01: Heaven’s Unspoken Politics
Make sure to read Book 2: The Devil’s Plaything: A Cursed Affair before diving into this one, it is the prequel to this book.
“Ralph, Ralph!”
A voice floated through the stillness of the early dawn, soft yet insistent, pulling him out of the quiet world of dreams.
With a grunt, Ralph’s eyes opened halfway. He propped himself up on one elbow, squinting at the pale figure beside him. His voice was rough, edged with irritation.
“Why are you disturbing my rest at this ungodly hour?” He said, brushing a leaf from his tangled hair.
Mareen stood before him with her hands clasped, eyes wide, almost childlike in her unease. She hesitated for a moment, then spoke with the care of a disciple trying not to anger a master.
“Ralph, you don’t quite carry the grace of an Archangel anymore. Not the way you act. Sometimes, I wonder how anyone could ever call you the Almighty’s favourite.”
The words struck a chord, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, Ralph rose fully from the damp grass, his long coat dusted with morning dew. The meadow around them was silent, wrapped in the veil of an early sunrise, but a storm had begun to gather in his silver eyes.
“You know I never asked to be favoured,” he replied, each word calm but sharp. “It’s not a title I care for. I serve Him because it is my duty. I never once sought His affection. Favouritism,” he let out a faint scoff, “is tedious.”
Mareen swallowed hard. She could feel the tension building between them like a hidden current beneath still water. Ever since Ralph’s fall no, ever since his memory had been altered, there had been a strange quiet in their world. A false peace.
At first, they believed the erasure of his past had buried the darkness inside him. That he had been reset, made obedient like the other Archangels. But those who spent time with him, those who knew what he once was, could still see the shadows in his actions.
He no longer cursed under his breath or lashed out with cruel punishments. But his expectations were still exacting. If something displeased him, he wouldn’t raise his voice. He would simply demand it be redone. Again. And again. Until it matched the vision in his mind.
That vision of flawless execution. Of merciless perfection.
It wasn’t the commanding tone of an Archangel that shaped those orders. It was something older. Something colder.
It was the way he had spoken when he ruled over the fallen. When he led legions with iron authority and saw mortals as tools. Now, the curses were gone. The lashes had vanished. But the demand
unyielding, absolute remained.
And Mareen, though she feared him, still pitied him.
She had gone to the Lord herself. Bowed her head, pleaded for clarity, for direction. The answer was quiet, yet final.
“Keep him away from Ava.”
That was all the Lord had said. Nothing more.
So she followed. She obeyed. Because even now, when Ralph did not remember who Ava was, the mere mention of her name seemed to stir something in him. A flicker in his gaze. A pause too long. A silence that lingered after.
Mareen looked at him now, his hair disheveled, his fingers absently brushing the sword at his hip, and wondered if he was truly free of his past.
Or if the chains were simply unseen.
Ralph turned to her, sensing her silence. His tone was smoother now, but no less firm.
“You came all the way here to question my nature. Is that it?”
She shook her head quickly. “No, not at all. I just… I worried.”
His eyes narrowed. “Worry leads to fear. And fear,” he said, stepping closer, “is wasted on me.”
Mareen lowered her gaze. She couldn’t tell if he meant it as comfort or a threat.
She only knew one thing for certain.
If Ava ever crossed his path again, if fate ever let them stand within reach of each other once more, the world would no longer be silent.
And Ralph… Ralph would remember everything.
“Why are you dazed out?”
Ralph snapped his fingers in front of her face, the sound sharp against the rustle of wind through the trees. Mareen blinked as if pulled from a trance, her gaze refocusing slowly. She had been staring into the distance, lost in thoughts she wasn’t ready to speak aloud.
“I was just thinking,” she replied, her voice even. Her hands, however, betrayed her as they fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve.
He studied her, head tilted slightly. His silver hair caught the light of the rising sun. The glow softened his features, although the quiet sharpness in his eyes remained.
“Thinking?” He echoed. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his gaze. “About what, exactly? The laws of heaven? The shape of divine light? Or perhaps,” he leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret, “love?”
Mareen stiffened, her pulse quickening.
“Ralph,” she began carefully, “you know angels aren’t allowed to fall in love, right?”
At that, he laughed. It was a low, amused sound edged with disbelief.
“You’re in love?” He asked, one brow lifting in mock surprise. “Is that why you’ve crept into my space this morning? Hoping I’ll hide your little affair? Keep your precious secret from the eyes of the realm?”
“No,” she responded quickly, shaking her head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I was only asking.”
Her words faltered. She was unsure how to explain without making things worse. She had only wanted to test the boundaries of his mind. To ensure the forgotten emotions, especially the forbidden ones, were still buried. But Ralph, as always, misunderstood her.
He crossed his arms, the faintest glint of amusement lingering in his expression.
“So what then?” He questioned. “You want to know if I crave that fragile thing mortals obsess over?”
She opened her mouth, but he continued before she could speak.
“Love,” he muttered, as if the word tasted unfamiliar. “That feeling dulls judgment, warps reason, and drags even the wise to ruin. It belongs to those who are free to stumble. Angels were never meant for it.”
He stepped back and brushed grass from his robe. His wings, vast and white, stretched behind him. Light shimmered across the feathers like scattered stars.
“My only purpose,” he continued, “is to serve the Almighty. That is the core of my being. Everything else, emotion, want, attachment means nothing to me. If you wish to love, then may fortune favor you. I will not stop you.”
He glanced back over his shoulder.
“As long as the man isn’t me.”
Mareen inhaled sharply. Her breath caught in her chest.
He adjusted the golden clasp at his shoulder with a flick of his wrist, then lifted his wings. The wind rippled through the field around them.
“Just be sure your lover doesn’t get caught.” He warned. “This realm may seem holy, but it thrives on schemes. Politics linger in every breath. Trust is rare here. It has been that way for a long time.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, something flickered behind them. It might have been a memory trying to surface, or perhaps the ghost of one.
But it vanished quickly.
Without waiting for an answer, Ralph turned and walked away. His figure was soon swallowed by the light.
Mareen remained alone in the field. The question she had truly come to ask still rested on her lips.
She had not asked if he could fall in love. She had meant to ask if, once, he already had.
“Ralph, what’s our task today?”
Seriel approached with effortless grace, his flame-kissed hair catching the light as he spoke. The young Archangel’s voice carried like wind chimes over still water, his keen eyes bright beneath a silver circlet.
“There’s word of infernal beings crossing the veil,” he reported. “They’re striking villages again. The mortal world cries out for aid.”
A hush fell over the gathered celestial beings. Subtle glances passed between them, wings shifting restlessly as concern tightened their expressions.
Ralph stood apart, the hem of his robe brushing against the radiant stone beneath him. His face revealed nothing. His gaze swept over each companion with quiet assessment.
“I’ve heard of the disturbances,” he acknowledged, his tone measured yet weighted. “Now that I stand among the highest of Archangels, it is only right we act without delay.”
Some nodded in agreement. Others exchanged silent looks, their lips sealed.
What Ralph did not know, and what none dared to speak, was that he had been barred from the mortal realm by divine decree. The Almighty’s command was unspoken but absolute. No one breathed a word of why.
They had all agreed. For his sake.
So whenever Ralph stepped forward, eager to lead, the others redirected him. Not through lies but with complete obedience that left no room for questions.
He could not recall what he had done there or what had been taken from him on Earth. The danger was not in what he might do, but in what he might remember.
Unaware of the restriction placed upon him, Ralph tilted his head.
“Why do you always wait for me to direct you?” he inquired. “I hold no authority over any of you. I am not your superior.”
“You carry the Highest’s light more purely than the rest of us,” explained an angel from the assembly. “Your guidance comes naturally. We trust it.”
He studied them, searching their faces. He found no deceit. Only devotion. Perhaps too much of it.
Though Ralph offered leadership freely, he never demanded reverence. A quiet patience clung to him like morning mist. Even when frustration stirred or impatience tugged at his restraint, he held himself back. That, at least, remained unchanged.
He stepped forward, resolve rising in his voice.
“Let me lead this mission. The demons grow stronger. Their corruption spreads. I will not risk you being unprepared. If anyone should face the first strike, it should be me.”
Silence followed. No one moved.
Then, slowly, they arranged themselves into formations, triads of power and protection. They did not argue. They did not consent. They simply positioned themselves and waited.
Ralph’s brow creased.
“You’re not going to let me go, are you?”
Seriel offered a strained smile, veiling discomfort behind grace.
“We need you here,” he replied. “If the veil weakens further, your strength will be required to seal it. You are the anchor. We are merely the blade.”
It was not the answer Ralph wanted. He hated standing idle. He despised watching others march into danger while he remained behind. Lately, his restlessness had grown worse. Small signs appeared. A sharp breath. A flicker of tension. Even now, his hands clenched behind his back, fingers pressing into his palms.
Two years had passed since his ascension to the High Order. A mere blink in celestial time, yet he had risen through the ranks faster than any before.
Through the spires and halls of the angelic cities, whispers drifted on the wind. Quiet, envious things. Words spoken with reverence yet shadowed with doubt.
How had one climbed so quickly? Why did the Lord favor him so? Was this not an imbalance?
Even the skeptics knew the truth. Ralph’s power was not gifted. It was earned. Honed. Tempered in divine fire. He was precise. Brilliant. Relentless.
And yet, he stood alone.
His gaze returned to the angels preparing to descend. A faint smile lifted his lips, though his eyes reflected something darker.
“Very well,” he agreed. “But if anything goes wrong, I am moments away. Call for me, and I will be there before your next breath.”
The others bowed their heads in acknowledgment. With a final beat of their wings, they vanished, streaks of light cutting across the sky.
Ralph remained. The warmth of their presence faded into the wind. He stared toward the distant edge of the human realm, his chest heavy with a longing he could not name.
He did not know what awaited him there.
Ralph paced the golden corridor alone, his steps echoing against the vast marble arches that reached endlessly toward the heavens. Each pillar he passed reflected fragments of light, yet none of it warmed the growing ache within his chest. He halted near the edge of the veranda, where a curtain of white mist drifted just beyond the open hall. The expanse of paradise stretched before him, but his heart remained untouched by its beauty.
Tilting his head back, he looked toward the endless firmament, eyes searching for something he could not name.
“These people do not respect me,” he declared, his voice low and heavy, like iron dragged across stone. “Are you seeing this, dear Lord? You sit beyond all creation, all time, and all thought, but do you see how they treat me?”
He clenched his jaw, fighting the sharp press of emotions that had begun to build for far too long. “What is the use of this strength you’ve given me if I’m not allowed to carry out the very duties it was forged for? You reward me with ascension, you bestow me with rank after rank, but for what? To be admired from afar while my hands remain bound?”
Ralph’s wings, once folded neatly behind him, spread with slow unrest as he turned in a wide arc, casting his gaze toward the distant towers where his brethren gathered. Together, always together, without him.
“I’m nothing but a title now,” he pronounced. “A figure placed on a pedestal too tall to touch, too sacred to be involved. I am the guardian who is not allowed to guard, the protector who watches others carry out the commands I gave them. They refuse my help, even when I offer it willingly. Am I some relic to be polished and displayed while the war still rages beneath the clouds?”
The sorrow in his voice curled into frustration, bitter and scorching. He pressed his palm to his chest as if to still the spiraling weight gathering beneath his ribs.
“They believe I rose through cunning. They whisper that I used favor, not faith. That my gifts came from entitlement, not endurance. But you know the truth, my King. You saw the trials I endured. You witnessed the nights I spent in silence, in solitude, seeking your will without question. You know what it took for me to reach the High Order. You, more than any soul in existence, understand the cost of what I carry.”
His voice cracked, not from weakness, but from the strain of a wound kept hidden too long. He stepped forward, peering beyond the divine border into the veil that separated realms.
“Why am I barred from the human world?” He demanded, quieter now. “Why is the threshold forbidden to me when once I stood guard at its edge, blade in hand, heart unwavering? I remember the battles. I remember their screams and the way the dark trembled when I struck. And now I am not even trusted to glance toward the Gate.”
He touched the golden railing beside him, fingers trembling.
“I wander through the very courts of heaven with no place to stand. I drift from altar to terrace, cloaked in hollow purpose. The title of Archangel rests on my shoulders, yet my presence is dismissed. In truth, I feel no different from the lowest guardian, no higher than a nameless flame-spirit. No, worse. I feel discarded. Like one fallen from grace.”
His voice dropped to near silence, the final syllables catching in his throat.
“Is it wrong to confess this to you, my Lord?” He ventured. “Does this confession place me against your divine will? I fear it does. I fear I have sinned by speaking so freely. But I am still yours. I belong to you entirely, and you alone know what lives within my heart. You see the parts of me I cannot. You remember the pieces I have forgotten.”
He dropped to one knee, head bowed. His wings curled tightly around his body, a shroud of purity and sorrow.
“Let me feel again,” he implored. “Let me remember what joy meant. Let me love what I once cherished. Let me serve with purpose once more. I ask not for glory. I seek no recognition. I only wish to be useful to you again.”
He pressed his forehead to the ground, the stone cold beneath his skin.
“If I am truly your creation, if I remain your servant, then do not let me fade away while I still have breath in me to serve. Let me fight. Let me live. Let me remember what it means to be yours.”
“Ralph, what are you praying for?”
Mareen’s voice disturbed the quiet like a ripple across water, tentative yet curious, carried by the fragrance of lilies drifting from the sacred courtyard. She lingered several steps behind him, unsure whether to advance or withdraw.
Ralph rose slowly from the marble floor, his motions deliberate, dignified in their control. The vast expanse of his wings captured the faint morning light, silver and ivory feathers gleaming like polished crystal. When he turned, his gaze struck her like a storm, penetrating, inscrutable, yet undeniably frigid.
“Not your concern,” he replied, voice devoid of inflection. “My prayers belong solely between myself and the One who rules all.”
His stare held for a heartbeat longer, not cruel but severe enough to raise gooseflesh along her arms. Something timeless lived in his expression, neither heavenly nor damned, but a fragile equilibrium suspended between two existences.
Without another word, he turned, robes flowing like mist behind his measured strides, vanishing beneath the arch of gilded pillars marking the sanctuary’s border. His absence left the space hollow despite the holy realm’s vibrant light and celestial splendor.
Mareen stood frozen, her sandals leaving slight impressions in the velvety moss carpeting the garden floor. She couldn’t move. Not yet.
Her lips parted but produced no sound. The silence grew oppressive. Only when certain Ralph could no longer hear did she release her thoughts into the sacred stillness surrounding her.
“The darkness inside him can never be destroyed,” she breathed, shivering. “He professes to serve the Lord, yet his true desire seems to reclaim mastery over corruption.”
She choked back the remainder of her confession, smothering it beneath quivering restraint. Voicing such thoughts, even alone, felt perilous. Blasphemous. The Almighty’s judgment frightened her less than the listening ears around her. The attention of statues. The memories embedded in garden stones. In this realm, even the architecture is remembered.
The celestial domain never forgot. And forgiveness for disloyalty came sparingly.
Yet the thoughts pressed too urgently upon her heart to ignore. Her worry sprang not from scorn but dread. She had glimpsed what slumbered within Ralph, how irritation brewed beneath his surface, the relentless drive for recognition, the gnawing need to act when restrained.
None questioned his history. None were permitted to speak of it. But silence could not undo what had been done.
Mareen shut her eyes, lifting her face toward the endless heavens above. Her voice emerged again, quieter now, nearly cracking under the weight of her sincerity.
“Dear Lord! Forgive me!”
As the words escaped her lips, a celestial zephyr brushed her cheek. Whether warning or solace, she couldn’t discern.
“I pass no judgment upon him, my King. This I swear,” she confessed, voice firming, hands pressed to her chest. “I seek only to protect what You have wrought. To shelter him from himself. From the lure still coiled beneath his holy guise.”
Her fingers clenched her robe’s fabric, knuckles whitening from the pressure.
“I cannot fathom Your purpose in elevating Ralph so high. Whether that choice stemmed from righteousness or impulse. But if those intentions stray from Your perfect wisdom, I beg You to reshape them.”
Her voice wavered again, yet she persevered, lips forming words with fervent reverence.
“Tear out every bitter root within him. Remove whatever arrogance still twists beneath the light You placed in his spirit. Fill him with Your peace, my Lord. Let him serve You not from ambition or retribution, but from devotion pure and purposeful.”
Mareen’s knees met the moss, her head bowing low as tears pooled beneath closed eyelids.
“Let him recall how to kneel before You in wonder, not torment. Let him become the servant You always intended. Let him love You anew not with words alone, but with every sustaining breath. Let Your commandments not weigh upon him, but adorn him.”
A breeze rustled the flowering trees nearby, petals cascading around her like fragrant snowflakes. Her prayer faded into silence, yet her heart ached with unvoiced longing.
