Seraphian sat on the trunk of an old tree, in a quiet corner of the homestead yard. A notebook lay open in his hands, as though he were studying—just as he had told the villagers. The wind played with the edges of his light cloak, rustling the pages with every gust, though his eyes barely read a word.
"An entire week…" he thought, staring blankly into the distance.
"Seven days among these humans… and not a single trace of the child. I can say with complete certainty now—he's not here. So why am I still staying? What's holding me back?"
His thoughts came to an abrupt halt when his eyes fell upon her.
Rosella.
She was walking at a distance, returning from the woods, bent under the weight of a large bundle of firewood. Her face was flushed with exhaustion, strands of her dark hair sticking to her forehead with sweat. And yet, she smiled.
Without realizing it, he stood up and began to walk toward her.
She noticed him and returned the smile, breathing a little heavily as she said,
"Don't tell me you've finished your studying already."
He smiled gently, replying with a calm tone,
"Not quite… But I saw you struggling and thought I should lend a hand."
She shook her head quickly.
"No, no. That kind of work doesn't suit students! You should be studying, nothing else!"
But he ignored her protests and took the heavy bundle from her without waiting for permission. She tried to object again, but he had already taken a few steps ahead, and so she walked beside him, the weight lifted from her shoulders.
She glanced at him, astonished, noting how he carried the firewood as if it weighed nothing.
"You're quite strong. Doesn't seem like you're someone who lives buried in books."
He nodded silently, offering no reply. After a quiet pause, he spoke with a slightly thoughtful tone:
"I noticed you do most of the work around here. Maybe even all of it. Isn't your sister older than you?"
Her expression changed slightly, but she answered gently,
"I can't ask her to do any of it. It hurts me to see her laboring. She… she's not used to this life."
He raised a brow in quiet suspicion.
"Not used to it? But haven't you both lived in this village your whole lives? Surely you grew up like the rest—working, learning, surviving among your people."
Rosella fell silent for a moment, lowering her gaze. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, when she finally said,
"Have you never heard of the Valerian family?"
Seraphian paused, trying to recall if he'd ever heard the name in one of the rare human tales he'd been exposed to. But as one who was not human himself, he had no real knowledge of their history.
"I'm not sure…" he said in his usual cool tone.
She nodded faintly and didn't add anything more. The sadness on her face was unmistakable, but she chose silence.
They reached the cabin, and she thanked him warmly for the help, even inviting him in, but he politely declined, bid her farewell, and walked away.
As he walked along the dusty path, the name echoed in his mind again and again:
"Valerian… Valerian… Should I leave this village now? I've stayed far longer than I should."
Lost in thought, he suddenly stopped. Two men stood speaking at the corner of the road… but something was wrong.
Sunlight was striking one of them from the front—but his shadow wasn't behind him. It was at an odd angle, as if the light source was completely off.
Seraphian narrowed his eyes.
"A shadow creature…? How did I not notice before?"
He began walking slowly, his gaze scanning the villagers. He greeted them, smiled at the children, helped an old woman with her basket—just as he had done all week. But this time, the act wasn't for trust or favor. This time, he was watching.
And in that one hour, he spotted more. At least three others. Seemingly ordinary people… but their shadows moved.
"No human would've noticed. Their movements are too fast… too subtle. Shadow creatures. But why here? And in such numbers?"
He lifted his eyes to the sky, sensing that something far greater was approaching.
⸻
Elsewhere, in a place of ceaseless wind and radiant light, a young angel stood in a grand marble chamber. Her wings were pure white, her face flushed with anger, her voice sharp and trembling.
"How could you let him go, Father!"
The tall man standing before her had silver hair and a face carved in stone. His voice was low, almost distant.
"I didn't. Those were the Emperor's orders."
She stepped closer, her tone rising.
"But it's the human world! They'll harm him! They despise us!"
He turned away, looking toward the open balcony.
"Seraphian is the last person you should be worrying about, Liriel… I know he is your betrothed, but—"
He paused, then said with heavier words:
"Think about it logically, daughter. He's… a bastard. He will never be Emperor. And you… you deserve—"
"Don't you dare!" she snapped, her wings twitching with rage.
"What you're saying is treason!"
The father froze, then let out a slow breath.
"He'll be fine… He's strong."
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the hall.
⸻
At that same moment, back in the human realm, Seraphian stood in the heart of the village as the sun kissed the horizon.
And all around him… shadows were moving.
Not just those cast by light—but something far more unnatural.