When Heaven Faltered

Soft blue-white mists coiled between the towers of the Celestial Palace, their crystalline walls refracting light into colors unseen by mortal eyes. Arches of glass and diamond laced the heavens, and beams of radiance hung suspended like frozen veins of a rainbow. The air itself sang — a low, continuous hum, the heartbeat of creation. Every angel within the kingdom moved in rhythm with that sound, wings catching faint glimmers as afterimages of light rippled like music across an unseen sky.

But tonight, the harmony faltered.

High upon the outer terrace of her realm, Queen Hinako, Sovereign of Earth and all Energies, stood alone. Her long dark-green hair shimmered faintly, strands catching gold where the moonlight touched. The veil between worlds began to breathe. Light folded and unfolded upon itself, trembling like water disturbed by a hidden current. Then, without warning, it broke — a clean, perfect fracture.

Five streaks of radiance burst free, ascending for a heartbeat before diving toward the mortal world below. They fell like whispers of dawn — one by one, their trails fading into the endless dark.

Hinako remained still. Her hands clasped before her, her gaze unwavering as the wind lifted her hair. Only when the final fragment vanished beyond the clouds did she close her eyes.

“Find the light that remembers you,” she whispered. “Even I cannot see where your paths will end.”

The mists stilled; the hum of creation softened to fragile silence. The heavens exhaled, the veil sealed itself again — and the world continued as if nothing had changed.

Yet far below, beneath the sleeping human sky, the Earth shivered — quietly, imperceptibly — as five forgotten stars began their long descent into memory. 

Seventeen years passed like drifting clouds, almost unnoticed, yet each left its mark. With each passing year, shadows stirred more boldly. Small fractures whispered of encroaching darkness, growing sharper, more deliberate. Hinako’s power — once vast and steady as a mountain — now trembled under the strain of holding the veil intact. Every pulse of energy that left her fingertips took longer to return. Every sealing incantation demanded more of her strength, as if the very fabric of the world was testing her patience.

High above Tokyo, on the secluded slopes of Tama Hills, the A-Academy gleamed under the neon haze reflected from the city below. To humans, it was a prestigious private school: flawless glass facades, manicured courtyards, the quiet prestige of wealth. To angels, it was a fortress of equilibrium — a bastion wrapped in sigils invisible to the untrained eye.

Nestled into the hill, its marble foundations concealed networks of protection: training halls where celestial warriors practiced unseen, energy corridors redirecting demonic influence, and the Control Hall, the beating heart of their defenses. Surrounding the Academy, an invisible shield extended, undetectable to humans, warding off demons and keeping the sanctity of the school intact. Each rune carved into the walls glowed faintly, whispering prayers of harmony that reinforced the shield.

The gardens shimmered even at night. Trees with translucent leaves swayed to a silent wind; flowers glowed softly, feeding on ambient light. Streams of pure energy wove through the meadows, disguised as running water. Humans called it beauty. Angels knew it as survival.

On the highest balcony, Akihiro, General of the Celestial Vanguard — heir to the greatest of the angelic realms — stood alone. The city sprawled below him, pulsing with millions of tiny lights. Tokyo at night was a living web: neon signs flickering in Shinjuku, the distant hum of trains along elevated tracks, taxis glinting like fireflies. From this height, every moment felt suspended.

Yet beneath the glittering pulse, he saw fractures — distortions in light mortals could never perceive. Streetlamps wavered where the veil thinned. Shadows moved without bodies. A late-night commuter hesitated mid-step, as if an unseen breeze whispered warnings. A street vendor glanced around nervously, convinced the flicker of neon was a trick of his eyes. Small, fleeting disturbances — harmless to them, but to Akihiro, tremors of something far more dangerous.

The veil was thinning, and the first signs of demonic stirrings bled into the mortal plane.

Akihiro felt the presence of the Sword of Light — a living energy that resonated with his will. It did not rest at his side; the blade waited, ready to materialize from pure light at his command, a force of order obedient to his summons. It had chosen him on the very first day of training, a silent pact between discipline and will. Though forged for command, a small spark of defiance still lingered within him.

Shadows shifted where none should, whispering intent. The demons’ movements grew coordinated, probing, learning. He had felt their gaze somewhere in the dark between dimensions.

Elsewhere, Vanguard squads engaged the shadows. In Ueno Park, angels darted between clusters, dissipating entities that slithered around ponds and museum paths. In Akihabara, squads intercepted shadow tendrils weaving through crowded streets, subtly nudging pedestrians and striking demons before they could touch the human world. The city hummed with life, yet a hidden war raged beneath its surface.

Even as he observed, other units moved in the city with precision:

Shieldweavers — The Wardens of Light shifted the flow of pedestrians, nudging joggers, tourists, and salarymen away from danger. Illusions masked alleyways, neon signs, and scaffolding, while sound barriers muffled distant screams, leaving the city calm.

Repairers — The Stonebinders traced the streets, mending cracks, re-lighting lamps, restoring shop windows and collapsed scaffolds. Time itself seemed to stitch around them.

Erasers — The Forgetting Chorus flitted through crowds, leaving only blurred impressions of tension and fleeting unease. Humans felt sudden urges or fleeting anxiety, unaware of its origin.

Akihiro’s eyes swept over the city, tracing the harmony of human life interlaced with angelic vigilance. Neon glints reflected on the Sumida River. Highways stretched like silver threads. Guardians moved silently, shaping reality, tending to the fragile balance humans could never comprehend.

And in that quiet, suspended moment, Akihiro felt a stir in his chest — a faint tug of fate brushing his soul. Something was coming. Something that would change everything.

“Demons are getting stronger,” he murmured, eyes narrowing.

He turned, cloak brushing marble. Four figures followed — Rei, Kaito, Ayame, and Daichi — four pillars of his command. Their energies intertwined like notes in a chord, distinct yet in perfect balance.