The light in Paradise did not come from a sun.
There wasn't even a single point in the sky that hinted at its source.
It seemed to emanate from everywhere — from the ground, the air, the leaves — and it wasn't just light: there was warmth, but a warmth that didn't burn, only embraced. Daytona blinked several times, trying to adjust. It was like waking from a heavy dream only to be thrown straight into another.
The group moved in silence. Ghost led the way, his cane striking rhythmically against the smooth ground, the sound echoing through a valley that seemed endless. Martin followed with wide eyes, drinking in every detail — natural crystal columns rising like trees, rivers defying gravity as they flowed upward into the sky, and birds whose feathers shifted color every second.
Saravia walked a few steps behind Daytona, her eyes sharp, scanning every corner. Even here, in what seemed to be the purest place in existence, she carried herself like someone crossing enemy territory.
— This… — Daytona broke the silence, her voice low — doesn't smell like anything.
— Nothing rots here, — Ghost replied without turning his head. — And nothing is born, unless willed by those who rule this place.
They followed the path as it changed without warning into a narrow bridge, carved from a single piece of white marble.
The abyss beneath wasn't darkness, but a sea of light so intense that Daytona had to look away. There was no wind, yet the void seemed to pull downward, as if something below wanted to drag them in.
Martin leaned over the edge, trying to see deeper — and immediately stepped back.
— Okay, mental note: don't look again.
At the end of the bridge rose gates twenty meters high, carved with symbols that moved, shifting shape slowly, as if breathing. Daytona wondered if they were alive.
Angelic guards stood still before them, their translucent armor reflecting the light of the realm, distorting their faces into something almost unreal.
One of the guards raised a hand. The voice that followed did not come from his mouth — it spread through the air, vibrating in their bones:
— Names.
Ghost stepped forward without hesitation.
— Visitors. Passage authorized by the Third Tower's sphere. — His voice was firm, though Daytona caught the faintest tremor in it.
Silence followed — oppressive, absolute — before the gate began to open. The leaves moved slowly, producing a deep, resonant sound, like a thunder echo from another world.
Beyond it, a golden field stretched as far as sight could reach. Every leaf of every plant emitted its own light, and the soft ground cast no shadows. In the distance, floating upon pillars of clouds, rose a colossal fortress — its towers built from solid light. It was so vast that it seemed to touch the endless sky itself.
— I think… — Martin began, unable to look away — I've found my new favorite place.
— Don't get too comfortable, — Saravia said, her tone steady. — Paradise isn't home to anyone who still breathes.
They walked across the field. Tiny translucent creatures darted between the glowing flowers, some stopping to stare curiously before vanishing into the grass. Daytona crouched to touch one of the plants; it gently recoiled, as if ticklish.
Belzebub was eerily silent within her. The quiet wasn't only physical — it was as though the place itself could smother unwanted thoughts. Yet, in the distance, Daytona felt it: someone — or something — was watching. Not with hostility… but with a cold, analytical interest.
The fortress on the horizon grew larger with every step. The reflected light didn't blind; it mesmerized. But something was wrong. Between the windows, unmoving figures stood — and for an instant, Daytona could have sworn one of them smiled.
Ghost stopped suddenly, leaning on his cane.
— Remember… here, every word can be heard by those not present. And every thought… can be answered.
No one spoke after that.
They continued in silence toward the castle's shadow. The doors, larger than any human structure, already stood open — as if waiting for them. Inside, a corridor of light stretched endlessly into the unknown.
The imaginary camera would pull back, showing them as tiny dots crossing the golden field.
High above, angelic silhouettes moved slowly — some silent, others… smiling.
The gentle wind of Paradise carried a faintly sweet scent, unlike anything Daytona had ever known. The golden reflections of the city's structures gleamed in her eyes as she walked beside Martin, Saravia, and Ghost.
They had just crossed the Celestial Bridge, and the weight of this realm still pressed upon their minds.
The ground beneath their feet was no ordinary stone — it felt alive, pulsing with a silent rhythm, as though the city itself breathed with them.
The sky, a sea of liquid light, had no sun but shone with unwavering brilliance, leaving not a single shadow.
Martin adjusted his backpack, still dazed.
— This is… too surreal… — he muttered.
— Welcome to Paradise, kid, — Ghost replied, though his tone carried caution rather than awe.
Saravia, scanning every direction, looked both fascinated and uneasy.
— Daytona… do you feel that?
Daytona inhaled deeply. The air was pure — almost intoxicating — yet something pressed faintly on her bones, like invisible eyes observing her every thought.
— Yeah… I feel it, — she said quietly. — It's not just beauty. There's weight in the air.
That's when they turned a corner — and saw someone waiting in the middle of the street.
He looked young, maybe in his early twenties, with fair skin and short dark-brown hair. His body was lean and athletic, clad in light armor resembling Roman clothwork — golden, trimmed with white, leaving his arms bare. A short mantle draped over one shoulder, and at his waist rested a golden katana in its sheath.
The young man lifted his gaze as they approached, a faint smile curling on his lips.
— Strangers… — he said in a calm, almost playful tone. — You're not from here, are you?
Daytona stopped a few paces from him, narrowing her eyes.
— And what makes you think that?
He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, as if studying a painting.
— Because you carry the scent of Earth. Here in Paradise… that's as obvious as blood in the ocean to a shark.
Ghost folded his arms, studying him closely.
— And you are?
The man rested a hand on the katana's hilt — not as a threat, but as a natural gesture.
— Nylon. Throne-class angel. — His gaze locked on Daytona. — And from the looks of it, you're the one leading this group.
Martin frowned at the idea, but Daytona stood firm.
— We're looking for someone. My parents.
Nylon sighed softly, as if he'd expected that answer.
— Your parents… if they're here, finding them won't be simple. Paradise is vast — and there are places where mortals were never meant to walk.
Saravia stepped forward.
— Then help us.
The angel's brief smile returned.
— I can help… but first, I need to take you somewhere safe. — He glanced around, his expression tightening slightly. — And the only theoretically safe place for mortals here… is the Divine Castle.
Daytona kept her gaze locked on him.
— And what's in that castle?
— Protection and acceptance, — Nylon replied simply, yet firmly. — It's the heart of the Celestial City, and the Divine Guard answers directly to the Archangels. There, you can request permission to search.
Martin looked at Ghost for confirmation. The old man gave a slow, almost reluctant nod.
— Seems like we don't have much choice.
Nylon turned and began to walk. The group followed.
The Path Through the Celestial City
The journey to the castle wasn't short. They crossed wide avenues paved in white and gold marble, lined with fountains spilling crystal water that shimmered with its own inner glow. Angels of varying classes passed by — some with wings unfurled, others disguised in human form — all casting curious, sometimes wary glances toward the visitors.
Martin, mouth agape, couldn't stop looking upward.
— Their wings… they're not all the same.
— Of course not, — Nylon replied without turning. — Wings reflect function and hierarchy. They're living insignias.
Daytona moved cautiously, absorbing every detail but also marking escape routes in her mind. Something deep within refused to lower its guard — this place was too perfect to be real.
Saravia, however, was visibly struggling to adapt. Her eyes darted constantly, and she stayed close to Daytona, unwilling to get lost among the crowd.
— Nylon… why does it feel like everyone's… sizing us up?
The angel smirked slightly.
— Because they are.
Approaching the Castle
After nearly an hour of walking, they stopped before a grand central avenue.
At its end stood the Divine Castle — impossible to mistake.
A colossal structure, its towers reached so high they seemed to pierce the golden firmament itself. The walls were made of something that wasn't quite stone nor metal, but a fusion of both — reflecting the sky in a mesmerizing shimmer.
Massive white-and-gold banners fluttered in the wind, while armed angelic sentinels guarded every gate.
Nylon turned to them.
— We've arrived.
Martin let out a low whistle.
— That's not a castle… that's a living monument.
Ghost kept his face stern.
— So now what?
Nylon approached the nearest gate, where two fully armored guards watched with severe eyes.
— Now… — he said, glancing over his shoulder at Daytona — you'll find out whether you truly have permission to be here.
The imaginary camera of the scene would rise slowly, capturing the enormity of the Divine Castle as its main gate began to open — revealing a light almost too radiant to behold.