5-2

The blinding sunlight forced my eyes open.

Carved patterns adorned the beige ceiling, slightly blurred by the few hundred meters of distance. All I could tell was that it was a Gothic spire, part of a castle.

Carefully, I turned toward the source of light—only to be met with a blinding burst of gold. It stung so fiercely I shut my eyes immediately. Turning my head away, it took a long moment before the darkness behind my lids began to clear.

When I opened them again, I looked in the opposite direction. All around me stretched endless floating clouds, and far off in the distance, a wall loomed faintly. Atop that wall sat a stone angel cradling a jar. Crystal-clear water with a bluish tint poured from the jar’s mouth, cascading over carved reliefs and forming an image of countless angels in flight.

I rubbed my eyes and raised a hand to shield my brow, then looked again toward the light.

The sun seemed to be just outside the window. Actually, the entire wall was made of windows, their golden frames nearly melted by the sunlight. Above was an sky of blazing aureolin; below, a vast ocean of clouds. Shafts of light pierced through the mist, slowly revolving beneath the distant empyrean, illuminating a gilded city.

At the heart of the city stood several towering gates upheld by soaring Roman columns, atop which arched rainbows of shifting hues. Cascading waterfalls poured from the heights of the pillars, blending seamlessly with the translucent arcs, clouds, and beams of light—all interwoven in a an impalpable lattice.

Thousands upon thousands of angels passed through, the shimmering curtains of water parting for them like satin drawn aside.

The countless children of God beat their wings gently, drifting gracefully through the shining city. From time to time, their pale, radiant wings shed a few translucent feathers that drifted downward gently.

I slowly sat up, dazed at the breathtaking scene before me.

In that absent-minded moment, a flock of white doves wove a dazzling net across the waterfall, scattering droplets as they passed—raining down a sky full of fractured light. The robes of the archangels fluttered through the cloud rings, softer than flowing water, more delicate than drifting silk, billowing, fluttering in a celestial dance…

“Y-you’re finally a-awake.”

Sandalphon suddenly rose up from the clouds, startling me into instinctively stepping back a little. “Whoa—w-where am I right now?”

“The S-S-S-S-Seraph Palace’s right wing.”

I looked down and realized I’d been lying on a bed of clouds — it didn’t feel real at all, more like I was being suspended in air. And to make matters worse, I was shirtless. No, I was completely… I hurried to shield the critical parts with my wings. But the moment I moved, a sharp pain shot through them.

Sandalphon quickly said, “D-d-d-don’t move! Y-your wings haven’t healed yet!”

That’s when it all came back — getting struck by that rainbow-colored spell from that little fart-head. It hadn’t hurt in the moment. I didn’t even feel it hit me. Just—gone. Blackout.

A chill ran down my spine. That speed… faster than my nerve reflexes…

I swallowed hard. “What day is it today…?”

“Th-th-the third three,” he stammered.

I let out a deep breath. Thank God.

“Of F-f-february.”

I lay back down to keep sleeping.

“Is-s-s-s-ar, you ha-ha-have to get up, or o-o-or you’ll be la-la-late.”

“Is-s-s-s-ar is sleeping, do-do-don’t talk to Is-s-s-s-ar.”

Something started to feel off. I looked out the window again and realized I had never seen this landscape before. I’d been to the First through Sixth Heavens, but none of them were this bright.

Then I looked again at the angels flying outside.

They were all… six-winged…

Through some of the thinner clouds, I could just make out the snow-white buildings below. And a city where every structure was uniformly white—only one place like that came to mind: Shima.

In an instant, my mind went blank with a deafening buzz. I completely lost the ability to think.

Sandalphon flapped over to me:

“G-g-good thing the Young Master has been l-l-l-low on stamina these p-p-past few days, o-o-otherwise, y-y-you would’ve been s-s-s-scattered soul and all. N-n-n-next time, w-watch your words.”

“Wh-which Heaven… am I on now? And where’s that Young Master of yours?”

“W-w-what kind of q-question is that? Th-th-this is right wing of the S-seraph Palace, we’re o-o-obviously on the S-s-s-s-s-seventh Heaven.”

The Seventh Heaven.

I’m on the Seventh Heaven!

What did I do to end up here?

No… I must not have done anything wrong—otherwise, if I’d died, they wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of bringing me back.

I staggered to my feet, still using my wings to cover the important parts. Took a few steps forward and looked down—nearly toppled right over again. Turns out that endless sea of clouds from earlier was just a tiny corner of this room. Below me stretched what looked like an entire stadium, with sixty or seventy angels standing neatly in rows along either side, every last one of them a Throne, white six-winged and solemn.

“Where are my clothes?” I muttered, head still spinning, turning back to Sandalphon.

With a flourish, Sandalphon conjured a new set out of thin air. “Y-y-y-your old ones… b-b-burned to a-a-a-a-a-ash.”

I had half-expected to find myself charred like a rotisserie chicken, but my skin was pale and unblemished. To have survived something like that—Celestial medicine was seriously next-level.

I’d heard from Caro before that Seraph was the title reserved only for the most authoritative angels. At the same time, the grandest architectural complex in all of Heaven bore the same name.

Three structures, each larger than a pyramid, stood at the highest point of the Seventh Heaven. The central was the largest; the one to the right, second; and the one to the left, third.

The left temple was called the Christum Hall.

The central, dominant one was simply the Sanctum.

And the right —The Hall of Radiance.

Since we’re in the “right wing”, it means this is the Hall of Radiance.

The Sanctum belonged to God, of course, and the Christum Hall was Christ’s.

As for the Hall of Radiance… I wasn’t sure.

But hey—process of elimination still works.

I gritted my teeth through the burning pain in my back and dove beneath the clouds.

Where the hell did that little farthead run off to?

He had six wings, sure—but his magic wasn’t strong enough to kill in one strike.

Besides… his face looked weirdly familiar…

Could it be—was he is…

Lucifer’s illegitimate son?

…

I shook Lucifer’s illegitimate child by the collar!

I stopped in my tracks—the echo still rippled through the chamber. The angels around us stood motionless, their wings folded neatly against their backs, statuesque.

I tried asking Sandalphon where that “Young Master” had gone, only to realize that communicating with him was an uphill battle. I gave up.

The next three or four minutes, I was a bundle of restless nerves.

Lucifer was my only lead—but the very thought of facing him made me want to run. That night in the cathedral had left too deep an impression… that strange, overwhelming pain when I looked at him, and the emptiness that followed…

I didn’t know how I could feel something like that toward someone I barely knew. But Lucifer, he actually frightened me.

What kind of scene would it be, seeing him again…

I was lost in thought when suddenly a voice came from the doorway: “God has not set a deadline, Your Highness needn’t rush to finish it at once.”

A six-winged angel stood before me. He had just folded his wings, dressed in a long robe of black and white, with a silver chain hanging down his chest, a massive crucifix dangling at the end. He held a thick book in one arm, glasses perched on his nose, and soft bangs falling across the crystal lenses. The eyes behind them were deep and magnetic…

I was still admiring his refined presence—when I realized it was Metatron.

Metatraon paused, his brows knitting slightly. “You’ve been missing for a month, and this is where you ended up?”

I nodded.

Metatron clutched the book a little tighter, his expression unreadable. But then he raised an eyebrow and said with perfect seriousness, “So this is where you’ve been. We thought you’d turned into a dove and flown off.”

Steady footsteps echoed through the vast hall.

“I’ve decided on the name for the woman,” came a young man’s voice—clear, crisp, no more than twenty-something in tone, but not frivolous. Every syllable perfectly enunciated.

The moment I heard it, that same tension returned, tightening every nerve in my body. I didn’t even dare to breathe, and quietly shuffled toward the doorway.

Metatron immediately turned around. “How about Eugene?” he offered.

“God said he would symbolize strength and renewal—he is to inspire, to be filled with passion.”

“Just like Your Highness,” Metatron replied, “unlike all other newborns, who arrive in this world crying—you came smiling, didn’t you?”

There was no answer to that question.

But in the next moment, Lucifer stepped into the bedchamber.

I’ve heard that a person’s arsenal of charm contains two blades—one is beauty, the other, power. The six-winged angel before me wielded both with ease. Wherever he passed, all things lost their luster, countless cities falling at his feet. He walked to the window and looked out over the glorious capital of this realm—Sancta Faylea.

His six wings were unlike those of ordinary six-winged angels—brighter than sunlight, more translucent than gemstones, as if, when unfurled, they could encompass the brilliance of the morning. But the moment he entered, he retracted them. His long hair spilling down the golden bands of his cloak and across his back, capturing the light from the window, resplendent to the point of being unbearable to look at.

“The first man… what should his name be?”

“Adam,” I blurted out.

Then, he turned and looked at me. His eyes a sea-sky blue, vast and calm. He smiled so faintly you wouldn’t notice unless you really looked.

“That’s a good name,” he said, thinking for a moment before turning to Sandalphon. “Adam it is.”

I was dumbfounded.

Wait… was the name Adam chosen like that? By me?

Am I the one plagiarizing history or is history plagiarizing me?

“I-Isar, quickly!” Sandalphon pulled me down to kneel.

Before I could even react, I followed Sandalphon and knelt—only to regret it so bitterly I could’ve turned my guts inside out. Why did I kneel to Lucifer?!

“Rise,” Lucifer said lightly, looking at me as if nothing had happened. “Isar, come here.”

Seeing him today was a world apart from the last time in the cathedral. He wore the feathered crest that marked the Archangel Supreme, a white outer robe whose sleeves reached just to the elbow, revealing a fitted underlayer of blue-green. Silver chains hung from his white gloves, gems adorning his figure.

Dazed, I moved toward him. My head felt heavier, as though it gained a pound with each step. The closer, the more dread pooled in my chest. By the time I stood before him, my head was nearly tucked inside my collar.

“Lift your head.”

“Ah—” I let out a noise before glancing up at him. I barely lasted a second before my gaze dropped again. Maybe it was the setting, but the Lucifer today felt even more untouchable than last time.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” he said, calm and unhurried.

I was absolutely not nervous… But, then, why the hell wouldn’t my legs hold me up?

“When did you wake up?”

“J-just now.”

I finally understood why Sandalphon stuttered. It must’ve been because after writing that book, Lucifer dragged him to his side, and over time, the effect turned him into this.

Lucifer looked at me for a moment, then suddenly smiled. “Perform well in Metatron’s play. Understood?”

I nodded with all the force I could muster.

Lucifer patted my shoulder, and my whole body locked up.

“Sandalphon, take him back to the Sixth Heaven.”

“Wait…” I looked up quickly. “Your Highness Lucifer… do you know Yang Lu?”

“I do not.”

The answer came so decisively that I was left with nothing to say. I had no choice but to ask again, “Then… who is the Young Master—?”

Lucifer’s expression remained indifferent. “Don’t know him.”

Seeing the look in his eyes, I was reminded of that encounter in the cathedral—the cold tone, the stifling presence. A chill ran down my spine. I took a step back. Then another. And finally darted over to Sandalphon’s side.

Forget it. Whatever questions I have, I’ll save them for next time. There are too many people here right now, and with Lucifer standing there wearing that expression, I don’t even know where to begin…

“Isar.” Sandalphon adjusted his glasses and pulled a roll of parchment from his robe, tossing it toward me. “You’ve been absent from school for a whole month. You’ll be penalized.”

I reached out and caught it steadily.

“Take that to the first floor of the Prayer Fortress. Just consider it a sick leave.”

I nodded, thanked him, and followed Sandalphon out.

Standing in the main hall of the Hall of Radiance was like being a lone raft adrift on a vast ocean. My wings were still injured, so I could only trudge slowly forward. By the time I reached the doors, I was already at my limit.

Just as I stepped outside, Metatron casually descended before me, unfolding his massive golden six wings.

“Little Isar, do you want to be a broken messenger again?”

It took me a moment to recall what a “broken messenger” even was.

“Nope. Not even a little.”

“If you don’t want to, then study hard. As long as you pass your exams, even after you finish the play, you can continue living in Shima. Divine Law and the Seventh are the two most prestigious schools. Pass Level Six at either, and you’re immediately promoted to white four-wings. Pass Level Seven, you’re blue four-wings. Pass Level Eight—you’d actually be a six-wing.”

“Alright. I’ll work hard to stay.”

“Honestly, with Heaven at peace now, more angels are turning to magic—nobody wants to go swinging swords around anymore. I could help transfer you to the Seventh, the competition’s a bit easier there.”

I thought of Caro, still at the Divine Law.

“No, I’ll just stay at Divine Law. If Your Highness really wants to help, help me find a job.”

“You’re… short on money?”

“Very much.”

Metatron immediately pulled out a parchment wrapped in silver thread, signed it, then handed it to me. “There’s a Seraphic Exchange outside the Divine Law. Take this there.”

This was the legendary divine blank check—parchment made of Basscow hide.

I froze for a second and hurriedly handed it back to Metatron.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Playing the polite game with me now? That signature is worth a lot, you know—you could buy the entire city of Jerusalem with it.”

“I can’t accept something like this.”

Metatron paused, then took back the parchment, removing his glasses to wipe them. “Little Isar, being too righteous isn’t good. You’ve been like this for how long now, and still haven’t learned your lesson. Besides, are you really okay with staying a low rank forever?”

“Why do you always look down on lower-ranking angels? It’s just a few extra wings, isn’t it?”

Also, wait—did I hear that right? Isar… righteous? The skies must be about to rain pitch-black.

“Alright, alright, I was wrong. You’re right,” Metatron said as he ruffled my hair. “Isar, Shima isn’t as clean as it appears on the surface. You have to remember, no matter what you see or hear, don’t react. That’s the best way to protect yourself.”

I nodded.

“And —don’t open your heart to others so easily.”

“I only have Caro as a friend in Shima. I haven’t gotten close to anyone else.”

Metatron paused for a moment, then suddenly smiled, cryptic. “If you ever need anything, just come to me. I’ll make you feel good enough to fly straight up, like a pigeon.”

I used to think Metatron was just a brainless rich playboy, but now I realize he’s actually the “hidden wisdom behind the fool” type. My opinion of him instantly improved a little. And since men can usually see through other men, I could also tell—he had a bit of a thing for Isar. Too bad Isar only seemed to like Lucifer. Maybe it was because while Metatron could hand him a blank check, the entire treasury belonged to Lucifer.

To be honest, judging from Lucifer’s temperament, being with him might not be nearly as fun as being with Metatron.

Maybe gay and straight guys really do think differently. If I were Isar, I definitely would’ve picked Metatron.

Because my wings hadn’t fully recovered, I couldn’t pass directly through the clouds—I had to take the long stairway beneath the tower bridge instead. The angels who thrived in Sancta Faylea were all veterans, forged in fire and storms, so naturally, they were unfazed by most things. Even seeing a two-winged angel didn’t cause the kind of fuss it would down below. That made me feel a lot more at ease.

At the same time, I finally laid eyes on what was said to be the most expensive street in all of the this realm: both sides of the road were lined with golden, castle-like buildings—not towering skyscrapers, but each floor was several times taller than any ordinary structure. At the center stood the largest fortress of them all: the legendary “Lucifer’s Grace.” Looking in from the outside, you could see its palace-like opulence. Many angels were shopping inside, yet the atmosphere was as silent as a grave.

Right next to it was an eyewear boutique, and resting on the thickest, most luxurious velvet cushion was a familiar pair of glasses—exactly the pair Metatron wore. Beneath the frame was a bold advertisement:

“First Choice of the King of Angels — Mia’s Eyewear.”

And beneath it all—Metatron’s signature. Flourished and wild, like dragons in flight. You wouldn’t even recognize it as writing unless you thought about it.

The moment the shopkeeper noticed Sandalphon lingering nearby, his expression instantly turned warm and welcoming:

“It’s this year’s limited edition in Sancta Faylea. Only three pairs exist in the entire realm—two here, and the other… well, we don’t need to say, you already know. But for Lord Sandalphon, we’d be honored to offer custom lenses for free, with a 10% discount on the frames. Just so you know, this pair of glasses costs more than two golden carriages and four celestial steeds. The difference is—you get to wear it on your nose.”

Sandalphon looked thoroughly unimpressed.

He’d always held a deep disdain for Metatron.

As for me, the moment I heard the price of those glasses, my soul more or less left my body.

It wasn’t until I stepped onto the moon-white, glowing spiral staircase that led directly to the heart of Shima that I came back to reality. My poor little heart trembled with every step, terrified of cracking the stairs and having to pay for it. You never know with those bloodsucking capitalists in the imperial capital.