The Jade Palace thrummed with a cutting silence, broken only by the ragged gasps of Kaelith, the shattered angel sprawled at its center. The white marble, veined with turquoise like frozen rivers, reflected the flickering glow of celestial torches, but the air was heavy, thick as an invisible canvas woven with scents of fresh jasmine, damp earth, and the metallic crackle of ozone heralding dormant storms. His broken wings hung like tattered rags, golden feathers scattered across the floor like wilted petals after a tempest. His celestial armor, cracked and spattered with crimson blood, seemed an echo of his fractured pride. Lyria loomed over him, her boot pressed into his back, lightning dancing between her fingers like serpents eager to strike. The envoy of the Radiant Sky Sect raised his head with an effort that made his bones creak, his eyes clouded with pain but alight with a smoldering spark of divine defiance.
My daughters, the Deities, formed a semicircle around the fallen angel, their presences like beacons in the hall's dimness: Seraphine, a turquoise river whispering seductive promises; Elysia, a serene dawn containing oceans of light; Ashka, an untamed flame crackling with restrained fury; Veyra, a silver sword sharpened by justice; Zahara, an obsidian beast with claws that tore the air; Nyxara, a lethal shadow moving like a deadly whisper; and Lyria, a living lightning bolt slicing through space with her icy laughter. Behind them, my throne of jade and gold rose imposingly, its carved vines pulsing with a rhythm that echoed in my chest, a reverberation of my own fractured heart.
Lyria raised her hand, lightning clotting in her palm like an electric scythe, her frigid smile promising a thunderclap that would shatter flesh and bone. "Your wings are mine, you winged rat," she hissed, her voice slicing the air like a whip. "I'll pluck them feather by feather and weave a crown with them. What do you think, sisters? A trophy for the Garden?"
Zahara growled, her claws scraping the marble with a screech that raised goosebumps. "Better yet, let's use them to mop up the blood I'm about to spill," she roared, her tail lashing the air with a sharp crack. "Leave him to me, Lyria. I want to smell his fear."
Ashka laughed, a sound like embers popping in a bonfire. "Fear? This sack of feathers doesn't know what fear is yet," she said, spreading her fiery wings until the heat filled the space like a scorching wave. "Give me five minutes, Father, and I'll have him begging for his extinguished light."
Veyra raised her spear, its metal gleaming with celestial runes that seemed to whisper a war chant. "Silence, all of you," she cut in, her tone cold and precise as the edge of her weapon. "He's not a toy. He's an enemy. If Father wants him dead, I'll run him through right now."
Seraphine glided forward, her liquid dress rippling like an enraged river. "Not so fast, Veyra," she whispered, her voice a hypnotic song that enveloped the angel like a treacherous current. "We could drown him in his own arrogance first. It'd be… poetic."
Nyxara said nothing. She simply melted into the shadows, reappearing behind Kaelith with a dagger in hand, its blade grazing the nape of his neck. Her cold breath made his skin prickle, and when she spoke, her voice was a lethal whisper: "One clean cut, Father. Just say the word."
Only Elysia remained still, her wings folded, her light serene like a beacon in the storm. Her golden eyes met Kaelith's, and though she didn't speak, her silence was a weight that seemed to hold her sisters' fury in check.
Kaelith, with a gasp that shook his broken shoulders, lifted his head and fixed his gaze on Elysia. "What's someone like you," he panted, his voice trembling but sharp as shattered crystal, "a light from the Plane of Lesser Gods, doing in this… this nest of shadows?" His eyes slid to me, heavy with disgust. "With a man so vile? A king of scraps who reeks of blood and betrayal?"
The hall erupted in visceral chaos. Lyria snarled, her boot pressing harder until Kaelith let out a choked groan. "How dare you, you filthy insect!" she roared, her voice a thunderclap that shook the crystalline pillars. Her blue hair crackled, sparks leaping like a fractured sky. "You speak of my Father as if your light means anything here! I'll fry you until your feathers smell of ash and your gods weep for you!"
Zahara lunged forward with a feral roar, her fangs glinting in the light. "I'll rip your wings off and chew them while you bleed out!" she bellowed, her claws raking the floor with a sound of pure, primal instinct. "No one insults Father and lives to tell the tale!"
Ashka crossed her arms, her fiery wings spreading wider, the air trembling with her heat. "Vile?" she hissed, her voice burning like red-hot coals. "He gave us life, you winged scum! You're nothing but an echo of dust waiting for my flame to snuff you out!"
Veyra took a firm step, her spear flashing with runes that seemed to pulse with her restrained fury. "Your tongue is an insult to this Garden," she said, her tone cold and cutting as a freshly honed blade. "One more move, and I'll skewer you like a beast in a slaughterhouse. Pray to your gods, if they even hear you."
Seraphine tilted her head, her smile soft but laced with danger. "You won't tarnish his name," she whispered, her voice a song that promised to drown the angel in his own arrogance. "I'll drag you to the bottom of my river before you finish speaking, little messenger."
Nyxara pressed her dagger a fraction deeper, a trickle of golden blood running down Kaelith's neck. "Speak again," she murmured, her tone so soft it was chilling, "and I'll cut your tongue out before Father decides what to do with you."
Elysia raised a hand, her light pulsing gently. "Enough," she said, her voice firm but calm, a dawn trying to pierce the storm. "There's no need. He's wounded. Let him speak."
Lyria spun toward her, eyes blazing with lightning. "Speak?" she spat, incredulous. "This sack of feathers insulted Father! I'm going to tear his wings off and hang them on the gates as a warning!"
Zahara laughed, a guttural sound that echoed through the hall. "I say we share him. One wing for Lyria, one for me. The rest, I'll trample."
Ashka grinned, her teeth gleaming like embers. "Save a piece for me. I want to see him burn."
I, from the throne, watched with a calm that chilled the blood, my fingers gripping the jade, nails scraping the carved vines until a low whistle escaped my lips. It was a sharp, eerie sound, an invisible blade that sliced through the chaos as if the world itself held its breath. My daughters froze instantly, their gazes turning to me, the hall suspended in an expectant silence that vibrated with the echo of my presence.
"Gods?" Kaelith's word echoed in my head like a funeral drum, quickening my pulse as the world around me blurred. I snapped back to myself, to the whirlwind of my mind, as the whistle faded in my throat. Are there gods? My heart beat with a strange rhythm, a cadence that surged through my blood. I saw Lira again: her white dress soaked in red, her hands trembling as I tried to hold her, the sky mute above us, an empty canvas laughing at my screams. Gods. Beings on distant thrones, deaf to a broken father's pleas, blind to a child's fading cries in my arms.
The angel was still talking, his voice a distant buzz I barely registered. My eyes locked on him, but I didn't really see him; I saw the void, the silence of the cosmos that had betrayed me. "Gods?" I whispered, and the sound came out as a whistle, soft but chilling, a wind heralding the storm. My daughters were furious, their voices a chorus of rage defending my name, but my mind was elsewhere, caught in a dark epiphany growing like a living shadow.
I rose, my gray robe billowing like raven wings, and advanced toward Kaelith with steps that echoed like a war drum. The air around me seemed to bend, charged with the weight of my aura: a maelstrom of pain, genius, and dark ambition. "Listen well, little messenger," I began, my voice low and sharp, each word carved with surgical precision. "I watched my Lira die under a sky that didn't flinch. Her hands trembled in mine, her breath broke screaming my name, and the gods… where were they? Silence. A silence that laughed as her light faded in my arms. The order they preach is a farce, a blindfold for fools begging hope at empty altars."
I leaned toward him, so close the angel felt the breath of my pain on his face. "I don't need gods," I hissed, my tone dripping with poetic venom. "The cosmos is chaos in a mask, a game of thrones that devours its own and spits out their remains. But I… I am the whistle that cuts the night, the judge who doesn't tremble, the executioner who doesn't forgive. I am the wolf prowling in the shadows, the messiah dancing on the ashes of their broken temples, the echo that will make the heavens quake until the silence shatters."
Lyria lowered her hand, the lightning dissipating with a spark, and looked at me with a mix of awe and delight. "That's poetry, Father," she said, her voice vibrating with admiration. "Let me tear his wings off to rhyme with your song. It'll be a perfect verse."
Zahara growled, stepping forward. "Or let me rip out his heart," she roared, her claws flexing. "I want to feel it beat as I offer it to you."
Ashka laughed, her wings sparking. "I say we burn him and use his ashes to paint the throne. A gift worthy of you, Father."
"Not so fast, my storms," I murmured, raising a hand without breaking eye contact with Kaelith. "This angel has a purpose."
Elysia stepped forward, her light clashing with the darkness enveloping me. "Father," she said, her voice firm but sweet as a dawn, "don't turn your pain into a war against everything. This angel isn't your enemy. He could be a bridge, a messenger."
I turned to her, my eyes blazing with a dark fire. "A bridge?" I repeated, my laugh a dry echo that cut like glass. "To what, Elysia? More empty promises? Gods who watch from their towers and never stoop to dirty their hands?" I paused, my gaze sweeping over my daughters, each a fragment of my fractured soul. "I won't beg at their thrones. But…" I turned back to Kaelith, my smile twisting into a sharp grimace. "You, winged rat, have a use. Not for Lira—she's mine, and Elysia will bring her to me—but for them." I gestured broadly at the Deities, my robe billowing like a war banner. "Your sect knows the planes, the secrets of the cosmic weave. I want their maps, their keys, their knowledge. Bring them to me, and your wings stay attached to your back."
Kaelith swallowed hard, fear and confusion warring in his eyes. "Knowledge?" he gasped, his voice trembling. "For what? What are you planning, heretic?"
I whistled again, a sound that chilled the blood, and straightened, my shadow swallowing the angel's light. "I plan what gods fear to dream," I said, my voice resounding like a dirge. "An order without crowns, a world where chaos kneels to me. No more mute heavens, no altars ignoring the cries of the just. You'll carry my message to your sect: the Eternal Garden doesn't negotiate—it demands. Bring me what I ask, or your light will be the first to fade under my gospel."
Ashka laughed, a sound like crackling embers. "See, winged rat? No escape. You serve, or you burn."
Zahara growled, baring sharp fangs. "I say we gut him now and use his feathers as a trophy."
"No," Veyra cut in, her spear still raised. "Father wants him alive. For now."
Seraphine tilted her head, her voice a liquid whisper. "A messenger with broken wings… what delicious irony."
Nyxara slid her dagger back into its sheath, her smile barely visible in the shadows. "If he fails, I'll hunt him. It'll be a fun game."
Elysia frowned, a flicker of doubt crossing her golden eyes. "Father, this isn't—"
"Silence," I cut in, my tone cold but laden with an authority that brooked no argument. "You gave me hope, Elysia, and for that, I listen to you. But my justice doesn't wait." My words were a blade, and I saw her light falter, her eyes clouding with a shadow she didn't deserve. The knot in my chest tightened. She wasn't the mute sky that had betrayed me. She was my light, my creation.
I paused, my breath trembling, and turned to her fully. "Elysia," I murmured, my voice softening like a stream after a storm. I took a step toward her, extending a trembling hand. She looked up, her wings folding slightly, and in her eyes shone a mix of surprise and longing. I took her hand gently, her skin warm against my rough palm, and guided her to the throne. I sat, the jade cold beneath me, and with a tender gesture pulled her onto my lap. She let herself be drawn, her body light as a dawn, and settled against me, her head resting on my chest.
My fingers found her white hair, soft as snow under the sun, and I stroked it with a reverence I hadn't felt in years. "I'm sorry, little one," I whispered, my voice breaking as I leaned my face toward her. "I spoke harshly to my Elysia, and you didn't deserve it. Daddy's sorry. I let my pain carry me away, and it's not your fault. Never you." I pressed a kiss to her crown, my lips trembling against her hair, and the scent of light and flowers filled my senses.
Elysia looked up, her golden eyes glowing with a warmth that pierced me. "Your words don't hurt me, Father," she said, her voice a serene whisper that calmed the chaos in my soul. She placed a hand on my cheek, her fingers soft against my weathered skin. "I don't care if you choose to burn the world or save it. I just don't want to lose you." Her tone was firm, but there was a tremor in it, an echo of vulnerability that struck me like lightning. In her eyes, I saw a sickly love, an obsessive devotion that mirrored my own.
I hugged her closer, my arm encircling her with a strength that was both protection and apology. "You won't lose me," I promised, my voice low but charged with an oath that echoed through the hall. "You're my light, Elysia. All of you are."
A gasp sliced the air. Kaelith, still under Lyria's boot, stared at me in shock. "What… what is this?" he stammered, his voice trembling. "Her… a divine light, a guardian of the Plane of Gods… acting like a spoiled child? With you?"
Lyria laughed, a chilling sound that rang like thunder. "Surprised, winged rat?" she said, pressing her boot until Kaelith groaned. "She's our sister, and he's our Father. Your light doesn't know what it means to be loved."
Zahara stalked closer, her tail slamming the floor with an impatient rhythm. "Love?" she growled, her eyes glinting with mockery. "This is power, angel. Power you'll never have."
Ashka grinned, crossing her arms. "Poor little messenger. Doesn't know what it's like to have a Father who fights for you."
Seraphine leaned toward Kaelith, her voice a seductive whisper. "I don't blame him. His world is cold, sterile. We're a fire he can't comprehend."
Nyxara reappeared at his side, her dagger twirling between her fingers. "Speak again," she said, her tone soft but lethal, "and you'll see how fast that fire consumes you."
I rose, lifting Elysia with me, and set her gently at my side. I advanced toward Kaelith, my whistle returning like a freezing wind. "You don't understand, do you?" I said, my voice soft but sharp as an invisible blade. "You think your light is superior, that your gods are the measure of all. But look at them." I gestured broadly at my Deities, my motion grand and theatrical. "They're not slaves to mute altars but daughters of a man who bled to create them. I don't beg the cosmos—I defy it."
I leaned closer, my breath brushing his face. "I'm not killing you because you're useful, little messenger," I hissed, my smile twisted like a dark promise. "Bring me your sect's secrets, or the next whistle you hear will be the one that tears your soul apart."
I turned to Lyria, my eyes flashing like steel. "Take him out," I ordered. "Keep him alive, but make him feel the weight of his insolence."
Lyria grinned, her lips curling with pleasure. "Gladly, Father," she said, hoisting Kaelith by the neck. A bolt of lightning coursed through her arm, and the angel screamed as electricity paralyzed him, his wings trembling like leaves in a hurricane. "Walk, rat," she growled, dragging him toward the jade doors. "And be thankful Father has plans for you." Her laughter echoed as the crackle of her power filled the corridor, a thunderclap fading into the distance.
Silence returned, sharp and expectant. I went back to the throne, my hands brushing the carved vines, and murmured, my voice a whistle slithering like a living shadow: "I'm not a savior. I'm the wolf stalking the dusk, the order that cuts where gods fail. For you, for Lira, I'll make the heavens tremble until the silence breaks."
Elysia approached, her hand squeezing mine. "Your order will be our home, Father," she whispered, her devotion an echo of my own.
I nodded, pulling her close again. "Daddy loves you," I whispered against her hair, my voice breaking as I held her, my gaze lost in the Deities surrounding me, my world, my everything. My mind sank into a thought I'd avoided too long. My past life—the programmer hunched over screens, the man who forged Edenfall with trembling hands—no longer mattered. That Renn died when Lira faded in my arms, her blood staining my hands as the world spun on, indifferent. I'd been a corpse walking among the living, a specter trapped in a breathing body that felt nothing. My only anchor had been her, and without her, nothing tied me to that world of steel and code.
Now, this Eternal Garden was my reality. My daughters were my purpose, my redemption. I'd reshape what needed reshaping, destroy what needed destroying, so they could live in peace, so no one would ever take what's mine again. A sickly obsession burned in my eyes, a fire that wouldn't die until the cosmos bent to me. But as I looked at my Deities—Seraphine, Elysia, Ashka, Veyra, Zahara, Nyxara, Lyria—a deep love settled in my gaze, a bond that transcended my own darkness.
"Let their armies come, their gods, their lights," I said, my voice ringing like an oath. "I'll look them in the eye and whistle as they fall, one by one, until the world is ours."