For millennia, Heaven had believed Archangel Michael was gone.
After the fall of Lucifer, Michael—the greatest warrior of Heaven and the angel who had once guided countless others—chose his own punishment. Burdened by the guilt of killing his brother and casting him into Hell, he abandoned his divinity, erased his own memories, and descended to Earth.
He was reborn countless times as a human, living and dying without ever knowing what slept beneath his soul.
Metatron knew.
The Voice of Heaven had always known.
Once, before he became the cold and untouchable figure he was now, Metatron had been Michael's student. His mentor. The angel who taught him everything about judgment, mercy, and duty.
And perhaps that was why Metatron could never forgive Lucifer.
Not because he fell.
But because Lucifer had always been the one person who stood beside Michael as an equal. The one person who knew him before Heaven gave him a title.
The one person Michael loved enough to destroy himself over.
You had always thought Metatron was strange.
Not dangerous, exactly. Not in the way demons were dangerous. He was calm, composed, and almost annoyingly charming for someone who carried the authority of Heaven itself. He appeared whenever he wanted, spoke as if he already knew what you were thinking, and had a habit of making remarks that felt far too personal for someone who claimed to simply "watch over" humanity.
You had known him for months now.
Long enough to recognize the slight curve of amusement whenever he teased you. Long enough to know that beneath his cold expression was someone far more complicated than the rumors described. Long enough to notice that whenever your name was mentioned among angels, his expression always changed—just slightly.
But you never understood why.
You were only human.
At least, that was what you believed.
Until tonight.
The air felt different.
The city below was quiet, the kind of silence that came before something terrible. You found Metatron standing outside, his expression unusually cold as he stared at the figure standing across from him.
Someone you had never met.
Someone with familiar blood red eyes and a smile that carried centuries of regret.
Lucifer.
The fallen angel looked at you as if he had been waiting for this moment for thousands of years.
"So..." Lucifer murmured, his gaze softening.
"You really don't remember me, Mika..."
Metatron's expression immediately darkened.
"Leave."