Those Who Walk Other Worlds

Wings in the Courtyard

Morning smelled like rainlight and sugar.

Lyra and I strolled through the Crystal Courtyard, breakfast still on our sleeves, Kael pretending not to follow ten steps behind.

Above the training courts, Archangels traced slow circles through the dawn, their wings leaving silver trails that shimmered like ribbons across Heaven’s breath.

Archangels rarely descended this low — each wingbeat sent hymns through the air.

I stopped breathing for a second.

“Farther above them, Chronoguard pylons flickered faintly — invisible gears that kept dawn precisely on schedule.”

Below them, Angels patrolled the marble paths, armor gleaming with quiet devotion, while a squad of Sentinels of Flame marched past the gates, halberds bright, steps beating perfectly with the courtyard bells.

Their precision felt different from the Angels’ grace — mortal discipline guided by divine oath.

Beyond the pillars, a line of Chorus Sanctum Seito crossed a bridge of light — young oath-followers in silver sashes, humming hymns that kept the air shimmering in rhythm.

“Apprentices,” Lyra whispered. “They write Heaven’s daily prayers.”

“They weren’t born,” Mother once told me. “They were woven.”

Each Angel was formed from the Heart’s light — fragments of divine veins given form.

They were the breath between stars, the messengers that carried will into motion.

Their wings weren’t ornaments; they were living chords of the Crystal Heart’s song.

I waved to one. He saluted back.

For a heartbeat, Heaven didn’t feel unreachable. It felt alive.

“Obviously,” I said. “Royal charisma.”

“When the Heart remembers you,” I murmured, “it sings you into being.”

Lyra smiled. “That’s beautiful.” Kael grunted. “That’s poetry. Not training.” Then, “Pity doesn’t count.”

I ignored him.

Kael’s jaw tightened — a flicker he didn’t mean to show.

Kael (inner):
If I stop pushing him… everyone stops expecting me to catch him.

For a heartbeat, his eyes met mine — not anger… not jealousy.

Something lonelier.

Me (inner):
He trains like the world is already on his shoulders.

Lyra noticed too. Her teasing softened into a sigh she didn’t speak.

I nudged Kael with my elbow — subtle, a prince’s peace offering.

“Come on,” I muttered. “Even you can appreciate a good line once in a while.”

His eyes widened — caught off guard — then the smallest smile slipped free.

Quick. Defensive. Real.

Kael (inner):
Don’t get used to it.

He turned away again, trying to hide it… but Lyra and I had already seen everything.

Kael Arval (inner):
He says it like poetry…
Lyra looks like she’d float away just to hear more.

Annoying.

But his fists tightened — not in anger,
but in a promise he refused to voice:

I won’t walk behind him forever.
One day… I’ll stand at his side.

And if anything tries to take that smile from him— I’ll cut it down first.

The Angel winked before vanishing into the dawn.

Whispers rustled through the courtyard like wind pretending not to stare:

“He’s smiling today… that’s a blessing.”
“The Prince remembers everyone. He sees us.”
“He’ll make a gentle king… I hope Heaven lets him stay gentle.”

For a moment, I didn’t feel holy. I just felt seen.

Lyra flapped her arms once, imitating an Archangel.

Kael stopped, horrified.

I clapped politely.

She beamed — mission accomplished.

The Sky Gardens

The palace gardens hummed with life — not just plants, but memory.

A river of light curved between silver trees. Beneath it, something massive stirred — a serpent of glass and dawn, scales shifting through colors like breath through a prism.

A low note rumbled through the ground, deep enough to make my teeth buzz.

Lyra tugged my sleeve.

“Don’t stare too long — it thinks eye contact means challenge.”

I immediately looked at a bush. “Noted.”

Lyra flapped her arms once, imitating the Guardian’s coils.

I snorted. “You’ll provoke it.”

She grinned wider —like she’d love to see what happens if we both run.

She giggled. “That’s a Celestial Guardian. Father says they were born from the Heart’s first sigh — when creation took its first breath.”

Lesser Deities tended the gardens, fingers weaving runes that coaxed blossoms open.

Over them watched High Deities of Growth, their songs keeping the constellations steady above.

The leviathan dipped its head, eyes like miniature suns.

Kael, training nearby, paused mid-swing. “If it attacks, I’ll cut it down.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. “You’ll annoy it, not defeat it.” I grinned. Relax. It probably likes confident idiots who don’t know when to be scared.

She smiled without denying it.

The river brightened, and the Guardian dissolved back into light.

The Mosaic Hall

At twilight, I wandered the Mosaic Hall, where walls pulsed faintly with Ryvane-light.

Seven winged figures rose in gold flame, halos fractured but radiant.

The plaque read:

“The Seraphim — Hands of the First God.”

“They’re real?” I asked.

The steward bowed.

“They were, my Prince. But when the Creator vanished, their songs ended.
Only silence remembers them now.”

“Silence can’t erase something,” I said.

He smiled faintly. “No, my lord. But Heaven tries.”

A High Deity of Memory drifted by — robes stitched with constellations, the air bending politely around her.

“That’s Lady Ophera,” the steward whispered. “She guards the mosaics.”

I bowed, mostly because the air seemed to insist.

She smiled faintly — or maybe the stars on her sleeves did.

The seventh figure glowed faint silver-gold. Warm. Familiar.

Like the dawn itself reaching back.

The Living Cosmos

That night, I sat on my balcony, legs dangling over the endless light.

The Crystal Heart pulsed in rhythm with the stars.

Below, Heaven Mortals moved like fireflies across the lower plazas — bakers, scribes, smiths — each wrapped in small halos of everyday purpose.

Their laughter drifted upward, weaving with the sound of distant bells.

But farther below, beyond Heaven’s veil, countless worlds shimmered through the dark.

Each one glowed faintly, connected by invisible threads of light stretching back toward the Heart.

Mother joined me — feathers catching the fading gold. Her eyes softened when she noticed my stare.

“You see them too?” she asked. “The worlds below?”

I nodded. “How many are there?”

“Uncountable,” she said. “The Crystal Heart breathes through them all.”

Each Earth is a mirror — a fragment of creation where mortals walk, love, fight, and forget.
When one fades, another rises. The Heart keeps balance.”

“They don’t have Ryvane, right?”

“Most do not,” she said. “They live by endurance, not divinity.

But some worlds receive the Heart’s blessing — fragments of its resonance scattered through their stars.

“And when mortal heroes alone cannot hold back the darkness…

the Celestial Legions descend to shield those realms — Fire to purge corruption, Life to mend what must endure.”

In those worlds, mortals awaken what they call magic — some name it mana, others qi, spirit force, or cursed light. Different names, same spark — echoes of the Heart scattered through their stars.

I leaned forward. “Why give them Ryvane at all?”

“To see what they’ll do with it. Creation learns through experiment.
We guide them — we don’t command them.
Each world is a reflection of our choices.”

Faint runes of light arced between planets — glowing Ley Paths.

“Through those paths,” she said, “the flow of souls travels — death in one world, rebirth in another.

The Spirit Wardens guard that cycle.
And the Equinox Guard ensures the Ryvane between worlds never overflows — balance above, balance below.”

“Every mortal’s light returns to the Heart.
It’s purified, remembered, and reborn.
Some rise here, as Heaven Mortals.
Some return below, to new worlds.

And some awaken memories they were never meant to keep.”

She paused — then added softly:

“Those rare ones become what mortals call Isekai.”

“Heaven’s little anomalies.”

I pointed at a flickering star-world.

“So… do we protect them?”

She smiled — proud, but tired beneath it.

“Some worlds are born without guardians.”
Her hand brushed the air — a glowing thread lit up.

“When shadows rise where no shield exists…
we choose a soul.”

We pick those who can carry a world’s grief and still step forward,” she said. “That is Heaven’s cruel mercy.

“A mortal with the strength to rise even after death. A second chance turned into purpose.”

“…Heroes from other worlds.”

“We don’t send soldiers,” she whispered.
“We send hope.”

She looked out at the stars — the kind of silence only mothers understand.

“Hope is Heaven’s cruelest kindness,” she said softly.

“It saves… but it never stays.”

I swallowed as wind warmed against my skin.

“Somewhere out there… one world is waiting for me?”

Yumi’s gaze lingered too long — like she was staring at my future.

“When the worlds cry out in silence…
you will be the answer they prayed for.”

Then she smiled, softer than starlight.

“But not yet. For now… just be my son.”

She kissed my forehead — and the Heart’s light flickered, listening.

The Heart throbbed brighter — a heartbeat echoing across the stars.

Far above the highest spire, a shadow paused on nothing — as if the sky itself were watching.

When I glanced up,
it vanished — too fast to deny,
too real to forget.

My Journal — Age 8

“Heaven is alive. The Archangels soar, the Angels guard, the Deities tend, the Mortals build.

The Legions march, the Seito sing, the Beasts dream, and the Earths keep turning beneath our light.”

“Somewhere in that breath, I think the light is singing back.”

Somewhere unseen, the Aegis shimmered faintly — Heaven’s light holding its breath, perfectly in tune with the Heart.

And for a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.

If Heaven sends hope to save broken worlds… then where was mine?

The question hit too softly to sound like anger — just ache. Then I realized — I had one.

Ray.

He was my hope.

The only light that ever reached me in that rain-soaked night.

My hand trembled against my chest, the warmth rising like memory.

“But if I had my hope,” I whispered, “where was his?”

Tears burned before I could stop them. The sky blurred.

For every soul Heaven saves, someone is left behind.

Maybe that’s the part even gods can’t fix.

Mother said Heaven sends hope. But maybe… it forgets where to send it back.

I died… and I ended up in Heaven. But… where are you, Ray?

If anyone deserved sunrise after all that darkness… it was you.
You were my savior.
So why am I here — and you’re not?

Where are you?

The Heart pulsed again — once, slow and heavy like it knew the question… and refused to answer.

For a long time, I just listened to it. Slow. Certain. Endless. As if it already knew the answer I wasn’t ready to hear.