the absolute devotion he once did.
Demonkind’s hatred of Heaven and of me was a given. But hearing them mock him, lumping him in with the enemy, left me with a complicated, unspeakable feeling.
“Aren’t these all old jokes? Why are you so fixated on them?”
Mammon’s voice snapped me out of it. I shook my head and looked up at him. His profile was as beautiful as Lucifer’s, maybe even more playful, with that slightly upturned nose that gave him a boyish charm, no matter his age. It was hard to believe he belonged to the same race as that rough, wild-looking archdevil with the tangled violet curls.
I was thinking when he suddenly turned back to me and winked, full of smug charm.
Startled, I quickly changed the subject. “I was just wondering… do all demons hate angels so much?”
It was a dumb question, but it was the only one I could come up with.
“Probably not,” Mammon replied, as irresponsibly as ever. “I don’t really hate angels.”
“You don’t? Really?”
“Why hate them? I just think crushing them like ants feels good.”
A casual remark, yet it awakened memories I had tried to bury. Every time I closed my eyes, I could still see my mother’s corpse being used by demons like a training dummy. Mammon, of course, had no reason to hate the divine race. But I also had no reason to forgive the demons.
I refilled his cup with red tea and asked lightly, “Then why did you kill so many angels?”
Mammon leaned in, eyes fixed on mine. “Miller, what’s your real identity?”
Startled, my hand trembled, sloshing some of the tea. Thankfully I steadied myself quickly, gripping the teapot, and dared not utter a single word, only waited in silence for his next question.
“Be honest. You’re an angel, aren’t you?” Mammon tilted his head like a curious girl, eyes wide and innocent. “What’s so strange about men fighting? Don’t tell me you’re about to preach to me about divine love.”
“Nonsense.”
I loosened my grip slightly. Relief washed over me. When I heard his first question, my heart nearly leapt from my chest. But thankfully, it was Mammon sitting here, not Lucifer. Lucifer would have seen through me instantly. And he wouldn’t even confront me. He’d just chat casually, peel away each secret bit by bit, and maybe never even say it aloud when it’s over.
It struck me how dull my instincts had grown with age. The Demon Realm might be free, but it was a brutal place. Even among themselves, demons fought constantly, let alone against angels. Their battles weren’t necessarily driven by hatred, but always by a deep-seated thirst for conflict. I hadn’t understood that before. Now, as a demon myself, I began to.
And yet, every time Mammon looked at me with those vivid red eyes and casually said things like “men fighting each other”, I’d feel a ripple in my chest. In that, he resembled Lucifer so much. When Lucifer had still been the Archangel, he once looked at me with the same innocent eyes and spoke, so effortlessly, a sentence brimming with ambition: “You and my ideals—I want both.” That was his dream, the entirety of Heaven.
I began again. “Actually, for me—”
“Oh, right. This is your first time meeting my dad, right? Why don’t you join us for tomorrow’s event? See what we’re like when we’re hunting.”
“Sure. I happen to have the day off tomorrow.” I hadn’t even thought to ask what the event was.
After tea, Mammon took me to a gamehouse in the Third Hell for dinner. During my time living in Rhodheoga, I’d realized that the demon food I used to joke about was starting to suit my palate. Especially this place Mammon brought me to. Thick slabs of smoky mountain boar, buttery crisp bear-paw pies, and fragrant dragon-beard greens—all of it had me practically licking the grease from my lips. The Demon Realm’s winters were harsh, and these hearty dishes were warmer than any embrace.
Over the meal, Mammon and I talked at length, and I was quietly amazed at how much he had changed. As a boy, he was wild, arrogant, and fearless—but deeply insecure. Like any teenager, touch a nerve and he’d lash out like a cornered beast. Now, he was still as proud, mischievous, and fiery as ever, but his pride had evolved. He’d learned the art of conversation. He still flaunted his personality, but now, it came with a surprising charm. He even poured me water and sliced my meat for me. Most of all, he no longer hid his vulnerability behind anger.
Everyone matures with pain. The more grown-up we become, the more scars we carry. You know you’re truly grown when falling no longer scares you. I hadn’t followed Mammon closely over the millennia, but I could never have imagined what sort of pain the little prince who once had everything would endure in peacetime.
After dinner, we walked off the meal and headed back toward Rhodheoga. Before long, we arrived at Lake Delle, on the western side of Kriya. There, by the shore, stood a small old cabin. At the lake’s center, a towering tree with dense, snow-laden branches loomed, amidst frozen waters.
“That’s the Fallen Angel Tree. Ever been here before?”
I shook my head.
“Then have you heard its story?”
I shook my head again.
“Are you sure you’re a demon?” Mammon sighed.
It all began with a small branch plucked from the Tree of Life by an angel who once guarded Eden. That guardian, too lonely in the celestial realm, abandoned his original home and became a fallen angel. Not long after arriving in the city of Kriya, he fell in love with a beautiful demon girl. But tragically, he became one of those unable to adapt to the natural conditions of the Demon Realm. His body grew weaker by the day, and he couldn’t even get close to her, for whenever he drew near, his face would flush a sickly purple, and his condition would deteriorate. Realizing he had contracted a terminal illness and unable to promise her happiness, he quietly left, fleeing to the center of Lake Delle where he planted the branch from the Tree of Life. By the time the girl found him, he had already passed away.
Heartbroken, she built a small cottage by the lake. Every day, she rose at the same hour to till the soil and water the tree, watching it grow, little by little. Finally, on the day her life ended, the tree bloomed with its first flower. Five years after her death, in autumn, it bore abundant fruit. In truth, no plant of Heaven should be able to survive in the Demon Realm, and yet this tree miraculously lived on. And so, even the infamously unromantic demons believe: the tree’s branches are the fallen angel, its flowers the demon girl, and its fruits, their children.
When the story ended, Mammon stared at the towering tree before us and said with clear displeasure, “I never liked that fallen angel in the story.”
“Why not?”
“Feathered folk are annoying. Always obsessed with promises and the sort. He thought he couldn’t promise her a life of happiness, so he ran off on his own—never once considering how she felt. But from our perspective, what’s important is the time you spend together, not what happens after. Isn’t that right?”
I agreed more with the fallen angel’s actions, but I could only nod at that moment.
“It could’ve been a perfect love story, together till the end. And he ruined it. He made her life end in tragedy, too.”
“Mammon.”
“What?”
“I’ve figured it out. You really like this story.”
Mammon froze for a moment, like a child caught telling a lie. His face flushed faint pink in the pale snowfall. “What? This kind of kiddie bedtime story? I don’t like it. Say that again and I’ll beat you up.”
“Alright, alright, you don’t like it.”
He looked out at the tree, lost in thought. Flecks of snow clung to his black curls. After a long silence, he finally murmured, “It’s not that I like the story.”
“Hm?”
“I liked an angel once. He died too.” He turned to look at me, smiling with ease. “But he didn’t like me. He’d never fall for me, let alone think of me in his final moments.”
A bitter wind swept past, tugging at the collar of his coat, sending his fluffy hair flying. Black strands dusted with white brushed against his cheek. For some reason, the moment our eyes met, though he was smiling, my chest ached.
“So the one I truly don’t like,” he said, “is probably that brainless demon girl. If she’d understood angels just a little better, if she’d found him sooner… he wouldn’t have had to die alone.”
My brows furrowed without realizing it. I couldn’t get a single word out.
“This story tells us, that angels and demons don’t end well. Better to fall for someone from your own world. That way, you’ve at least got a chance, don’t you think?” Mammon kept his casual tone as he crouched, picked up a stone, and hurled it onto the frozen lake. His throw was so forceful that it didn’t even crack the thick ice—it shattered straight through it.
“Mammon, if the past was painful, maybe it’s best to forget it completely.”
“I like that,” he said, turning back to me with a brighter smile. “What’s with me lately? We haven’t even known each other that long, and I’m telling you all sorts of things I’ve never even told old friends. You’re weird.”
I breathed warmth into my palms. “Maybe it’s my kind visage.”
“Cold? Come here.” He opened his coat and wrapped me inside it, continuing casually, “Having a ‘kind visage’ is Uncle Samael’s thing. You’re not that.”
I never could quite understand how he managed to do that gesture so naturally, as if he’d already done it hundreds of times before. It wasn’t exactly appropriate, a bit too intimate. Yet the atmosphere was so tender, I couldn’t bring myself to suddenly pull away with a stern face, so I just stood there, stiff and unmoving.
“Oh, right, did you know? During other seasons, the waters of Lake Delle are colorful. That’s because the flowers and fruits on the tree emit light across the lake surface, vibrant hues, really, mostly shades of blue and violet. Even the plants along the shore change color. It’s pretty. Once winter’s over, I’ll bring you back here to see it.”
That’s when I noticed something, that his heart had been racing from the very beginning. And as he spoke, it pounded even faster. I couldn’t quite understand why, but I found myself unable to push him away.
“The temperature really is low here, colder than in Rhodheoga,” he murmured softly at my ear. “We’ll head back once it warms up a little.”
“Okay.”
Maybe it’s just that, when someone’s been alone too long, they start to crave the warmth of a real embrace. Mammon’s body was warm, and held so gently like that, I couldn’t help but rest my head against the crook of his neck. That’s when I realized how I was actually tired.
From the moment I first had memories, I’d been forcing myself to remember every little detail of my time with that person. And now, being held by Mammon, my subconscious still recognized this as being different, but the painful truth was, I could no longer say exactly how it was different.
It turns out, if you go long enough without being held, you can even forget what body heat, the sensation closest to the heart, feels like.
The next day, among the demon ranks gathering for the upcoming activity, I caught sight of Belial. I was a little surprised, joyfully. After so many years spent watching over him from afar, this was the first time I’d seen him this close, me as a separate, individual person. Because of the height difference, he looked even more slender than I’d imagined, and the fluff on the back of his head was unusually stubborn, a few strands of his black hair always sticking up.
He stood there, ignoring everyone around him—until he spotted Mammon. Only then did a smile bloom in his eyes. “Brother!”
Mammon beamed and walked over, flicked the top of his head with thumb and middle finger, then pinched his cheek. “Why do you always look so angrily puffed up?” When he was with Belial, he seemed more like a big boy.
“I don’t know any of these people.”
“If you keep acting like that, you won’t have any friends.”
“It’s fine as long as I have you…” he muttered. Hearing Mammon’s questioning “Hmm?” he quickly waved his hands. “Don’t worry about me!”
They chatted a while, and then Mammon returned to my side. Seeing a smile still on my face, he paused, then gestured slightly in Belial’s direction with his chin. “Don’t get the wrong idea, okay? That’s just my younger brother.”
“…Who would get the wrong idea about that?”
I had been in a good mood. But as we left the Demon Realm with the rest of the demon legion and began drawing closer to Heaven, unease started creeping in again.
Clouds thickened above us, and the thrushes’ song circled overhead. I could see the great Gate of Heaven stretching across the far edge of the horizon. The marble columns of the main gate arched in solemn grandeur, framing the vast dominion of the divine race beyond. Under the boundless blue sky, that world looked like a sea of blinding white.
Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Azazel, who was mounted on a black dragon, suddenly spread his six black wings and, bow in hand, peeled away from the formation and glided into the heights above. He wore close-fitting, lightweight leather armor. Drawing an arrow from the quiver strapped to his leg, he nocked it to his bow, squinted one eye, and aimed toward the skies.
In that moment, my mind went blank.
So this “activity” they’d been talking about… was angel hunting.
When the war began, such incidents had been common beyond the First Heaven’s borders. But I never imagined they now treated it as a form of entertainment.
Just then, Azazel’s arrow had already been loosed—whoosh—soaring straight into the clouds. Far above, a female angel let out a muffled groan; her flight stalled for a second before she flapped her wings in panic like a startled bird. But it was far too late. Azazel fired again, the arrow piercing straight through one of her wings. She was a two-winged angel, and this injury sent her plummeting from the sky. He charged forward on his dragon, caught her by the waist, tilted her chin with a finger, and tossed her to a nearby soldier as if she were a hunted deer.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to toy with your prey?” Sariel cast a sidelong glance at him, drew his own bow, and, in an imitation of Mammon’s tone, said, “Uncle Azazel, your swordsmanship still sucks, yet you always want to lead the charge. Watch me.”
He smiled with narrowed eyes, gracefully pulled his bowstring, and loosed an arrow in a single smooth motion—killing another angel nearly reaching the second firmament. The angel took a long time to fall, her wide blue eyes frozen in shock, an arrowhead sticking out the back of her skull.
Watching two members of the divine race being killed in this way hurt even more than seeing soldiers die in war. Judging by their clothing, they seemed to be ordinary citizens. What crime had they committed? Why were they dragged into such a cruel slaughter? To the demons, perhaps they were no different from rabbits or wild boars, but why should I stand here and watch my own kind be slaughtered?
“Why are all the angels today female?” Lucifer, gloved in black suede, picked up a bow and turned to Mammon with a smile tugging at his lips. “Son, I’ll shoot once. Let’s see if you can top me.”
Mammon’s face darkened. “You know my archery is even worse than Uncle Samael’s…”
“Hey lil prince, don’t always pick on me just because I’m easy to bully,” Samael wiped the sweat off his forehead.
Lucifer turned, drew his bow again. His ink-dark hair billowed in the wind, trailing a graceful arc. But this time, he didn’t aim at the sky—he aimed straight at the seraph guarding the Gate of Heaven. The moment he locked on, his smile deepened. His crimson eyes gleamed coldly. Then, the arrow flew, a steel bolt piercing the seraph’s chest.
A seraph couldn’t be killed by physical damage alone unless their heart was struck. The one hit collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest, breath coming in ragged gasps as blood pooled on the marble beneath him. The action caused another guard to fly over in alarm. As panic spread among the angels, loud applause broke out from the demon side. Lucifer looked pleased and readied another arrow.
At that moment, he was so unfamiliar I could hardly recognize him. He seemed to have completely forgotten that he was once of the divine race. He used to be arrogant, yes, but never this cold-blooded. I hated this side of him, this ruthlessness, disowning everyone and everything.
Then—flickers of violet-black magical current began to dance from his hand to the arrowhead.
What was he trying to do?
Incinerate the next angel entirely?
All reason vanished. My head burned, my eyes stung, and my blood pounded in my temples. I could almost smell the iron tang of blood wafting hundreds of meters away. I leapt off Anra’s back, charging toward Lucifer in a mad dash.
But I had forgotten something—Caprids were heavy, with small bone-wings. Gliding, maybe, but flying? Hell no. I hadn’t figured out how to use them at all. So I didn’t get far before I plummeted… straight at Lucifer.
“Miller—!” Mammon shouted behind me.
Lucifer looked up sharply, but not in time. His arrow veered. I dropped right into him just as he released it. I heard the crash of stone in the distance. Climbing out of his arms, I turned toward the Gate of Heaven—and saw that a part of it had been blown apart by the arrow’s impact. Seraphs guarding the gate, tower, and perimeter were all flying over, converging at astonishing speed.
Lucifer gripped my jaw. “Who are you?” he barked.
Only then did I realize the gravity of what I’d done. My panic cooled into dread. My demonic transformation state faded. I opened my mouth, stared into his eyes, and couldn’t say a word. He had no time to punish me. Instead, he ordered his demons to prepare for battle, then looked back down at me. “No matter who you are, today—”
He froze mid-sentence.
He stared at me, dazed. Shook his head once. Then, suddenly cupping my cheeks, he brushed back my bangs and stared into my eyes in disbelief. In mere seconds, his lips turned pale and chapped, like moisture had drained from them. His hands, holding my face, began to tremble.
That’s when I sensed the worst was coming.
Countless scenarios flashed through my mind. He might kill me on the spot. Or embrace me suddenly. Or drag me down into Hell with him. Or lock me up. Or toss me back to Heaven.
No matter what it was though, I felt a reckless urge.
If he said my name, I would tell him the truth.
—I love you.
—I know you only have eyes on Father God, but I don’t mind.
—I’m sick of being your enemy. If you want to kill me, then do it. Dying by your hand isn’t so bad.
—Because I’ve never really had a purpose for existing. I was always someone else’s shadow.
—But I love you.
And yet… he said nothing.
He simply shook his head again as if snapping out of a trance, then yanked my collar and turned to ask, “Who is this?”
The crowd exchanged baffled glances. After a pause, Mammon raised his hand awkwardly. “He’s—he’s my friend.”
Lucifer frowned and shoved me toward Mammon. “He’s in serious trouble.”
Mammon caught me and carefully placed me on the dragon in front of him. “We were just roughhousing and I accidentally threw him your way. Sorry.”
“Then you’re in even bigger trouble.”
Everyone knew Lucifer was terrifyingly strict with his son. Mammon, catching his father’s stern gaze, only shrugged helplessly, then whispered to me, “You owe me one.”
After all that, the hunt was over. Lucifer’s expression stayed grim, and he had no interest in continuing. He left Sariell and Samael to clean up while he and his officers returned to Rhodheoga. I went back to the Seventh Hell with Mammon and the rest. Along the way, Mammon kept asking why I suddenly transformed and attacked Lucifer. I gave excuse after excuse, none of which he believed. Still, he didn’t suspect I was an angel again. Seems the theory about high-ranking demons having questionable IQs might hold some truth.
Later, we flew leisurely along the Solor River. Mammon’s friend Buson suddenly swooped in and asked, “Hey, Mammon, did you hear about Negar?”
He was one of Solomon’s Seventy-Two Pillars, nearly as strong as Mammon, a noble demon, so he spoke like a brother.
“What about her?”
“She’s come of age.”
“Oh.”
“And I heard she’s planning to attend the Feast of Eros.”
“Oh.”
“Wow, that’s a cold reaction. Don’t tell me you’re not interested?”
“Sounds like you’re the interested one. Go for it.”
Buson waved his Serpent Blade, raising a brow. “Don’t act all innocent. Weren’t you the one who said you’d make your move the moment she came of age? What happened? Found someone new, some venomous beauty?”
“Shut it. I was never that into her.”
Mammon was pouting again. Typical. I noticed Buson smiling at me, so I returned the gesture. “Who’s Negar?”
“She’s a bombshell every demon man has their eye on. Killer curves.” He traced a wavy line in the air with both hands. “Back in middle school, she already had suitors lining up. But she’s picky—dropped more guys than I’ve seen women. Now she’s come of age and signed up for the Feast of Eros. Heh heh heh…”
“So Mammon likes her?”
“You have no idea how much Jenny hates Negar. Every time they bump into each other, Jenny checks her out head to toe, then glares daggers. But no matter how she acts, our Mammon never gave up chasing after Negar.”
I smiled a benevolent smile at Mammon.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not interested. Big boobs and long legs, whatever. Seen it all before.” But under my accusatory stare, he broke down. “Fine, fine. I was into her. But not anymore. Happy? Really not.”
It was always entertaining seeing this kid flustered. Hiding my grin, I extended a hand to Buson. “Hi, I’m Miller. I work in the Faru division.”
“Buson. I’m with the Knights too.” He shook my hand, then playfully jabbed a fist toward my chest. “Looks like you two are pretty close. I’m his bro, so you’re my bro now too!”
But Mammon smacked his hand away and said coolly, “Don’t touch him.” Then wrapped his arms protectively around me.
Buson stared at his innocent hand. Then at Mammon, who was now guarding me like a mother hen. He blinked, nodded slowly, and finally said in solemn understanding: “Got it. I get it! So you’re going after—got it!”
Mammon ignored him, only brushing a hand through my hair and leaning in to whisper, “Are you cold?”
“Okay, okay, I get the message! I’m outta here! Negar’s mine now!” Buson, still reeling in disbelief, leapt on his dragon and took off like a shot.
As soon as his silhouette vanished, I saw Belial in the distance. He was riding a dragon meant for trainees, clutching the reins, blood red eyes fixed on us.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
