The Ascended Ones

The Watcher's Whisper

I woke up to the rustling of feathers—not earthly ones, but the invisible tremors of wings from a realm higher than skies. I knew it wasn’t the wind or the sound of pigeons roosting on the rooftops of Unifred Houses. It was a warning… a whisper from the Watchers.

“You’re drifting, Austiel.”

Yes, they still called me by my true name—Austiel, Prince of the Fifth Dominion, Guardian of the West Wind and Whisperer of Mankind's Fate. But that name was not to be spoken here. Not in this realm. Not in this form. Not while I wore this mortal shell.

I stood by the mirror, brushing off thoughts and memories that were not mine to remember—at least not here. My reflection didn’t lie, but my identity did. A twenty-one-year-old Political Science major from Southwark, raised by Mr. and Mrs. Frimpston. Yet inside, beneath this flesh-bound suit, the divine pulse of Heaven’s song still echoed, though faintly.

But what was growing louder… was the rhythm of love.

Mawutor.

Even her name sounded like a holy verse, spoken only by prophets and poets. Her voice… like a lullaby for dying stars. Her laugh—like water spilling from eternity. I was sure she didn’t know who I truly was, but a part of me feared she might sense it. Mortal hearts, especially pure ones, often pick up what angels try to conceal.

Was it wrong to love her?

The Codex of the Bound Ones stated clearly:

“Let not the Host fall to affection, nor mix the divine with the flesh, for great is the shadow that follows the fusion.”

But no scripture ever spoke of this ache—this unbearable longing to simply be close. To be seen not as an angel, nor as a savior… but as a man.

And yet, deep within me, I felt it stir again—the shadow.

It had been a thousand years since the Hordes of Amon-Rah tried to breach the Veil, using mortal love as a gateway to snare an angel’s soul. And now… I could sense them again. Lurking in the alleys of thought. Waiting.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. So I took out the silver-bound notebook where I kept my poems. The ones I had been writing since I met her.

“To the One I Cannot Touch”

If love is f*******n,

then let me be damned with honor.

If to kiss your brow is sin,

then may I fall from grace for eternity,

just to once taste the divine in you.

As I finished the line, I heard a knock. Not on my door… on the wall of my spirit. A gentle tug, then a violent pull—something trying to cross through.

I collapsed onto my knees, wings threatening to burst out of my back as the vision struck:

Fire. Screams. A shadow with many faces. A mirror cracked. A blood moon hanging over Passion University. And Mawutor—her eyes glowing gold, her body levitating. She wasn’t who she thought she was either.

I gasped, sweat pouring down my brow, my heart racing faster than humanly possible.

Then I heard the voice again… hers.

“Austine... Wake up.”

But it wasn’t a dream this time.

I opened my eyes.

She was standing there. In my room.

Drenched. Shivering. Afraid.

“Mawutor?” I whispered, stunned. “What—what are you doing here?”

She looked at me… those eyes, glowing faintly. Like someone possessed—or someone awakened.

“They’re coming,” she said, trembling. “They’ve found you.”

Then she collapsed into my arms.

And at that moment, I knew…

This love wasn’t just f*******n.

It was prophecy.