Aiwass's pupils trembled violently.
He instinctively reached out his hand, as though trying to grasp something.
But even Aiwass himself did not know what he would say once he caught hold of it.
That kind of feeling was akin to knocking over a glass; despite knowing it could no longer be saved, the hand still moved instinctively.
Lucifer was, after all, a fleeting thought, merely a tiny fragment cut from a complete soul. To sustain preservation of this scale for so long was already a feat—one that had clearly reached its limit.
To preserve an entire fragment of a torn-apart space-time for thousands of years—such a feat was likely only possible because the events here represented both an "error" and a "taboo"...
"...Alright."
Aiwass softly answered the void, "I will remember this."
As though responding to his words, the six golden-edged white wings on the ground rose into the air—
