The City of Silver.
Purity was law.
Purity was life.
Purity was the silent hymn that echoed through every alabaster street, drifting past the gardens of silver lilies that never wilted, the crystalline lanterns that glowed eternally, and the watchful statues of Uriel—each depicting the goddess stepping on a serpent, her halo shaped like a burning disc of righteous flame.
The serpent always looked suspiciously like Lilith.
But no one mentioned that.
To speak a forbidden thought here was the same as never speaking again.
And yet…
In that polished house of glass and moonstone, something impossible stirred.
The golden-haired maiden stood from her prayer and clutched her chest, fingers pressing against her immaculate white robes. Her breath hitched—not in fear, but in something far more forbidden.
Badump.
There it was again.
A heat she could not name pooled low in her stomach. A hunger she should not have. The sacred teachings—the endless sermons—reverberated in her skull.
Purity cleanses desire.
Purity silences corruption.
Purity is the only path to paradise.
So why…
Why did impure thoughts flicker like embers behind her eyes?
She walked to the window, gazing out at the lower district—rows of perfect homes, perfect families, perfect worship. Angels patrolled the air like silent doves of judgment, each leaving a trail of shimmering feathers that dissolved into fragrant mist.
The sight once filled her with peace.
Now those feathers reminded her of bedsheets.
Soft. Warm. Tangled.
Her knees trembled.
Something was wrong with her.
Or—worse—something was right with her, and everything else was wrong. Everything they'd taught her. Everything Uriel promised. The endless light, the hollow comfort, the promise of a soul cleansed so clean it was… empty.
She raised her hand and stared as a faint shimmer traveled beneath her skin. Like her blood was moving differently. Thicker. Wilder. Calling to something it was never meant to call.
She felt the heat climb her throat again, and she forced herself to breathe through it, whispering prayers that cracked like dry leaves.
"Blessed be the Light. Blessed be—"
A knock shattered the moment.
Three gentle taps.
Then a voice soft as spring wind:
"Holy Maiden? The Church summons you."
"!!!" Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Not fear.
Not devotion.
But anticipation.
Her thighs pressed together instinctively—something she had never done before.
The voice outside continued, oblivious to the war inside her veins.
"It is time for the Holy Union. Your angel awaits."
She swallowed.
"Holy. Union."
Two words she once accepted with serene obedience now tasted different.
Now they tasted like temptation.
The maiden smoothed her golden hair, drew her hood, and stepped out into the radiant street—each footfall measured, graceful, but trembling with a new rhythm.
Badump.
With every step toward the Church of Light, the echo grew stronger.
Badump.
She passed maidens in white, identical smiles plastered on their lips like porcelain.
Badump.
She passed angels, wings folded with military perfection, feathers shining like liquid starlight.
Badump.
She passed a statue of Uriel, towering above the plaza—smiling benevolently, eyes carved with cold judgment.
Her heart raced faster.
And as she crossed the threshold of the marble temple, something inside her whispered—soft, feminine, wicked: "Unholy. But delicious."
For the first time in the City of Silver…
A maiden did not enter the Church of Light to serve.
She entered it wanting.
"Ah... you're here," a white-haired angel greeted her at the door with a smile so bright it could've blinded the sun itself. He wore a silver-white robe that shimmered like a galaxy, and on his chest was the emblem of Uriel—a burning sun wreathed in wings.
'His name... I forgot... Why do I forget?' she thought for a moment before realizing the name: 'Caelus. But why would I forget his name?'
"Are you alright, Holy Maiden?" Caelus asked, his smile unchanged, but there was something in his eyes—like a hawk watching a cornered rabbit.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice a little too breathy.
"Good," Caelus said, stepping aside.
The doors of the Church of Light opened on their own—petals of white-gold marble unfolding like a blooming flower.
The sanctuary was silent.
Always silent.
As though sound itself feared to exist where purity reigned.
Moonstone pillars stretched into infinity, each carved with hymns promising eternal devotion. Stained glass windows portrayed Uriel descending from the heavens, surrounded by obedient angels—never smiling, always judging.
The altar stood at the center—an immaculate slab of star-marble where countless maidens before her had lain, blessed and emptied like vessels poured and refilled.
But today…
The room felt smaller.
Warmer.
Uncomfortably intimate.
Or perhaps she was simply aware of her body in a way she never was before.
Her breaths felt loud—even in their quietness.
The soft rustle of her robes sounded like thunder against her ears.
Badump.
Caelus closed the door behind them with a soft echo that crawled up her spine.
He approached the altar in practiced strides—the same way he did every three days. The same way every angel did.
No emotion.
No pleasure.
No desire.
Devotion without warmth.
Until she met his eyes.
And something was different.
Just for a second—the smallest fraction of a moment—the angel's gaze lost its polished, holy emptiness. His pupils tightened. His nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly, like he caught a scent that wasn't supposed to exist here.
Something human.
Something sinful.
Something alive.
"Lie down," he said—not unkindly, not coldly—but with a tone that wavered on the edge of something he couldn't name.
She obeyed out of habit, climbing atop the marble—yet the stone felt softer than usual against her back. Or perhaps her skin was simply more awake. Her legs parted automatically, drilled into her by routine.
But this time—it meant something.
His hand reached forward to lift the hem of her robe. Mechanical. Scripted. Holy. But his fingers hesitated.
Only for a breath. Only for half a breath.
Yet in the City of Silver, even a heartbeat of hesitation was rebellion.
His touch grazed her thigh—barely—not even enough to count as contact.
But her body ignited.
Badump.
Her hand snapped upward on instinct—grabbing the angel's wrist.
Both froze.
Neither breathed.
Time hung suspended like the city above the clouds.
Her golden eyes met his silver ones, and for the first time since Uriel seized Heaven itself…
An angel seemed uncertain.
"..."
The silence in the sanctuary stretched, thin and brittle, like old parchment threatening to tear.
"Holy Maiden," he whispered, his voice suddenly rougher, lower, less porcelain-perfect, "your pulse… it races."
"I—" her breath caught again, "I don't… know why."
"You should not feel."
"I know."
"You should not want."
"…I know."
His hand remained trapped in her grip. He could have pulled away—angels were strong, stronger than any mortal. But he didn't.
He didn't even try.
Her lips parted involuntarily.
His jaw clenched involuntarily.
Desire met obedience.
And desire began to win.
"Caelus," she whispered, tasting the name like forbidden wine.
"!!!" His eyes widened.
She shouldn't have remembered it—not during the ritual. Forgetting was part of the blessing. Names diluted identity. Identity diluted obedience.
But she remembered.
"Holy Maiden," he said again, but this time his voice trembled—not with fear—but with something that had been absent since the City of Silver was built.
Curiosity.
Temptation.
Hunger.
"You are… different today."
Her pulse roared in her ears. Her blood shimmered beneath her skin.
"Am I?" she whispered.
Caelus leaned closer—just a fraction—but enough to break every law the goddess ever carved into the marble of Heaven.
Enough to start a war without realizing it.
"I can hear your heart," he murmured, voice dropping to a reverent, almost sinful hush.
"It's loud."
She swallowed, heat crawling across her skin.
"So is yours."
"!!!" The angel froze.
Because she was right.
Because for the first time since the creation of the City of Silver—
An angel's heart beat with something that was not devotion.
Something that was not holiness.
Something that tasted uncomfortably like—
Desire.
"S-Should we start?" he asked, trying to regain control, to pull back into the familiar script. But he couldn't. His gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips and back again, trapped.
"Yes," she answered—though she had no idea which question she was answering.
Badump.
The sound of his heart—the sharp, erratic thump-thump-thump that matched the wild tempo of her own—was the loudest thing she had ever heard in the silent sanctuary. It was louder than Uriel's decree, louder than the hymns carved into the moonstone, louder than the eternal promise of empty light.
It was the sound of a living thing, no longer a vessel.
"Something is… Wrong," he whispered.
"No," she whispered, her hand still wrapped around his wrist. "Something is finally right."
With her free hand, she reached up and gently touched the emblem on his chest, her fingers tracing the cold, hard lines of the burning sun.
"Don't you feel it?"
His breath hitched.
He did.
He felt it.
It was like waking up from a thousand-year dream.
He leaned in—slow, hesitant, trembling. Their lips hovered a breath apart. His silver eyes flickered with terror and desire entwined like lovers.
"We were made without want," Caelus whispered.
"And I was taught to be empty."
Her voice trembled with something raw and frighteningly alive.
"What if want is not corruption… but creation?"
"..."
Time fractured.
Purity cracked.
And when their lips finally touched, it wasn't gentle—because neither knew how to be gentle about something they had been starved of their entire lives.
The kiss was a discovery.
Clumsy. Human. Sacred in its defiance.
It tasted like stolen fruit from an unseen garden.
His hand—still held captive by hers—turned, fingers interlacing with hers, no longer restrained. No longer a ritual.
He kissed her again—deeper, searching, learning.
Unable to notice that one tiny feather slowly started to change color—from purest white to the darkest shade of black.
Caelus. The first angel to fall into sin.