Chapter 79: Turmoil
As the new moon hung upon the branches in the mortal realm, Edna returned to Heaven.
She forced herself to summon her spirits, offering a polite response to every angel who greeted her, until she finally reached her own quarters.
The moment she stepped inside, she collapsed onto the cloud-bricks as if all her strength had suddenly drained away. As she lay there, the image of Enoch—eyes closed, awaiting his fate—floated uncontrollably into her mind.
He was the one who had committed the transgression, yet she was the one who had fled in disarray.
It made no sense; she was the one who bore the spear of authority, so why did she feel such fear?
Her heart-core beat erratically, and her emotions refused to settle.
"This is wrong," she murmured, scrambling up from the floor to pace back and forth within her pavilion, her mind restless and agitated.
"Am I to knowingly commit the very sin I condemn? Think, Edna—what will *they* say about you?"
"You swore an oath before the Throne of God to reform the current state of the Powers, to set all things right again; yet now, you yourself have fallen into disorder. Is this fitting?"
"You will no longer command the respect of others; you will be the first to be cast into the Purgatory, stripped of the very dignity and duty you hold so dear."
"Aside from the gifts God bestowed upon you, what do you have left?"
"Beauty? Wisdom? Ability? You possess nothing—you ungrateful angel."
Her voice grew softer and softer as she spoke, for she realized just how familiar these words of self-admonition sounded—they were the very arguments she had once used to rebuke the Powers who had violated the sacred laws. Now that she herself had become the object of such rebuke, she felt a shame so profound she wished the earth would swallow her whole.
"No... Enoch is different from *those* people. And I am different from *those* angels."
Is that truly so?
For that is precisely what *those* angels had claimed when they were caught entangled with mortals.
They, too, had been convinced that their love was unique—and so they had loved with a desperate, all-consuming passion, their hearts torn asunder by the intensity of it all.
"The one I love is the most beautiful... the most wise... the most gentle... the most virtuous human in the mortal realm! Ours is a *true* love!"
A thousand reasons for falling in love with a human—yet the same few phrases repeated themselves endlessly, as if the mortal realm truly held an inexhaustible supply of "world's greatest" individuals for them to adore.
She pulled open the drawer where she kept her personal effects and rummaged through its contents. Sentimental, affected poetry; bracelets woven from strands of hair; rings fashioned from tobacco leaves... The space was piled high with such contraband—all items she herself had confiscated.
And amidst them lay bouquets of flowers that had long since withered...
She picked up a bouquet of dried hydrangeas, cradling them in her palm as she examined them. The angel who had originally received the flowers had imbued them with a special power—the ability to manifest the true sentiments of the giver.
Their withered state signified that the love they represented had already vanished.
"This is the depth of human affection," she murmured softly to the flowers. "It is nothing more than honeyed words used to beguile the devotion of a foolish angel."
The giver of the flowers had long since forgotten the angel they once adored; turning away without a second thought, they had sought out one of their own kind to marry and raise a family. Yet, the angel who had fallen in love with a human was left to spend the remainder of their existence mourning that lost romance. Once the binding pact was dissolved, they could only watch—powerless to intervene—as their beloved grew intimate with other humans.
For they were angels. While there certainly existed "fallen angels" who harbored malicious intent, they had long since been expunged from the celestial registry and were deemed unworthy of even being mentioned.
An angel remained an angel, through and through—until, unable to bear the weight of longing and solitude any longer, they would voluntarily choose to end their own long existence.
For a time, the Pool of Reincarnation saw a massive surge in the number of angels being reborn.
Love rarely drove an angel to *fall* into true wickedness; rather, most simply chose to end their lives within the Pool, hoping that in their next incarnation they would be spared from encountering such human scum again. This cycle repeated itself endlessly, treating both life and love as mere child's play.
Consequently, in Heaven, a romance between an angel and a human was hardly considered a heartwarming tale. On the contrary, in the eyes of most angels, it was a poison—a toxic weed that corrupted one's moral fiber. Only angels of the lowest ranks would ever stoop to such behavior.
The dramatic, earth-shattering intensity of such romances at their inception failed to evoke even a shred of pity in any other angel; as they passed by, they would offer nothing more than a single, dismissive remark:
"Look—another fool."
"Let's see how long *this one* lasts before jumping into the Pool of Reincarnation."
Edna, too, had once been one of them. Although angels do not truly *die* in the mortal sense, such acts of self-termination nonetheless had a detrimental impact on the functioning of Heaven; the voids left behind by these self-sacrificing angels could not be immediately filled by newly born spirits.
Angels who had severed their connection to their inherited celestial powers were sent to the Angelic Academy to be remade. Aside from the time required to relearn their abilities and acquire new knowledge, those who had so flagrantly abused the Pool of Reincarnation would, even upon rebirth, emerge with a rank and power far inferior to what they had possessed before. An Angel of Virtue, upon reincarnation, can rise no higher than an Angel of Power; an Angel of Power, upon reincarnation, can become only a rankless angel; and for an angel to undergo reincarnation yet again makes it nearly impossible to ever transcend their own limitations.
If the Core of the Heart is unstable, all else is in vain. Once trapped in that self-destructive, inescapable loop, the only path remaining is that of corruption and the Fall.
Consequently, Lady Gabriel exercises extremely strict discipline over the angels of the First Heaven. Indeed, she would sooner have her subordinates remain angels of the First Heaven forever than grant them permission—as she rarely does—to ascend to the ranks of Angels of Power or Angels of Virtue.
"In the First Heaven, rank holds no weight; only capability matters." These were the Archangel's exact words. Perhaps she intended to convey her impartiality—treating all equally—yet within those words lay a subtle undercurrent of disdain for the Angels of Power and their ilk.
This was not discrimination; it was simply the truth.
All of Heaven stood helpless before the utter chaos that reigned in the Second Heaven; the entirety of the celestial realm looked to Edna—the two-winged angel crafted by the very hands of God—to set things right.
Everyone sensed there was something extraordinary about her. Yet, in truth, save for that initial encounter on the very day she was born from God's hands, she had never laid eyes upon the Divine again.
Nevertheless, Metatron—her mentor—spoke these words to her:
"You were created by God—an angel fashioned specifically to govern the lawless Angels of Power. Edna, you must strive harder than any ordinary angel."
He was the Chancellor of the Celestial Kingdom, a Seraph of the Highest Heaven. As a mere Angel of Power, she might well have gone her entire life without ever catching a glimpse of an angel of such exalted rank; yet, such a being had become her teacher.
He was unsparingly strict with her, assigning her countless tasks that lay far beyond the capabilities of a standard Angel of Power. Yet, she gritted her teeth and endured them all, one by one. Unlike her contemporary, Haniya—that tearful Seraph undergoing training under the command of Michael—Edna had tempered both her body and spirit until they were harder than the very stones of the earth.
"I shall never fall in love with a human, nor shall I ever allow anyone to sway my heart." Thus did she vow before the Throne of God. Of course, God offered no response—as was the case, more often than not.
Looking back on it now, it feels as though she were merely slapping her own face.
Could it be that God, even back then, had foreseen that she would eventually break her vow?
*—Never.* From amidst the myriad silent prayers and thoughts echoing through the cosmos, the Divine Presence within the Great Cathedral received that solitary query, and with a gentle, detached motion, turned the page of the *Book of Creation* resting upon Its knees. Far too many creatures swear oaths to God every day; although their numbers have dwindled considerably of late, the sheer volume remains staggering. Even for the angels of Heaven, He cannot possibly respond to every single plea.
Any response inevitably invites misinterpretation—whether intentional or accidental, born of good will or malice—for creatures invariably twist His meaning in one way or another.
Take, for instance, the angels' frequent habit of casting themselves into the Pool of Reincarnation. Regarding this matter, He merely conveyed to Metatron and Michael His disapproval of such actions.
What value could a being possibly place on anything else if they do not even cherish the fundamental gift of life itself?
Of course, should they choose to abandon their lives, that remains their own prerogative; though He finds it displeasing, He would not intervene.
Yet the astute Metatron immediately sensed His displeasure in His passive reaction and proactively drafted a decree: "Any creature who willfully ends their own life shall never again be permitted to behold the face of God."
Finding the decree reasonable, God gave His assent; after all, the edict bore little direct relevance to Him personally—even without such a decree, He rarely granted audiences to His creations anyway.
However, by the time His divine decree had passed beyond the Great Cathedral, it had been twisted into the notion that God loathed self-destruction—a sentiment that subsequently metastasized into the belief that He detested any bonds of friendship between angels and humans.
It was Metatron who had promulgated the decree. While Metatron's initial intentions may well have been noble, even God Himself could not prevent His creations from letting their imaginations run wild.
Thus, the reputation spread far and wide that He was a meddlesome deity—one who obsessed over the romantic entanglements between angels and humans, only to ruthlessly suppress them.
"Please do not be angry," the *Book of Genesis* whispered, attempting to gently comfort its Creator. God reached out and stroked its spine in a soothing gesture.
"I am not angry. Most angels are good at heart—merely a touch naive. Surely, a guide will eventually emerge to lead them."
Light—by virtue of its inherent goodness and beauty—had earned God's divine favor; yet Fate had long since marked out every destiny in secret, and what is fated cannot be evaded, no matter how one might try to hide.
God's golden eyes swept down from the Ninth Heaven, finally coming to rest upon a specific city in the mortal realm.
"The return of the Holy Son is imminent. Whether humanity is truly worthy of My divine protection remains a matter to be tested."
Meanwhile, elsewhere, Edna was immersing herself completely within the waters of the small chapel's sacred pool.
Her brow was tightly furrowed, as if she were grappling with a profound internal conflict. "Those who take their own lives shall be cast into eternal hell, never again to behold the face of God." It was precisely when His Highness Metatron brought this decree back from the Great Cathedral—at the very moment she was promoted to the rank of Vice-Principal of the Powers, assuming the interim administration of the Second Heaven—that this message arrived.
From it, Heaven sensed God's growing displeasure toward the angels.
This apprehension was felt most acutely among the middle and upper orders of angels; they lived in constant trepidation, regarding the lower orders as mere drifting clouds in the sky. Terrified that the lower-ranking angels might inadvertently provoke the Divine wrath, they allowed internal strife to fester ceaselessly within the angelic ranks.
The Powers, accustomed to their unbridled liberty, roamed as free and unfettered as wild cranes and drifting clouds. Edna strove to steer them back onto the righteous path, urging them to align their conduct with the angels of the other Heavens. As an angel personally crafted by God's own hand—a distinction she leveraged to the fullest—she managed to keep them barely in check, yet she dared not allow her vigilance to waver for even a single instant.
"What is it that you hesitate over?"
"Where is your resolve? Where is your decisiveness?"
"Why, in this world, are there so many souls consumed by such foolish, sentimental passions?"
When humans and angels fall in love, a fleeting spark ignites within the human heart; yet, within the angel's heart, that same flame burns on—endlessly. How could such an unbalanced, inequitable fire of passion ever hope to transcend one's absolute faith in God?
"The Creator is the Heavens themselves—greater than all else in this world," she murmured softly. Her tightly furrowed brows gradually relaxed, easing ever so slightly; it was as if a rootless water-lily had finally found its anchor once more as she silently recited the sacred scriptures.
An angel's beauty is a gift from God; an angel's wisdom is a gift from God; an angel's power is a gift from God. God possesses the power to preserve the angels, just as He possesses the power to destroy them.
To be cast out of Heaven, or to voluntarily sever all ties with the mortal realm—was that truly a choice that required any deliberation?
...
Some time later—perhaps half a day—Edna emerged from the small sanctuary.
"Have you found your peace now?" an angel standing outside the Sacred Pool asked her with genuine concern.
Edna pressed her hand against her forehead and offered a muffled, indistinct reply, her entire being still saturated with the damp, misty air of the sanctuary.
She stepped out of the sanctuary's threshold, fixing her gaze—with the single eye left visible to the world—upon the ethereal, pristine night sky of the Sixth Heaven.
It was a nocturnal vista unimaginable to the mortal mind—a scene of such transcendent beauty that it was enough to make any human being forget all their earthly cares. Yet, she still could not calm herself down.
What is suffering?
"In meeting you, I felt only peace and joy."
Did Enoch claim he felt no pain only because all that suffering had been transferred onto her?
"Cunning humans," she muttered sullenly. Just as she was about to spread her wings and fly away from the Sixth Heaven, a gentle voice called out to her.
"Edna."
The Power turned around, only to see a six-winged Archangel waving at her from the terrace of the Angelic Library in the Sixth Heaven.
Edna flew down to the terrace and greeted him with affectionate familiarity.
"Lord Raphael, good day."
Raphael the Seraph—to date, the only angel ever to ascend from the rank of Cherub to that of Seraph.
His story was the aspiration of many angels; prior to his rise, an unbridgeable chasm had existed between the Seraphim and all other angelic orders.
Powers could ascend to become Virtues; Virtues could transition into Thrones; yet never before had a Cherub dared to harbor the delusion that they could break through to ascend even higher, becoming a Seraph.
Ordinary angels had long since accepted the reality that, within an angelic career, the rank of Cherub represented the absolute pinnacle—until Raphael's elevation. Only then did the angels realize that myths could, in fact, be forged.
That with sufficient effort, one could indeed be noticed by God.
The transformation from a standard angel into a Seraph was no longer a mere pipe dream—something one wouldn't even dare to imagine.
Heaven's ultimate inspirational icon had motivated countless ambitious angels; yet, newly born angels often tended to overlook Raphael's true nature—that he was, in fact, one of the Archangels born at the very dawn of Creation.
One could only say that, although Raphael held the title of Chief of the Cherubim, he harbored no fondness for administrative affairs. His image as an angel who constantly hovered on the periphery of Heaven's power structure meant he lacked the imposing gravitas typically associated with those who wield authority.
To put it another way: had it been Metatron who had undergone this entire journey—despite the similarities in their temperaments—Edna felt certain that no other angel would have dared to offer a single word of commentary, let alone hold him up as some sort of "inspirational benchmark."
The moment Lord Metatron made an appearance, even the most unruly of Thrones would instinctively tighten their wings against their bodies.
That, presumably, was what people referred to as "presence."
"What presence?" Raphael asked gently, addressing the little angel before him—one whose mind was clearly wandering, and who had blurted out the thought in a moment of absent-mindedness. "No! It's nothing at all!" Edna immediately shook her head. Although His Highness Raphael possessed neither an imposing air nor a commanding presence, she still held a deep, heartfelt respect for his vast erudition and gentle nature.
Metatron and Raphael shared a close bond; they frequently visited one another and occasionally set off together to attend the Archangel Council held in the Seventh Heaven. During those days when Edna was undergoing her grueling training under her mentor, Metatron, she had often crossed paths with Raphael.
"I heard you spent the better part of the day in the small chapel," Raphael remarked as he led her back into the library's interior. Standing before the flickering candlelight, he conjured a second chair—inviting her to sit and talk.
"Is something troubling you?"
Edna gazed at the chair; its velvet-cushioned seat looked incredibly soft, yet Raphael himself sat upon a hard, solid wooden stool.
"Thank you," she murmured softly. Only His Highness Raphael would treat her with the same tender care one might show a human female child—and though she did not truly require such coddling, she still found her eyes stinging with emotion at such warmth and thoughtfulness.
Sometimes, she could not help but indulge in a fantasy: how wonderful it would have been had the gentle Raphael been the one to mentor her instead.
Of course—once a teacher, always a teacher—she would never truly abandon her "vicious hound" of a mentor, even if he invariably relegated her to sitting on cold, hard iron benches that left her backside aching.
Soothed by Raphael's gentle inquiries, Edna felt her restless heart gradually settle back into her chest; the chaotic tangle of thoughts that had plagued her in the small chapel finally began to subside.
Raphael listened patiently, nodding occasionally but never rushing to interject, waiting until Edna had poured out her entire story.
"I cannot kill him, for the only sin he has committed is falling in love with me."
"Yet, when I resolved to strip him of his memories, I found myself utterly unable to go through with it."
"I have fallen, Your Highness," she confessed, lowering her head.
"Have you fallen in love with him?" Raphael asked. If it were merely a case of unrequited human infatuation, surely Edna would not be burdened by such a profound sense of guilt.
"Yes... I have fallen in love with him." Edna closed her eyes briefly, finally acknowledging the truth of her own heart. "I have violated the principles of righteousness. I strictly forbade other Powers from falling in love with humans, yet I myself failed to uphold that very rule."
Raphael slowly let his smile fade. Although angels are not a race known for their aptitude for deceit, those as forthright and bold as Edna are still a rarity.
"I know that I must go to the Fifth Heaven to face the Almighty's punishment; however, before I do so, there is one more thing I must accomplish," she said, her voice catching in her throat.
"By God's command, Enoch requires angelic protection. Though I do not know the reason why, I must find a replacement to take my place—at least until Lord Raziel returns—before I surrender myself for confinement."
"You have already thought everything through; why, then, do you still trouble yourself?" Raziel asked gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I don't know. I feel so lost—as if my heart has become a hollow void."
"You are a good child. God's light has always guided you, so do not be so hasty to punish yourself. Whenever you feel lost, perhaps you should simply reflect upon your original intent."
"I have already lost my original intent." Tears welled in her eyes; it was precisely because she had realized this fact that she felt such deep unease.
"I ought to restrain myself—to seal off my heart. I know this is what I must do; only in this way can I reclaim my original intent and return to the righteous path."
Yet, she could not bring herself to do it.
"I am a sinner."
"Oh, you foolish child," Raphael said, gazing at her with a gentle smile. "One's original intent is not something immutable."
"Or rather, it is not quite what you imagine it to be. What you perceive as your 'original intent' was merely a specific mindset—an ideology—shaped by the circumstances of that particular time."
"As you grow—influenced by the world around you, matured by experience, and transformed by the passage of time—that intent, too, will inevitably change its form."
A look of growing bewilderment appeared in Edna's eyes. Lord Raziel's words did not sound like those of someone who believed she had done wrong; on the contrary, it almost sounded as if he were encouraging her to pursue a romance with Enoch?