The North's greatest pride was the Magrichela Saga, an institution present in every sector of Heaven. But each region gave it its own name. In the South, it was known as SMS. In the West, WMS. And in the North — where Golka had been sent — it was called NMS.
For most angels, NMS was a sanctuary, a place where young wings grew strong and knowledge bloomed like the endless skies above. The halls echoed with laughter, the classrooms smelled of polished wood and heavenly ink, and every corner seemed alive with the innocent chatter of fledgling angels learning their first lessons about the world. To an ordinary angel, NMS was a promise of guidance, safety, and growth.
But to Golka, it was more than a school. It was a stage — a sprawling, shining stage where every action, every smile, and every whisper could be woven into her intricate plan. She walked through the main gates with deliberate grace, her long silver hair catching the light like strands of liquid moonlight, her delicate wings folded neatly behind her. Every step she took was calculated, each gesture rehearsed countless times in her mind. A teacher among angels, yet her heart beat with the cold precision of a predator stalking its prey.
Her eyes, soft and luminous, swept across the courtyard as she observed the students. They ran in pairs, chased each other in playful games, or sat in quiet clusters, reading or practicing small spells of light. Golka noted each movement, each gesture, and each expression. A casual smile here, a nervous glance there — every little detail would later become a thread in the web she was weaving.
When she reached the grand archway of the main hall, she paused, letting a gentle smile curve her lips. "First impressions matter," she whispered to herself. And in that moment, the very air seemed to respond, shimmering lightly around her presence, as if Heaven itself approved of the innocent angel before them.
The children noticed her immediately. Their chatter softened, replaced by curious, cautious glances. She knelt gracefully to meet the eyes of the smallest among them, speaking in a voice as warm as sunlight. "Welcome," she said, each word carefully measured to convey kindness without weakness. "I am here to guide you, to help you grow, and to watch over you as you learn."
Her hands, delicate and flawless, reached out to straighten a bent sleeve here, brush a stray feather there. Small acts, almost imperceptible, yet enough to win the hearts of those she approached. The students felt it — a comfort, a gentle presence — and soon, one by one, they began to approach her. They shared their worries, their small joys, and their minor grievances. A young angel sighed about missing home, another whispered about a prank gone wrong. Golka listened intently, nodding and offering a soft word of encouragement to each one, making them feel understood, making them feel safe.
"I will be more than your teacher," she told them, her voice calm and melodic. "I will be your friend." And they believed her.
As the hours passed, Golka's mind never stopped. While her voice remained gentle and warm, her thoughts were a whirlwind of strategy. Every piece of information, every small detail the children revealed, was a tool, a key that could later unlock secrets or manipulate events. Names, habits, fears, dreams — all cataloged in her mind with meticulous care. Her calm demeanor never faltered; her mask of innocence never cracked.
By evening, when the soft golden light of Heaven began to fade into the silver shimmer of the moon, Golka found a quiet corner of the courtyard. The other teachers had gone to their chambers, and the students had returned to their dormitories, leaving the grounds empty save for her. She leaned against the marble railing, her eyes tracing the silver path of moonlight as it danced across the courtyard. A soft smile appeared, but it held no warmth.
"By the time they see me for what I am… it will already be too late," she whispered, a faint shiver of satisfaction running through her. Every move she had made today had been deliberate. Every interaction carefully crafted. She had planted the first seeds of trust, the first tendrils of influence. Soon, those seeds would grow, twisting into the structures of her power.
And yet, even in this quiet moment, she remained aware of the eyes of Heaven. Every step she took, every smile she offered, was under the unseen gaze of her new peers, the governors, and the elders. Golka did not flinch. She welcomed scrutiny. For scrutiny was simply another way to learn, another way to turn the system's own strengths against itself.
She thought of Angurich, the elder who had first judged her. How easily he had been swayed by her delicate guise, her seeming fragility. How little he suspected the true mind beneath the surface. A smirk crossed her lips. Soon, he would see just how misplaced his trust had been — but not today. Today, she would remain the angel they believed her to be. Today, she would continue weaving her threads.
The night air was cool, carrying the soft scent of Heaven's gardens. Stars shimmered faintly in the sky, reflected in the polished stones of the courtyard. Golka stretched her wings slightly, feeling the subtle tension of readiness in her muscles. Every day here would be a performance, every interaction a calculated move. And she would play it perfectly, until all of Heaven's unsuspecting souls bowed to her influence without realizing it.
As she finally retreated to her chambers, she glanced back once more at the quiet courtyard, the empty benches, and the sleeping dormitories. A single thought echoed in her mind, steady and relentless: patience. Every smile, every gentle word, every carefully orchestrated gesture was a step toward her ultimate goal. The children she had charmed, the governors she would manipulate — all were pieces on a board she controlled. And by the time they realized the truth… it would already be too late.