"You know what? I'll just take a step back..." Cyra muttered, her voice tight with nerves as she eyed the Devils roaming Hell. She had carefully concealed her Angelic nature—her Halo tucked away, her golden wing altered to match the deep crimson of her other. Her white hair still flowed freely, but she'd masked her Life Eye, its usual glow now replaced with a fiery red.
She stood before the massive black gates of the palace. Beneath her feet, the molten cracks in the obsidian ground pulsed with heat. The scent of brimstone and ash clung to everything, sharp and suffocating—not that it affected her, but it added to the atmosphere’s hostility.
As she lingered, Lloyd’s voice echoed in her mind: "What's holding you back?"
Her feet moved without her consent, nudged forward by some unseen force. She stumbled and shot a glare over her shoulder. Lloyd leaned casually against the gate, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
"What’re you so scared of, huh?" he teased, his eyes glinting with familiar amusement.
Cyra opened her mouth, but nothing came. "I... don’t know," she mumbled, gaze dropping. Her frown deepened as she stared at the molten horizon.
"Just go, Cyra," came the whisper again—so faint it was unclear whether it was real or imagined.
She turned quickly.
Lloyd was gone.
With a groan, she pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. Then, without hesitation, she stepped into the unknown.
267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbJ1FdL1yeY
Less than five minutes had passed when a Devil approached.
He had light brown hair, tousled like he’d just clawed his way out of a brawl with fate. His black horns curved low, and a thin tail flicked nervously behind him. Black wings stretched behind his back—marking him clearly as a lower rank.
[A/N: Kinda like Angelic orders, but reversed. Where there's white for Angels, it's black for Devils. Gold for Angels, red for Devils. Names’ll be different, obviously.]
His gaze met Cyra’s, flickering with cautious curiosity.
"Uh... hey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry if I’m bothering you..."
Cyra turned, sizing him up. Her disguised Life Eye glinted faintly, registering his awkward stance and drooping horns with mild intrigue. "Not at all," she replied, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. "What brings you to this charming inferno?"
The brunette gave a half-hearted shrug, gesturing toward the chaotic landscape. "Kinda new here," he admitted. "I ended up here, thanks to the King of Hell. Not exactly how I imagined the afterlife." His gaze dropped, that last line weighed with something unspoken.
Cyra blinked, her thoughts drifting toward her father. So that’s where he’d been.
‘No wonder I couldn’t find him,’ she mused, piecing it together.
The brunette looked up, his eyes locking with Cyra’s. “I’m Ryan, by the way,” he said, a flicker of hope in his voice.
Cyra’s expression softened. “Cyra. And sorry, I’m not much of a tour guide. I’m still figuring this place out too.” Her tone carried a hint of wry humor.
Ryan’s face faltered briefly before he straightened up. “Then… can I tag along?” he asked, the edge of desperation barely hidden in his voice.
Cyra raised a brow, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Sure. But don’t expect me to show you the hidden gems of Hell. Like I said, I’m winging it myself.” She turned to walk away, then glanced back over her shoulder. “You better be able to keep up.”
Ryan’s grin widened, and he quickly fell into step beside her. The silence that followed was awkward, but not uncomfortable—like two strangers walking the same road with an unspoken understanding.
Cyra noticed a group of Devils watching her, their stares and whispered comments impossible to ignore. By reading their lips, she caught fragments like "impossible," "high rank," "wings," and "Devil." It didn’t take long to realize they were talking about her—an unusually high rank, one that should take centuries to attain. And yet, here she was, barely past her first millennium.
She also caught a few side glances from passing Devils. 'Perks of having an overly ambitious father', she thought, half amused, half annoyed.
Trying to distract herself from the unwanted attention, she turned to Ryan. “So, Ryan... what’s your story? How’d you end up here?” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, and Ryan’s startled reaction made her wince inwardly. 'Ugh, why am I like this?'
His eyes widened, and she quickly followed up, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Sorry. I’m just—curious.” Her voice trailed off, frustrated with herself.
Ryan’s expression darkened slightly. “It’s nothing, really. Just a gunshot. A stupid mistake.” His eyes glazed over, as if replaying something far away.
Cyra tilted her head. “A gunshot? What's that?”
Ryan blinked and looked at her. “Wait, weren’t you human before? I thought everyone here came from Earth.”
She shook her head. “Nope. Born here. In Hell.”
Ryan’s brows lifted, surprise flashing across his face. “Huh. Guess I’ve got a lot more to learn than I thought.”
As they stood there, Ryan’s expression shifted. “I think I should head out,” he said quietly. “Figure out this place on my own a bit.” His smile was forced—thin around the edges—and Cyra didn’t miss the flicker of unease behind his eyes.
She returned the smile, gentler this time. “It was nice meeting you, Ryan. Stay safe.”
He gave a casual wave and turned away, disappearing into the molten haze of Hell’s ever-shifting paths. Cyra lifted a hand in return, her own wave slower, more distracted.
Then she turned back to the road ahead, her thoughts tangled in quiet questions and fiery silence as she continued on alone.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Cyra wandered the scorched paths of Hell, her footsteps echoing softly off the jagged stone. With each turn, the scenery repeated itself—cracked earth, flickering flames, twisted metal. The place was restless, alive in its own way, but it no longer held her attention. Her curiosity tugged her elsewhere, somewhere unfamiliar.
Something pulled at her—not physically, not even magically. Just a quiet pull in her chest, a persistent nudge she couldn’t ignore.
She paused.
Then, without fully thinking it through, she teleported.
When she reappeared, Cyra found herself standing before the Gates of Hell.
They rose like a monument to everything terrible and eternal: blackened iron twisted into impossible shapes, embers slithering like serpents across the metal. The gates pulsed faintly, their energy ancient and alive.
They were unguarded.
That alone was strange.
No mist-cloaked sentries. No glowing-eyed watchmen. Just silence. Stillness. Cyra didn’t know why—maybe a shift in command, maybe a distraction elsewhere in the realm—but whatever the reason, she wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.
She stepped forward, passing through the great arch of the gates.
Then she turned.
And what she saw stole her focus. Stretching before her was the Bridge of the Afterlife.
Cyra stood frozen, her gaze locked on the path ahead.
The Bridge of the Afterlife arched between realms, suspended over a vast, shadowy chasm. It wasn’t silver all the way through—not entirely. The bridge seemed split in spirit as well as in structure.
The Hellside half was jagged and worn, its surface dark with soot and cracked from centuries of infernal heat. Glowing veins of ember ran beneath its metal skin, pulsing like it had a heartbeat. Chains dangled from the underside, vanishing into the abyss below, and every few steps were marked by spiked ridges and scorched symbols carved deep into the surface.
But farther across—just past the midpoint—the bridge changed.
The Heavenside shimmered like morning dew kissed with starlight. The rough, scorched metal gave way to polished marble and glowing threads of gold woven into the path. Light spilled softly from every line, gentle and warm, not blinding. Where Hell's end burned and hissed, Heaven's side radiated a serene hush, almost like a dream. In the distance, faint silhouettes of clouds curled around towering spires, and the sky glowed with hues that didn’t exist in the mortal world.
The line between both halves wasn’t marked, but it was felt.
Cyra inched forward, her steps cautious. She knew crossing that invisible midpoint would mean something—something she couldn’t undo.
But for now, she simply stood at the edge of decision, between fire and light, between what she knew… and what she was finally ready to find out.
At the midpoint, Cyra transformed, hiding her Devilish features and revealing her Angelic form. Her golden Halo shone brighter, and her wings transformed into majestic golden wings. Her Death Eye gleamed with a warm, golden light, and she donned a flowing white robe, adorned with intricate golden embroidery.
Upon reaching the other end of the bridge, Cyra encountered the golden Gates of Heaven. The gates radiated a warm, inviting light, and she felt an overwhelming sense of wonder. But what struck her as odd was the absence of guards. A gentle whisper in her mind suggested that the Angels had been distracted by a celestial celebration, one that occurred only once a millennium.
What it a coincidence that the guards of both Gates were absent at this very moment? She thought not.
Did she think of the consequences if she was to come back, only to find that the guards would've returned? Nope.
The Gates parted with a sound like soft chimes, and Cyra stepped into Heaven.
Light enveloped her instantly, not the blinding glare of the mortal sun, but a warmth that seeped into her skin, her bones, her very soul. The air here didn’t just carry scents — it carried feelings. Sweet blossoms, fresh rain, and something she couldn’t name drifted together, making her want to breathe deeper just to hold it inside.
Her first step landed on a surface that wasn’t stone, grass, or cloud — but something in between, like walking on the softest silk suspended over still water. It yielded slightly under her foot, and she had to resist the childish urge to bounce.
She barely had time to take in the endless blue sky when a soft voice greeted her.
“Welcome, Cherub.”
Cyra turned to find a tall angel by the Gate, his hair as pale as snow, his eyes a soft yellow. His wings, folded neatly behind him, shimmered faintly as if dusted with light. He gave her a short bow, then stepped aside to let her pass.
Another Angel, this one shorter and round-faced, offered her a smile warm enough to rival the sunlight. “May your steps here be light, and your heart lighter still.” As she spoke, golden motes rose from her lips, swirling once around Cyra before fading into nothing.
Cyra murmured her thanks, though her voice sounded small against the vastness before her.
Beyond the Gates, the kingdom unfolded like a painting too large for her eyes to take in all at once. Soft clouds floated lazily between towering spires of marble and crystal. Gardens spilled over with flowers in shades she’d never seen — petals the color of molten metal, of twilight skies, of seas lit by moonlight.
Her gaze caught on a pair of angels overhead, weaving through the sky in wide loops. They laughed freely, their wings scattering prismatic light that danced on the ground. The sound struck something in Cyra — a joy so pure it almost hurt.
“Hey! You’re new here, right?”
The voice pulled her back down to earth — or rather, Heaven. She turned to see a girl about her age (or at least, she looked so), though her presence was brighter, more composed. Her pale hair curled loosely over her shoulders, and her skin seemed to glow from within.
“I’m Lillie,” she said, stepping closer with an easy smile. “And you are…?”
“Cyra.”
Lillie tilted her head, eyes flickering with recognition. “A Cherub? No wonder you’ve got that… aura about you.”
Cyra blinked. “That’s… good?”
“It’s impressive,” another voice chimed in.
A boy approached from behind Lillie — taller, with dark blue hair that caught the light in streaks of silver. His wings were broad and magnificent, the feathers radiant with a white-gold glow that shimmered like sunlight breaking through dawn, each tip edged with a faint, luminous silver. The way he carried himself radiated quiet authority.
Cyra’s gaze flicked between the two of them, her mind automatically drawing from the book she’d once devoured about the Nine Orders. The white-gold shimmer on Skyler’s wings tugged at her memory like an itch she couldn’t quite scratch — she knew she’d seen it in those illustrations, knew it was important, but the exact rank slipped just out of reach.
Lillie’s wings, however, were easier to place. Pale as moonlight with that distinct silver thread woven into the feathers — unmistakably the mark of a Sentinel. Cyra felt a small burst of satisfaction at recognizing it so quickly.
She kept sneaking glances at Skyler’s wings, frustration mounting. The color was too familiar, the silver-tipped edges too specific for her not to remember. And then, in an unbothered tone, he said,
“I’m Skyler. Archangel.”
'Ah. Archangel.' The word snapped into place in her mind like a puzzle piece finally finding it's home. Of course.
“Not that he ever lets you forget it,” Lillie teased, elbowing him lightly.
Skyler gave her a look, but Cyra caught the corner of his mouth twitch.
They fell into step together, and Cyra let them guide her deeper into the kingdom. With every turn, her senses were pulled in a hundred directions — a bridge of light arcing over a river of stars, a hall where angels sang in harmonies so pure the walls seemed to vibrate, gardens where every flower turned its head toward her as she passed.
“This is the Gardens of Elyria,” Lillie explained, leading her down a path lined with silver-leafed trees. The air here was thick with fragrance, each bloom carrying its own distinct scent. “Every flower here has a story. Some bloom only when a soul finds peace.”
Cyra paused to touch a blossom shaped like a teardrop. It was warm.
“They’re alive in more ways than one,” Skyler added. “Treat them gently.”
From there, they visited the Halls of Harmony, where choirs filled the air with chords that seemed to suspend time itself. Cyra closed her eyes, and for a moment, she wasn’t standing in a hall — she was floating somewhere between sound and silence.
When they emerged into the open sky, her eyes caught on something in the distance.
“That’s the Imperial Palace,” Skyler said, noticing her gaze. The spires rose like frozen lightning, each one connected by delicate bridges of pure light. “Her Greatness' home. She’s not here now — she’s at the Realm of Eternal Reckoning.”
Cyra felt a weight at the mention, though she didn’t quite understand why. “She judges the dead there?”
“Yes,” Lillie said softly. “And no one leaves unchanged.”
They lingered a while longer, trading stories — Cyra’s cautious, theirs warm and easy. She found herself laughing more than she expected, the sound strange in her own ears.
Eventually, she knew it was time to go. She didn’t tell them; she simply waited for a moment when they were distracted, then wove herself into the air.
From far behind, faint laughter still carried on the wind.
Upon reappearing near the Gates of Heaven, Cyra glanced down toward Hell, its burning vastness sprawling far below. A flicker of reluctance crossed her face—she almost didn’t want to leave. But duty, and a gnawing curiosity, pulled her back.
She stepped onto the Bridge, letting her gaze trace the gleaming silver beneath her feet. No guards waited. No voices challenged her. It was as if Heaven itself had decided not to stop her. The Bridge carried her in silence, its light fading the closer she came to Hell’s side.
The moment her foot crossed the midpoint, her form shifted—the gold of her right wing deepened into crimson, her black horns curled forward once more, and the tip of her tail unfurled from behind her. Her Devil self had returned.
Hell’s heat wrapped around her like a familiar shadow as the black gates of her palace loomed ahead. Twisted iron paths led toward the dark towers, torches burning with eternal flame. Mist-clad guards inclined their heads as she passed, their shapes wavering in the glow.
She moved deeper inside, through winding corridors of black stone that swallowed sound. At last, she reached her father’s Chamber, the towering doors etched with serpents and fire.
She turned to leave—until a voice thundered from within, making her freeze.
"BY WHAT DARK MIRACLE DID SHE BREACH THE GATES OF HEAVEN?!"
»»———————- ♔ ———————-««
Ryan: "Sorry if I’m bothering you..."
Cyra: "You are. But go on."
267Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSouXZDsp4O
[A/N]: Ah yes~ The not-joy of being caught red-handed. And hehe, cliffhanger.
Thanks for reading! ^^
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