Life in Heaven moved at a slow, steady pace. Even the rapid draining of my funds followed a predictable rhythm. In Shima, everything was heartbreakingly expensive, and my gold ran out in no time.
Although there were no physical barriers between the Heavens, the rigid hierarchy among the divine race drew invisible lines. I may live in Shima alongside four- and six-wings, but what we ate, wore, and used could not be more different.
Take, for example, angelic clothing, coming in different models based on the number of wings. The openings in garments designed to accommodate wings were called “wing sleeves”. These sleeves would close up neatly when wings were tucked away. Sometimes, their outer edges, the “wing guards”, would be bedecked with metallic trim or handwoven laces. Because wing guards were expensive, lower-ranked angels typically wore clothes without them, leaving their wing sleeves bare and unadorned.
In shops, this was easy to spot. Clothing for lower-ranked angels was displayed facing the windows, much like in human storefronts, and usually sold in modest shops. Clothing for higher angels was often arranged with the back facing out instead, to show off the ornate wing guards, and only found in luxury boutiques. True to the unspoken distance between the ranks, lower angels rarely even stepped into such places, where a single pair of wing guards could cost more than a year’s worth of expenses.
Living alongside high-ranking angels in the same city wore down anyone’s morale. Caro, having ignored my earlier attempts at communication, soon gave in to boredom and came to complain. Mostly about the opulent lives of six-wings, then about his own discontent. I suggested he find a job; he ignored me and kept whining. At some point, I had to stop engaging. Eventually, he found me too dull to talk to and went to unload on someone else.
Though time was tight, I decided to find a job to support myself. Besides, my life no longer revolved around just me; I had an extra bundle in the form of a picky, high-maintenance child.
What job could a Power with no work experience possibly get in Shima?
Naturally, an under-the-table one.
Shima’s minimum wage was one gold coin per hour. My job at a restaurant called Gospel of the Dawn earned me three silver coins an hour. No benefits, no contract, just daily cash paid out after work. It sounded a bit demeaning, but it was straightforward.
On Sixth Heaven, even waitstaff were expected to have at least two pairs of elegant wings. As a single-paired, I was confined to the kitchen, operating the dishwasher. My entire job was to pull the mountain of dirty dishes from the magic array, load them onto the conveyor, and press the button to wash. Then repeat this several thousand times a day. The Dominion next to me had an even duller task: retrieving the clean dishes from the machine and placing them in the drying and sterilizing unit. Occasionally, if we were short-staffed, he’d be sent out to deliver dishes.
Anyone with a shred of sense knows that doing this kind of work for too long will drive you insane. After less than two weeks at the Gospel, the Dominion snapped. He accidentally broke a few plates, got chewed out by the manager, and just went for it, ripping off his uniform and shouting at the top of his lungs:
“I’m done with Shima! Screw this place! I could go back to Parnor and earn six copper an hour doing crap work and still eat and sleep better than slaving away in this damned city! So what if you’ve got four wings? You’re nothing but motherfucking bitches to the ThronesVirtuesSeraphim! I’m going back, getting married, having kids, Third Heaven’s fine by me! Fuck you, pussies, and your Sancta Faylia Shima four wings six wings! SCREW YOU ALL!”
And with that, he rocketed out of the restaurant and was never seen again.
Maybe the sheer force of that outburst stirred something deep in the other four-wings. Moved by his righteous fury, many also quit on the spot and left Shima to start a new life down.
One buddy even clapped me on the shoulder, eyes brimming with tears, saying he was off to tour “the glorious landscapes of the Second Heaven”. He promised to send me a postcard in a month.
With so many people quitting, my workload exploded. I had to wash dishes, run plates, even deliver ingredients. Fortunately, the boss wasn’t entirely heartless. Seeing how diligently I worked without complaint, he raised my pay to a gracious four silver coins an hour.
I got home later and later. Every time I returned, Ruthfel was already fast asleep. I had no idea why, but despite his young age, the kid had a control streak worse than that of a CEO. No matter where I went, he had to ask who, what, when, where, and why.
I didn’t want him knowing I was working under the table, so I told him I’d just been hanging out with new friends. He didn’t press further.
That day, rehearsal ended right around peak hours dinnertime. I hadn’t even had a chance to eat before heading straight to the Gospel. Sure enough, they were short-staffed. After running the dishwasher for a while, the sous-chef slapped a plate in front of me, an appetizer fancier than the main course.
“Quick, take this to the room.”
I took the plate and headed toward one of the most luxurious private rooms, feeling more than a little nervous. Minimum spending there was two thousand gold coins, and usually serving only six-wings. I absolutely could not afford to slip up.
I pushed open the amethyst door. Inside, the long rectangular table sat only two. One had his back to me; the other I could only glimpse a pair of gently swaying ram-horn earrings. Though both had retracted their wings, the guards behind them were all Thrones. Thrones bore six pure white wings and were the most numerous of all six-wings. Only Cherubim and Seraphim outranked them.
“Archdevils are morons when it comes to magic. Hadar has this weird defect—he can hear spells flying through the air, but not the explosion.” Ram-horn had dark brown hair and a tone laced with disdain.
“If the Lower Realm possessed magical power as strong as ours, they would’ve been evenly matched with us or stronger, ages ago. You should be grateful,” said the angel seated with his back to the door, voice far gentler.
“More have been falling lately. But it’s not like they can survive in Hell anyway. The closer one is to the Light, the more unbearable that place becomes. Lord Lucifer says that unless a quarter of us falls, the Lower will never rise to power.”
“Ah, archdevils are still scary though. That arm strength. We’re talking about their juveniles being 4.6 times stronger than our adults here.”
“Samael, I’ve misjudged you this whole time. I thought you were an idiot, but didn’t know you’re also a wimp,” Ram-horn scoffed. “How many archdevils are there? And how many of us wield magic?”
As they chatted, I quietly served the dish. Just then, Ram-horn casually glanced my way and stopped.
His gaze lingered on me, and seeing that, Samael also turned his head. He had light brown seaweed curls and a serpent tattoo across his face.
Samael blinked, exchanged a look with the Ram-horn, and both fell silent.
After serving those two, I was stuck in the kitchen until midnight. By the time I got home, it was one in the morning. I opened the door as quietly as possible, afraid to wake Ruthfel.
But when I stepped in, he was sitting upright at the head of the bed, looking at me like a superior ready to grill his subordinate.
“Where were you?”
“Oh, just out having a few drinks with some friends,” I yawned and stretched. “You’re still up. Are you hungry?”
Ruthfel’s small hands rested neatly on top of the blanket. His large eyes narrowed slightly, but didn’t respond.
“You’re obviously hungry,” I said, already heading for the kitchen. “I’ll make you a snack.”
Half an hour later, I set down a freshly made Jerusalem-style baked egg with shellfish in front of him, something I’d just learned to cook. As he held the plate in his lap, I started undressing for bed.
Ruthfel, however, wasn’t looking at the food. His eyes were fixed on my shoulder.
“What’s that?” he asked.
I glanced at where he was looking. There was a bandage wrapped around my muscles, covering a cut I’d gotten two days ago when I slipped in the kitchen and caught myself on the edge of the prep counter. The scene had been as gory as it gets, but at least the bleeding had stopped quickly and nothing hit the bone.
“I tripped at school, nothing serious.”
Ruthfel stared at me for a long moment. “Come here. I’ll heal it.”
I sat down beside him in my pajamas. His movements were swift and sure. In just a few seconds, the wound was completely gone.
“Don’t be so careless next time,” he muttered, clearly trying to sound like a grown-up.
I patted his head, watching him shovel big bites of scallop-baked eggs into his small mouth. An ache twisted in my stomach.
“You want some?” He stabbed a portion with his fork and held it up to me.
“Nah, already ate. Not hungry.”
I flopped onto the bed but the rich smell of food lingering in the room made it hard to bear. Working under the table didn’t come with meals, and ingredients in Shima were expensive. A single dish could cost me hours of labor. Never in my life would I’ve imagined ending up too broke for a meal.
A few minutes later.
“Can’t finish.” Ruthfel mumbled.
“Are you kidding me?!?!?!” I sprung up, grabbed his little cheeks, and shoved the food toward his mouth. “I worked hard on this!! You better finish it! AAAAAAH – Finish!!!”
The next day, I was called again to deliver dishes to the same private room.
And then—I froze.
Right there in the doorway.
Inside were not only the two from yesterday and a babyface with golden irises, but also a whole pack of Seraphim who hadn’t even bothered to retract their wings. At the center of it all was a man with long blond hair. Broad shoulders, elegant neck, and his face, absolutely unnerving. Even just sitting there without speaking, he was the most sensational presence in the room.
“L-Lord Lucifer!” I stared in shock. “You came to Shima?!”
Feeling the weight of every angel’s gaze settle on me, I realized just how out of line I’d been. Lowering my head, I quietly returned to my duties.
Soon, they resumed their conversation, and I went around ladling soup for each. When I got to Lucifer, he raised a hand to stop me.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
It was just a brief brush of our fingers, but somehow it sent a buzz straight to the back of my skull. My hand must have stiffened a little, because Lucifer looked up at me then—his eyes an otherworldly, unreal blue.
It was barely a second, less than that, really, yet it rattled me for the entire service. I couldn’t stop my eyes from drifting toward him. And each time they did, he caught me, every awkward glance meeting that calm, detached gaze of his.
Finally, just as I was about to finish my shift and dash the hell outta there, Lucifer spoke.
“Isar. Come here.”
“Y-yes, sir!” I jogged to his side, bowing. “Your Highness, did you need something?”
“This is for you.”
He placed six gold coins in my palm.
I stood dumbfounded.
“Never gotten a tip before?”
“N-no. Thank you!” I shook my head furiously, then nodded just as hard. “Thank you, Your Highness!”
“You may go. We’re done here.”
I made four silver coins an hour. He just handed me six gold coins in one breath.
The gap was staggering. My brain short-circuited.
But six gold coins could buy a lot.
As I stepped out of the private room, still caught up in thoughts of tomorrow’s market – maybe I could get the freshest ingredients and cook a proper feast at home, just me and Farthead, actually filling our bellies – I was stopped by the manager flying up behind me, wings flapping.
He held out his hand.
“Hand it over.”
“Huh?”
“The tip you just got.”
I was baffled. “What? You know it was a tip. He said it was for me—how can you still—”
“Illegal hires don’t get tips. You’re hourly only. We told you that when you started.” The manager flexed four fingers at me. “Now cough it up.”
I watched, dejected, as the manager walked off with all six of them.
When I finally got home, I curled up on the bed in a silent knot.
Ruthfel floated over and sat next to me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just… a rough day.”
He hesitated, then asked, “A rough day or a rough encounter?”
“Both.” The manager’s irritating face flashed through my mind. “Never want to see that guy again.”
Ruthfel didn’t respond. He fluttered his little wings and quietly returned to his desk, where he sketched in silence.
A few days later, after school, I waited by Lake Saiah for rehearsal to begin.
The sun was bright, and a faint rainbow arched gracefully over the lake. Brimming with life, the trees had crowns like cloud clusters, their branches lush and sprawling. Blossoms covered them, scattered like shattered stars across the heavens.
Ruthfel was in a robe that was slightly too long, beating his short wings, chasing a group of butterflies back and forth. Under the warm rays, his tiny hems took on a soft sheen, blending with his hair until the two were the same hue. A small, golden doll.
When out in public, he always only showed a single pair of wings.
Remembering he had six, I couldn’t help but ask, “Hey, Farthead, who exactly are your parents? I’ve known you for this long now, and you’ve never mentioned them.”
“…Don’t tell me you still haven’t figured out I’m a Seraph?”
Aren’t Seraphim supposed to have golden six wings? His wings weren’t pure. Do children’s wings look different? But just so he wouldn’t look down on me, I nodded obediently.
“Of course I noticed.”
“Seraphim come in two types: those born as such, and those who ascend into it. I’m the former, born amidst the morning stars of Sancta Faylia.”
“Wow, our farthead really is special!”
I remembered reading in The Divine Codex that Seraphim, being without gender, couldn’t give birth like female angels. Instead, they created lesser angels through the ritual of beating their wings. The higher their rank, the stronger the offspring they could produce.
I clapped, “So you’ll be able to create new life too, then?”
“I already can. Want me to whip up a Virtue for you to play with?”
…Even the angels he casually create outrank me. We Powers really are nothing.
Just then, I spotted someone flying toward us. I quickly covered Ruthfel’s mouth. “Someone’s coming.”
He wriggled free and like a bee, zipped off.
It was Metatron. Without his glasses and cross, he looked even more arrogant than usual. He dropped down beside me, stretched out his booted legs, and made himself comfortable. “My birthday’s in a few days. You coming?”
“What day? I’ll go if I’m free.”
“This weekend.”
I thought for a moment, then finally decided to give myself a break and nodded.
But Metatron didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were glued to the grass. I followed his gaze and saw a few slender blades holding a single feather. Pale gold and silver interlaced.
Metatron flicked the feather lightly with his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t seen you around much lately.”
I picked up and twirled the feather between my fingers. “That’s because you rarely leave the Capital. What’ve you been busy with?”
“Adam and Lilith are both complete. We’ve been setting up Eden.” Metatron rested his elbows on his knees, fingers combing through his hair. The strands lifted in a graceful arc before falling neatly back into place.
“Really? So there’s still no Eve?”
Metatron slowly turned to look at me, eyes narrowing to slits. “Little Isar, have you been eavesdropping on us? I’m the one who came up with the name ‘Eve,’ but Lord Lucifer insisted on ‘Lilith’ no matter what.”
I didn’t utter a word, afraid a single syllable might accidentally alter the entire course of human history and cause my future self to vanish from the twenty-first century. But Metatron suddenly pulled me into a side-hug. “Spill it. I won’t hold back until you do.”
I threw my hands over my head. “I didn’t eavesdrop!”
Metatron chuckled and brought in his other arm to wrap me up. “Little rascal, what’ve you been up to lately? Why haven’t you come see me?”
Cold sweat broke out all over me. “Well, you’re always surrounded by people, Lord Metatron. It’s not like you’d miss just one little me, ha ha…”
Where’s Farthead when you need him?? Come strike this playboy down for me!
“Oh? But lately, I’ve been missing you quite a lot.”
Metatron’s brows were relaxed, but there was an unexpected trace of resentment. Then he pressed my head against his chest, one large hand tousling my hair as he held me tighter and murmured:
“Isar, stay away from him.”
Goosebumps prickled across my body. I kept shaking my head. “Whatever it is, save it for your birthday. I’m overheating.”
After a rigid rehearsal, I still hadn’t recovered from the trauma of Metatron’s bromantic onslaught. I collapsed onto the grass, letting the breeze stir my feathers as I cried out in despair, “Farthead—!”
Like a fluffy caterpillar, Ruthfel plummeted from a tree and landed squarely on my legs, a toddler-sized Spider-Man. He climbed onto my chest, petal-soft little face lowering until it was right in front of mine, eyes two glistening gems. I opened mine wide and shoved him.
He didn’t budge.
Instead, he crawled right over my head, subjecting me to the most humiliating of indignities.
“You asshole! Ruthfel, get back here!!” I leapt to my feet, but he’d already buzzed away.
I figured it was just as well. Maybe I could head to the Gospel and get back to dish duty.
But just as I took off with my books, I noticed that the wingbeats behind me sounded far too frequent. I slowed down.
Still the same rapid buzzing.
Only one person could sound like a hyperactive bumblebee.
I turned around. Ruthfel smiled. “Where are you going?”
“Shima.”
“To see Metatron?”
“He lives here on the Sixth Heaven?”
“You don’t even know where he lives. How are you going to his birthday? Besides, he’s probably not celebrating it here. More likely his side estate in Jerusalem.”
“Why? Isn’t it nicer here?”
“He likes passionate women. The women of Jerusalem are very passionate.”
We flew side by side, chatting along the way as we passed a cluster of deep blue buildings, a distinct group of structures I’d noticed whenever I travel.
“What’s that place?”
“That’s Uriel’s residence. See the water curtain out front? Go take a look. It’ll show you something interesting.”
“That’s the Mirror of Thunder?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“I’ve looked into the Wind Mirror and the Water Mirror before. Since this one’s blue…it should be the Thunder one.”
“Oh? And what did you look like in the Mirror of Wind?”
“No change.”
Ruthfel was nonchalant. “I’ve looked into it before too. Big difference. But I don’t believe in it.”
I didn’t either. But now that I’d spotted the Mirror of Thunder, I couldn’t resist following Ruthfel in that direction.
The Mirror of Thunder reveals the person who will have the greatest impact on you.
Clear water torrented down the blue stone pillar, each drop a crisp harp note. Lightning split the spray in flashes, streaks darting across the misty curtain.
And in the veil of water, I saw a delicate face. Pale, soft, tousled curls, some stubbornly sticking up here and there. All too familiar.
Me. Or rather, Isar.
But the angel in the mirror wasn’t wearing clothes. His hands seemed braced against something, facing directly outward through the screen of water. He had four wings. Icy blue, glistening.
His hair and feathers were both slightly damp, as if he’d just stepped out of mist.
Speaking of mist, there really was a thin haze hanging in the air around him.
The image grew clearer, like an old film meticulously restored.
Lightning weaved across the scene before me. Each crooked flicker a resonating crack. Behind Isar, water shimmered and flowed; crystalline veils swayed, catching light.
Suddenly, one of the sheer curtains lifted, revealing a figure that would be the dream of painters for the ages to come. Nose of carved diamonds, eyes flowing rivers, beauty that lit up Isar’s pupils.
Shocked beyond belief, I stumbled back —
What is even happening?
This is… Lucifer?!
Lucifer wore only a thin robe, its flowing sleeves the eternal mist that drifts over Sancta Faylia. Pale golden lashes veiled his eyes; his lips were gently pressed together, holding a slender ribbon of colored silk between them. He gathered his hair, smooth and lustrous, draping it loosely across his chest, then tied it off with the silk.
Isar, seemingly unfazed by his own nakedness, fluttered his wings and stepped forward to help him. Lucifer’s eyes curved ever so slightly as he looked up and smiled. Once his eyes met Isar’s, they never left.
Isar fumbled awkwardly with the knot, his face flush with effort. After several tries, he finally managed to tie it—though into a hopeless tangle. Just as he leaned in to untie and redo it, Lucifer suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace, lowered his head and pressed their lips together.
Oh… my… God…
The curtain billowed like smoke, swirled like clouds.
Drops of water slid down both of their cheeks, scattering a soft glow on the ground.
In that blurred, dreamlike atmosphere, Lucifer’s remaining clothes were removed. Instantly, a soft light surrounded him as six wings slowly unfolded, a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
Isar’s hands returned to where they had been. Lucifer held his waist and surged forward.
Throwing his head back, Isar half-opened his eyes in abandon, a flash of pale blue passing through.
His waist was slender, so much so that Lucifer could encircle it with one arm and have room to spare. Thus, as he entered, that waist seemed as though it might snap at any moment. Then, Lucifer gently pressed his knee against his leg for support and held him tight. Isar helplessly gripped Lucifer’s hand, turning his head to kiss him, passionate, fervent.
The scene, like an ink-wash painting, shimmered with interweaving light.
The two entwined in the mist, their rhythm the chaotic, hazy sunset of Jerusalem.
Lightning flashed like shattered pearls and jade.
I was already sitting on the ground, dumbfounded.
Ruthfel stood beside me, gazing at the Isar within, his smile thoughtful.
“One usually can’t tell,” he said, “but your figure’s actually… not bad.”
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
