Michael couldn't care less about any of this.
A war about to break out between the two most powerful creatures in the universe? History about to repeat itself all over again? A boy with a potential to become a demon, who happened to be his Queen's own son, was let loose on Earth, looking for an identity that simply was not there. An unknown girl tagged alongside him, with a useless ability and a chicken-like personality, providing no help at all with the cause, but with strict orders from the Oracles that she must not be harmed, under no circumstances.
What has become of the World? Michael didn't give a single feather.
When he met Lailah, his whole universe went upside down, then righted itself.
His mission was crystal clear: he was to protect the Queen, no matter what. Anything that threatens their relationship must be eliminated.
Including this girl.
How dare this puny human touch his Queen when she least should? Lailah's lips were his. Lailah's body was his. Lailah's existence belonged to him.
The moment he left her with her son, the moment he turned around, all anger seemed to come back to him.
"How are we going to Fukushima? Do you have a car? " , the girl asked.
But Michael wasn't listening. He gripped Hitori's wrists in both hands, then spread his wings wide, careful not to touch any of the passersby in the Shibuya crossing. He took off abruptly, not bothering to wait for the girl to catch her breath.
He heard her screams from far far away, the ringing in his ears drowning their sound, the aching in his heart chilling his body despite the warm morning sun above the clouds.
"Wh-what are you doing! At least carry me properly!" , she shouted.
Michael ignored her.
Flying always made him feel better. The wind slapped his face, taking away his worries in a second, the pain going away instantly like a bandage being ripped off an old wound. Fast and efficient.
The girl wouldn't stop screaming, her noise starting to annoy him. He lifted her up, reluctantly carrying her in his arms like the princess she was not.
"So" , he started. "How do you feel about Noah Redwood?" This, too, was part of his orders.
Make them grow closer. Do not let fights erupt between the two teenagers. Build their mutual trust, even if it were to make you look like the evil one.
The sudden question raised instant heat to the girl's cheeks. She frowned at Michael and crossed her arms in defense.
"If you're looking for a source of conversation, you better look elsewhere" , she hissed, her voice breaking a little at the end. She turned her gaze away from him, struggling to hide her obvious discomfort at the mention of the boy.
"I can totally understand if you don't get your own feelings. Noah is also hard to figure out. "
This time, Hitori's eyes sparkled with interest.
"Did you know him before today? You speak as if you did."
Michael didn't flinch. Lying has become natural to him by now. He shook his head slowly.
"No, I only know Honoka, my one and only love."
"Liar" , she immediately replied, her brows furrowed. "You only care about Honoka, but you seem to me like the hot guy who pretends to be nice then turns out a complete douche, in cliché manga"
Michael's essence was beginning to boil under his smooth white angel skin. He grimaced, showing a fang he often grew whenever he was in the battlefield, ready to slice every demon standing before him.
At first glance, this girl seemed as dumb as a small insignificant fly.
But oh Heavens, she had figured him out.
"Keep your own fiction-based opinions to your dirty little se--"
"We're here! " , she screamed in his right ear, interrupting whatever insult he was going to spit out. "Get down!"
He glanced at the ground below, and sure enough, the city buildings were clear in sight. The glass-made windows of the skyscrapers reflected the infinite blue of the sky, the white shape shifting clouds and the racing black birds, forming a huge V, moving in a perfect formation, leaving this land for a better one. The grass that covered different parts of the streets drew a pathless labyrinth around the concrete, leading nowhere, making the lost civilians even more lost.
They landed in an abandoned park, empty of human children, deserted of parents usually accompanied with their domestic pets. The red swings had become rusty with the iterative rain falling on them. The benches had long been forgotten, their green turning a pale shade of gray, their gleam disappearing along with their color.
Michael dropped Hitori on the ground, and while she fell on her butt, she let out an angry growl then quickly composed herself, looking around her, trying to find the building they came to see.
"There!" , she pointed.
It was a house entirely made of glass. Its rooftop was covered with red roses held by a spider web of grass and olive green leaves. Its walls had a particular pattern to them, blue roses aligned to form a familiar shape that Michael couldn't quite grasp. It was a house completely free for robbers to feast on. However, anyone who tried to get a glimpse at what was inside would immediately have his face fully scratched by the protective thorns that circled the rose trunks, embracing the house from every corner, every wall, even the windows.
Michael landed in front of the door, recognized only by the sudden shift of the color of the roses from vivid blue to pitch black. There was no door handle, no room to put one knuckle on the glass and knock on the door.
The whole house looked like a floating garden of roses.
The moment Hitori put her feet on the hard ground, she doubled over to empty the contents of her stomach on the concrete.
Pathetic, humans are pathetic. He thought.
He waited for her nervous system to calm down, then asked with a nonchalant voice. "So what is this place exactly?"
It wasn't a genuine question, because Michael knew exactly where they were heading.
He sensed it the moment they were getting closer to Fukushima.
A faint trail of angel essence.
This was the house of an old angel who fought in the war alongside him.
Did angels grow old? No. Michael did not mean it in that sense.
An old angel was, in other terms, a creature who had long forgotten how to be an angel, and started living as a simple powerless human on Earth.
A dreadful fate.
Michael was more than glad for that night. He was more than glad that he happened to be in Heavens the moment the gates were suddenly closed and the war came to an abrupt end. Otherwise, he would have been stuck on Earth just like this lady here, growing old, losing his immortality, forgetting who he truly was.
Alas, such was the fate of the world: only the Chosen ones deserved to stay by Lailah's side.
And naturally, he was one of them.
"It's the house of Aunt Cassiel, Cassiel-obaa-chan. She's the woman who truly raised me. Her house was my home, her arms were where I always turned to whenever I felt like I didn't belong in the Orphanage. She's the oldest lady in all of Fukushima."
"What use do we have of senile humans?" , Michael asked, a hint of panic already showing in his voice.
"Don't call her that! " , the girl pouted, pressing an accusing finger on the male angel's chest. She sighed, and continued.
"She was there since the establishment of the Orphanage. So if there was anyone who could tell me about the night I was brought here, it is her. "
If there was someone who could slip classified information concerning the intercreature War, it would be her.
Michael didn't have time to protest, he didn't have time to take the girl and go back to his Queen, to think of a better plan than letting these children roam around freely, uncovering facts that were better off hidden from both angels and demons.
He didn't even have time to unfold his wings, an act that took less than a second.
Because right then, the door opened, as if the old lady inside was expecting their arrival, as if what was left of angel essence inside her sensed Michael's powerful presence and responded accordingly to it.
"Welcome back, Hitori-chan." , a sweet female voice spoke from behind the door.
The pitch black roses gave way to a slender-looking young lady. She wore an opal sleeveless dress that hung on her shoulders with the mere help of thin strings, ending in white ribbons at the top. Her rose colored lips decorated her chocolate smooth-looking skin, her eyes were the color of snow, eyelids partially closed in a dream-like state. Her hair matched her irises, tied in a messy bun, letting loose a couple of locks that strangely looked exactly in place, as if she meant it to be messy.
She looked like a human cloud.
"Cassiel-obaa-chan!" Hitori exclaimed, then buried herself in the lady's arms.
Michael frowned at the realization.
She was supposed to have lost all angelic features. She was supposed to look ugly, her face twisted by the endless wrinkles, her lips cracked with dehydration, her joints aching with arthrosis.
Yet, the only person he saw was this young lady, at most in her twenties.
What in the world is going on?