Chapter 67: Transition
As the sky shifted from deep blue to the light of day, Metatron emerged from the Angelic Academy right on schedule.
Even after being elevated to the rank of the *Face of Heaven*—sharing the responsibility of managing Heaven's internal affairs alongside Michael—Metatron continued to reside in the Sixth Heaven.
All along, he had strived to be nothing more than an ordinary professor at the Angelic Academy, though circumstances had conspired against that wish.
Nevertheless, under his leadership, high-ranking angels began to take great pride in serving as professors at the Academy. Consequently, the burden on his shoulders imperceptibly lightened; with an abundance of teachers and professors available, he was naturally no longer required to be present at the Academy to lecture at all times.
*Raziel and the others truly possess a gift for education.* Amidst his sense of gratification, Metatron felt a faint twinge of wistfulness; fortunately, his schedule was so packed with duties that he had little time to indulge in such sentiments.
He now functioned more as an honorary dean; even the time he spent in the Sixth Heaven was largely consumed by handling official statecraft—a routine that continued until dawn, when he would proceed to the Grand Cathedral to appear before the Divine Presence, followed by a journey to the Saturnine Heaven to conduct inspections of the lower celestial realms.
It could be said that his itinerary was more demanding than that of any other angel. Michael, feeling that such a pace was overly exhausting for him, had repeatedly invited him to move to the Seventh Heaven to live alongside him—invitations Metatron had consistently declined.
"The Dean has left."
"He's at the main gate now."
"He's almost at the teleportation array."
"Wait—hold on just a moment! Don't come out yet!"
"Hold your breath!"
These hushed whispers did not escape his ears, yet Metatron maintained his usual impassive expression. He first walked over to the smaller teleportation array to retrieve the reports transmitted up from the lower heavens.
This was one of the daily tasks he had personally assigned himself; a small, golden mirror of light materialized beside his ear, automatically illuminating the text laid out before him.
As he perused the documents, his brows furrowed—a subtle shift in expression barely perceptible to the eye.
He then proceeded to the larger teleportation array. After first updating the access password for the day, he called out a single word:
"Beard."
Accompanied by a flash of golden light, his figure vanished into the teleportation array.
Not long after he had disappeared, an angel surfaced from a pool situated just a short distance from the teleportation array. He first gulped down a deep, restorative breath of air, then—his face beaming with excitement—he sprinted back toward the Academy.
Moments later, other angels arrived to open the gates for him. "Well? Did you hear that clearly?" the angel who had opened the door asked in a hushed voice.
Clearly, they were all in cahoots, plotting something together.
"I heard it!" the angel, still dripping wet, exclaimed excitedly. "It couldn't have been any clearer!"
"Then let's hurry! Before the professors catch us," several other angels emerged, whispering softly.
Flocking around the little angel who had brought the news, the whole procession flew in a grand throng toward the teleportation circle.
"If we go through here, we can reach the mortal realm—right?" one angel asked, seeking confirmation from his companions once more.
"That's right! The teleportation circle on the Sixth Heaven is a high-grade one! It can take us anywhere."
"There won't be any problems, will there?"
"As long as we don't head toward the Seventh Heaven... It's just the mortal realm, after all. If you're scared, then go back."
No one spoke another word; unable to contain their curiosity and excitement, they all fixed their gaze upon the angel who had started it all.
"Come on, say the password, Asmi!"
Under the watchful eyes of his companions, Asmi stepped into the magic circle. Puffing out his chest and holding his head high—mimicking the mannerisms of Metatron—he shouted out loudly:
"Beard!"
However, nothing happened.
"Is there something wrong with the password?" After a prolonged silence, the angels huddled together, nudging their companions' wings impatiently as they asked.
"It doesn't even fit the Dean's usual style of passwords."
"Shouldn't it be something like 'Glory,' 'Honesty,' or 'Compassion'?"
"Maybe they switched shifts, and the Dean isn't the one who set the password this time," one angel speculated.
"That wouldn't make sense either!" they interrupted his speculation. "Lord Michael's passwords are usually things like 'Justice,' 'Integrity,' 'Valor,' or 'Righteousness'..."
"And Lord Gabriel's are typically 'Purity,' 'Joy,' 'Gentleness,' or 'Kindness'..." another chimed in.
"The hardest one to guess is Lord Raphael—'Crown,' 'Spring,' 'Ark'... there's absolutely no pattern to them!"
No matter how difficult a password might be to guess, it would never be something as utterly absurd as "Beard."
Unless they had misheard, it meant they had been played for fools. m.X520xs.Com
Realizing this, their expressions changed drastically in an instant. A moment later, a piercing scream rang out as they turned their gaze toward the teleportation array; a plume of white smoke billowed from the formation, completely engulfing the figure of the angel within.
"Asmiel!" They rushed frantically toward the center of the array, but before they could reach it, the white smoke had already dissipated. There stood Asmiel, the angel, clutching his face in despair—so distraught he could barely shed a tear.
"Ah! What happened? You've grown a face full of whiskers!"
"The whiskers will continue to grow ceaselessly for seven days." *Thump!* Metatron's figure materialized out of thin air.
"Dean!" The angels were startled. They attempted to back away, but were immediately rounded up by an Archangel standing behind them; not a single one escaped—they were all hauled right back.
Asmiel, however, made no attempt to flee. Tugging at his newly grown whiskers, he wailed at Metatron, "I'm sorry! I was wrong, Dean!"
"Consider this your punishment," Metatron stated coolly. He then turned his gaze toward the newly arrived Archangel. "I leave this place in your hands, Cupid."
"Yes, sir. Safe travels." Cupid respectfully watched as Metatron stepped into the teleportation array. A flash of ethereal light swept through the air, and the surroundings settled back into silence.
Knowing that Metatron had truly departed this time, he finally turned his attention to the circle of young angels standing nearby.
With their wings tucked tightly against their bodies, they huddled together like a flock of quails, gazing up at him with timid, wide eyes.
"You little rascals! Don't you realize that the mortal realm is merely a playground we've long since outgrown?" He tapped the head of the angel with the whiskers, speaking with the exasperated tone of someone disappointed in a protégé who fails to live up to their potential.
"But... but we heard that the mortal realm was really fun..." one little angel muttered under his breath, sounding rather unconvinced by Cupid's assessment.
Upon hearing this, Cupid rolled up his sleeves and delivered a sharp rap on the little angel's head.
"Have you finished your homework?"
"Have you mastered your lessons in Astromancy?"
"Are you absolutely certain you won't get yourselves lost the moment you step into the mortal realm?"
Seeing that he was growing angry, the angels fell silent.
"You little runts... you don't know the first thing about anything." His gaze drifted down to his own arm, where a hideous scar lay half-hidden beneath his sleeve. He pulled his sleeve down further, covering the mark completely and concealing it from view. "It's so wonderful here in the Academy—why on earth would you want to leave?"
"How lovely it is to be a little angel; why would anyone want to grow up?"
A flicker of melancholy crossed the bright blue eyes, only to vanish just as quickly.
"Come along, you lot. Follow me to the detention room—you've got some serious reflecting to do."
In the Crystal Heaven, Metatron held a freshly drafted report, preparing to present it to the Almighty. It detailed a recent, troubling trend: an increasing number of angels were descending to the mortal realm—and failing to return.
En route, his thoughts remained fixed on the Angelic Academy.
If even the angels within the Academy were behaving this way, how much worse must the situation be among those who already possessed the authority to travel freely between the mortal and celestial realms?
The Powers—angels who currently lacked a central leader—were proving to be the most problematic of all.
When God had previously instructed the angels to take a more active interest in the mortal realm, His intentions had been entirely benevolent.
Yet, this situation was fast becoming a dangerous one...
Did humanity possess some inexplicable allure?
Metatron arrived at the Grand Cathedral, only to see Michael emerging from within, wearing an expression of utter bewilderment; evidently, he had just concluded an audience with the Divine.
"Your Highness," Metatron greeted him coolly.
"Meta—you're here," Michael acknowledged with a nod, though his expression remained one of profound perplexity.
"You appear rather troubled?"
"Indeed," Michael sighed, stretching out a long arm to rest his hand upon Metatron's shoulder. The brown-haired Seraph glanced down at his shoulder, feeling the gesture was perhaps a touch too familiar.
Nevertheless, he did not pull away.
"Have you heard the news? The business regarding Hell?"
"Mm." Metatron nodded. Although Heaven, under God's divine protection, was impervious to external corruption, it was not entirely hermetically sealed; angels traveling to the mortal realm inevitably brought back—and spread—tidbits of news from beyond the celestial sphere.
Lucifer's recent establishment of the "Seven Deadly Sins"—and his subsequent conscription of Demon Kings from across the Three Realms—was, naturally, the hottest topic of conversation in Heaven at the moment.
"I was, in fact, preparing to seek you out in the Saturnian Heaven shortly to discuss this very matter," he paused. "It seems, however, that you received the news immediately and have already reported it to our Lord."
"What do you suppose he's playing at?" Michael asked, still utterly baffled. "You mean...?"
"Lucifer, of course!" he retorted with a hint of exasperation. "The Three Realms! Does he actually think anyone from Heaven would run off to Hell just to become one of the Seven Deadly Sins?"
Upon hearing this, Metatron tucked his hands into his sleeves and spoke in a measured, unhurried tone.
"Indeed. Regardless of who it is, everyone possesses the qualifications to run for the position—a rather intriguing move," he said, fixing his gaze on Michael. "Are you implying that you, too, are included among them?"
Michael fell silent, but now it was Metatron who pressed him for an answer.
"Surely you wouldn't behave this way even in the presence of Our God... would you?"
He suspected that Lucifer might employ various schemes to entice and lure Michael down to Hell.
Michael's crimson eyes darted away; he dared not meet Metatron's gaze. Metatron closed his eyes briefly, wearing an expression of utter helplessness.
"You're trying to say I'm deluding myself, aren't you? It's fine—just say it plainly! I can take it!" Michael declared.
"Your Highness, as the Vice-Regent of Heaven, there is no need for you to... engage in such self-deprecation," Metatron said, opening his eyes once more. He then continued, "In that case, what was Our God's reaction?"
"God didn't say much; He simply instructed me to pay it no mind." As he spoke of God, the expression on Michael's face grew significantly more solemn.
Metatron's heart settled with relief; given God's response, it was clear He was fully aware of everything.
As long as God remained safe and Heaven remained at peace, all would be well.
He advised Michael not to let his mind wander, then watched him depart before finally entering the Grand Cathedral.
The moment he stepped inside, the first thing he saw was a towering tree—its leaves lush and green, its buds tender and fresh. If trees could be judged by their appearance, this one would undoubtedly be the most handsome of them all.
The World Tree had grown significantly; it was no longer suited to reside within the confines of the Temple proper. God had specially designated a new plot of land for it, allowing it to freely draw upon the spiritual essence of the Crystal Heaven.
Metatron approached the divine tree to observe it up close, then offered it a concentrated orb of angelic energy. The World Tree absorbed it without the slightest hesitation; once it had finished, it gave his leg a playful nudge with one of its branches—a clear signal that it wanted a little more. Seeing how much the World Tree enjoyed the treat, Meta couldn't help but smile; a ball of light glowed once more in his hand, only for a majestic yet aloof voice to ring out right beside his ear.
"There is no need to feed it any longer; it has eaten quite enough already."
The World Tree shook its branches—looking as if it had suffered a crushing blow, yet also appearing somewhat indignant.
It was bad enough that God had cast it out for growing too large; but to forbid it from eating its fill even *after* being cast out? That was simply too much!
"My Lord." Unaware of the history between the World Tree and the Deity, Metatron bowed reverently toward the empty air.
"Meta." As the Deity spoke the name, the tone became perceptibly gentler. "Come in."
The doors to the Divine Temple slowly parted. Before Meta had even drawn near, he sensed that the atmosphere within was different than usual—surging with a strange, sacred aura.
This aura was as faint as moonlight, imbued with a profound sense of tranquility and grace.
"Oh?"
Perhaps it was merely his imagination, but the moment Meta stepped into the Temple, he heard a faint sound—one that resembled the Deity expressing surprise.
But how could the Deity ever be surprised?
The Deity was creating an angel.
Upon his arrival, Metatron witnessed the very final moments of the angel's birth.
He paused in momentary astonishment, then felt a surge of joy welling up from deep within his heart.
For it had been a very long time since the Deity had personally created an angel with His own hands.
Light coalesced, taking shape to form the angel's body, wings, and features.
It was a female angel.
Her eyes were closed; her body, swathed in her wings, revealed only a pair of slender legs. Had any human been present, they would have immediately recognized that she bore an exact resemblance to Awan—the daughter of Adam and Eve.
The angel opened her eyes. Gazing upon the Deity standing before her, her eyes were filled with an expression of pure, radiant innocence.
"This is Edna, an Angel of Authority. She may serve as the interim leader of the Angels of Authority; take her with you." The Deity gestured toward the angel as He spoke—clearly, even before Metatron's arrival, the Deity had already been aware of the difficulties he faced.
Metatron bowed his head once more and led the newly born Angel of Authority away. From His throne, the Deity watched their retreating figures, a lingering trace of doubt still visible in His eyes. God loved Awan's purity and kindness, and in her image created Edna, the chief of the Archangels.
However, Edna's personality was not the tranquil and gentle one he desired; instead, she was as forthright as Awan's sister, Akliman.
The image of Akliman floated into God's mind, and his brow relaxed.
Well, it's not necessarily a bad thing.
If she's to be the chief of the Archangels, her personality should be somewhat assertive.
(You provided the author Danmu's [Hebrew Mythology]: The arduous process of a world's formation.)