A bit longer than a few minutes later
We stopped in front of a massive door.
As it opened, we stepped inside—and there he was.
The Emperor.
Seated on a throne crafted from gold, he radiated power. Beside him stood the Holy Priest—the strongest known wielder of divine power.
"Welcome," the Holy Priest greeted us with a soft smile.
The Emperor looked down at me from his elevated seat. The weight of every gaze in the room crashed onto me, piercing through my skin. But that only made my smile stretch wider—twisted, amused, delighted.
"You must surely know why you were summoned here, Lady Fallen Angel."
The cold, deep voice silenced every murmur in the hall.
Of course, it belonged to the Emperor.
"I sure do, Carcel," I replied sweetly, voice dripping with playfulness.
Gasps and frowns spread across the room like a ripple in still water. Every person present frowned—except four: the Emperor, the Commander, the Holy Priest, and the old man.
"I didn't expect the Holy Priest himself to be here," I added casually.
"How did you know about the Holy Priest?" the commander asked, his voice low.
My smile faded, just a little. His question scraped the edge of something raw.
"Because the heavens may have cast me out..." I said slowly, meeting his eyes, "but they did not strip me of sight."
My smile returned—but this time, it wasn't born of joy.
It was born of sheer, simmering annoyance.
Because one thing I was sure of—have always been sure of—was that I am not an angel. I never was, and I never will be.
I'm a ghost.
Maybe even a demon.
The room fell into silence.
"I see," the Emperor finally sighed, sounding bored.
No one spoke. The silence dragged on until the old man—standing to the Emperor's left—walked toward the table just a few steps in front of me.
"My dear," he said gently, "we'll now be testing whether you are truly a fallen angel... or merely a clever little liar."
The Holy Priest. A man with political power unrivaled by anyone else.
Because of that, his identity is kept hidden. No one knows what he looks like. All they know is that he is an old man—one even the Saintess herself cannot control. The Holy Father is the only person, besides the Emperor and his right hand, who knows the Holy Priest's true identity.
How did I know who he was?
I didn't.
But what I did know was that to test if someone is a fallen angel, you need someone with immense divine power—and a close connection to the gods.
"My dear," he said again, "would you step up and heal the bird on the table?"
My gaze shifted toward the small creature lying on the table just a few steps ahead. It was a bird—its feathers damp with blood, its breath shallow and quick.
Panting.
Dying.
To be continued...