Berduth 8731, Year 14071, December 31st.
Nearly a year had passed since the end of the Holy War.
The war had lasted five thousand years and finally came to a halt when Lucifer announced his surrender.
After the war, both the Demon Realm and Heaven closed their borders, turning inward to handle postwar affairs and domestic matters.
Rumors of Lucifer’s death spread like wildfire and had not ceased for an entire year. His portrait appeared on the front pages of newspapers and book covers across all realms. Every race discussed him with complicated, conflicted emotions—and his legendary life:
Whether it was his time in Heaven, when he once arrogantly attempted to rise in rebellion and change the divine order that had stood immutable for tens of thousands of years,
or his fall and his unrelenting opposition to Heaven thereafter—
his stubborn political ideals, and how he led the Demon Realm from decline to prosperity…
He was always a figure of immense controversy.
The only thing not debated was that he had once been the most powerful and most beautiful angel, and the greatest, most unparalleled Sovereign in the history of the Demon Realm.
With the Demon Realm without its monarch—though Lucifer had arranged much before his death and Mammon had ascended the throne smoothly— Mammon, being a newly initiated force-driven ruler, simply could not compare with Lucifer yet.
What’s more, Lucifer’s status in the Demon Realm was akin to that of God in Heaven.
The sudden loss of him plunged the entire Demon Realm into a spiritual and material depression.
Some in the divine race suggested that this was the perfect time to strike and conquer the demons once and for all. Wait any longer, and the Demon Realm might recover. Then Heaven would find itself in another awkward stalemate.
But unexpectedly, God issued no order to invade.
Heaven gradually returned to its solemn peace.
Still, even after a year had passed, I refused to believe he was truly gone.
Lucifer’s departure had been too sudden, too hasty, too unreal.
So unreal that I kept thinking one day he would come back.
As the new year approached, Heaven, steeped in ancient tradition, observed its centennial Creation Day.
So this year, we simply gathered in Metatron’s estate just outside Jerusalem.
Jerusalem was indeed my favorite city.
The skies above were too dazzling; the lands below, too desolate.
But in Jerusalem—there was both day and night, bustle and stillness, light and darkness, black and white wings.
So I could stand on the castle balcony and gaze upon Jerusalem at night.
A cool breeze swept through, casting aside the laughter and noise inside the villa.
Beyond the dense forest and cultivated bamboo stood the transplanted Tree of Life from Eden, its dense canopy weathered by wind and frost. Far beyond the Garden, faintly visible, two rivers crisscrossed, their waters shimmered with tiny glints of light. A small bridge arched over them, flanked by long-stemmed aquatic grasses. They were the Gihon and Pishon rivers.
Leaning forward and turning slightly right, I could see Jerusalem— its pointed towers encircled the statue of Hanniah like stars around the moon.
He cradled the Holy Scripture, eyes gently closed.
The youthful face now bore the desolation and solitude left behind by the great war.
A crescent moon hung over his head.
Now, he sat on place in Heaven, close to God.
All around remained silent, as if the world had paused. The stars in the sky flickered, dim and bright, like countless eyes blinking.
Suddenly, someone patted me on the shoulder. I turned, startled.
The person behind me wiped his neck and smiled.
“Archangel Michael, if you keep letting your guard down like that, I might just stab you one day.”
“I just wanted some quiet today,” I said with a smile.
The role of Vice Regent in Heaven was a delicate one. You couldn’t get too close to those above you, nor too distant from your subordinates. At gatherings like this, the Vice Regent could reasonably excuse themselves.
Now that I had passed the title to Hanniah, I was freer.
I remained Archangel-in-Chief and commander of the angelic legions.
And since I stepped down from being the Vice Regent, those who once followed me became even more loyal, and many who had kept their distance started drawing closer.
Everything seemed to be improving.
I tilted my head back and gazed at the stars.
So quiet, so endless.
When will I become someone like you?
Deep down, I knew clearly that it was already impossible.
Because the most brilliant years of my life were long gone.
Effort alone was no longer enough.
“You’re always this quiet,” Randekiel said with a helpless smile. “But you really are the most self-controlled high-ranking angel I know. Especially this year—your life’s been remarkably disciplined: drinking in moderation, spending neither too much nor too little, and even on the battlefield, your kills were precise and never excessive.”
“I’m getting old. Can’t keep up with you young ones. Must I really say it out loud?”
“If you’re so done for, why do those angels still look at you like they’re starving?”
“They just know where they fall short. My son’s the real treasure. He’s a true angel. You bunch of lustful demons shouldn’t even try to compare.”
Sure enough, Randekiel’s face flashed with displeasure, then he laughed it off.
“Can’t tell what your motive was, putting him in that seat.”
“First flights are always dangerous. Would you rather your child never learn to fly?”
“Lord Michael, you’ve changed quite a bit.”
“That’s called maturity. Please, offer your praise.”
I leaned on the snow-lacquered railing, smiling. “By the way, I heard Sandalphon wrote a new book.”
“Guess what it’s about.”
“What’s with that face? Is it about me?”
“Of course it is.”
“Then forget it. I don’t want to know.”
What could that guy have written? “The Real Story Behind the Vice Regent’s Abdication”? “The Archangel’s Untold Past”? “The Dark Side of Heaven’s Prince”? “Michael’s Sins in Sancta Faylia”?
“Fine, you don’t have to know. But you shouldn’t stay out here too long. Come join the crowd.”
I nodded and followed him inside.
Hundreds of crystal lamps lit up the hall, brilliant light filling the space.
The sudden shift from dark to bright, silent to noisy, left me briefly disoriented.
This villa was built for gatherings, large enough, yet somehow never large enough.
Splendid robes, golden ornaments, flowing guests.
At the center of the ceiling hung a diamond chandelier, casting silver and gold across the world.
Wings moved gently, white feathers fluttering, spiraling down the staircase.
Countless familiar faces, all wearing cheerful smiles.
I greeted Iophiel, Kamael, Yana, Baishu one by one.
Uriel was deep in conversation with another angel. To him, I was air.
To me, he was air too.
Metatron said nothing. When he saw me, he looked up and smiled.
I smiled back. “It’s been a while.”
“I thought to little Michael, a year would feel like a blink. They say you’re practically retired now. Careful or others will catch the habit.” His words hadn’t changed a bit.
“For old folks, a year does feel short. No new surprises anymore.”
“You talk like you’re older than me.”
I just smiled again.
Metatron seemed to ponder something, then hesitated. “When he married Lilith, you were practically ready to die. I thought for sure you’d fall into despair this past year. But your reaction really surprised me.”
“People say that when those closest to you die, most aren’t devastated right away. It takes time to truly understand how painful it is, to begin mourning.”
“You’re taking a long time.”
“Who knows—maybe one day I’ll cry so hard Heaven will drown in my tears?”
“Little Michael, you’re terrifying.”
“Haha, just joking.” I chuckled for once and patted his shoulder. “I think my emotional regulation’s gotten better.”
Metatron’s amber eyes were deep and bright. There was something complex in his gaze.
Truth is, we knew each other very well. Yet whenever we tried to truly talk, we became awkward.
At that moment, two angels approached. Their pace was slow, but I instinctively stepped back.
Gabriel stormed up, stern-faced.
“You disappeared just now?”
“I was on the balcony the whole time.”
“Never mind that.”
She pulled Sandalphon forward and smiled.
“He has something to show you.”
Sandalphon handed me a book.
“My book.”
It was thick.
A golden cover, silver letters.
The title read simply: Eternity.
I glanced at them, puzzled, then opened the hardcover.
On the snow-white first page, a line read:
This book is dedicated to our great Lord Michael, and his beloved—His Majesty, the Sovereign of Demons, Lucifer.
—Sandalphon
I clenched my jaw slowly, not letting anyone see.
I looked up, smiled at them, and turned the page.
Another line had been added:
No matter the past, the present, and the future — where the ancient meets the yet to come, where truth borders dream, where time brushes walls and illuminates faces across Heaven and Hell, I have found eternity: the sacred traces of you and me.
—Lucifer
“Let him take it home and read it. No need for anyone to start bawling here, it’d be unsightly,” Gabriel said considerately, closing the book for me and flashing a smile. “It’s a history volume, but you and him make up a significant portion of it.”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” I closed the book and handed it back to Sandalphon. “Thank you. But save the next one for me. I don’t want to recall too much about Lucifer.”
After that, I stepped out onto the balcony to catch the wind. The sovereign skies glittered with stars. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a figure. Looking down, I saw a white-haired man standing among the trees. The shadows of the branches veiled most of his body, making it hard to discern his features. I raised my guard, hand moving toward my sword, but paused—he wasn’t emanating killing intent. Instead, he leaned shyly against the tree, furtively peering at the balcony beside mine, where the group of archangels were gathered. Before long, he dared move closer, stepping into the moonlight.
And then I finally saw him. Raphael.
I rubbed my eyes to be sure I wasn’t mistaken. His hair was no longer the golden hue of dawn; it had truly turned to the frost-white of snow. Not only that, but his eyes had become semi-translucent. At that moment, they brimmed with sorrow. The place they gazed upon was—
—the adjacent balcony, where Metatron had just stepped out, waving at me.
“Hey, little Michael, why are you zoning out?”
At the sound of his voice, Raphael glanced at me, startled, noticing that I had seen him, then quickly made a “shhh” gesture before folding his wings and ducking back into the trees.
I hastily returned Metatron’s greeting and looked once more toward the forest, but there was nothing, just an empty stretch of silence.
Raphael didn’t want Metatron to know he had been here.
He had always been kind at heart, reverent toward the Father, devout and full of gratitude—and yet, he had also done something gravely unforgivable. All for a single purpose. He had once been the lowest of the low, his dignity trampled into the dust. And still, he had his pride.
When a member of the divine race loses the color in their hair and eyes, there is only one explanation: their lifespan is near its end.
I pondered it for a long time and chose not to tell Metatron that Raphael had been here. Because I tried to think from his point of view: if I were him, and Metatron were Lucifer… after everything, I too would not wish for Lucifer to see me in such a pitiful state. I would want him to remember me at my most glorious. I would not want him to know I was no longer in this world.
From that day on, Metatron never saw Raphael again.
To this day, I still don’t know who among us was the luckier one. Raphael once had Metatron’s love, but he never received his loyalty or respect. As for me and Lucifer—we had once come to fruition. But in the end, I never truly understood what he was thinking.
The following year, I created a daughter from the winged ritual. Theoretically, she and I shared no blood relation. But to my great surprise, the child was born with deep blue eyes and crimson-red hair just like mine.
God saw her sweetness and our resemblance as a kind of blessing and bond, and personally named her: Babylor.
Just after stepping down from the position of Vice Regent, I suddenly found myself with much more time, and so I spent a great deal of it with her. She was brilliant. Not only was she born with the rare golden four wings of a winged angel, but she also learned to speak and walk much faster than other little ones.
Not long after her birth, the Lord offered me a tremendous opportunity, which I turned down.
One day after court, He asked if I would like to be reborn.
I didn’t understand. He explained: Heaven’s Gate of Time and Space opens once every thousand years. Any member of the divine race who enters it may return to the moment of their birth and begin life anew. But entering the Gate comes with two conditions: first, all memory is erased; and second, the instant one returns is also the moment the present version of “me” dies.
In other words, choosing to return to the past means the time from my birth to that moment of return would fall into endless, inescapable repetition. Even if I went back and restarted life, I would still relive everything I had already lived. And ultimately, in Berduth 8731, year fourteen hundreds, I would once more choose to return, reexperiencing everything again, trapped in an infinite loop. In such a world, there is no future.
I asked Him: is it possible that I might change my fate after going back, or change Lucifer’s?
The Lord said no. The past is immutable. Everything would occur as it had before. Lucifer would still betray, still fall, and still die for the same reason.
I said, then I definitely won’t choose that path. The same tragedy repeating without end is worse than death. It’s not that I can’t live on, but I would not live in sorrow. Besides, I still had Babylor to raise.
The Lord said: perhaps someday you’ll understand why you loved him so much, even as a child.
That last sentence puzzled me. But I didn’t ask further. Sometimes, I think they greatly underestimate my intelligence. I already have my memories. If I can’t change anything, what’s the point in reliving it?
Besides, if I want to hear Lucifer’s voice, it’s quite simple, I just need to go to the Demon Realm, to the Road That Beguiles. There, I can hear the truest, clearest version of him.
And the most peculiar thing is, depending on my mood, depending on what I wanted, the voice I hear on the Road That Beguiles changes each time:
At first, it said: “Isar, I’m not really dead. Turn around and look—I’m right behind you. We can be together again.”
Later, “I’m not dead. I’ll return in a hundred years. Wait for me.”
Then, “I don’t know when, but I will come back. We just… can’t be together anymore.”
And after that, “We can never meet again. But I think of you constantly.”
Until eventually, he seemed unable to form words. His voice only drifted, faintly, through the endless abyss:
“Isar… Isar…”
Since then, that voice has only known how to call my name. Nothing more. And yet, just to hear that single, simple name, I’ve gone to the Demon Realm countless times. Each time, I only sit quietly at the crossroads, listening to him call me.
Years later, I heard that Mammon and Belial had reconciled. What form that reconciliation took, I never knew, nor did I try to find out. After Lucifer died, it felt as if I had lost interest in the world. The only thing I looked forward to was whether Babylor would learn a few new words tomorrow.
Later, Babylor began school. She stubbornly refused to attend the preparatory class in Shima, nor did she want to go to Eden. In the end, she chose a school in a small village near Parnor on Third Heaven. Some said she lacked ambition, but I rather liked her quiet, uncontentious nature.
I visited her school many times. Each time I entered her classroom, a group of slightly shy little angels would peek their round heads out from behind her, blinking their big eyes at me. Babylor often told me how proud she was to have a father like me; all her classmates were envious.
One day after school, she came home bursting with excitement. “Father! Today, my classmates and I were talking about where to study magic in the future. They all said of course your school is the best. But what school were you in?”
I smiled. “I studied at both Divine Law and the Academy of the Seventh.”
“Some foolish boys said the Demon Sovereign’s school was better. I said, what Demon Sovereign? All I know is that the current Sovereign of Demons is at the Royal Knight Academy in Rhodheoga. We can’t possibly go study in the Demon Realm. And then they laughed at me for being ignorant. I don’t know what I did wrong.”
“They probably meant Lucifer. He had already passed away when you were born, so it’s normal you don’t know much about him.”
“Lucifer?” Babylor flapped her tiny wings and rested her small hands on my knees. “The former Sovereign of Demons was Lucifer? Everyone I know has mentioned his name. I always thought he was some former Vice Regent or archangel or something…”
“He was, indeed.”
“What? But didn’t you just say he was the Sovereign?”
“He started out as Archangel, the Right Wing of God, the position Hanniah holds now…” Then, using simple words, I gave her a rough account of Lucifer’s history. I wasn’t sure if she understood.
“So… Lucifer also studied in Shima?”
“Yes.”
“Then which school did he go to?”
“Oh, he went to…” Seeing Babylor’s eager gaze, I suddenly trailed off.
Not because I didn’t want to answer. But rather… what school had Lucifer go to?
I shook my head. Only after a long time did I continue: “He seems to have gone to the Academy of the Seventh.”
That night, I read many books. Then I told Babylor, who had just come back from playing with her friends:
“I remembered it wrong. Lucifer studied at both Divine Law and the Academy of the Seventh.”
Babylor nodded, dazed. I knew she had already forgotten, and truthfully, that wasn’t what I cared about. I pushed aside the pile of disordered books on Lucifer and Celestial History from the desk, and sat by the window in a haze, gazing at the statue of Hanniah at the center of Jerusalem.
Time stretched on endlessly, devouring countless memories. These days, when people spoke of Lucifer, their emotions were no longer as intense, no longer mingled with passionate hatred and longing. The name Lucifer was slowly becoming just that—a name. Or a symbol in history. And I knew this world would, in the end, forget those who were gone.
But why is it that even I…
Lucifer… have I begun to forget you?
Though she had little fondness for the upper realms of the angels, Babylor eventually chose to enroll in Shima, entering the Academy of the Seventh. The child was brilliant, yet had little love for magic. Instead, she delighted in combat, in action and adrenaline. When she moved to Shima, I relocated with her, settling in a retro-style residential block.
But as Babylor grew, so did her temper. Not long after moving in, she looked at me and said, “Father, you may be getting on in years, but among the archangels, you’re surely the youngest. Why do you act like an old man?” I laughed bitterly and asked her what made her say that. She said, “You sit at the window every day, staring into space, muttering the same things you’ve already said hundreds of times. If that’s not like an old man, what is?” I told her I had only ever been with her these past years, no friends, no gatherings, so of course I seemed aged. She replied, “You’re the Archangel Commander. You should have plenty of friends. Why do you always leave the Sanctum so quickly?”
I only smiled and went back to my book.
In the following days, Babylor became quieter when she came home. Even when I spoke to her gently, she looked at me strangely, with a tinge of sorrow in her eyes. She went to bed early, but her expression haunted me. That night I tossed and turned, wondering how to comfort her the next day. But the next day, she was back to normal.
Soon came the once-in-a-century Creation Day.
At the ceremony, I still kept to myself. When the archangels saw me, they greeted me and then sighed in silence.
On the morning after Creation Day, Babylor did something entirely out of character—she barged into my room, dragged me out of bed, and said, “Father! I had a dream last night! A really handsome mister was talking to me!”
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I mumbled, “You little rascal, dreaming about handsome men already?”
“But he was really good-looking! Even though he was a fallen angel, he was more beautiful than any angel I’ve ever seen! He was as good-looking as you!”
“A fallen angel?” I snapped more alert. Why would Babylor be dreaming about a fallen angel? Had she snuck off to the Demon Realm behind my back…?
“Yes! But he was kind of bad. He kept saying ‘Isar, Isar,’ and I told him Isar is my father’s nickname—he shouldn’t just call it like that. But he just kept saying it anyway.”
“…What?” I slowly sat up. “What did he look like?”
“Black clothes, long black hair, eyes the color of dark wine… very elegant. Oh! And his clothes were super fancy, and he wore black gloves!”
She had never taken a single history class—there was no reason she should’ve seen Lucifer’s face. And yet—
I was instantly wide awake. I jumped out of bed, grabbed a copy of Comprehensive History of the Demon Realm, flipped to the first page, and pointed at Lucifer’s portrait. “Was it him? Was that the man you saw?”
“Yes…” Babylor stared at the book in disbelief. “But that’s impossible. Who is this? I’ve never seen him before!”
“What did he say? What did he say to you in the dream?”
“He just asked if I was your daughter, and asked how you’ve been lately, and said he’d come see me again… Then it was dawn, and I woke up. I just remember that he was incredibly beautiful.”
A few days later, Babylor marveled aloud about how she had dreamed of someone who looked exactly like Lucifer—someone she had never seen, and yet had conjured in exact likeness. I was baffled as well.
Still, the matter didn’t weigh on me too much. It was only a passing moment of sentimentality.
Another hundred years passed.
After the next Creation Day, Babylor told me she had dreamed of Lucifer again. In the dream, he told her stories of his past with me, things so detailed that even I had nearly forgotten them.
My daughter, now grown into a beautiful young woman, hugged my arm and smiled, saying, “So you and His Majesty Lucifer shared such a profound bond.”
But I couldn’t even register what she said.
It was all too astonishing. Why, of all days, had she dreamed of him again?
I tried to find a reason, but none came. And yet my heart fluttered, inexplicably joyous.
My life began to change: the once-distant Sanctum, the friends of the past—everything seemed warm again. I no longer spent my days in vacant staring; I read more, took part in divine affairs, went walking in the streets, even began planning a trip to the Demon Realm…
Metatron and the others noticed the change before I did. Gabriel even joked, “So this is what resurrection looks like.”
They all thought I had recovered from grief.
But truthfully, the grief had passed long ago. What I had now was just the feeling that life had regained color and meaning.
Another century went by. I finally understood—Heaven always favors those who keep hope alive.
Babylor dreamed of Lucifer again. This time, she said he brought her to an abyss—cold air, grim surroundings, the atmosphere eerie. She was frightened. But Lucifer was gentle, and said this was where his soul now dwelled. He had been there for hundreds of years.
Hearing that, I lost the ability to think.
Without even sending word ahead, I rushed to the Demon Realm, defeating every guard at the gate and went straight to Ninth Hell.
The Ninth Hell was just as before: pitch black, with nothing but the sound of wind drifting through the void. Since the day Lucifer drew those swords, this place had become even colder and darker than the act of Forgetting itself. I walked forward, to the bridge’s end, staring at the empty high platform with two great hollows carved into it. After a long silence, I said softly:
“You’re here… aren’t you?”
As I expected, no one replied.
“I know you’re here, even if I can’t see you. Just like how I used to stand beside you, and you never saw me, right?” I paused, then kept going: “The things you asked Babylor to tell me—I heard them all. I didn’t come today for anything else. I just wanted to say… that I miss you.”
The bitter wind seemed to rise from the deepest part of the abyss, rustling through my wings. I knew all of this was likely just fantasy, but I couldn’t give up any chance.
“And if you only have one opportunity to speak every hundred years, even if it always has to be through someone else, even if I can never see you again, never hear your voice directly… I’ll still wait. As long as you still exist in this world—no matter what form—I’m already satisfied, and so, so happy.”
At that point, my nose stung with grief. But no tears came. Instead, I felt strangely strong.
“Really, Lucifer… This is the happiest I’ve been in centuries.”
Perhaps I was too happy. I didn’t notice the figure standing behind me—Babylor, tears pouring silently down her face, struggling not to make a sound and alert me.
From that moment on, every hundred years, Babylor would dream of Lucifer again. And gradually, I came to believe that it wasn’t coincidence. It had to be his memory. Or his soul.
Life became vibrant again. Everything felt as it once did, in those youthful days, when he was still beside me.
Even though the world slowly forgot him, I never would again.
Even though Lucifer never again mentioned me in Babylor’s dreams—never asked her to pass on any message—I wouldn’t let myself feel sad. Because perhaps, just perhaps, he was always by my side, watching me.
But one thing I never understood: why did Babylor’s gaze grow heavier, more sorrowful with each passing year?
Until, three thousand one hundred years later, on the day after Creation Day, Babylor finally came of age.
As always, she told me she had dreamed of Lucifer again. And as always, I lit up and asked what he said.
“’Babylor, if your father still remembers me, tell him for me: I love you.’”
—That’s what he said.
Then, a single tear slid from the corner of my eye.
It wasn’t from being moved. Nor sorrow. Nor melancholy.
My mind was actually blank. It was as if, upon hearing those three words, some instinct took over—I love you—and I wept.
Realizing I’d lost composure in front of my daughter, I quickly wiped the tear away and smiled at her faintly. But she clung to me, and began to cry, sorrowfully:
“Father, I love you.”
“I love you too.” I held her close.
“You still have God in your life, so many friends, admirers, and me. Please, don’t live only for him anymore. Can you promise me that?”
“I won’t live only for him.”
And yet, another hundred years passed—and Babylor did not dream of Lucifer.
That entire year, I lived in mounting anxiety, awaiting the next century’s turn.
But once more, Babylor met me with those restrained, sorrowful eyes and said, “Father… I’m sorry. I still haven’t dreamed of him.”
Another hundred years passed. The answer was the same.
What began as unease slowly spiraled into despair.
Until, one day, I uncovered a truth so devastating, it broke me.
That day, lightning tore the sky apart. The heavens were cloaked in thunder and dread. I happened to be in Jerusalem. Babylor had just left home for class in Shima. She was a battle angel, never good at magic. Worse, perhaps I had influenced her too much; even in swordsmanship, she leaned toward fire magic and had no patience for water spells.
Which meant, in weather like this, she’d surely become a soaking mess.
I went to her room to grab some dry clothes to take to her. But as I opened her wardrobe, a thick, heavy notebook tumbled out.
I crouched to pick it up, intending to return it to her closet—until I saw Lucifer’s name on the cover.
Written in Babylor’s handwriting.
I glanced over the page. It was a biographical summary of Lucifer’s life. I was puzzled until I saw the next page, lined with book titles, dates, and library names. Some titles were crossed out: The Demon Sovereign: Lucifer, Right Wing of God: The Three Vice Regents, Rise of the Demon Empire, Ruthfel and Lucifer, List of the Fallen, The Most Powerful Angel in History, Michael: Heaven’s Greatest Commander, Michael: A Memoir, The Seven Deadly Sins, Lucifer, The Morning Star of Glory, Greatest of the Divine, The Last Archangel Commander, First Prince of the Demon Realm…
And the earliest two books—The Sovereign of Demons: Lucifer and Right Wing of God: The Three Vice Regents—were borrowed from the Grand Library of Jerusalem, over 3,130 years ago.
A chill ran through my entire body.
What did it mean? I had underestimated Babylor’s intelligence. Long before she ever dreamed of Lucifer—when she was just a little girl—she had already read about him. Seen his portrait. And yet, after that dream, she’d asked me, “Who is this person?”
Could it be… could it be…
I couldn’t bear to think further. I stood there, numb, staring at the back pages—filled with messy notes about Lucifer and me, rough sketches of him in youth and adulthood, marked with measurements of height, wing color, even feather count and span.
Then I suddenly recalled what she had once said about him:
“Lucifer looked so tall in the dream. I barely reached his chest. And his wings were way bigger than mine. I bet he must’ve been really powerful before he fell.”
I shook my head, one hand braced on the wardrobe, barely able to stand.
“You can’t just go rifling through my things!”
Babylor’s voice rang out from the doorway.
I looked up. She was drenched from the rain, yet somehow in an instant she was before me, snatching the notebook from my hand.
“Father, that’s too much! How could you enter my room without permission, how could you go through my diary?!”
“This is a diary?” I asked weakly.
She stared at me, dumbstruck.
“This is a diary?” I looked her straight in the eye, a fury rising in me I hadn’t thought myself capable of. “Tell me—this is your diary?!”
Her cheeks and her crimson hair were soaked. Her voice trembled. “You… read all of it?”
“You never dreamed of Lucifer. Not once.”
Babylor immediately averted her gaze, looking elsewhere. Her voice was unsteady. “I… I did dream of him.”
I smiled. Patted her shoulder. And walked out.
Night fell.
I sat by the window, watching the heavy sky descend.
The heavens were deep. The air grew stifling. Like a runaway beast, wind and thunder rampaged, and lightning slashed the sky like flaming serpents, splitting the black clouds with white fire. For a moment, the entire city of Jerusalem flashed silver. Then, the dense mist of rainfall began to swallow the view. The roar of the storm muffled the world.
My anger and disappointment with Babylor lasted less than an hour.
Then I realized a truth I should have seen long ago: Babylor’s lie didn’t change the tragedy. It only delayed my confrontation with it.
Lucifer… had died. He had died over three thousand years ago.
And in those three thousand years, no miracle had occurred. Nothing had changed. Ever since he bid me farewell in that dream at the bottom of the Demon Realm, he and the Holy Sword and the Infernal Sword had vanished from this world.
And would never return.
A grief three thousand years late bloomed in an instant. My legs gave way and I collapsed at the foot of the chair, crying in anguish.
I cried until my eyes throbbed and my scalp burned like it was being torn apart. And still, I could not stop.
That night was so much like the final night of the Holy War, more than three thousand years ago.
That night had been the loneliest in all Rhodheoga. Lucifer had stood outside the window in the pouring rain, staring at me with hollow eyes. And back then, I had understood nothing.
Now, I finally did. Everything. Every reason.
He had placed the Holy Sword and the Infernal Sword into the Source of Sin not long after my death, then waited five thousand years—for a fifty-fifty chance: either his apocalyptic spell would destroy the world, or the world would end there on its own.
In other words, he had made no gamble. He meant to destroy everything.
But those five thousand years never finished. Because I came back to life.
His coldness toward me, the way he pushed me away, the wordless sorrow in his eyes… perhaps none of it had been hatred. Perhaps it had all been because he knew that he was going to die?
And then I remembered the final conversation between him and God, right before their battle.
In the end, God said only one sentence, and he changed his mind:
“Even if the angel behind you—dies for certain in the destruction to come?”
Then Lucifer had turned, seen me, and walked away from the battlefield.
I’d always thought he had changed.
But he hadn’t. He still wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t explain.
The thunder fell silent. But the rain kept falling, endlessly, ceaselessly.
The droplets on the window blurred my reflection: me, slumped against the chair, staring upward.
At last, Babylor’s tearful voice came from behind me:
“Father… please don’t leave me…”
That seemed like something from a million years ago.
I waited two more centuries.
On the next Creation Day, I led the Zodiac Twelve legions into the Demon Realm. I met with Belial—now so powerful that even demons trembled before him—and with the ever-wily yet maturing Sovereign of Demons, Mammon. We sat and spoke the whole day. Mammon told me of the grand celebration planned for the Day of the Fall nine days later. I declined the invitation and returned to Heaven that same night.
Flying over a sea of white, I instinctively looked down—and saw the Snowmoon Forest.
Not the barren, eroded peaks I expected, but the Snowmoon Forest as it had been thousands of years ago!
I thought time itself had reversed. I dove down, took on a demon’s form, and asked an elderly demon couple by the road:
“What happened to Snowmoon Forest? Did Lucifer return?”
“Lucifer? You mean His Majesty Lucifer, the one from the old legends?” the old man coughed, then pointed at the woods. “That’s impossible. He’s a name in history books now. But… thousands of years ago, he sealed this forest with magic. Now that the power has faded, it’s returned to its original state.”
His wife took his arm and added gently, “This forest was precious to His Majesty back then. No one really knows why he hid it, but everyone says, though his era is long past, his longing never ends.”
I looked up at the forest of snow and moonlight. The crystalline world. Seven-petaled snowflakes. Moonlight cascading across a winter woodland…
All of it was memory. All of it—longing. All of it—already gone.
Yes. The era of His Majesty Lucifer had ended.
Perhaps… my era should end as well.
No, that’s not quite right. I was never meant to belong to this era in the first place.
When I returned, Heaven was hosting the grandest celebration of the new millennium. On this special day, Sancta Faylia too was crowned with a glowing night sky. Though I had seen many Creation Day festivals—golden chariots, winged gryphons, soaring angels—this night felt different.
The sacred bells rang out, one after another. The horses and gryphons seemed more majestic than ever. The bursting fireworks and radiant stars were brighter than ever. The Seraph Palaces at the world’s peak, with the Sanctum at its center, seemed even holier, more magnificent than ever.
My son, Hanniah, the Beauty of God, was surely seated beside the Creator on His Throne.
I paused in Shima, spoke a few words to the angels of the Zodiac Twelve, wished them a joyful evening, and took my leave. At that moment, I looked up and saw Metatron and Gabriel’s chariots streaking through the sky, one after the other.
I lowered my head, resisted the impulse to look at them, and unfurled my wings, flying to the gates of Shima.
Two centuries.
I had thought through everything.
I was ready.
The Lord stood there, hands crossed over His chest.
“My Lord,” I landed before Him. “Has the Gate of Time and Space opened?”
“It has,” He said, looking at me with eyes full of sorrow, kindness, and love. “Michael, are you sure? This path is a dead loop. If you return, you will regain everything you long for. Your love will deepen. And so, when you lose it again, the pain will be ever more unbearable. Will you not regret it?”
“I only want to know one thing. This… isn’t the first time I’ve chosen this cycle, is it?”
The Lord closed His eyes. Did not answer.
“You once told me: one day I would understand why I loved Lucifer from childhood.” I couldn’t help but ask, “It wasn’t just because of my origin, was it? It was because I’ve already lived through this loop—many times before. Isn’t that right?”
Still, the Lord remained silent.
“Forgive me. I shouldn’t ask such things.” I lowered my head. “If possible, the next time I choose this… please remind me earlier. I don’t want to wait three thousand more years in vain…”
“I already did,” Jesus said.
And in that moment, I understood.
He had asked me, more than three thousand years ago.
So even now… I am nothing more than a fragment of an unchangeable cycle.
“Go to First Heaven. The Gate closes before midnight.”
I flew to First Heaven—and saw, beyond Heaven’s gates, a cluster of blinding silver light in the thick black dusk.
And in that instant, I no longer felt sorrow. Only peace and joy.
Because I was going to see him again.
From First Heaven, I could faintly glimpse the farthest, highest sky, where orbs of light exploded one after another. Within the Sanctum, surely the sound of applause roared like thunder. Surely the children of God gathered with hearts full of devotion, singing praises in sacred song.
It was a land of glory. It bore the splendor of the divine race, written across eons.
And as I stepped into the Gate of Time and Space, I finally understood the meaning of God’s words:
I loved Lucifer not because of memory, but because my soul had always remembered him.
This long life, each and every drop of it, crystallized in that moment, into eternity.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
