Aria's Point of View
I was not born.I was forged.
Hammered in Heaven's fire, cooled in silence, sharpened to cut without mercy.
I am not supposed to feel.
Not longing. Not sorrow.And definitely not guilt.
So why… did I hesitate?
Why did I throw myself between the Prince of Hell and the blade that should've ended him?
Why did I bleed for him?
Three days earlier, I had watched him in silence.
Kai.
The boy who was never supposed to exist.
He laughed too loud. He was clumsy. Arrogant. Soft. Mortal.
But when the seal cracked and the fire awoke, he changed.
His soul did not twist. It did not scream.
It rose.
Lucifer's legacy lived in that fire—but not the cruelty.Not the madness.
Just the will.
And something in me… shook.
After the demon attacked, I reported in.
The cathedral ruins of Saint Draven were empty now—except for the one waiting inside.
Michael.
Seraph of Flame. Commander of Heaven's Vanguard.
And my creator.
"You disobeyed," he said without looking at me.
The stained glass behind him was cracked. A single sliver of red light cut across his face.
"I didn't disobey," I said, voice calm. "I adapted."
His gaze turned to mine.
"You protected the son of our enemy."
"I assessed the risk. The attack was unauthorized—unbound."
"You should have let him die."
"I couldn't."
His hand twitched. Light sparked around his palm, almost instinctively.
"You're compromised."
I stayed silent.
He turned away. "You forget your purpose, Aria. You were forged to be a blade, not a savior."
"I haven't forgotten," I said. "But the Thrones have. If they want him dead so badly, why are they hiding?"
His eyes flashed. "Because they know his power. They fear what he will become."
"And so do you," I said quietly.
A pause.
Then, he stepped forward. His voice like thunder wrapped in silk.
"If you do not kill him by the seventh moon, you will be stripped of name, form, and memory. You will return to the fire from which you came."
"I understand," I whispered.
But I didn't mean it.
That night, I watched Kai sleep.
He dreamed loudly. His hands twitched. He muttered names he didn't remember and promises he didn't know he'd made.
I had seen monsters in both Heaven and Hell.
He was neither.
He was… becoming.
I remembered the first time I saw Lucifer.
Not the monster.
The King.
He stood above a battlefield of angels and demons alike—silent, weary. His eyes held galaxies.
He spared me.
I never knew why.
But maybe I saw a piece of that same decision in Kai.
The next morning, Kai found me by the river.
"You ever wonder if we're just pieces on someone else's board?" he asked.
He didn't know I'd been ordered to end him.
He didn't know my blade still whispered to do it.
But he looked at me like I mattered.
"I think we're all born in chains," I said. "The question is whether we have the strength to break them."
He nodded, quiet. "You think I do?"
"I don't know," I said.
But I hoped.
Before I left, he smiled.
Not the cocky grin. Not the smug smirk.
A real one.
Soft. Human.
And something inside me—something long frozen—shifted.
I touched my blade that night and whispered a prayer I was never taught.
Not to Heaven. Not to Hell.
But to the space in between.
Where things like hope and choice still lived.
Michael's voice echoed in my memory:
"Kill him… or fall."
I looked up at the stars and made a decision.
If I was going to fall—
I would do it with my wings open.