Heaven was quiet. Too quiet. The echoes of fire and battle had faded, leaving a stillness that felt heavier than the clash itself.
Angels floated silently through the golden halls, wings tucked, eyes downcast. The light seemed dimmer somehow, as if the brilliance of one angel—Lucifer Morningstar—had left a permanent shadow behind.
Kyria hovered above the grand steps, her silver wings drooping slightly. She couldn't breathe easy. Her chest felt tight, heavy with the weight of what had happened. Two-thirds of Heaven's brightest angels had fallen, following Lucifer into the abyss. And she… she had done nothing.
A presence approached, steady and commanding. Archangel Michael. His armor gleamed with divine light, but even that radiance could not pierce the gloom that hung around Kyria.
"You bear a sorrow within you," he said simply, voice low but firm. There was no judgment in it, just observation.
Kyria's lips parted, but no words came. She swallowed hard, trying to nod without drawing attention.
Michael stepped closer, the golden light of his wings brushing against hers, warming her despite the chill in her heart. "The shadow of his absence clings to you… does it not?" he said, like a quiet acknowledgment, like a truth laid bare.
Her throat tightened. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the stillness. "I… I really do."
She lowered her gaze. "I couldn't help him. I couldn't advise him. I didn't do… my best. I could have done better. I… I don't know what to do anymore."
Michael's hand lifted, brushing gently against her shoulder. The warmth was steadying. "Kyria," he said softly, "this… none of this is your fault. You acted as any angel would. You followed the light. You honored your oath. He made his choice. Not you."
Kyria closed her eyes, letting the words sink in. Part of her wanted to argue, to scream that she could have changed everything, but the truth lingered like a shadow she could not shake. She had lost him, and now, even Heaven itself felt hollow without his brilliance lighting the sky.
Michael stepped back, letting her breathe. "Time will temper the wound," he said. "But your heart… your heart must first grant itself forgiveness."
"Can I bring him back?"
Michael studied Kyria for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed—slow, weary, like someone who had seen too many wars and too many losses.
"You don't understand him the way you think you do," Michael said quietly. "Lucifer has always been proud. He will not surrender easily. He will not bow simply because someone asks him to."
Kyria lifted her head sharply. "You say that because you don't know him like I do."
Michael's jaw tightened. "He is not a stranger to me," he replied. "Lucifer was my brother. I know him very well."
Silence fell between them.
"I can change him," Kyria said suddenly, her voice trembling but fierce. "I know I can. I cannot live here like this, Michael. Heaven feels empty. Hollow. Every corridor echoes with his absence."
Her wings shook as tears finally spilled. "I really, truly loved him. I still do. And I know it is against Heaven's law. I know I am not supposed to feel this way, but I cannot erase him from my heart."
Michael looked at her, stunned by the raw honesty in her voice.
"I want to bring him back," Kyria continued. "I want to persuade him. To make him apologize to God. God is merciful—He always has been. If Lucifer repents, surely He will forgive him."
Michael's eyes widened slightly. "Kyria—"
"I want to go to the world," she said firmly. "
"Strip me of Heaven, if you must. I will still go to him."
The words hung in the air like blasphemy.
Disbelief flashed across his face. "You know that's impossible," he said sharply. "You cannot go to Earth without God's permission. You cannot descend unless God sends you—or unless you are assigned a task."
"I don't care," Kyria whispered.
"You have nothing to do with the world," Michael continued, his voice hardening. "You are not a messenger angel. You are not a war angel. You were never meant to walk among mortals."
"I was meant to love," Kyria said quietly.
Michael fell silent.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "If Heaven truly stands for goodness, then why does it punish love? Why must devotion exist without choice?"
Michael closed his eyes briefly, as if the weight of her words struck deeper than any blade. When he opened them again, his voice was calmer—sad, even.
"You are asking to defy Heaven," he said. "And once you do… there may be no return."
Kyria nodded slowly. "I know."
Michael studied her, then sighed. "If you do this," he said, "you will not be the angel you were before."
"I already am not," Kyria replied.
"Hmm?"
She turned to face him fully, her blonde hair catching the soft glow of Heaven's light, her forest‑green eyes—deep, calm, peaceful—looking anything but at peace. "I am not the angel I was before," she said quietly. "Not since Lucifer fell."
"At last," he said, his voice measured. "So this is the path you seek—descent to the world of men."
"I can aid you," Michael continued, his tone grave. "I can send you beyond Heaven's veil. To reach him. To attempt what even Heaven has not reclaimed."
"But know this," he said, and the weight of his words settled heavily, "there will be consequence."
"I will bear it," Kyria replied.
"You will be unmade from this life," Michael said. "You will not retain Heaven as you know it. Your rank, your purpose, your history—these will be stripped from memory."
"You will remember only that you once were angelic," he went on. "Your power will remain, yet lie dormant. It will answer to you no longer. You will carry it unknowingly—mighty, and yet defenseless."
"You will remain the same soul," Michael said, "but not the same form. Heaven knows you as light itself—golden, untouched, eternal. On Earth, you will walk as mortal."
A pause.
"And God?" Kyria asked.
"He will perceive it."
"And others," Michael added. "Some will see. But… I may yet veil your passage."
"Michael—"
"I am aware," he said quietly. "Of the risk. Of the judgment that may follow."
He turned from her, gaze fixed upon the endless radiance of Heaven. "I will not allow love to be extinguished without resistance. And if truth be spoken… I too would see Lucifer return."
He faced her once more. "This path promises no triumph. No absolution. And no guarantee of redemption."
"Only the chance," Kyria said softly. "To try."
Michael studied her.
"Then prepare yourself," he said at last. "Once this begins, it cannot be recalled."