Chapter 37: The World
A teleportation array devoid of divine power functions much like a sealed tube; stripped of its resplendent divine radiance, it serves merely as a conduit leading to the upper heavens. Gabriel could rely solely on her own strength to ascend.
She gazed outward through the colorless, transparent protective shield, beholding only the desolate and bleak landscape of the Eighth Heaven.
In her memory, the Eighth Heaven had always been a place of howling, fierce winds.
There was nothing here—not even clouds existed. The ambient particles of light were far more formidable than those in the Seventh Heaven, imbued with an aura of lethal severity that rendered long-term survival impossible for any being.
In a sense, the hostility of this environment rivaled that of Hell itself.
Such was Divine Might—capable of effortlessly shredding even the powerful wings of an angel.
Yet, the specific region through which Gabriel was currently soaring was utterly calm and tranquil. Storms raged in the distance, but she felt certain that even if she were to inadvertently stray beyond the confines of this protective shield, she would remain unharmed.
Was it because of humans?
God frequently summoned humans; had He, therefore, neutralized the dangers within this specific zone solely to safeguard their fragile mortal bodies?
No—humans could not fly.
If His intent had been merely to accommodate humans, there would have been no need for God to clear the skies across this entire expanse of heaven.
Perhaps, then, it was simply because He did not wish to harm His angels. A bittersweet ache welled up within her heart.
God still cared for His angels.
The surging tides of anger and agitation that had roiled within her gradually subsided during her ascent. By the time the majestic palace of the Crystal Heaven loomed into view, her heart had attained a profound stillness.
"My God, Gabriel requests an audience!"
Yet, much like the teleportation array, the gates of the Great Cathedral remained unresponsive.
It was inconceivable that God was unaware of her arrival in the Crystal Heaven; did He simply not wish to see her?
She stood outside the sanctuary for a time, but ultimately resolved to enter regardless.
With her lips set in a firm line, she folded her wings and advanced slowly toward the gates of the Holy Temple. She then pressed her palms against the cool, smooth surface of the doors, sensing the rhythm of her heart-core—her very essence—beating with an intensity unlike any she had felt before.
Her actions amounted to nothing less than a direct challenge to God's authority. From the depths of her being, she felt a confluence of emotions—fear, trepidation, exhilaration, and tension—yet of all the sensations coursing through her, regret was conspicuously absent. Gabriel knew herself well: if she did not resolve this lingering matter once and for all, she would find herself standing here hesitating again the next time.
In truth, God had no habit of locking the doors; it was simply that the angels were so dutiful that they typically waited for God to open the doors for them before entering. Thus, when Gabriel gave the Great Cathedral's doors a push, they swung open immediately.
She had not expected to gain entry to this sacred sanctuary so easily; yet, she did not let this ease lull her into complacency. On the contrary, from the very moment she stepped into the Holy Temple, a sense of imminent danger—a warning—had not ceased for an instant.
It was the peril of being annihilated at any moment.
"The Deity is about to enter seclusion; unless the matter is urgent, do not disturb," she recalled the Arch-Seraph's words.
In recent years, God had dwelt alone within the Great Cathedral; every so often, this period of seclusion would occur—a routine to which the angels had grown accustomed.
Occasionally, they would wonder: what exactly did God do while in seclusion?
Why was God so adamant about never allowing angels to attend nearby?
Once she stepped into the inner sanctum, she finally understood why.
Unlike usual, the entire sanctuary was steeped in shadow—illuminated by a light barely brighter than that of the moonlit sky.
God sat upon the throne, resting a cheek against a hand, eyes closed in light slumber. Long silver hair cascaded down from the seat of divinity, winding across the floor like a flowing river of faint, ethereal moonlight.
Stripped of the concealing veil of Holy Light, Gabriel beheld a beauty beyond all description—the most sublime beauty in all of creation.
She held her breath, gazing up at the youthful Heavenly Father above, utterly entranced.
Rumors circulated among the angels that Adam had been molded by God in God's own image; yet, save for that wild, unkempt mane of silver hair, how could any mere human ever hope to be compared to the True Deity?
She finally understood why God spent the days cloaked in Holy Light, and why God preferred to dwell in solitude within the Great Cathedral.
A profound silence reigned within the Great Cathedral, broken only by the sound of Gabriel's own rapid, labored breathing.
Such was the beauty of God—a beauty against which no created being could possibly stand immune.
Slowly, the golden eyes opened—cold, breathtakingly beautiful, and utterly mesmerizing.
Within the sanctuary, the very fabric of reality seemed to invert; the encroaching darkness receded swiftly as God's eyes opened, though true light did not immediately descend. Gabriel found herself gazing, transfixed, into those golden depths. It gazed upon itself; Gabriel felt as though she were about to be drawn inside it, and then she realized she truly had taken flight.
She transformed into particles of light, drawn by the gaze of God into the Primal World.
God remained in a deep slumber; the Sanctuary reverted once more to a realm of darkness, bearing not the slightest trace that an angel had ever visited.
The so-called Primal World is the primordial realm—a small pocket of chaos left behind by God in the wake of Creation.
Nothing exists here; yet, it is only within this place that God can truly cast aside all distractions and view the world through the lens of absolute divinity.
This is the true—and exclusively divine—domain, accessible to God alone.
Transformed into particles of light, Gabriel drifted through this dark cosmos, indistinguishable from the dust motes floating alongside her.
Time held no meaning here; she knew not how long she had drifted, feeling only like a green leaf fallen into the sea—adrift in a boundless ocean, yearning to reach the distant shore.
'Where is this place?'
"This is the Primal World."
A voice—holy and majestic—descended from above her, carrying with it a palpable trace of reproach and displeasure. Gabriel recognized it as the voice of God, yet she found herself too consumed by emotion to feel any fear.
'My God!' she cried out in ecstasy; yet, particles of light possess no mouths, and thus could utter no sound.
'Where are You?!' She spun frantically in place, searching in vain, until the detached voice spoke once more:
"I am everywhere." As God's words rang out, Gabriel saw a glimmer of white light ignite within the darkness. The figure of God emerged from that radiance, swiftly approaching her—only to walk right past her.
'God! I am right here!' she cried out in desperation. Yet, even if she were to scream until her voice gave out, there was no guarantee God would pause for her sake—and she possessed no voice to give out in the first place. After a moment of frantic helplessness, Gabriel could do nothing but strive to keep pace with God's strides.
The dark world lay in deathly silence; God's figure served as the sole beacon—yet He was neither light, nor darkness.
He came to a halt before a colossal tree—a tree seemingly without roots, or perhaps so vast that its roots lay hidden beyond the reach of sight.
The World Tree within the Great Sanctuary was, in truth, but a projection of this very tree—cast from the Primal World into the realm beyond. Having finally managed to catch up, Gabriel discovered that God's form was entwined with countless threads—and every single one of them was ceaselessly multiplying and lengthening with each passing moment.
"What is this?" She gazed upon the scene in awe and trepidation, only to see God pluck a few of the threads from His own body and drape them over a tree.
She leaned in to examine the threads more closely; suddenly, she glimpsed a familiar face within them and froze in astonishment.
*Is that Lilith?*
The first half of the thread that revealed Lilith's image glowed with radiance, while the latter half was steeped in profound darkness.
In the luminous section, she beheld Lilith as she once was in Heaven—smiling with captivating grace. Then, in the shadowy section, she witnessed the black-haired Fallen Angel severing the heads of the demons who had tormented her, and feasting upon their very brains.
"Is this... Lilith's destiny?!"
"Your insight is commendable." God cast a look of approval upon the little particle of light. Among the ranks of the Seraphim, Gabriel's aptitude was generally considered merely average—otherwise, God would not have assigned her the stewardship of only the Moon and Mercury. He had not expected her to possess such depth of perception.
"I already know the purpose of your visit," God spoke softly. "All things inherently possess their own missions."
"Lilith formed a bond with Adam; it was her destiny to share a connection with humanity."
"Now, with that auspicious bond shattered, only ill-fated ties remain."
Lilith, the Witch of the Night—a demon who seduces mankind and strangles infants in their cradles.
God gently touched the thread of destiny belonging to Lilith, then cast it far away, lest it sully the pristine white threads surrounding it.
All things emerge from the Void, and to the Void they eventually return; only God stands watch over this world, welcoming new transformations time and time again.
Good destinies, ill destinies—every change brings forth consequences that lie beyond all expectation.
Following God through the boundless Void, Gabriel beheld the distant future: the world's ultimate end, its destruction, and the solitary, majestic figure of the Creator God standing amidst it all.
She realized exactly where she stood in that moment.
This was the world as seen through the eyes of God.
Beneath such grandeur, all living beings appeared so utterly minuscule. God is an eternally existing consciousness; though all creation refers to Him as the God of Light, He is, in truth, a Sovereign independent of both darkness and light. How, then, could He be accused of harboring any partiality?
It is simply that the angels are good—better, indeed, than the demons—and so God favors the angels.
And because humans are good—even better than the angels—God favors the humans.
How, then, could she harbor jealousy simply because God treats humans with greater kindness than He does the angels?
God remains God, always and forever; yet, in this moment, the self-centeredness of His creations appears so utterly laughable and petty.
Yet, in this line of thought, she had swung to the opposite extreme—that of excessive humility.
Sensing the feelings of inferiority and sorrow stirring within Gabriel's heart, God reached out His hand, allowing the particle of light to settle into His palm, and walked with her through the primordial world.
God spoke to her of the events that transpired at the very dawn of creation.
"In that time, the chaotic void held nothing but light and darkness." As God spoke, a mass of light—illuminating the void—and a mass of darkness—seemingly capable of absorbing that very light—manifested within the emptiness.
They clashed against one another, gradually tearing loose fragments of debris that drifted through the void.
Gabriel gazed at these fragments—which grew ever more numerous—wondering what they could be.
"These are sins," God said. "Impurities born from the intertwining of light and darkness. Should they accumulate in excess, they would destabilize the world, filling it with negative forces."
"Is this, then, the mission of humanity? And what comes after? What will they eventually become?" Gabriel asked, recalling that humans had been fashioned from the very soil of sin.
"They shall multiply across the face of the earth, eventually spreading to every last corner of the mortal realm. There, they shall cleanse the world of its sins, and in doing so, transform once more into pure spiritual entities."
"Pure spiritual entities?" Gabriel repeated, for she remembered that humans possessed physical bodies.
"Humans differ from angels or demons; they are not solely spiritual beings. Their bodies and their spirits exist as two distinct entities. When their sins pass away along with their mortal flesh, their spirits shall ascend to Heaven."
This was the solution God had devised—the ultimate remedy for the healing of the world.
"Does this mean that Adam, too, will eventually become an angel—one of our own companions?" Gabriel found this notion difficult to accept. How could humans be so blessed—to simply journey through the mortal realm, and once their bodies returned to dust, be welcomed as members of their celestial ranks? "No," God denied. Yet, before Gabriel could breathe a sigh of relief, He continued, "Adam was born bearing the burden of the Messiah. When he has matured sufficiently to purge the sins of the world—when the balance between Light and Darkness is restored—I shall ordain him as the Holy Son, the Sovereign of the Kingdom of Heaven."
"Then... what are *we*?" Gabriel asked, stunned. In this cosmic struggle to balance Light and Darkness, where, then, did the angels stand?
"There," God replied, pointing toward the swirling mass of Light. "Sin was born of the union between angels, demons, and spirits alike."
"Yet it is humanity that has shouldered the burden of it all for us..." she murmured. "You should have told us."
Had they known this was the truth, they would surely have treated Adam with greater kindness.
"Gabriel is willing to share in God's burdens." A fiery, incandescent glow flared from God's palm, coalescing into the form of a female angel who knelt within His open hand.
In this primordial realm, she appeared so diminutive—smaller, even, than God's own finger.
"I ask only this: do not forsake the angels," she pleaded, gazing up at God's face. "You would never abandon us... would You?"
God offered no reply. The vast, boundless cosmos was ever-shifting and unpredictable; it could bear the weight of no such word as "forever."
Yet the angel continued to gaze upon Him with unyielding tenacity. Under the unwavering intensity of her stare, God finally relented.
Gabriel's vision blurred for a moment; when it cleared, she once again beheld the familiar grandeur of the Great Cathedral—though God's figure was no longer seated upon the Throne.
"So long as you do not fall, the angels shall remain by My side."
God's voice resounded from the chaotic void—a voice at once infinitely majestic and infinitely gentle.
The angels shall remain by God's side.
Gabriel bowed low toward the Throne in deep reverence. When she lifted her head once more, her face was streaked with tears, yet her eyes shone with a clarity and resolve she had never known before.
To see as God sees; to think as God thinks.
From this moment forth, she had truly come into her own as the Archangel.
[Hebrew Mythology] The Arduous Chronicle of a World's Upbringing — by Dan Mu'ai