Although naive, he knew better than to blindly follow a leader set on using angels for nefarious acts just to please its wicked mind.
"The darkness that shields itself in Light. How could anyone fall for such an obvious act?" mumbled Ratella as he reappeared in the throne room of Divination's Rest.
The question lingered in the air, prompting a deeper inquiry into the true meaning of the Choir.
Michael eyed the boy curiously as he reappeared out of thin air, his audience with the Primordial Light lengthy but now complete.
Ratella peered at Michael, who looked straight into the eye of Time, inspecting its every detail.
"Edict of Time, interesting. No one has an Edict of Time that I know of."
He did not respond to the Tyrant, overcome by nausea after meeting the Primordial Light. Silently, he walked away to find the nearest bathroom and spill his guts.
Ratella spilled the contents of his stomach all over the sink, pounding against it, causing small cracks to run through its once-pristine surface.
"Bastard, I'll murder you with my own hands," thought Ratella, his hatred for the Light growing. A quiet sense of fury burned in the back of his mind, its direction pointed towards Michael.
"A subject who quietly obeys a corrupt master must be purged with them unless you want the rot to continue to fester."
"Okay, Nuit, I'll follow your orders until I find out how to save Luna. After that, I'll choose my own path, whether that be light or dark."
Ratella's fist struck the sink's surface, causing it to crumble into shards that littered the surrounding floor.
"Calm down, I must play the dutiful Seraphim," thought Ratella, settling his fury-stricken mind, trying his hardest to banish the poisonous thoughts of anger.
As if reading his mind, Excalibur began to emit a low harmonic hum to ease his mind, settle his nerves, and restore his clarity.
"Thank you," exclaimed Ratella, rubbing the pommel of his trusty sword of legend.
Whether his sword had a soul or not didn't matter to the boy; he would always treat those he held dear with care and respect. Angel or otherwise.
Returning to the throne room, where Michael was still seated lazily across the throne, holding a lance in his left hand.
Ratella's lance, which he had been wielding for many years at this point, was practiced with every day by him and Luna.
Its design is simple but elegant, with silver and white plastered over its exterior.
"Where did you go?" asked Michael, his gaze growing sharp, laced within his earlier authority. Its effect bore down on his shoulders, but Ratella held firm despite the crushing pain caused by resistance.
Standing tall in the face of the Tyrant, a newfound bravery flooded his brain after his meeting with the two Deities.
One being his supposed mother.
"Bathroom, I felt sick because of the teleportation."
"Really, Luna did mention you felt sick when you first came here, but you didn't vomit."
The pressure was mounting on his shoulders, and his legs shook as he tried to withstand the immense weight bearing down on him.
"Today was different. Why are you questioning me for going to the bathroom?"
"Because I sense you aren't being honest. Deceit hiding in your shadow, tell why is that?"
"I am not being deceitful, so I see no reason for me to answer that."
"Really now, I suppose I can let it go unanswered for now, but I will get my answer eventually."
Ratella stayed silent, not by choice but from crippling pain overloading his senses. His wings shuddered, aching to retaliate.
"You shouldn't resist its effects; it'll only increase the pain mounting upon you, but I suppose you've had enough."
Michael released his authority, barreling down on the boy, lifting the agony and crushing pressure from his body, causing a fit of coughs.
"Why do you have my lance?"
"I want you to use it instead of the sword. Unlike the other Seraphim, angels can actually see you, so I'd like them to assume you are Luna. Although I doubt the more studious will believe your disguise."
Ratella took the lance from the Tyrant, taking his position at his right, acting as his steadfast guard.
The transmitted knowledge of the Edict of Time still fresh in his mind, he looked through the information as he awaited Michael's first audience to commence.
"Cover your body with your wings and stay silent. If any threat arises, it'll be your responsibility to deal with it in what way you see fit."
Ratella obeyed, covering his body with lilac and silver wings, only his lance visible.
"Did the Primordial Light give you information on the Edict of Time?"
"Yes, it said it would be better not to waste anyone's time, so it burned the information into my brain," answered Ratella, his aversion for the God spilling into his words slightly not escaping the eye of Michael.
"Don't speak so crudely about His Eminence," said Michael, his tone growing authoritative and hostile, seeing Ratella's tone as a direct insult to his God.
Ratella bowed his head in apology, promising himself to be more careful when speaking about the Primordial Light. His apology appeased Michael, and Michael withdrew his hostility.
"Tell me one more thing. As you left for the bathroom, the Primordial Light told me you took your time getting to his realm. The teleportation I set could have been instantaneous."
"I don't know what you mean. The teleportation was instantaneous. The next moment after stepping through the portal, I was in a land shrouded in the purest light," responded Ratella, not completely lying, as it was instantaneous, just not to a land of light.
The doors at the other end of the room burst open, impacting the wall behind them; however, this person knew how to make an entrance.
Ratella was fortunately saved from more of the Tyrant's questions.