The farther one is from Sancta Faylia, the farther the divine race drifts from divinity.
I often open the Divine Eye to glimpse those distant places far from the Throne, those angels thriving in the fringe cities. Their lifespans may be less than one-thousandth of a six-winged angel’s, yet they burn with vivid love and hatred, their lives brimming with vitality.
I often see female angels weeping in sorrow after being abandoned by their lovers. They are always kneeling in chapels, pleading for my help again and again, asking over and over:
“Why do I love him so deeply, yet he remains unmoved? Why did he stop loving me the moment he possessed me?”
Through the revelation of my Holy Spirit, I offer them comfort, but I never reveal the true answer:
When he has fully claimed you, his desire vanishes.
No matter how beautiful love may be, it is still a form of desire.
We often see the elderly sitting hand in hand on benches, silently watching the sunset. And we often see the young in fervent embrace deep into the night, then tearing each other apart come dawn. This is because youth is the peak of life’s vitality, so the marks of desire are clearest. The elderly, nearing death, have a life force so faint it’s nearly extinguished. Only then does their love begin to resemble the love of God.
So in a certain sense, death is life’s true climax—
Because God has no life.
And desire—
is both the most precious, and the most sorrowful part of life.
Just like Ruthfel.
He was never content.
One afternoon, he pointed at the silver chain around my wrist and smiled:
“Isar, what’s that on your hand? Will you give it to me?”
“It’s nothing valuable,” I said, “but I cannot give it to you.”
“Why not?”
I didn’t answer.
He had completely forgotten the laws of Heaven.
The doctrine as declared by my Son—“One must be grateful for God’s gifts, but never demand them”—seemed, to him, a mere decoration.
When I did not reply, he fell silent for a long while.
At last, he looked at me with those pale blue eyes and asked, “Do you remember, long ago, I asked you why the divine race is always drawn to one another? Do you still recall how you answered me?”
“I remember.”
Back then, Ruthfel blinked those wide blue eyes and tilted his head in that familiar way, seriously asking me,
“Father God, why is it that we don’t fall in love with a flower, or a stone, or a clump of earth, but with others who are just like ourselves?”
I held him in my arms and, in an instant, brought us to the First Heaven.
Beneath the transparent cloud cover stretched the greatest ocean in all the cosmos.
The sea wind howled, bringing the scent of salt and tide. Birds cut through the clouds, their cries tearing through the firmament. Flights of dragons, gryphons, pegasi, and angels soared above the sea, occasionally descending to rest on scattered islands—rocky isles, pine-clad isles, chains of isles… everywhere. The sea was an endless, pure blue, and where it crashed against the dark reefs of the archipelago, the waves were a pure white.
I pointed at the sunlit sea.
“Ruthfel, look at the islands across the water. Are they all joined together?”
“No,” he replied. “They’re all separate.”
“But does that mean they are truly independent?”
The waves crashed upon the lonely islands.
Ruthfel stared out for a long while, then shook his head:
“No. The land beneath the sea is all connected. These islands are just the parts that rise above the surface.”
“Clever child.”
At once, I brought him back to the Throne in Sancta Faylia. Then, carrying him, I walked to the window, pushed open the immense stained-glass casement, and let the light pour in. The golden city, the brightest jewel of Heaven, unfurled before our eyes.
I pointed to the six-winged angels flying through the skies:
“Heaven is the ocean. The divine race are the islands. Though they appear separate, their roots are forever intertwined. And so, of course those who share the same roots are drawn to one another.”
. . .
. . .
“Then I want to ask,” he said. “Are you one of us?”
Ruthfel stood before me. That gentle obedience from his childhood had long since vanished.
Like all of the divine race, he had once been pure and lovely as a child, but now he bore the unique, rebellious edge of youth.
I looked down on him from above, and answered quietly:
“No.”
As I spoke, I saw the clear disappointment on his beautiful face. Even those blue eyes, once bright as gemstones, seemed to dull.
But he still didn’t give up. He raised his eyes and said:
“Then… what are you?”
“I am God.”
“Is there really such a great difference between God and the divine race? You’re just one rank above an ordinary divine being, not entirely different from us. You even look like us.”
“You should’ve heard it in school—what you’re seeing now is merely an incarnation I created to communicate with your kind. This is nothing like the physical form of a Seraph. I’m not an individual entity. I am one with all things in the universe.”
“So what? You created the other divine beings, but not me. Everything in this world falls into one of two categories: either it was created by you, or it is one with you. Since I wasn’t created by you, that means I must be one with you. We are the same kind, so of course we’re drawn to each other. Of course we should love each other.”
“Ruthfel, you’re eloquent. But you should know this is sophistry.” I lowered my eyes and spoke with the same calm tone as always. “No matter what you say, you are still just an individual. Everything you see now—every flower, every blade of grass, every stone, every leaf—is a part of me. I am the world. I am the universe. For you to want my love, is to demand that the entire world, the entire universe, loves you. Do you truly believe you can bear such a love?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Ruthfel said:
“I can.”
“You’re far too arrogant. You cannot.”
I closed my eyes. I no longer wished to look upon this boy who was becoming more spoiled and unbearable by the day.
For a long time, I heard nothing. If it weren’t for the trace of his presence still nearby, I would’ve thought he’d already left.
Then, in a flash of temper, he marched up the steps and barked at me:
“Isar, you’re the arrogant one!”
I opened my eyes and frowned at him, motioning toward the steps with my chin. “Who gave you permission to come up here? Down.”
But Ruthfel didn’t listen. Instead, he walked right up, placed both hands on the arms of the Throne, and leaned down to kiss me.
Of course, I would not give him the chance. A faint burst of light from my palm flung him ten meters away.
That power was still too much for the boy, even a Seraph.
Clutching his chest, Ruthfel coughed up blood. His body was gravely injured. And yet, he still stared at me stubbornly. “When I was little, you carried me everywhere. Now I can’t even get close enough to ask for a bracelet?”
I turned my gaze away, cold, unwilling to look at him any longer.
Blood soaked his white garments. He coughed a few more times, long fingers stained red.
“You say you are the universe, aren’t you?” His voice was hoarse. “Fine then—I’ll tell you this: one day, I’ll destroy the entire universe if that’s what it takes to make you mine alone!”
Whether it was because I had never seen Ruthfel lose his temper, or because he dared to defy me so openly, or perhaps for reasons I didn’t wish to consider, just as he finished speaking, the entire Sancta Faylia suddenly trembled.
Ruthfel turned sharply.
On the streets of Sancta Faylia, inside its buildings, every angel froze mid-movement, shock across their faces.
“What just happened?”
“Was that… an earthquake?”
“Are you kidding? Sancta Faylia can’t have earthquakes.”
“Why did it feel like the entire Seventh Heaven just shuddered?”
……
I heard countless voices of doubt rising from the divine race and closed my eyes once more to steady my thoughts.
Ruthfel, too furious to notice what was happening outside, quickly wiped the blood from the corner of his lips. He pressed his mouth into a tight line and said nothing for a long time. I could see the subtle movement in his throat—he had just swallowed a mouthful of blood.
Though still a youth, the Archangel of Heaven carried a dignity unmatched by all other divine beings combined.
“Isar, say something.”
Back when he was younger, just one rejection from me had been enough for him to withdraw and stay away for a very long time. I knew this direct confrontation was already pushing him to his limit.
He waited for a long time, but I still did not respond. Leaning wearily back into the throne, I had no desire to look at him further, nor the willingness to keep thinking.
After a moment, I saw the rims of Ruthfel’s eyes flush uncontrollably red.
“Father God, please… say something.”
I looked at him, cold and listless: “You truly disappoint me. Get out.”
From the Age of Chaos until now, I had never once used that final phrase.
So Ruthfel froze, as though his soul had been ripped away by some unknowable power. He didn’t even blink.
“Didn’t you hear me?” I waved a hand at him impatiently. “I said—get out.”
Ruthfel was no longer the child he used to be. He had been adored beyond all others, wrapped in the most radiant halo of Heaven. His wisdom, power, beauty, status, wealth—any one of these would have been unattainable for most Seraphim, and he possessed all of them.
Every still moment of his could be remembered by the divine as a priceless painting. Even the faintest curl of his lips, no matter how scornful, could make a female angel pine for him for decades.
He had been utterly spoiled. That’s why he wanted more. And that’s why, after being rebuffed by me, he laughed it off as if nothing had happened.
“That’s enough to disappoint you?” he said. “Then if you knew what I was going to do next, wouldn’t you be so shocked you’d fall right off your Throne?”
He really was just a child. Thinking his jokes were hilarious, thinking his insolence was charming, even letting out a quiet laugh in the end. But his reddened eyes glimmered with tears he could barely keep at bay.
Since the dawn of the universe and the birth of aether, I had always existed like a straight line, without endpoints.
No past. No present. No future.
I was a stagnant divine pool. Even with a body that could feel warmth and cold, my heart remained the cosmos itself. As long as the world did not collapse, then even if the divine race perished, I would never understand the pain of a living soul crushed into shards of ice.
But the moment Ruthfel left, the Sancta Faylia outside turned into a frozen wasteland overnight.
The snowstorm lasted three days and nights. Not just Sancta Faylia, but the entirety of Heaven and even the outer edges of the Demon Realm froze over for three days and three nights.
Overnight, rumors spread like wildfire, panic gripped the land, and churches, schools, shops, and construction sites came to a standstill.
It was the first time I had ever lost control over Heaven’s order. I had no choice but to send my Son and the archangels to calm the divine citizens.
By the third day at dawn, the situation had slightly improved—yet new rumors from Shima erupted across every layer of Heaven again. As if someone had jabbed a stick into an anthill, dark, writhing swarms poured out and spread across every inch of the land.
They were rumors about Ruthfel.
“I heard Lord Ruthfel slept with several female angels these past few days!”
“Yeah, same here. No idea who had the honor of being his first, though.”
“Come on, we all know the laws are just for show. No one really waits until adulthood before getting close with their partner. But still, he’s a Seraphim. Shouldn’t he at least act with some restraint? Isn’t he afraid Father God will punish him?”
“I think Father God gave his silent blessing. Didn’t he let those girls into the Hall of Splendor? No way he didn’t know.”
I thought for a long time, and in the end decided to send my Son to speak with Ruthfel.
He found him in a garden in a residential district of Shima.
Snow was falling heavily. He wore a thick fur cloak, white, blending seamlessly with the lawn buried under the same purity. His long hair had come loose, like scattered gold. To call him the purest and most beautiful angel in all of Heaven would not have been an exaggeration.
And yet, beneath that immaculate cloak, the boy was disheveled. His shirt hung open, revealing a chest that seemed to glow faintly with ethereal light. A young girl was wrapped in the same cloak, even more disorderly than he was, her chest half-bared. The only thing left that still resembled an angel about her were the four white wings trembling with excitement on her back.
Snowflakes fell like tiny tufts of white wool, swirling in disarray, blurring the view.
The two angels were frolicking in the snow, exhaling strands of web-like mist, and only after a long while did they notice that my Son had approached.
The moment the girl saw Him, she gasped in fright and dove into Ruthfel’s arms like a frightened rabbit.
Still only a boy himself, Ruthfel nonetheless tried to mimic the composure of a grown man. He patted her shoulder reassuringly. “It’s fine.”
He helped her to her feet, gently buttoned her shirt one by one, then lifted her chin and kissed her lips heavily. Afterward, he gave her rear a playful pat. “Go on now. I’ll come find you another day.”
Flustered and shy, the girl tugged at the hem of his coat for a moment before finally, reluctantly leaving.
Ruthfel turned around, visibly impatient.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing important,” my Son replied, maintaining a gentle smile. “Just wanted to check in on Lord Ruthfel. You may not look of age, but you’ve long since reached the time when it’s permissible to engage with the opposite sex. If you truly care for that girl, there’s nothing wrong with letting it develop. Falling in love once or twice is fine.”
Ruthfel scoffed. “Just her? One wouldn’t be enough.”
“Then have a few more. As long as you can manage those relationships without tarnishing others.”
Ruthfel looked at him coldly. “Who told you to come here and tell me this?”
“I simply heard rumors and came to check on you. You’ve kept yourself remarkably restrained for over two thousand Berduths. But if you lose control of your personal life now, the one you’ll disgrace most… is yourself.”
He said nothing, arms folded.
My Son watched him quietly for a while, then stepped forward and handed him a black box. “Father asked me to give this to you.”
“I’m not interested!” Ruthfel knocked the box aside.
My Son didn’t respond. He simply smiled, turned, and left.
The snow kept falling, heavier and heavier. Even the white roses had turned to blocks of ice. The sky was a vast, pale hourglass, spilling endless white sand.
It was nearly nightfall by the time Ruthfel, in a daze, finally bent down to brush the snow aside and retrieve the box he’d struck away. He opened it.
Silver light gleamed in the thin twilight.
Inside lay a bundle of silver bracelets.
They were, in truth, ordinary. No magic. Inexpensive.
Ruthfel stared at them, motionless for a long time. Then, all of a sudden, he pulled one out and fastened it around his wrist as if it were a prized toy a child had just bought for the first time. He rushed to the lakeside to admire his reflection wearing it.
But the moment he saw the joy on his face mirrored in the lake, he clutched his wrist—and crouched down into the snow, sobbing.
The white cloak looked like a second skin to the snow, bound together as one. Snow fell on Ruthfel’s golden hair, on his thin shoulders, as if it kept falling a little longer, it would surely bury him.
The heart encased within my flesh still could not feel pain.
But when I stepped out of the Sanctum, and the cold wind flooded my pale robes, when it whipped through my hair, blending it with snow and ice, and snuck quietly down the back of my neck—I suddenly realized:
The thing that was cold and stinging… was either this universe, or the heart of the universe itself.
……
Ever since time, history, and civilization came into being in this world, the divine race grew accustomed to seeking the order behind all things.
The transition from the unknown to the known is a sign of progress; thus, the development and advancement of Heaven has always been a cause for celebration. Especially after the first War of Light and Darkness, which awakened the angels to a hard truth: not all races revered them. Even though the demons of the deep Hell were inferior in many ways, they were always baring their fangs, ready to strike back.
Yet while the divine race advanced steadily and methodically, the reforms and challenges proposed by Ruthfel made him stand out far too much.
At first, I believed it to be nothing more than adolescent rebellion. But that defiance grew like the rings of a tree, layer by layer, year by year. He was born with a spirit that refused to conform to tradition, and an overly intense thirst for conquest. In that sense, he resembled a demon more than he did an angel. After I rejected his repeated requests to launch an assault on the Demon Realm, he became increasingly unrestrained in his relationships. And it wasn’t just him. He led a whole faction of Seraphim into this mess.
Most troubling of all, he sparked a trend known as “Favored Angels”—where high-ranking members of the divine race would single out and lavish affection on a lower-ranking angel. This practice ran completely counter to my intentions.
I considered calling Ruthfel in for a conversation several times. But I knew this unruliness of his was simply a bid for my attention. If I responded even the slightest to him, he’d only escalate, pushing for demands that crossed the line. So in the end, I remained silent.
Our relationship grew more strained. Communication between us grew increasingly rare. Sometimes, he grew so arrogant he wouldn’t even attend the daily assembly. Rumors of discord between us began to spread quietly across Heaven.
Finally, in the final year of the Berduth 2999, I decided that at the start of the 3000th, I would host a coming-of-age celebration for Ruthfel—and perhaps, resolve some of our long-standing awkwardness.
I summoned him to the altar behind the Sanctum.
It was night in the lower realms of Heaven, but in Sancta Faylia, there was no difference between day and night. Standing by the altar, I could see the interior of the Sanctum clearly: Seraphim guards circled high above the crimson carpet, their wings fanned wide. Mist drifted like flowing gauze through the air. Outside the towering stained-glass windows was the majestic imperial capital. Below the altar, crystalline pools shimmered like multicolored gems and reflected my image back perfectly.
The same face as always for billions of years. Silver hair, white robes, sea-blue eyes. No matter how my form changed, the cold expression in my eyes never did.
I sat by the main altar, closing my eyes to rest.
From a distance came the sound of wings.
Two sets of sounds—one fast, one slow. The fast wings beat fiercely, loud enough to resemble the warlike flap of a gryphon beast showing off its might before battle.
But no, that wasn’t it. That was the wings of Ruthfel’s personal guard. Ruthfel commanded the most elite corps of angels in Heaven; even his ordinary guards were trained well enough to enter combat at any time. He was the first of the divine race to rise to such heights, with no predecessor to compare. Still, I was certain: if he were to resign, Heaven wouldn’t see a second Archangel like him for thousands of Berduths.
And that other, almost oppressively slow wingbeat—that was Ruthfel’s.
In these past thousand Berduths, it wasn’t just his height that had grown like wildfire, but also those six blazing wings of light—unique in all of Heaven, easily double the size of any other archangel’s. You could practically hear the crack, crack of their growth.
Wherever he flew, a vast shadow would pass beneath him.
Even now, with my eyes closed, I could feel that shadow over me.
When I heard the sound of wings folding, I slowly opened my eyes.
Reflected in the water was no longer just me, but also the tall blond man standing behind.
“Father God, you called for me?”
The Archangel offered a courteous, gentle smile. Though still a thorn in my side in essence, his speech and bearing had grown more fitting for his station.
Aside from a brief encounter two hundred Berduths ago for official business, this was the first time we’d spoken alone in nearly a thousand Berduths.
“Mm.” I stood and turned to face him. “This Berduth is nearly over. I was thinking of holding a coming-of-age banquet for you. What do you think?”
“Thank you for your gracious gift, Father God.”
“Then go.”
“Yes, Father.”
Ruthfel unfurled his wings and rose into the air, but I called him back. “Wait—I forgot something.”
He immediately returned, landing right in front of me.
Perhaps he’d come back too quickly, because he stopped too sudden, far too close. He seemed to notice it as well, and started to step back, but then hesitated. Stepping away too obviously might appear contrived, so he simply adjusted his stance and remained where he was.
“What else would you like of me?”
“Have you decided which Maiden you’ll ask to bless you?”
The so-called Maiden referred to a six-winged angel who had preserved her virginity. At the coming-of-age ceremony, she would pour holy water over both herself and the one entering adulthood, a rite that could not be omitted.
“I’ll leave that decision to you, Father.”
Only then did I realize, that without noticing it, Ruthfel had already grown taller than me. His shoulders were broader, too, and his whole presence radiated the vibrant energy of a young man in his prime.
I could become taller than him. I could make myself appear younger. But this was my most natural form; changing it now would seem overly deliberate. And besides, the eyes cannot be changed. Even if I transformed into a child of five, my gaze would still be this cold and unfeeling.
So I simply looked up at him, and said,
“Evangeline is the Mother of the divine race and she watched you grow up. Let her be the Maiden who blesses you.”
“All right. But I worry she might refuse. If that happens, I’ll ask Father to name her directly.”
“She won’t refuse.”
“Is that a promise, Father?” His tone was gentle, but there was a rare firmness behind it.
I was silent for a moment. “Very well.”
“Thank you, Father God.”
He bowed slightly, then straightened and smiled at me—one that seemed to say he’d lowered his head as a courtesy and that was the only reason he was momentarily the shorter of the two. It annoyed me. I waved my hand and dismissed him.
……
June 6th of the following year.
Ruthfel’s coming-of-age banquet was held in the Hall of Splendor. That day, not only did all the archangels attend, but over a thousand six-winged angels gathered as well.
The event undoubtedly helped ease the tension that had lingered between us for years. If all went smoothly, the kind-hearted angels would soon spread word of the reconciliation throughout Heaven. I recognized it as a rare opportunity, and for the first time ever on a night that was not Creation Day, I allowed Sancta Faylia to be veiled in true night, starlit, vast, and serene.
The banquet proceeded flawlessly. Even though I remained seated at the highest place of honor, Ruthfel was nothing but respectful, courteous to me from beginning to end.
Finally came the Blessing of the Maiden.
Everyone whispered and speculated over who would be the lucky one to perform the rite for the new Archangel. Of course, the vast majority had already guessed—Evangeline. She stood beside me, smiling as she waved a hand toward the crowd, signaling it wouldn’t be her.
“Evangeline,” I said, leaning against my seat, “you shall perform the ritual for Ruthfel. There is no one more fitting.”
She did not move right away, instead standing there, visibly startled. After a long pause, she finally said, “M-me?”
“Yes.”
“This… this is too sudden.” She glanced at Ruthfel. “His Highness surely wouldn’t want me… A task like this should fall to a younger Maiden…”
She wasn’t one to lie, so her voice shook, and she wrung the hem of her robe with both hands, clearly uneasy.
I looked at her with slight confusion. I hadn’t expected Ruthfel to be right and for her to not want to go.
But it was something I had already promised Ruthfel. So I spoke the final word.
“I’ve chosen you. Go.”
Evangeline inhaled deeply, struggling to steady herself. “Yes, Father…”
Ruthfel stood in the center of the crowd.
As Evangeline approached, the angels stepped back, leaving space around the two of them. Several attendants brought silver ewers, pouring the consecrated water into chalices, then presenting one reverently to Evangeline.
Ruthfel bowed slightly. “Thank you, Mother, for your blessing.”
Evangeline accepted the cup with trembling hands. Even her shoulders, and the waist-length curtain of golden hair cascading down her back, quivered.
I narrowed my eyes, watching them.
Suddenly, I had a terrible feeling.
—Only a true Maiden may complete this rite. If she is not, the water of blessings will turn black.
Under Ruthfel’s calm, gentle gaze, Evangeline’s hand hovered above the silver cup… and remained there, motionless.
She took several deep breaths—then threw the chalice to the ground!
With tears streaming down her face, she collapsed at my feet. “Father, I beg your punishment!”
It was as if my whole heart had been cast into a field of ice once more. I didn’t look at her. Instead, my eyes turned coldly toward the tall, dazzling Archangel. In a voice only she and I could hear, I said,
“Evangeline… you and Ruthfel really put on quite a show for me today.”
“I’m sorry, Father! I’m so sorry! Please, just kill me!” she sobbed.
Ruthfel, in contrast, showed not the slightest trace of fear.
He simply held my gaze, his lips faintly curved in a smile. In his sky-blue eyes, the stars shimmered.
……
……
What news could possibly be more explosive than the revelation that the Holy Mother had already lost her virginity?
After the rumor of Evangeline’s fall spread, Ruthfel’s coming-of-age banquet paled in comparison. That very night, once the guests had left, I nearly killed him in a fit of fury.
“You dare lay your hands on even her?!”
Enraged, I slapped him hard across the face.
Ruthfel calmly wiped the corner of his mouth with a white glove. The silver chain on his wrist shimmered, just like that fearless heart of his.
“So the Almighty does get angry after all.”
“You grow more outrageous by the day! Tell me, what do you intend to do next? This reckless, childish behavior—what can it possibly earn you? All it does is tarnish your name, the name of the divine race, the name of Heaven!”
Ruthfel didn’t answer. He turned his face slightly away. Somehow, his features had grown mature, pensive. The sharp line of his nose cast half his face in shadow, rendering on him a trace of sorrow.
“Even if it’s hatred,” he said softly.
“What?”
“I don’t know how long I’ll live, or when I’ll die. What I do know is that no matter how long my life may be, it’s nothing compared to your eternity. So I want to make sure you remember me.” Ruthfel lowered his eyes, his voice calm. “It doesn’t matter what kind of feeling it is—as long as I leave a mark in your existence. I want to be remembered by you.”
The anger I had just managed to suppress surged up again.
“Ruthfel, how many times must I repeat it to you—I am the Creator. God has no life! You are drawing on a sheet of paper that doesn’t exist. Who would even appreciate the art?”
“You’re not nonexistent.”
Ruthfel stepped closer, starlight glinting in his eyes. He removed his gloves and gently stroked my cheek.
“See? You’re not void. And you’re not without emotion. If you can love this world, then you can love me too.”
I brushed his hand away. “Impossible.”
“Isar, look at me. I’m already very strong,” he said, pointing to the angelic legions outside. “If I rebel, your victory is no longer certain. And if you won’t love me… then I won’t love this world either.”
The implication of not loving this world was crystal clear.
It was as good as a threat.
But I wasn’t afraid of his rebellion.
In fact, if Ruthfel truly defected and left Heaven, it might bring about a necessary correction—perhaps even balance the overwhelming disparity between Heaven and the Demon Realm.
If one day he did go to the Demon Realm and died there, it was likely no stronger monarch would arise from their ranks. Heaven would regain its equilibrium. That outcome would still be better than having him stirring up chaos in Heaven.
And yet, at the same time, I couldn’t help but think. Think about how if that truly happened, he would be gone. I would no longer even have the chance to see and engage in a cold war with him.
Suddenly, my heart was filled with unrest.
“Do whatever.” I clutched my forehead and turned my back to him, waving him away. “Go. Just go.”
……
Though his earlier confession had been so earnest and heartfelt, it wasn’t long before Ruthfel once again returned to his life of indulgence.
Yet… it was clear Evangeline meant something different to him. He never allowed any other woman to stay the night at the Hall of Splendor—but whenever he brought Evangeline back, he would always fall asleep beside her, holding her until morning. With others, he was attentive to their every need both before and after intimacy. But with Evangeline, he often grew irritable and snapped at her to be silent, especially when she brought up my name—an outburst that, from the increasingly unreadable Ruthfel, might as well have been a barefaced confession.
In the dusk of Eden, beneath the Tree of Life, an angel with white hair leaned quietly against its trunk.
The Tree of Life was the Tree of Reincarnation in Heaven. All departed souls would return here, to be stripped back to their essence, cleansed, and born anew.
That angel leaned against the bark, his six wings no longer able to resist the ravages of time. His breath was faint, his life all but extinguished. He gazed up at the trembling, verdant leaves above. After a long pause, he finally shut his weary eyes and murmured softly:
“Lord Metatron…”
Tears slid down the corners of his eyes like silver scars.
And I could hear the final cries and regrets of a soul reaching the end of its journey.
“Rafe… do you regret it now?” I let my voice reach his heart.
“Father…? I can hear Your revelation… does this mean…” Rafe faltered in shock for a moment, then smiled bitterly. “I really am about to die, aren’t I?”
“Do you regret a lifetime spent striving to become a high-ranking angel, only to find you could never catch up to him?”
He shook his head, violet-red eyes glistening with tears, an inherited trait of demon blood.
“No regrets. If I’m reborn and still have my memories, I’d do it all again.”
“I can grant you that. A rebirth outside the Tree. You won’t need to pass through it.”
Rafe’s eyes flew open. “What…?”
“But there is one condition.” I paused, then said each word slowly, clearly: “From this moment on, your entire existence belongs to me.”
He blinked in disbelief—then suddenly cried out, “I accept! Cough—cough, cough… Father, I’ve always been Your faithful servant. Even if You didn’t give me this chance, I would still offer myself to You…”
“Anything.”
“Yes! Anything!”
“Very well. I’ll tell you what that ‘anything’ is later. For now, I bestow upon you a new name and rank.”
“Thank You, Father…” he sobbed, his nose flushed red from weeping.
I sighed lightly. “–phael is a suffix I reserve for angels of My own making. Henceforth, you shall be reborn as a Seraph. Your new name is Raphael.”
As the radiance of rebirth enveloped him, a wave of memories rose within me.
I am the Creator. The Eternal. The Immutable. An existence unmoved by the world.
Birth, aging, illness, and death—these are the laws of life, irrelevant to me.
But in that moment, realizing I had to use another of my divine race just to restrain that one person… I suddenly felt old.
Rotten to the core, long ago.
…
I remembered how, when I created life, I had left one intentional flaw: a single, insatiable desire that no creature could fulfill alone.
The desire… for skin.
All living creatures have skin. And it always longs for the touch of another—whether through a kiss, a caress, or an embrace. That yearning cannot be satisfied alone. Skin is where spirit and flesh meet. Because of it, beings are drawn together. They fall in love. They live side by side. They bear children.
I, in my physical form, do not have the skin of ordinary creatures.
And yet, there are times I imagine that if I too could die… if I could enter the Tree of Life and be reborn… perhaps one day, I might live as a mere, ordinary member of my divine race…
But no. To go from wantlessness to want is regression. It defies the very laws of creation.
So, Ruthfel… that’s why there is no “what if” for us.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
