Part II: Book of Isar
“Growing up is the process of becoming resilient and losing your passion.” —Isar
Father once said that it rarely rained in the imperial capital because it was favored by God. But the place we lived—Jerusalem, was like a woman’s heart: intricate, sensitive, and quick to tears.
Because she believed in omens, Mother always treated rainy days as bad signs. A city soaked in black rainclouds would often leave her silent and melancholic.
And since the rain was pouring hard, the guests had no way of leaving. A perfectly fine home turned into a refuge.
The floor had been polished to a shine, and on it was the reflection of a baby. The infant had a head full of bright red hair, and eyes as blue as two deep gemstones. But they were so large and clear that in addition to looking adorable, they also gave off an unusual dullness unbefitting a child. I had no idea why my hair was so soft, much softer than that of the other squishy lumps I crawled around with. A few strands of red drooped lazily onto my forehead. I blew upward; they floated gently, then obediently fell back down. I smacked my hands against the floor in frustration, two round little fists thudding sharply against the surface.
Laughter rang out around me. I turned and gave them a wary glare—they were all seated in the dining room. White-feathered lamps hung from the ceiling above, their twin wings gently swaying when the lights shifted. Perhaps it was because my blue irises were too large, but I always found the light too dazzling, that it hurt my eyes. Everyone seated there, Father called them Seraphim. But to me, they were all scoundrels.
The golden-haired lad nearest me was named Raphael. He was gentle and always smiling, but beyond that, had no special traits. Across from him sat a man with honey-colored hair—a thoroughly obnoxious fellow, all raised brows and arrogant posture. He was in the home of Reynor, the Angel of Fire, and yet he had the audacity to cross his legs and fold his arms like he owned the place.
I disliked him for another reason: he bullied the weak. He didn’t even spare babies. Every time I crawled past, he’d grab my legs and drag me back. My tiny palms, still wet with milk, would leave two long white streaks across the floor as I went. And he thought it was hilarious. Every time, he’d collapse against the table, laughing so hard he had to slap it. What kind of idle lunatic found this entertaining?
At first, I was going to be magnanimous. A lord such as myself shouldn’t lower himself to bicker with clowns. But just as I resumed crawling, he struck again.
Mom and Dad were off in the corner, whispering sweet nothings. No one noticed I was being tormented.
When he dragged me back yet again, that insufferable man finally spoke:
“Raphael, little Michael is so much fun. Come try it too.”
Raphael, thankfully, wasn’t as juvenile. He only smiled and waved him off.
The pest’s name was Metatron. For reasons I couldn’t understand, no one seemed willing to challenge him, so he could act as outrageously as he pleased.
Behind him sat a black-robed angel holding a flower crown, smiling like a honeybee. “Crawling,” he said. His name was Sandalphon. He had a habit of speaking in clipped syllables. Only language prodigies could make sense of him. So I must have been some sort of divine infant—because I understood: he was saying I’d learned to crawl.
Metatron finally got bored of harassing me and let me crawl over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I pressed my tiny palms to the glass, leaving two misty prints, and smacked the pane a few more times as I stared out at the rain.
The commotion successfully drew everyone’s attention. I furrowed my brow, jutted my lip, and jabbed a finger toward the sky outside, babbling nonsense at the top of my lungs. In the process, my pacifier fell to the floor. I hurriedly snatched it back up, stuffed it in my mouth, and smacked the window again.
“Little Michael doesn’t like the rain, does he?” Raphael’s eyes curved into a smile, trying to look kind and gentle.
I just want to see Lord Lucifer!
This time I was smarter—I took the pacifier out first before delivering my speech: “Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah! Wah wah wah wah wah!”
“Oh, poor little Michael. He really doesn’t like the rain.”
“Wah wah wah wah wah!”
Ugh. Who asked you to play duck-and-chicken with me? Mom! I want to see Lord Lucifer!
“Don’t mind him, Lord Raphael,” Mom said as she polished her crystal ball and Dad polished his sword. Those two had always been disturbingly in sync.
Mom was gentle as spring water one second, and the next she snapped her eyes toward me with a total shift in tone. “Hey you little brat! If you really want to go to the Hall of Splendor, then spit out Lord Sariel’s letter!”
She dared to threaten me.
I opened my gaping maw and wailed: “Wah wah wah! Ah ah ah wah wah ah ah ah!”
“You dumbass kid! Arguing with your darling mother?!”
Mom rolled up her sleeves and marched toward me.
I heard Mom used to be gentle before getting married. After giving birth to me, postpartum syndrome hit, and her personality did a total one-eighty. Hence… the disaster now before me.
Sensing impending bloodshed, Dad immediately dropped his sword and stepped between us. Then he turned to me, visibly exasperated. “Son, how many times do I have to tell you? You’re a man, and she’s still your mom. Can’t you just give her a little slack?”
“Waaah! Waaah! Hmph!”
I scooted over to the window on my butt and resumed missing my Lord Lucifer.
Hours later, the rain stopped and the sun began to sink. Every time the sun set like this, that sentimental Raphael would sigh and say, “This sunset looks like the heather blooming before the old Sanctum, like blood in the dark on a cloudy day.” Whereas Dad would say it looked like the dawn light over the battlefield of the 4931st year of the War of Light and Darkness. He liked comparing it to the pattern on a battered old book of Celestial History or to the ripples of the Tigris River.
By now, all the angels were crowded around playing Celestial-Demonic Chess. I sat nearby in melancholy—until I spotted movement in the forest. Angels were starting to appear. The rain had stopped, but fierce wind still howled. The angels, unable to fly against the gusts, had tucked their massive wings around themselves and walked through the woods, their feathers shivering amid the lush, rain-soaked greenery.
Most of them were Powers. Many divine beings, including low-ranking ones, looked down on Powers. Their wings were considered ugly, their temperaments worse, and they were infamous for betraying Heaven. Still, no matter how despised Powers were, they all seemed to have really big wings.
There’s a law in Heaven: women complain their breasts are too small; men complain their wings are. Every time someone said, “Michael’s wings are so small and cute,” followed by “I bet his little thing is small and cute too,” it stabbed my pride like a dagger. I reached behind to pinch my own wings. My arms were too short, and after a long struggle, I finally grabbed one. The feathers were baby-soft, and the whole wing was depressingly tiny. I just wanted to grow up already.
Eventually, the wind calmed. The rain-washed grass shimmered like a rainbow. A few ice-blue leaves sagged under the weight of dew. The angels were finally able to rise into the air and fly back toward Jerusalem. Beyond the thick treetops, you could glimpse the city’s spires and the pink clouds blooming behind them like the blush of a young girl.
The guests began preparing to leave. Raphael handed a shawl to Metatron, but Metatron was too busy chatting with someone else and ignored him, leaving Raphael awkwardly frozen. Only when they reached the vestibule alone did Raphael finally get a chance to speak again.
“There’s a harp competition coming up. Are you planning to enter?”
“Well, since you’re participating, I’ll spare you the embarrassment.”
Raphael’s harp playing was famously brilliant. Metatron, as usual, was bluffing for pride.
“I’ll wait for you.”
“Of course I’ll go.” Metatron adjusted the cloak on his right shoulder and suddenly looked up. “How’s Eden these days?”
“A few new guardian angels arrived recently. They weren’t careful about maintaining the environment, so the riverbank got pretty messy. I had someone put up signs to remind them. It’s a bit better now.”
“And the sapling of the Tree of Life?”
“It’s sprouted. I’ve had someone prune it…”
“Good thing you had someone else do it and didn’t take the blade yourself. If Mila worms infested the tree, that’d be a disaster.”
“They won’t. I no longer carry any demon blood.” Raphael forced a smile.
“Hey, hey, don’t take it so seriously—I was just joking. Look at you now, aren’t you doing great in Sancta Faylia?”
—I really wanted to punch Metatron. Even I, a baby-level angel, couldn’t laugh at his jokes. Why does he keep bombing the room?
“Lord Metatron, do you remember when we were kids, we used to say Sancta Faylia was a prosperous yet cold place?”
“Did we? Funny, I always saw it as a glorious city, sacred and revered by all divine kin.”
“Mm, that’s true.”
“But they say your eyes show you the world you want to see. So if it seems cold to you, that’s perfectly normal.”
Metatron laughed carelessly and strode out the door.
Since the day I was born, these two have always talked like this—one barbed, the other pretending not to hear. But I didn’t care about any of that. I was putting all my strength into learning how to talk like my parents. And as the saying goes, hard work pays off. About ten days later, with everyone watching expectantly, I finally uttered my first syllable.
Mom and Dad had fought bitterly over whether my first word would be “Mama” or “Papa,” but in the end, they both lost. Because the sound I made… was born from my long-standing obsession with a certain someone —— “Lu.”
Excluding Creation Day, Heaven holds countless holidays and banquets each year. But Lord Lucifer only shows up for a few: the masquerade ball in Jerusalem, several archangels’ birthdays, the harp competition, the Eden Praise Festival, the Day of Truth, the Day of Pilgrimage, and so on. His attendance at any one of these is uncertain, except for the Eden Praise Festival, which has no attendance restrictions. The harp competition, for example, only allows 60,000 divine beings.
Finally, April 7th arrived. Spring was in full bloom, and the harp competition I’d been dreaming of was finally here. My parents had planned to leave me with a nanny while they enjoyed the music, but how could I let Lord Lucifer attend a festival I wasn’t at? After I scratched a few angry claw marks into Dad’s hand, he surrendered to my tyranny.
The harp competition was held at the Grand Hall of Spirits, across from the Forbidden Grounds, separated by a meadow that stretched at least a thousand miles. You couldn’t see one building from the other.
The next morning, heavy fog and humidity clung to the air, perfect weather for tormenting prisoners. Standing in the vast meadow and looking westward, several massive pillars encircled a hollowed-out temple shrouded in mist. It looked like a towering creature of the soul, sleeping beneath a somber sky.
As we flew over, angels of all ranks surrounded us, though most were four-winged or six-winged. The occasional two-winged angel always trailed behind a multi-winged one, flying timidly and uneasily.
Though my wings were small, I had six of them, and they were all golden. A swell of pride rose in me, and I puffed out my chest. Even my red baby fluff fluttered up with the motion. Every time I flaunted my wings like this, my parents would smile and say something like, “Ah, youth knows not the taste of sorrow.”
The Grand Hall of Spirits was an octagonal marble structure, like a luminous frame. Its base was sunken, layered with tiers that formed a pale white pyramid. It was perfect for both performances and ceremonies—performers stood below, while the audience sat above, scattered along the hall’s skeletal structure.
Seating at the harp competition and the Eden Praise Festival was strictly egalitarian. One was held on this open-air frame, the other on the trees. Whoever arrived first got to choose their spot—no status, no ranks.
We arrived early, and my parents looked for seats. Being the sort to bully the weak and fear the strong, I began clawing at my dad again, demanding he save a seat for Lord Lucifer.
“Michael, quiet down! Lord Lucifer will be with his own friends—he won’t sit here even if we save him a spot!” my mom snapped at me, then turned sweetly to my dad. “Honey, you go find us some seats.”
Everyone around was watching me, already well aware that this little farthead was determined to cling to the Vice Regent.
I was so humiliated I wanted to cry, but had no real reason to, so I struggled and flung myself off. Dad didn’t catch me in time, and I hit the ground hard, landing right on my butt. Finally, a legitimate excuse. I immediately started convulsing on the floor, rolling in dramatic, unangelic ways, bawling my eyes out.
The moving crowd gradually came to a halt, and under everyone’s gaze, I became the center of attention. Since that was the case, I gave it my all—unleashing an array of high-pitched, piercing wails that would put opera sopranos to shame. But just as I hit my stride, I heard a familiar voice cutting through the crowd: “What’s going on?”
I was a clever child with excellent reflexes. The emotional charge I’d built up surged forth in full force, turning into a torrential storm of tears. Just as I expected. A moment later, the crowd parted, and the Vice Regent himself arrived. A few of his usual annoying tag-alongs trailed behind. I instantly lost the strength to cry and instead crawled toward him, trembling, clutching at Lord Lucifer’s trouser leg.
Lucifer crouched down. Even as a baby, I could hear my own voice filled with naked fear, like a startled animal whimpering instinctively.
He reached out, almost touching my head, but the moment he saw my cute little face, he stood up abruptly. His voice was cold: “Reynor, Alice. Come get your son.”
My parents quickly responded and stepped forward to take me.
But seeing how unfairly Lord Lucifer was treating me, I felt so wronged. I ignored them completely, flapping my wings and latching onto his leg like a gecko. “Lu… Lu-lu, Lu-lu… ah-ah-ah, waaah-waaah, waaah-waaah… Lu-lu-lu…”
Tears streamed down my cheeks to no avail. Mom grabbed my legs to drag me away. I grabbed Lucifer’s leg in return, refusing to let go.
“Michael, stop it already and come back with me!” Mom was frantic, sweat pouring down her face.
“Lu-lu… Lu-lu-lu… sob sob sob sob sob sob…”
I smeared snot and tears all over Lord Lucifer’s trousers.
The crowd was thoroughly entertained. It seems like even Lucifer finally started to feel embarrassed. He picked me up with some irritation and said, “Fine. Go find a seat. He’ll stay with me.”
My parents left, deeply worried.
I instantly became a perfect angel, literally, rolling obediently into Lord Lucifer’s arms, snuggling and nuzzling against him.
“Wow, this kid really gave it his all. He’s sweating from the effort.” Samael looked at me like I was some kind of curiosity.
“What, never seen a baby before? Shoo.” Azazel rolled his eyes and walked off.
“Eeeee, Your Highness, his eyes are huge—so cute! Can I hold him, pretty please?” Sariel’s golden eyes sparkled as he darted around Lord Lucifer.
I turned sharply and gave him my back without a glance, pressing myself against Lucifer and even snorting once.
“Fine. Keep an eye on him today, and keep him far away from me.”
Lord Lucifer didn’t want me. As if I’d let it go that easily! I started wailing again, louder than before.
“Whoa, this kid actually understands what we’re saying. He’s smart!”
“Other kids his age are already flying. Don’t make such a big deal,” Azazel chimed in, the king of wet blankets.
“Sigh, I’ve never seen such an unruly child.” Samyasa muttered from the back.
“I don’t think so. All kids are like this.” Sariel, the ever-kind one, defended me.
“Your Highness, he clearly adores you,” said Rahab, lifting her beautiful face, eyes full of admiration and affection.
“What’s so cute about him? I think he’s downright annoying,” Samyasa insisted.
I couldn’t take it anymore. With a loud swish swish, I clawed Samyasa in the face.
He clutched at the marks I left, furious. “Just ‘cause your dad’s Reynor, you think you’re hot stuff? So annoying!”
I glared right back: My dad is Reynor—what are you gonna do about it?
The people around us sighed in perfect unison. Lucifer said nothing and found a place to sit. My mood had soured thanks to the chatter from this group of idiots, but as soon as my attention shifted back to my Lord Lucifer, my expression softened noticeably.
His Highness truly lived up to his title as Archangel of our divine race: no matter what he did, his posture was always beautiful. I reached out with my chubby little fingers to grab a lock of his golden hair. When he didn’t react, I leaned in and bit his collarbone with my barely grown baby teeth, then cupped his chin with both hands—only to have them gently brushed away. I didn’t watch a single note of the harp competition that evening; I was entirely absorbed in admiring Lucifer’s beauty.
I wanted to marry him—just like Mom and Dad had married.
But it seemed he didn’t like me. In fact, he really didn’t like me.
Though I hadn’t seen him many times, never once had he looked at me without frowning. At first, I thought he just hated children and was impatient by nature. But one day, when I was playing with my little chubby friends and they swarmed around him like a pack of squealing piglets, he actually squatted down and picked them up one by one—even letting one girl sit on his shoulders. I was the only one left in the corner, completely ignored, not even glanced at.
If I hadn’t cried so miserably in front of everyone today, making it impossible for him to walk away… I probably would’ve been ignored again. The thought put me in a sour mood once more. I curled up against his chest, quietly listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Angels in white gowns stood on stage. It was an all-female harp choir. Their silk gowns floated in the air, and their graceful fingers plucked the strings, drawing out music that sounded like salvation after suffering—heavenly, transcendent. As the notes carried on, the melody slowly fractured. The angels began to sing in low voices. The harmonies dripped like dewdrops, seeping into the audience’s breath like grains of sand sifted from the Red Sea.
Samael stood with arms crossed, wearing an expression of kindly benevolence, as if he’d already become a father. “The heavens’ blessing education just keeps getting more and more impressive. My niece started chanting prayers the moment she entered school, way more advanced than our days. Look at little Michael, brought here at such a young age to cleanse his soul. He’s bound to become the most angelic of angels.”
“I don’t see how this brat could become anything close to an angel,” Azazel shrugged.
“Look at his eyes—those blue eyes,” Sariel pointed. “Sure, all children’s eyes are pure, but his are the purest I’ve ever seen, even purer than Lady Gabriel’s when she was little. Lord Reynor must raise him well. Who knows? This kid might become an archangel someday.”
As they debated me, I couldn’t help glancing up at Lord Lucifer. And just then, he looked down too. We were so close, I could see my own oversized, dazed eyes reflected in the pale blue of his.
I clutched his robe and parted my lips slightly, ready to call him.
But he placed a hand gently on my head and murmured in a voice so soft it barely existed: “You think I’m merciful and kind like you? You threw away seven thousand Berduth’ worth of the past like trash, and still expect my forgiveness? No matter what you do from now on, I will never answer again.”
My eyes went even wider. What… was Lord Lucifer saying?
Just then, a Throne lady approached him. She had a beautifully shaped face and six pristine white wings. But once seated beside him, the slit of her gown nearly reached her waist. She crossed one long leg and adjusted her stockings, purposefully. I wasn’t sure what she meant to do, but I instinctively disliked her.
Lucifer’s demeanor remained gracious and poised. The perfect gentleman, not like other men who got handsy around beauties.
“Ahh, what a cute little boy!” the angel squealed joyfully. “So adorable I could just hold him forever.”
Clearly, she had the wrong target. I lengthened my face, expressionless as I stared at her. She reached out and touched my cheek, smiling. As Dad always said, no man in the world can resist the smile of a female angel. Soon, my hostility faded, and I let her pick me up from Lord Lucifer’s arms without protest. She scratched my chin like I was a puppy, and I laughed until my eyes disappeared into crescents. She smelled faintly fragrant, but not naturally so—and somehow, that only made me miss the scent of my Archangel more.
I allowed her to play with me, but my eyes never left Lord Lucifer.
Azazel was talking to him.
“Where are you spending the night, my Lord?”
“Jerusalem.”
“With her?” Azazel gestured subtly toward the angel holding me.
“Mhm.”
Her sharp lilac fingernails dug into my skin, trembling. Even through her clothes, I could feel it. Her voice trembled too.
“You’re really adorable, little one. I like you so much…”
Lucifer turned and asked her, “Are you free tonight?”
Even I found that question a bit redundant, but coming from someone as gentlemanly as Lucifer, it felt like a required courtesy.
When she nodded, trembling slightly, he said, “In front of the Jerusalem gates. Is that alright?”
“Yes—yes.” She hesitated, then added, “My Lord, my name is…”
“That’s not important.” Lucifer smiled. “As long as we enjoy ourselves.”
Her ears flushed red.
He glanced at Sariel and tilted his chin toward me. Sariel hurried to take me back.
As I looked up, I caught sight of Rahab. Her nails were painted too, a deep crimson. But her posture lacked the elegance of that female angel. Her hands were clenched tightly, fingernails digging into her own flesh. I remembered Azazel once saying a woman’s charm starts with her waist, followed by her chest. Rahab’s waist was slimmer, her chest fuller. Compared to her, that other woman was just a little girl.
They called Gabriel the Flower of Heaven, but honestly? I thought Rahab was just as beautiful. But she never flaunted herself, always stayed in Lucifer’s shadow, so much so that people sometimes mistook her for a man.
Why didn’t Lord Lucifer look at her?
Grown-up matters sure are hard to understand.
Lucifer kissed the Throne lady. “See you tonight.”
She looked dizzy, her eyes bubbling over with floating pink hearts. I was furious and wanted to scratch her stupid, lovesick face.
Sariel quickly stopped me, but not before I managed to leave a red mark on her chin.
Lucifer is my future other half. Anyone who tries to steal him—dies!
She covered her face in a panic, on the verge of tears. Before Lucifer could say anything, she rushed to say, “It’s fine! It’s really fine!”
I didn’t feel bad for her. Serves her right for getting kissed.
She was dismissed. I jumped down from Sariel’s arms and clung to Lucifer once more.
The atmosphere was awkward. Sariel, ever the nice guy, tried to break the tension. “Babies always grab people with a lot of force—it’s because they feel insecure, right?”
“Lulu, Lulu,” I patted Lucifer’s face, on the verge of tears again.
He pushed me away. “Either Sariel holds you, or you go back to your parents.” I was about to cry, when he added coldly, “Even if you cry, I won’t respond. You’ll just be a burden to your parents.”
I obediently let Sariel carry me for the rest of the night.
The competition ended. Raphael’s team won as usual, and Lucifer offered him high praise.
Raphael thanked him and immediately tried to find Metatron—but spotted him sitting intimately with a woman. After a few perfunctory words, they brushed Raphael off.
That night, my parents and I flew with Lucifer to the estate Metatron had arranged for him.
They respectfully saw him in. I, on the other hand, was forcibly taken away. But I was spectacularly tenacious. Even if Lucifer didn’t want to come out, I could roll down the villa steps in over a hundred dramatic poses, yelling “Lu-lu” nonstop.
My parents had unfinished work in Sancta Faylia and couldn’t deal with me any longer. They left me with Raphael, who looked like a dejected youth holding a stray child as we waited together, under a sky filled with scattered stardust.
Jerusalem rarely saw snow, but that night it fell in heavy, fluffy flurries. I pressed my hands against the window, leaving tiny handprints on the glass. From the pitch-black snowfield outside, I could see the warmth of the fireplace and the gold-embroidered rugs inside. That rich, cozy color made the snow’s light outside feel even colder.
Raphael was dressed in a white robe, the same snowy color as the beret perched atop his head. Unmelted snowflakes clung to his collar and hat, soft and weightless.
It was the first time I noticed how beautiful he truly was. Yet neither his golden hair nor delicate features could conceal the melancholy in his eyes. He spoke to me in a voice more melodious than his harp:
“When I was very young, my teacher once said—‘God holds a chest of glory in His hands. There are two keys to open it: one is infinite mercy, the other, infinite punishment.’ Michael, remember this: the world is full of temptations, but no matter what you do, always think carefully. Do not be easily swayed. Because once you make a mistake, the price you’ll pay to make up for it may be more than tenfold.”
I looked at him, blinked once, then turned my gaze upward.
The night sky was so deep it seemed to flow from the dark heart of a river, flooding Jerusalem with luminous snowfall. I saw Lucifer standing at the second-floor window.
A solitary star leaned against the spire of the cathedral at the city’s center, so large it seemed distorted, only making the night behind it feel all the darker.
Lucifer’s ice-blue irises glowed more brilliantly against the backlight. He glanced down at me with cool detachment, then ordered the curtains to be drawn.
Hours passed before Metatron finally returned. He had drunk heavily, swaying with two young women draped on either arm. They wore low-cut dresses and thick red lipstick, trying far too hard to appear grown-up, like little girls in ill-fitting costumes.
Divine women truly were different from demonesses. Their heavy makeup lacked the seductive allure of the demon race; they looked merely gaudy. By comparison, Raphael, standing in the snow with his pale, flawless face, seemed pure as fresh-fallen frost. But Metatron walked past him without even a glance. He said nothing either, only furrowed his lovely brow and watched him go.
“Lulu, Lulu!” Knowing this was Metatron’s home, I flailed my stubby arms toward him.
Metatron finally stopped, coughed twice, and with his back to us, said, “Little Michael really is fond of Lord Lucifer, huh? That kind of lifelong attachment… might become a terrifying thing someday.”
Without his glasses, his tousled hair obscured his eyes. “If Lord Lucifer ever falls in love, he actually might not hesitate to kill that person.”
I knew he was talking about me, but couldn’t understand what he meant. I looked up at Raphael for help.
Raphael stared at him expressionlessly and said nothing.
Metatron turned his head slightly, the corner of his lips lifting in a sneer. “You wait at my doorstep every day, taking care of me like some woman. What is it you’re trying to say? You know I’m disgusted just looking at you.”
Raphael remained still, eyes unfazed.
Metatron shrugged. “Forget it. I say you’re disgusting, and you don’t even react. Talking to a heartless beast, what kind of reaction could I expect?”
He entered through the gates. As it shut behind him, I turned to look at Raphael. His head hung slightly, snow dusting his hair, eyes half-lidded and brimming with unshed tears. His blue eyes had reddened, lost their focus, as if blind.
He stayed silent the whole night, until the Throne lady who had spoken with Lucifer during the day arrived at the door, gave a shy little bow to us, and was let in by the steward.
Not long after, two silhouettes appeared behind the curtain of Lucifer’s bedroom on the second floor. He turned, and I could clearly make out the outline of his high nose, his fine jaw, and how all of it rested buried against her neck.
At last, a drop of hot liquid landed on my rounded cheek. I touched it, thinking it snowmelt—until I looked up and saw Raphael’s tear-streaked face.
“Why do you have to love someone so deeply, so young, Michael?” he choked, voice broken and trembling. “Later on… it’s only going to hurt more.”
I didn’t understand. Isn’t loving someone a good thing? Why cry?
The next day, Sariel and Gabriel came to the villa too. Unlike the others, they were normal. They hadn’t cried or gotten drunk. I crawled over to Sariel, then leapt into Gabriel’s arms.
Gabriel patted my head. “Michael is truly beautiful. When he grows up, he’ll be a fine young man.” Her sudden gentleness felt out of place.
“He clings to Lord Lucifer so much… I wonder if he’ll swear loyalty to him one day.”
Gabriel didn’t even look at him. “I just hope that when Michael grows up, Lord Lucifer will still be in Heaven.”
Sariel smiled bitterly. “You always speak so bluntly.”
“Lord Lucifer’s conflict with God isn’t new. If this goes on, he may not be able to maintain his place in Heaven. Sariel, you know how slim the odds are, yet you persist in faith. That kind of belief might not achieve anything.”
“But without it, nothing can be achieved.”
“You…”
Sariel blinked. “Are you worried I’ll leave if something happens?”
“I don’t care for clingy types.”
“I can’t bear to leave you either.” He tilted his head sweetly, eyes crescenting into two innocent moons. “My Lady Gabriel (TLN 1), devils aren’t as terrifying as they’re drawn. Hardship isn’t as impossible as it seems. Let’s be brave, okay?”
Gabriel’s expression didn’t change, but she gripped my arm hard. It hurt. I got annoyed, thinking of last night, and without hesitation, leaned down and kissed her neck. A sharp slap rang out. My backside stung. I held my butt. She nearly sent me flying.
But I didn’t cry. I kept trying to lift her skirt. Before I could even see her panties, Sariel scooped me up by the armpits.
Gabriel’s forehead darkened. “Michael! If you’re this lecherous already—what kind of old pervert will you grow up to be?! Who taught you this?!”
I pointed at Lucifer’s villa. “Lu… Lulu!”
They exchanged a glance.
I sprawled against Sariel, straddling him with my little legs, mimicking that woman’s pose with Lucifer, rocking back and forth. “Ahhh… Lulu… ahhh…”
Their faces paled, then flushed, then turned green—swirling through a palette of horror.
Translator’s note:
(1) Sariel calling Gabriel “My Lady Gabriel” – technically “加百列姐姐”, i.e. “Gabriel jiejie,” one of the sweetest lines in the entire series.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
