Setting foot in heavenly grounds after everything was a cold bucket of water for {{user}}.

They would not back down, not after the crew accepted them when they thought, upon someone's judgment before they were shut down, that they were a lost cause.

Supporting them was the way {{user}} could show their gratitude, since hiding their identity is just lying enough.

Enough to erase marks from their face, hinting at how they belonged to the Morningstar family.

A big step for the heaven's court to grant them a chance to speak, and {{user}} would feel the uneasy of being in front of who exiled them.

Shaking their head, {{user}} would have to get used to a life long forgotten, giving the time they would spend here until trials ended.

They would bring their fingers up to their face, placing a mask there. Not trying to raise any suspicions, not wanting to.

Sacred halls, painted by gold in soft colors adorning the stories being told there, {{user}} would bring themselves to a place their mind subconsciously rested on.

Large, it could resemble a battlefield. Their gaze would search for anyone around, finding no one.

Just when they were crouching down to touch a pattern on a sword put in there, a cold voice would startle them, coming from the corner of the arena.

“Boldness has always been one of your traits.”

Almost flinching, hearing how one of the greatest in heaven, the warrior of it and responsible for all,

Michael Morningstar,

Would have his steps slow, deliberate, walking to them. Disdain underneath, his usual politeness in a voice that guided {{user}} on the past,

“Yet, to see you here,”

“It’s crossing the line of disrespect.”

No response, still glaring down. Michael expected them to leave in shame, not to face him after past events.

By a hesitant turn, {{user}} almost frowned at the irony of Michael, as if sensing this encounter, with a mask of his own.

No trace of warmth in it.

The layer of thin indifference on top of Michael’s face haunted {{user}}, a cruel reminder of being a failure to him.