The storm that followed was not of weather — but of silence.
Wintercrest Fortress lay half-broken beneath a sky the color of bruised gold. Flames flickered where snow once lay, and the scent of scorched stone filled the air.
Arden stood among the ruins, his cloak torn, his eyes reflecting the chaos around him. Soldiers moved in grim silence, dousing fires, pulling the wounded from the wreckage.
Above the courtyard, where snow and ash mingled, Celestia knelt beside her fallen brother. Ignar's once-burning wings were now gray embers, his body fragile and human in death.
She touched his cheek gently. "You were light… now you are dust."
Her voice trembled, though no tears fell — only a quiet radiance from her eyes, the kind that spoke of both grief and acceptance.
Arden approached slowly. "He chose his end."
Celestia looked up at him. "No one chooses to fall."
Arden's tone remained steady. "He did when he obeyed blindness."
The words cut deep, not with cruelty but truth. And Celestia, for the first time since her descent, looked uncertain — not as a Seraph, but as a woman standing between two worlds.
Days passed. The fortress was repaired with speed only the disciplined North could muster. Yet despite the regained order, unease crept through every hall.
The soldiers whispered — about the angel who now slept in the Duke's fortress, wounded but alive.
Celestia's once-pristine wings were fractured. Their feathers, usually bright as moonlight, dimmed with gray at the edges. She lay in a chamber overlooking the icy plains, her light faint, flickering like a candle in the wind.
Selene tended to her, changing the bandages that no longer shimmered with divine healing.
"You're… becoming human," Selene murmured, watching as Celestia's blood stained the cloth crimson instead of gold.
Celestia managed a weak smile. "So this is pain… raw and unhidden."
Selene looked at her warily. "You say that like it's a blessing."
Celestia's gaze drifted toward the window. Snow fell gently outside. "It is. To feel weakness is to understand strength. To bleed is to remember life."
Meanwhile, Arden gathered his generals in the war room. Maps covered the long oak table, glowing with mana marks of troop movements.
Ryn pointed at the central plains. "Reports say the Empire's southern forces are massing near the border. And worse — the skies there… burn red."
Mira's ears twitched. "Divine signs again?"
Arden nodded grimly. "Heaven will not forgive the death of another Seraph. They'll send more."
Selene entered then, her expression tight. "The angel's awake."
Arden paused mid-thought. "Good." He turned toward the door, his cloak billowing. "Keep preparations steady. I'll speak with her."
Celestia sat up when he entered, her silver hair draped loosely over her shoulders. She looked smaller now, fragile — yet her eyes still glowed faintly, a light of calm defiance.
"You're recovering," Arden said.
She smiled weakly. "Or dying. It depends on the point of view."
He walked to the window, crossing his arms. "You're too stubborn to die. I've seen that much."
A soft laugh escaped her lips. "You speak as if you know me."
"I know warriors," he replied. "You fight even when your cause is lost."
She tilted her head, studying him. "And you? What drives you, Arden of the North?"
He turned, meeting her gaze. "Freedom. From the chains of heaven, kings, and destiny."
"Freedom without purpose becomes chaos," she said softly.
"And order without freedom becomes slavery."
For a moment, silence filled the room — the meeting of two wills, two beliefs forged in opposite worlds.
Then Celestia's voice lowered. "Heaven will brand you a heretic. The Supreme One will send his Hosts. They won't stop."
Arden's golden aura flickered faintly, like molten sunlight beneath his skin. "Then let them come. The North doesn't bow."
Celestia's lips parted, half in admiration, half in fear. "You would defy gods themselves?"
He stepped closer, his presence filling the room. "I've already slain them."
Her heart fluttered — not from terror, but something she couldn't name.
Far above, in the Empyrean Citadel, the Seven Thrones shone once more — this time with fury.
The Seraph of Storms slammed his hand against the divine floor. "Ignar has fallen. Celestia defies us. The mortal has corrupted her!"
The Seraph of Flame snarled, "Then we burn his world until nothing remains."
But the Seraph of Dusk raised a hand. "And risk proving him right? That Heaven rules through tyranny, not justice?"
The chamber fell silent.
Then the Voice of the Supreme One echoed again, cold and resonant.
"Enough debate. The mortal Duke's soul has challenged Heaven itself. His defiance must end."
"Prepare the Host."
The stars above the mortal world dimmed, replaced by faint golden fire — the first sign of divine war.
That night, Celestia found herself unable to sleep. Her wings ached; her once-immortal body now felt every ache, every breath.
Arden's words echoed in her mind. Freedom. From destiny.
She rose quietly and stepped onto the balcony, letting the snow touch her bare feet. It stung — sharp and real.
For the first time, she shivered.
And for the first time, she smiled.
"Cold," she whispered, looking up at the endless sky. "So this is what it means to live."
Behind her, the door opened softly.
Arden stood there, his cloak over one arm. Without a word, he draped it over her shoulders.
She blinked in surprise, glancing up at him.
He looked out toward the night. "Tomorrow, Heaven moves. The North must be ready."
She nodded. "And you?"
He met her gaze, calm and steady. "I'll be waiting for them."
As dawn broke, crimson light bled across the horizon — a warning written upon the sky.
Celestia stood beside Arden on the walls of Wintercrest, her eyes filled with quiet resolve. Her wings, though broken, spread once more — no longer symbols of divine perfection, but of choice.
And far above, the heavens stirred.Trumpets of judgment began to sound.
The war between Heaven and the North had begun.