The next time I saw Lucifer was Berduth 7202.
Ever since I learned to speak, I had kept asking to see him. But they always said His Highness Lucifer was too busy, that he had no time to play with children. My parents kept a tight leash on me. Wherever Lucifer was to appear, they would make sure I wasn’t brought along.
By then, I was already in pre-school. My academy was in Shima, and since it was too far from home, my parents made the heart-wrenching decision to send their only son to boarding school. I performed quite well—aside from the occasional incident of hitting classmates, talking back to teachers, being late, skipping class, and scoring zero on tests, I didn’t seem to have any major flaws. Well, if being unable to fly counts as a flaw, then maybe one more.
I grew very slowly. In Heaven, this used to be seen as a bad sign. But ever since the slow maturation of the one who was once Ruthfel and now known as Lucifer, Heaven’s scholars began delving into the mysteries of growth rates.
Eventually, they discovered this: the slower a divine child grows, the more powerful they become when they reach full maturity.
So for someone like me, several hundred Berduth old and still a little runt, expectations were unusually high. Some even muttered things like, “He could be the second Lucifer,” as though it were an ominous prophecy.
Honestly, the pressure was no joke. Becoming the next Lord Lucifer was a task nearly as impossible as becoming God Himself.
Our class had many model students; most were children of nobles. A few, like me, had inherited exceptional genes: born with six wings, summoned by God to carry holy water or scatter petals in the Sanctum. Their favorite daily activity was bragging about it in class. I, in turn, made it my mission to torment them whenever the teacher wasn’t looking.
On a warm, sunny morning, our teacher took us on a field trip to the legendary Vice Regent’s Cathedral—the Ruthfel Cathedral. We were told this would become our primary site for prayer in the future, once we matured into higher angels. For most of my classmates, it was their first time inside such a grand cathedral so they flew eagerly toward the guide.
I, however, had no interest in ancient relics from a generation past. So while everyone else was distracted, I slipped away outside.
The streets of Shima were pure white. White roses coiled around their thorny stems, blooming sparsely yet elegantly along the roadside. At this hour, the divine race was still asleep. All the house plaques were dim, all the doors locked. But the stairway to the Seventh Heaven glowed.
I ran a bit, wiped my sweat, stared at the distant cathedral rooftops, then ran again. My body was too small; my stamina gave out. I eventually squatted down, panting heavily, then gave up entirely and plopped down on the ground.
The air was cool, and the pavement mirrored the shadow of a little angel. Soon, another shadow fell over mine, blotting it out.
“Why aren’t you flying?”
Startled, I yelped and scrambled forward a few paces before looking back.
“Lucifer… Your… Your Highness.” I patted my chest. “I don’t know how to fly.”
Lucifer crouched down. “How can an angel not know how to fly?”
Even crouching, he seemed taller than me. Instinctively, I puffed out my little chest. “I just don’t want to!”
“It’s a beautiful thing,” he said, gently peeling my hand away, his smile the white roses of spring. “Every child of God, no matter where they are born or raised, has an innate instinct to spread their wings and soar skyward.”
I gazed at him, entranced.
“You have six lovely wings. I’m sure you’ll look wonderful in the sky. Come, open them.”
I hesitated and only barely unfolded them.
Lucifer’s fingers slipped under my arms and tickled me. I squealed with laughter and my wings unfurled. He lifted me into the sky, then suddenly let go.
I screamed. My limbs curled in, and I braced myself for the crash—but it never came. Slowly, I opened my eyes. The ground was far below. I was floating above the white spires. From here, I could see the entirety of the Ruthfel Cathedral. My wings beat instinctively, too quickly, and began to ache.
But I was flying.
I spread my arms wide, ready to embrace the heavens, but my flapping was clumsy, and I tumbled.
Lucifer caught me midair. “Don’t rush. Right now, you can only go in a straight line. You’ll need to learn how to turn, roll, bank. It’ll take time.”
Lucifer flew like a swan. I flew like a bee.
A little embarrassed, I muttered, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
I’d heard from my classmates that they never learned to fly; it just came naturally once their wing bones hardened. That made me an oddball. I’d cried to my mother countless times about how unlucky I was, how I still couldn’t fly at my age, how I must not be their real son.
But Mom would always hold me in the dark and whisper gently, “Maybe, before you entered the Cycle, you were a divine child who couldn’t fly. Now you’re reborn as the son of the strongest Angel of Fire, born with golden six wings. Learning to fly just takes time. That too is a kind of healing. A kind of progress.”
Even so, I had never let go of my shame. And yet, despite all those years of trying, Lucifer taught me in a single throw.
He carried me back to the cathedral almost instantly. He had the wings every angel dreamed of, and the heart of what an angel truly should be.
At the entrance, he suddenly asked, “What’s your name?”
He didn’t recognize me anymore, even though he was the one who gave me my nickname.
“My name is Michael. But Your Highness can call me Isar.”
For a brief second, he looked surprised. “Isar… You’ve grown this much.”
“I’ve always wanted to see you. But they wouldn’t let me.” I paused. “I really admire you. May I enter the Hall of Splendor?”
Lucifer looked at me, his eyes suddenly cold. “Why would you want to?”
“I just want to see you.”
“Do as you wish.” He turned and walked away without another word.
“Lord Lucifer!” I called out behind him. He paused.
“Your Highness, are you married?”
“No.”
“How old is your child?”
“……”
I slapped my forehead, flushed with excitement. “Your Highness—actually, I don’t just admire you. I want to pursue you! You’re still single, right?”
Lucifer clearly wasn’t expecting that. He turned to look at me, dumbfounded.
My face was on fire, but I grinned radiantly.
“I’m going to marry you!”
“Michael… you’re still in pre-school.”
“So? Lots of kids in our class are dating. I’m more mature than they are. What’s wrong with wanting to get married?”
Lucifer let out a long sigh and flew off toward Sancta Faylia.
“Your Highness! That’s a promise!” I shouted from below.
He probably thought I was joking. But I wasn’t.
My childhood hadn’t even fully ended when Heaven’s peace was once again shattered by war: Berduth 7694, the Fourth War of Light and Shadow erupted beyond the borders of Heaven.
Originally, Heaven had far outpaced the Demon Realm. The demons, vile beings of darkness, were never considered a real threat.
But I’d overheard my parents speaking once, that since the Tree of Life had been felled, the divine race had grown unusually timid. And for some reason, this war was especially brutal.
That day, it rained heavily. Even Shima, the ideal city, turned a sickly grey.
Yet in Jerusalem, crimson clouds fluttered like birds onto the spires of the towering buildings, and thick smoke from the accumulated flames of war rusted the city’s bronze statues.
The gryphons, wings spanning the skies, panicked in all directions. It felt like a tragedy from the last age repeating itself. The people of Jerusalem scattered in chaos, all racing home.
Rainwater streamed wildly, forming countless rivulets down the stone streets, like a face smeared with tears.
I had lost the key to our home. Soaked through in the downpour, I stumbled and was knocked over repeatedly by fleeing passersby.
The city’s clamor was drowned out by the rain. It felt like my feet stepped not on cobblestone, but on layer upon layer of collapsing heavens. Beneath them, the fires of war blazed like a second sky, smothered by the weight of six layers of Heaven.
Tens of thousands of divine troops descended.
My rain-soaked wings could no longer lift so I ran with all my might toward the city gates, crashing into countless bodies along the way, falling over and over, bruised and scraped.
The army had formed ranks at the gates. Lucifer stood tall in military uniform, spotless thanks to magic, and striking. He turned back to organize the troops, his voice steady and rousing.
I ran to his back and shouted his name.
He turned, startled, and looked down at me.
“Your Highness, where’s my father? What about my mother?” I was on the verge of tears. My usually sharp voice had softened to a shaky murmur of sand. “Did they go to war? Will they get hurt? What… what am I supposed to do?”
Lucifer frowned, clearly wanting to free himself from me. I grabbed the hem of his pants. “I can’t go home. Please, tell me—where did they go?”
Lucifer sighed lightly, then took my hand and led me to a patch of grass.
“Dig a little pit here. About the size of a washbasin. When the rain fills it up, your parents will come back.”
“But won’t the pit just—”
“Michael,” he cut me off. “Do you trust me?”
I held back tears and nodded hard.
“Then dig. Your parents went to fight bad people. They’ll come back. Wait here for them—understand?”
It was a dusk without birds. Crimson clouds, mixed with storm and fire, swept across Jerusalem like a maw devouring the ruins of a crumbling city. As ordinary citizens of Heaven, we had no way of knowing what was happening on the battlefield. But in our bones, we felt it. Something was unfolding that we could never imagine.
In the end, I didn’t obey Lucifer’s words. I snuck beneath the gryphons of the army and flapped my wings in shallow arcs, following them out of Heaven.
On the road, I overheard soldiers saying that the commanding general of Heaven’s forces had died horribly, dragged from the First Heaven into the Demon Realm and hacked to death, because he had slain too many demons.
But they spoke of him with pride. Even then, he never knelt. His noble knees never touched the ground. He died standing, in the perfect posture of a divine warrior.
I listened in a haze of incomprehension. Eventually, the army arrived at a small village on the border of the First Hell.
The demon royal troops were too focused on the war in Heaven so that in the village, only a few archdevil cavalry lazily patrolled. Ash-gray smoke from magical shells drifted on the plains’ wind.
From high in the sky, I saw a female angel’s corpse hanging from a gallows in the village center. A dying crow perched upon her shoulder.
A cluster of demon soldiers surrounded her, using her limp body as a soft, pliant training dummy. Firing arrows, stabbing, dueling.
At the time, I didn’t truly understand what death meant.
But my eyes locked onto the swaying body on the gallows. My ears caught the whispers from the soldiers nearby: “We found Lord Reynor’s body. Over by the western plain.”
And for the first time in my life, I felt it—deep, searing, irrevocable:
That I was of the divine race. My mission was to protect Heaven.
And from this moment on, I could never live in peace with demons again.
On the tenth day after the war’s end, the angels began rebuilding their shattered homeland.
The fish-scale clouds that had hung motionless for over a week finally began to scatter, drifting slowly to the edges of the sky. The rain had stopped, but I remained on the First Heaven, filthy and alone, hovering with my weak, fluttering wings and weeping endlessly at the boundless clouds.
The pain of losing my parents had left me dazed and hollow. I stretched out my hands, but there was nothing I could hold onto.
Until Raphael found me near the Gates of Heaven.
“Michael,” he said, crouching beside me and gazing down with gentle sympathy, “do you understand that your parents are no longer here?”
My cheeks, long dried from earlier crying, were once again soaked with tears.
I rubbed my eyes hard, sobbing louder and louder. “I don’t know what happened… Why are they gone?”
“Your father died to protect you.”
At those words, I lifted my tear-streaked face, staring at him in confusion and fear. “To protect me…?”
“Yes. Your parents gave their lives so you could live. Little Michael, they loved you deeply.”
“No—I don’t believe it… How could it be because of me? I stayed in Jerusalem the whole time—I didn’t go anywhere…”
“Michael,” Raphael said gently, “you are destined for something extraordinary. Your mother saw your future in a prophecy. She knew how great your influence would become. That’s why a high-ranking member of the divine race marked you as a target.”
Raphael had always been sentimental. It seemed even my tears were contagious because his eyes shimmered with emotion as he softly ruffled my hair.
“Your parents gave everything for you. You have to live well, for their sake. Will you?”
“…Yes.” I nodded hard, but everything before me was still blurred.
“You carry within you the most incandescent aspect of the universe’s might. When you come of age, that power will erupt, and it could be dangerous. So, I will seal your growth. Until you’re truly ready, until you’re safe, and fully grown, only then will you return to your Seraph form. Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
“And, remember: wherever you are, whatever you do, don’t shine too brightly. Being exceptional will only draw danger to you.”
“Okay.”
That war changed everything in Heaven. Beyond the death of my parents, many other once-celebrated names faded quietly into the pages of history.
It was also after that war that internal rifts in the realm began to widen. Those with keen eyes could see clearly, that Lucifer and God were no longer aligned. The angels strongest in martial skill began to follow Lucifer, while the ones with magical strength remained in their fortresses.
My parents’ death left not only an unbearable sorrow, but thrust me into the ruthless games of the higher angels, schemes I could never hope to match.
Back then, I didn’t think about what secrets might lie behind their deaths. My thoughts were simple. I just did as Raphael said: hid my light and lived quietly, beneath notice.
Time passed. Over a thousand Berduth went by, and I spent my entire youth in mediocrity, both in school and among the circle of Seraphs. Though my abilities remained unremarkable, I still managed to become a minor celebrity in Heaven because of my pursuit of Lucifer, and the many ridiculous things I did for him.
Every week, I bought red roses and had them delivered to the Hall of Splendor, without fail, for a hundred years. But Lucifer never once came to the door himself. Someone would always take the flowers from the gate, and I would hear nothing afterward.
When that didn’t work, I started writing him love letters. I recruited seasoned experts to help revise and refine them and each final draft was the product of tearing apart dozens, even hundreds of earlier versions. I sent letter after letter, but never received a single reply. Looking back, he probably didn’t even touch them. Might’ve had someone toss them out on sight.
Eventually, I ran out of patience. I lit candles in the shape of a heart in the busiest square in Shima, a spot specifically chosen so it could be seen from anywhere in the Seraph Palaces. I don’t know if Lucifer saw it, but I nearly got dragged off to confinement by Raphael for the stunt.
I later met someone well-versed in matters of love. He said, “Lucifer’s a dominant type. You keep using such aggressive methods to chase him so it’s no wonder he keeps ignoring you. Try a softer touch instead.”
That finally clicked. I started switching up my tactics, trying anything to draw his attention. But even though I was a Seraph, because Lucifer clearly held a deep bias against me, I rarely had the chance to see him in person.
In all of Heaven, there were only two holidays where everyone gathered—the Day of Creation and the Festival of Edenic Praise. The Creation Day occurred once every century, far too infrequent to be of use. The Praise Festival was always packed. The crowd of wings alone was enough to drown me out long before I ever caught a glimpse of him.
All high-ranking angels were allowed to attend the Pilgrimage Day, the Day of Truth, and other such occasions. On those days, I might see a side profile, a back view, or hear his voice, but always from hundreds of meters away.
That particular year, the harvest was bountiful, and the fruits of Eden were round and gleaming. As usual, the Festival was flooded with the crowd. Seraphs were in charge of distributing the Fruits of Wisdom to the newly born angels. Many parents brought their children.
The Tree of Life, once the tallest tree in Eden, had been felled. Now, the angels had to crowd together wherever they could find space. They perched on the remaining branches like overripe fruit, swaying their legs and wings in the breeze.
Sunlight lingered at the treetops. The silver leaves glimmered like falling snow in the legendary Snowmoon Forest of the Demon Realm, shimmering, trembling, a dream spun from illusion.
The angels, ever fond of leisure, treated praise and song and fruit offerings as secondary. Though it was called the Festival of Praise, it was really a grand social gathering. Within minutes, the seraphs I’d come with were already chatting up a few pretty girls.
I was about to join their conversation when I caught sight of young families under the tree, and loneliness swept through me like a sudden flood. I picked up a fruit and started gnawing at it like an animal.
One of the guys started telling the story of his father’s glory, and everyone listened in awe. I remained unimpressed. None of their fathers could hold a candle to mine.
As the conversation meandered on, my eyes were drawn to a pair of wings—graceful and radiant.
The branches parted, and three pairs of soft, luminous wings fluttered among the silver leaves and red fruit. A gloved hand, adorned with silver chains, pushed aside the foliage. Beneath the autumn branches emerged a face that made my heart slam to a halt. My breath was stolen. The crowd’s noise and the wind’s rustle vanished completely.
Lucifer sat a level down from us, perched on a branch with a female Intelligence beside him. Her cheeks were lean, and there was a faint but visible brown mole on her pointed chin.
Others quickly noticed their arrival, but aside from respectful greetings, they only dared to steal occasional glances.
“Elmetti’s taken?” someone groaned, clutching his head.
“She’s with Lord Lucifer now? This is it—I’ve lost, completely lost!” another howled in mock heartbreak.
Elmetti, Angel of Wisdom and Truth. One of those directly created by God. Guardian of the land. Embodiment of all virtues that bring fertility to the earth.
Female angels were often beautiful, but those near Lucifer were always in a league of their own. Elmetti’s hair reached her knees, part of it twisted into a loose topknot while the rest cascaded past the branches. Her hair wasn’t the usual golden-blonde of most angels but black streaked with dark green, which made her instantly noticeable. She was composed in every motion, even the way she sat, legs together and body tilted just so, exuding refined grace.
“Even though they’re both ladies, Her Highness Gabriel…”
I overheard someone whisper. I suddenly felt that, in a certain sense, Gabriel had also succeeded. Whenever a graceful high-ranking female angel appeared, people would instinctively compare her to the volatile Her Highness Gabriel.
Everyone spoke quietly, but those sitting below us spoke even softer, preserving the elegance and dignity of the higher divine race.
And I found myself longing for them to be vulgar, to be rude, to be arrogant. I wished they would speak loudly, turning their whispers into jokes, into boasts. But they chatted for a long time, and I couldn’t hear a single word clearly.
Except, he often smiled. A close-lipped smile, with his curved fingers brushing his lips.
And every time he smiled, my heart would race. But that smile was never for me.
Lucifer treated everyone the same, even those who’d spend the night tangled with him in bed, whispering desire. He would still keep a distance: courteous, refined.
Would two such pure angels still have that kind of relationship at night?
Before long, as usual, he sent her away.
It was rare to see him alone. An opportunity that came only once in a hundred years.
The autumn sun wasn’t hot, yet my palms were sweating.
I was just about to go down and speak to him when he suddenly spread his wings.
Startled, I instinctively pulled back and sat back down, missing the moment. Who knew how many more years I’d have to wait for another chance. I instantly regretted it so much I wanted to kill myself.
But then he only stirred his wings and didn’t actually leave.
No longer hesitating, I leaned forward and called out softly:
“Lord Lucifer.”
Lucifer turned and looked up at me. His irises a piercing blue.
“What is it?”
Perhaps the sunlight was too harsh, or perhaps it was an illusion—but the instant our gazes met, I thought I saw a deeply complicated emotion in his eyes.
It was a look of sorrowful despair, as if an adult, long wandering the world, had returned home after many, many years—only to find that home had become a ruin. But I quickly shook my head and dismissed the thought. That kind of daydream was far too strange.
Others had begun to glance our way.
My heart was pounding too fast to speak. I leaned down further, lowering my voice as much as I could.
“I… I have something I want to ask you.”
Lucifer glanced around, then shifted slightly to the side, patting the empty space beside him.
I was already nervous and now also painfully self-conscious. I didn’t even dare open my wings. I just jumped down beside him. My robe flipped up at a weird angle.
Flustered, I yanked it straight and awkwardly said,
“It’s…”
I had wanted to ask him why he lied to me all those years ago. But Raphael’s warning echoed in my ears, and I wasn’t sure whether I should go on.
“I’m sorry, could you say that again?”
Lucifer leaned in closer.
Suddenly, he was so close—the distance between us collapsed in an instant.
My blood felt like it was rushing backward.
“Your Highness… do you know how Reynor died?”
Damn it. I still said it.
“He died trying to stop the war. He was a hero.”
Lucifer’s answer came smoothly. Then he glanced at me.
“Why did you suddenly ask that? What’s your name?”
“Michael.”
Once again I spoke my name, and this time, a wave of profound loneliness surged in my heart.
I had done so much for him. Yet he seemed to have completely forgotten me.
But then again, he was a libertine who rivaled Metatron, just more polished in demeanor. His poised and balanced manner always made people forget that fact.
I smiled bitterly and said again,
“Your Highness can call me Isar.”
“Isar?”
“Yes. Isar, Radiance of the Sun.”
Lucifer didn’t look at me. He gazed into the distance and said flatly,
“Has no one ever told you that it’s better not to ask certain questions?”
“They have.”
He wasn’t mean, but he was terrifying. I answered weakly.
“But… I trusted you. You told me to wait for my father, and I did. Even though he never came back, even though the rain never filled the mud puddle… I still believe.”
“There’s something I need to take care of. I’ll be going.”
I never imagined the conversation would end so simply.
I watched his back sway in the shifting light. I saw him spread his six wings, wings that could carry him to such unreachable heights, and I knew our next conversation might not come for many more Berduth.
Naive children always believe that if they try hard enough, they can accomplish anything, that those adults are full of resignation only because they’ve lost passion for life, especially when it comes to love, that they give up at the first setback, when it’s really because they haven’t done enough.
I was the same. I believed that if I tried just a bit harder, I could receive a response from him, even just a sliver of affection, even a crumb tossed my way.
This was the first time I had ever liked someone.
A fearless, humble, wholehearted first love, one that offered everything I had.
And just as Lucifer was about to take flight, I clenched my fists and shouted in his direction:
“Lord Lucifer!”
He half-turned his head, giving me a somewhat aloof glance.
“I…” All my courage surged up in that instant. I didn’t care how many people were watching. I threw everything to the wind and yelled:
“—I like you!”
He looked back at me. For a moment, time itself seemed to stop.
His Seraphic Wings of Light shimmered nearly transparent in the sun, feathers danced gently in the breeze. A gust of wind lifted his shining golden bangs. And at last, he smiled—calmly, faintly:
“…Sorry.”
And just like that, I watched him fly out of sight. Gone again, high and far into the sky.
For a long time afterward, I couldn’t accept that I’d been rejected.
Later that same day, I saw him again, but only once more.
It was at night, under a sky where only the trees and stars remained, he met with Elmetti beneath the branches, then flew back to Sancta Faylia with her.
That time, he didn’t even glance at me.
I sat alone for hours in the Ruthfel Cathedral, lost in thought.
So much didn’t make sense. I couldn’t help but feel incredibly unlucky.
My parents were gone. I was failing in school. And now, even the person I liked had turned me away.
Was there anything in my life that had gone smoothly?
If only I could be like God.
To have limitless power, eternal life, and the ability to see the one I longed for, whenever I wanted.
Right now… what was Lord Lucifer doing?
I missed him very much.
I sat on a cold bench and looked up at the massive cross bathed in starlight.
At last, I closed my eyes, and tears fell silently from my face.
Nights in Heaven were always so short, and yet, so unbearably long.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
