To the Southwest region, the sky screamed as Lumiel tore through it.

  Six radiant wings cut the firmament apart as the Archangel surged forward at a speed no mortal craft could ever rival. The clouds did not part—they were obliterated, shredded into long spirals of vapor in his wake.

  Trailing behind him was Saint Fariel.

  Or rather—being dragged.

  The Saint’s body flailed helplessly, robes snapping violently like torn banners. Panic froze his breath in his throat as the world blurred into an incomprehensible streak of light and shadow. Had it not been for the faint, translucent barrier enveloping him—an Archangel’s mercy, thin as it was—his body would have been reduced to fragments long before they crossed the border into the human realm.

  Fariel could not scream.

  The speed stole even that from him.

  The Holy City emerged beneath them, its radiant barrier shimmering like a second sun against the night.

  Lumiel did not slow.

  He struck the city’s light ward like a falling star—

  —and passed through it.

  The barrier rippled, concentric waves spreading outward like water disturbed by a single droplet. No alarms rang. No fractures formed. The ancient enchantment recognized him not as an intruder, but as something older than its purpose.

  The Archangel descended straight toward the Vatican’s upper sanctum.

  Glass shattered.

  Twin balcony doors exploded inward as Lumiel landed within the chamber, marble cracking beneath his feet. He did not stumble. He did not pause. His momentum carried him forward in a calm, terrifying stride as Fariel’s body was released—skidding across the polished floor like discarded refuse before coming to rest in an undignified heap.

  Fariel groaned, gasping, scrambling into a kneeling bow.

  Moments later, shouts echoed from the corridors.

  Vatican Elders burst into the chamber alongside armed Vatican Guards, weapons raised on instinct—

  —and then froze.

  Grey skin.

  Golden irises burning like miniature suns.

  Six wings, vast and immaculate, radiating divine pressure that crushed breath from lungs.

  “It… it’s an angel—!” said one of the guards.

  Another Elder proclaim “It an Archangel!”

  “We—We humble subjects bow before you!”

  The Elders dropped to their knees in unison. Guards followed, weapons clattering uselessly to the floor. Even the air itself seemed heavier, as though the chamber were being pressed downward by the mere presence of Lumiel.

  The Archangel did not acknowledge them.

  He reached down, seized Fariel by the collar, and hauled him upright with one hand before letting him fall again at his feet.

  Golden eyes narrowed.

  “Now,” Lumiel said, his voice calm—and infinitely dangerous.

  “Explain.”

  Fariel swallowed, sweat beading at his brow despite the cold marble beneath him.

  “Y-Years ago,” he began carefully, “during an excavation beneath the Holy City… we discovered a relic. A cannon-like capsule, sealed, dormant.”

  Lumiel’s wings twitched.

  “We were uncertain whether you lived,” Fariel continued, choosing each word with surgical caution. “But we learned something remarkable. The relic responded to mana. To energy. When fed, it charged.”

  Fariel raised his head slightly, eyes glinting with academic fervor.

  “I theorized that with sufficient energy… it could awaken what lay within.”

  Silence followed.

  Then—

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  “Ruins?”

  Lumiel’s voice sharpened.

  “What years is this? My home was in the sky! The Heaven Sanctuary does not lie beneath mortal stone!”

  Fariel steadied himself.

  “My Lord… according to the Book of Eternia, the Sky City fell during the First Cycle of this world.”

  Lumiel’s breath hitched.

  “It has been… several hundred thousand years since then,” Fariel added softly.

  “We now stand within the Fourth Cycle.”

  The chamber trembled.

  Cracks spiderwebbed across marble pillars as radiant energy flared around Lumiel’s body, the pressure forcing Elders to press their foreheads harder against the floor.

  “Fallen?” Lumiel growled.

  “No… no. That is impossible!”

  His fists clenched.

  “I entered the capsule willingly,” he said, memories surging. “It was meant to be an honorable sacrifice! My essence was to power the weapon—to destroy our enemy.”

  His voice faltered.

  “I remember it working. We—”

  Then it came.

  The memories he had been denying.

  Cannons in shape of capsule. Not one—but many, firing in unison.

  A blinding convergence of divine annihilation—targeted on their enemy

  —and then resistance.

  Their divine wrath was deflected.

  The beams turned.

  The return strike was apocalyptic.

  Entire floating landscape were erased in the span of heartbeats. The Sky City itself torn apart by its own reflected wrath, colossal structures breaking away as heaven collapsed into fire and ruin.

  Lumiel saw it in his memories.

  Falling stones and bodies—angelic forms—tumbling lifelessly beside him, wings torn, armor shattered, blood streaking through the sky.

  Then—

  Below the clouds as he look back up.

  A silhouette wreathed in fire.

  The enemy.

  And darkness swallowing everything.

  Lumiel staggered back a step after snapping back to the present.

  “We… we fell,” he whispered, grief bleeding into his voice.

  “By our enemy’s hand.”

  Fariel dared to speak.

  “My Lord… who could commit such heresy?”

  “Who could destroy the Heaven Sanctuary?”

  Golden eyes lifted slowly.

  “The Shadowborn.”

  The words fell like a death sentence.

  Gasps rippled through the chamber. Some Elders paled. Others trembled.

  “A Shadowborn defeated even the angels…?”

  “How are we supposed to—”

  “Silence!” Fariel barked sharply, cutting them off before panic could ignite Lumiel fury.

  He turned and bowed deeply.

  “My Lord,” Fariel said smoothly, “please. Follow me. There is something you must see.”

  They descended.

  Down spiral stairs that coiled deeper than any pilgrim ever knew existed. Past sealed chambers and forgotten halls—past the place where Serena had once been entombed in artificial slumber.

  Deeper still.

  Until the stone opened into a vast cavern.

  And there it was.

  A ruined city.

  Fragments of celestial architecture embedded in earth and ceiling alike. Towers broken and inverted. Streets frozen in destruction. Some structures still glimmered faintly with divine resonance, stubbornly refusing to fade despite their ruin.

  Lumiel’s eyes widened.

  His home.

  It was real.

  It had truly fallen.

  Fariel spoke reverently.

  “At first, we found only traces beneath our research chambers. Over centuries, from our ancestor till us...we followed those traces… excavated… preserved what we could.”

  He gestured toward the ruins.

  “We recovered an intact chronicle—history before our cycle. We believe it was left by our predecessor.”

  Fariel lowered himself into a bow.

  “After the Heaven Sanctuary fell, loyal humans had tried to preserved what knowledge they could. They were our predecessors.”

  He looked up.

  “As ages passes, from one to another, their identity changed. Hiding, preserving and recording.”

  “Today we are known as the Holy Vatican.”

  “We are your faithful subjects,” Fariel declared.

  “Striving to restore the glory of the heavens that once ruled the sky.”

  Lumiel said nothing.

  His gaze remained fixed on the broken skyline.

  Then a thought surfaced.

  “Did you find… other cannons?”

  Fariel smiled.

  “Yes, my Lord. Several.”

  “Like you,” he continued, “they remain functional.”

  Lumiel turned slowly.

  “Then awaken them.”

  His voice hardened with resolve.

  “Gather whatever energy is required. My brothers shall rise and join me.”

  Fariel bowed deeply.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  A smile flickered across his lips—

  —and vanished before Lumiel could see it.

  The Vatican mobilize their manpower.

  Seven massive cannons were transported under heavy guard into the deepest research sanctum. Each was sealed, ancient, humming faintly with dormant power.

  “Here they are,” Fariel announced proudly.

  “The Seven Cannons.”

  Lumiel nodded once.

  “How will you gather such power?”

  Fariel’s eyes glinted.

  “Worry not my Lord, there is no shortage of faithful believers.”

  Lumiel did not react. He did not care for the life of others such as human do not care of the life of ants.

  “As long as my brothers awaken,” he said flatly.

  Above, Vatican soldiers spread through the Holy City.

  “Hear us, citizens!” one announced.

  “War had threatens our sacred land! The impending invasion is unavoidable! Home will be burn, people will be slaughter and survivor will be their slaves!—but fear not! Our Eminence has prepared a Safe Sanctum for you!”

  “You need bring nothing, as we are short on time” another added.

  “Follow our guidance. Stay with your families.”

  As the soldiers gathered them in line toward the city center. At there Seven radiant portals was setup in a circular formation at the center.

  Citizens filed through the portal—orderly, trusting.

  Beyond the portals lay pristine white chambers—vast cubic spaces furnished with beds, provisions, and calm light. As the last citizen entered, Vatican soldiers followed, portals sealing behind them.

  “Remain peaceful and no conflict is allow,” a captain announced.

  “You will be safe here until the war ends.”

  A child tugged his sleeve.

  “S-Sir… how long will the war be?”

  “Will we still have a home?”

  The captain knelt, forcing a smile.

  “I hope it won’t be long, little one.”

  He did not look convinced.

  Deep below, energy conduits connected the Seven Cannons.

  A researcher hesitated. The morality of such action had build up doubt and question.

  “Your Holiness… are we certain this is right? Perhaps there is another—”

  Then, a light flashed.

  The man’s head fell cleanly to the floor.

  Fariel’s light blade dissipated as he surveyed the room.

  “Any more questions?”

  Silence replies.

  “Good,” he said softly.

  “This is a sacrifice for the greater good. For belief. For the future of humanity.”

  Energy surged across the conduits tube.

  Seven sanctums.

  Seven cannons to feed.

  And somewhere within the Holy City, the faith of it people was being quietly, efficiently, and irreversibly converted into power.