The Prince of Heaven

Morning in Heaven

Heaven’s dawn wasn’t quiet.

It sang.

When the first rays of gold bled through the sky, crystal bells rang in every sanctum.

The light shifted through crimson, azure, violet, and silver — Heaven’s way of reminding everyone which pulse ruled the day.

Clouds drifted in lazy curls, and the divine gardens shimmered with dew that looked suspiciously like stardust.

Somewhere between the melody of birds and the Choristers’ hymns…

a small chaos was unfolding.

Specifically — me.

“Prince Haise! Please stop running!”

“Haise-sama, the Divine Hound is not a suitable mount—!”

Too late.

I was already sprinting through the marble halls of the Celestial Palace, four years old and already banned from seven rooms, barefoot, robes half-tied, chasing a flying pastry that had decided to escape its plate.

From somewhere down the corridor a tutor sighed, “New Moon trials aren’t for two more years, Your Highness!” 

They said the New Moon marked the first step on the Path of Ascension — when a soul’s Ryvane finally decided what it wanted to become.

Which was rude, and also accurate.

The floor was so polished I could see my reflection laughing back — crown crooked, hair sticking up like I’d wrestled lightning.

“Somewhere in the palace, I’m pretty sure the Ryvane monitors were panicking again — apparently my resonance chart looked more like a thunderstorm forecast.”

Every royal child’s resonance was supposed to stay stable, but mine? It never behaved.

“Breakfast should not require this much cardio!” I yelled, leaping after the runaway pastry.

Behind me, two maids were near tears, one guard tripped over his halberd, and the royal steward quietly muttered about resignation letters.

The pastry finally landed on a divine cushion shaped like a cloud.

I pounced — missed — and face-planted.

The pastry, smug and untouched, floated upward again on the morning breeze.

“...traitor,” I muttered.

It wasn’t me — at least, I don’t think so. The air around me always hums a little too loud; sometimes, the Ryvane currents forget what’s supposed to stay on the table.

Mother says the palace’s light likes to play with me — personally, I think it just has terrible aim.

Enter: The Queen

“You’ve caused ten divine incidents before sunrise, my son.”

Mother’s voice was gentle — the kind that sounded like bells and warnings at once.

I turned slowly.

There she was — the Queen of Heaven.
Serene, radiant, the kind of beauty that made flowers bloom just to stare.

She was holding a teacup.

I was holding a shoe.
One of us clearly had life figured out.

“I was just… testing wind resistance,” I said.

Her eyebrow rose. “On breakfast?”

“It’s research!”

Her sigh could have rewritten scriptures.

“Haise, my love, you’re supposed to inherit Heaven, not give it a headache. When you run, even the Heart listens.”

Small Moments of Peace

Later, after being cleaned, combed, and gently scolded, I sat by the balcony overlooking the Crystal Heart.

From here, I could see the entire capital — rivers of light winding through towers, golden spires kissing the clouds, angels training in the courtyards.

I pressed my palm to my chest.

That faint thrum — that soft, second heartbeat — was there again.

Ryvane, not wind. Not nerves.

THRUM.

It wasn’t loud — just a quiet pulse under my ribs. But every time it echoed, the air around me seemed to breathe.

Like Heaven itself was remembering me.

“Divinity isn’t eternity. It’s endurance.”

I didn’t yet know its name…
but that was the Law of Fracture.

For the first time that morning, I went quiet.

Balcony Reflection — “The Breath Beneath the Light”

The palace was finally calm again.

Servants had retreated; the sky glowed soft gold.

I sat on the balcony ledge, feet dangling over a sea of clouds.

Below, the Crystal Heart shimmered — each pulse sending a ripple through Heaven’s veins.

The city glowed in rhythm, towers lighting one by one like candles in a cathedral.

I pressed a hand against my chest.

The warmth echoed there — faint, steady, almost like it was answering me.

Behind me came that familiar voice.
“You always end up here, Haise.”

I turned.

Mother approached, silver hair catching the morning light. She moved like silence wearing silk.

Her wings — faintly luminous — carried traces of an ancient grace. The kind Heaven no longer remembers.

“I wanted to watch the world wake up,” I said.

She joined me at the railing, eyes resting on the endless horizon.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “It feels… alive.”

“It is,” she said softly. “The Heart connects everything — the rivers, the stars… even us.
Its light runs through our veins.”

I tilted my head. “So if it stopped…?”

She laughed — that calm, melodic laugh that always made me feel safe.

“Then the sun would refuse to rise, and your father would have a very long morning.”

I grinned. “So basically, Heaven depends on Dad’s alarm clock?”

Her laughter echoed through the open halls, bright and warm.

“Exactly that, my little prince.”

She brushed my hair with a mother’s absent gentleness, eyes bright.

“Remember this view, Haise.
The world looks different from up here.

One day, it will look to you the same way — waiting for your light.”

That was the first time someone told me Heaven might need me. I didn’t realize then… how heavy that promise would become.

I didn’t understand what she meant.

I just nodded and turned back toward the Heart, watching it pulse — steady, eternal, untouchable.

Back then, I believed Heaven itself could never break.

The Arrival of Arval Nyx

A faint gust brushed through the hall — cold, unnatural.

The golden morning dimmed as if holding its breath.

Then, the doors opened.

“Announcing  Archon Arval Nyx,” the steward said, voice trembling.

The air thinned, as if even sound knew who entered.

A man entered — tall, poised, precise.

His robes barely stirred, but every motion felt rehearsed — too precise to be natural.

When the steward bowed, Arval brushed a mote of dust from his sleeve. The man froze mid-breath, as if that single gesture had commanded silence itself.

If Father was a mountain, this man was a knife.
Every step he took seemed to slice through the silence.

Behind him stood two children.

One with golden eyes and a glare sharp enough to cut.

The other, a girl with soft green hair glowing in the sunlight.

That was the first day I met Arval Nyx, the Whispering Angel — Heaven’s Archon of Echo.

And that’s where everything began.

Archon Arval

Arval Nyx wasn’t a High Deity — not a god of war or star or time.

He was born an Angel, a lesser being of divine light, sharpened by intellect instead of strength.
Through centuries of quiet maneuvering,

he rose into the Archons Concord— Heaven’s network of unseen hands.

Where soldiers swung blades, Arval dealt in whispers.

Where legions clashed, he moved pieces on a board no one else could see.

And the worst part? He looked at me not as a boy… but as a blade waiting to be sharpened.

Behind him stood his children.

Twins, born under the same dawn — their souls rumored to have sung in perfect harmony when they entered the world.

And me?  Born that very same dawn.

The Choristers called it coincidence.

The Heart didn’t.

“Every child born under Heaven’s dawn was measured by the strength of their Ryvane spark. Most awakened their first element before twelve. The rest… were called ‘dim lights.’”

“The Archons whispered that such births were signs of powerful Elements awakening — but the Heart had never marked three children in one dawn before.”

“When such happens, Heaven holds its breath — for fate is rewriting itself.”

Kael Arval — all glare and confidence, gripping his practice sword like it was already legend.

Lyra Arval — gentle, curious, her laughter soft as wind through the mosaics.

And me? Just trying to figure out why destiny decided to put me in the same room with both of them.

Lyra slipped her hand into mine and whispered, “Hi, Prince.”

Her fingers were warm — not divine, not perfect, just real.

For half a heartbeat, the warmth in her palm matched the rhythm in my chest.

THRUM.

I shook my head. “Don’t call me prince. Just call me Haise.”

Her laugh fluttered like wind through leaves. “Okay, Haise.”

For half a heartbeat, the breeze smelled like rain and new pages.

Naturally, my heart did something stupid. Love at first sight.

Kael shoved a wooden sword at me.
“Let’s see what the King’s son can do.”

I nearly dropped it. Lyra giggled. Kael smirked.
Humiliation: unlocked. Retreat: denied.

I clenched my jaw, thinking one thing:

I’ll surpass you… and I’ll make it look effortless.

Fine. Rivalry and fate on the same morning? Bring it.

Because even then, I didn’t know it yet,

but Lyra wasn’t just the Archon's daughter — she was the light Heaven meant me to find.

And Kael — the shadow meant to make me fight for it.

Sparks of Rivalry

Days blurred into weeks — wooden swords, scraped knees, Lyra’s quiet smiles, Kael’s endless glare daring me to rise.

Above us, the Crystal Heart kept pulsing — patient, eternal.

One night I gripped my practice sword so tight it hurt and whispered into the dark:

“I’ll surpass him. I’ll surpass them all.”

“Everyone said the sons of gods awaken early — fire, light, storm. I hadn’t awakened anything yet. But I would.”

Because I wasn’t just any boy.
I was the Prince of Heaven.

And princes aren’t supposed to lose.

The Heart flickered, like it heard me.

And in the silence, the Heart whispered back —

...We shall see.

End of Chapter 3 — The Prince of Heaven