When I first descended, the air itself seemed to tremble. A flock of pigeons broke from the rooftops in a startled rush, their silvered wings scattering like fragments of moonlight. From some unseen height the brassy wail of trumpets unfurled, not merely music but a proclamation that clung to me like a mantle. Behind me the heavens split with radiance; a river of light poured downward until the ground below was drowned in a blinding halo, my own shadow at its very heart. I lowered my gaze, willing the squalid streets to be cloaked in a trace of divinity, to let the grime drink the mercy of my arrival. The alleys reeked of smoke and long-forgotten prayers, and I had come to scour the demons that slithered there and to anoint the faithful who would bear witness to the Great Choosing. But the world betrayed my expectation. There were no supplicants, no awed multitudes, only a single figure, one silent man. He stood as though carved from the dusk itself, offering neither greeting nor breath, his presence so thin it seemed the air passed through him without disturbance. Yet his eyes, those eyes, they spoke with a wordless ache, a desperation so vast it felt older than grief. That was how I met Lucy, God's chosen messiah: the solitary soul I had been sent to guard, the man whose quiet burden would demand the salvation of an entire world.
The days bled into each other like watercolors left too long in the rain. We traveled across ruined fields where the soil still smoked from last night's purges, where the sky pulsed a bruised purple and the air tasted faintly of iron. Lucy walked ahead with the same patient stride he had worn since the hour I met him, measured, almost mechanical, the sound of his boots a steady metronome to our pilgrimage. I tried to break that rhythm. "Left or right, fearless leader?" I called as we reached a forked path. A wind curled through the broken trees and rattled their blackened branches. Lucy did not turn.
"Left it is." I muttered to myself, wings flicking in mock exasperation as I trotted to catch up. The first devil came before sunset, a lank-limbed shadow that unfurled from the mist like a nightmare discovering its own shape. I drew my spear in a single motion, light glinting off the blade as if the sun had returned just to cheer me on. "Care to handle the next one?" I teased as I lunged forward. Lucy said nothing. He simply raised a hand, and the air shivered. A whisper of white fire leapt from his palm, he crouched as i lunged to the devil that tried to jump into his embrace. The devil then would crumble into cinders that the breeze scattered like ash from a spent candle. "How's that for show-off?" I said, grinning despite myself. We fought devils like that for hours, me with the joy of movement, the thrill of feathers catching the wind; him with that unsettling, almost casual precision. And all the while his silence clung to me. It was not the silence of serenity, but of a door locked from the inside. Every joke I cast, every question I lobbed like a pebble into a still pond, sank without a ripple. By the time the stars began to burn through the evening haze, frustration coiled in my chest like an unspent arrow. I had been sent to guard him, to fight beside him, perhaps even to know him. Yet Lucy remained an enigma wrapped in his own unspoken sorrow. I looked at him across the fire we built from fallen branches, his face lit in amber and shadow, eyes fixed on some horizon I could not see. His quietness had seeped beneath my skin; it scratched at my thoughts like a parasite, feeding on my need for answers. "Lucy," I said at last, my voice softer than the night around us, "are you ever going to let me in?" He looked at me in a confused look, as his nonchalance turned into an aching silence. He then finally spoke, his lips trimbling, seen clearly as the light of fire scattered across his face. He said; "No way.. Do i deserve something like that.."
The fire popped. And in that small, stubborn silence, I felt the weight of the world we were meant to save. But my eyes averted, and looked up at him. Supposedly, we are to save the world. But would it be selfish if i were to save him first ?
For a long while we listened only to the crackle of the fire and the restless sigh of the night wind. I could almost hear his silence breathing. It was maddening, and in some strange way, it is quite magnetic. So I tried a different angle.
"Yo, Lucy.." I said lightly, twirling a twig through the flames until its tip glowed red. "You ever read comics?" The question seemed to startle him more than any ambush we'd faced. His head tilted, not sharply but with a cautious curiosity, like a deer catching an unfamiliar sound.
"…Comics?" he repeated, the single word roughened by disuse. A tiny thrill flickered in my chest. There you are, I thought. Not enthusiasm, no, that would be too much to ask, but it was the first crack in the stone wall of his quiet.
"Yeah. Panels, speech bubbles, heroes in ridiculous tights." I said, flashing a grin. "Don't tell me the Chosen Messiah of All Creation never flipped through one?"
His gaze fell to the fire, and for the first time I saw the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "I used too.." he admitted. "When I was… younger." Quite a blatant lie, he definitely still reads comics.
"Good." I jabbed the glowing twig toward him like an accusing finger. "Favorite hero? mines Judomaster."
He hesitated, as though the answer were a secret he had sworn to guard. Then, barely louder than the crackling logs, he said, "Superman."
I nearly choked on a laugh. "Seriously ? Superman, as in Clark Kent? Mister Boring Man ?" That got him. His eyes flared with something like indignation, and he actually sat a little straighter. "Oh" he groaned "Whats with everyone and calling Superman boring ? You guys keeps on repeating the sentiment that you people have become boring yourselves !"
His voice, usually so quiet it could be mistaken for thought, carried a sudden conviction that startled even him. "Besides, who the fuck is Judomaster !? No way you went all your way to name an obscure character just to sound intellectual !"
I threw my head back and laughed. An unrestrained, musical sound that startled a pair of nightbirds from a nearby tree. "Holy shit, dude !" I managed between gasps, clutching her side as if his words had physically tickled her. "Didn't know they had a krypton protector here." My laughter came in waves, rising again each time i caught sight of his earnest expression. It rang across the quiet plain, weaving through the smoke of our small fire until even the shadows seemed to lean closer to listen.
Lucy did not answer at first. He merely watched my laughter, the firelight dancing across his eyes. Then, as my laughter softened into breathless chuckles, something subtle shifted. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched the corner of his mouth, so small it might have been a trick of the flickering light. But i caught it. My laughter slowed to a gentle hum, a smile lingering on her lips as she studied him. For the briefest heartbeat, the world's heavy purpose seemed to loosen its grip. And in that fragile glow, the messiah's quiet face carried, at last, the promise of a smile.
And i couldn't get enough of it.
that smile. Even when it faded, it lingered in my mind like an afterimage burned onto the back of my eyes. Every heartbeat replayed the small, quiet curve of his lips. I wanted more. Saints forgive me, I wanted more. Before the thought could cool into sense, I was already on my feet. The night air slid against my skin, cool and thin. I unfurled my wings; their pale feathers caught the firelight and scattered it into the dark like handfuls of stars. I hesitated. This is reckless, a voice in me warned. But another louder, warmer, pressed a smile onto my face. "Wanna fly?" I said, tilting my head, my tone half-teasing, half-daring. "Like Superman?"
The words had barely left my mouth before doubt rushed in. What am I doing? He was the messiah, the one I was meant to guard, not… entertain. But Lucy rose without a word. The firelight brushed his cheek; the faint blush there looked almost unreal. He gave a small, almost shy nod. My breath caught. No turning back now. I stepped closer, the world suddenly very still. Slipping my arms around his waist, I felt the quiet tension of his body, the careful strength hidden beneath the plain fabric of his coat. "Cmon, say 'Up Up And Away !' before we fly." I whispered. "Shut up.." He replied. And then, i launched us upward. The earth fell away in a rush of wind and shadow. My wings beat a steady rhythm, each stroke lifting us higher into the ocean of night. The campfire below dwindled to a single ember, until even that was swallowed by the dark. The sky opened around us. It's vast and endless, a cathedral of stars, and for the first time, I felt his heartbeat against mine, quick and astonished, as we soared. The wind roared soft and endless around us, a hush of night and stars. I closed my eyes, letting the cold air slip across my face like a whisper of home, until a sudden heat of embarrassment flushed through me.
Idiot !!
In Heaven, wings are not toys. We are told from the first feathered beat that to soar without a meaningful purpose invites the lightest, most humiliating retribution. Not a thunderous wrath, no, Heaven is more mischievous than cruel. Instead, it sends bad luck: the sort of petty, ridiculous misfortune that stings the pride far worse than pain. A face-first trip over a pebble. A lightning bolt that just nearly kisses your halo. The kind of cosmic pratfall that makes the other angels giggle behind their hands. And here I was, spiraling through the mortal sky for… what? Entertainment !? For a boy's amusement !? For my own !? I tightened my grip on Lucy's waist and waited for the inevitable. One minute. Two. The stars wheeled overhead in patient silence.
Nothing.
Not a spark of mockery from the clouds, not even a passing gust to ruffle my dignity.
A slow, unguarded sigh slipped from me, half relief, half wonder. I opened my eyes.
Lucy's face was turned toward the heavens, arms flung wide as if to embrace the entire night. The starlight caught his features in silver, and for the first time I saw him unburdened: a wide, unrestrained smile blazing brighter than any constellation. My breath hitched. If I had opened my eyes sooner, if I had seen that smile the moment it bloomed, I would never have feared Heaven's jesting punishment. Because now I knew. That smile of his, was a meaningful reason to fly.
We would then pass through an ocean, and above the blue sea, is our reflection blurring. There, the words echoed in my head. So i tapped his shoulders and pointed at our image. "Whats that? Is it a bird?" I asked, jokingly. Which he lovely replied; "Oh? Is it a plane?" We both laughed at such idiocy, and smiled as we continued to soar.
"It's you and me, dummy."