Kings of Unra

CHAPTER I: CHILDREN OF HEAVEN, CHILDREN OF LIGHT (1)       In a gospel, between the seek of the fifth heaven, there was a hurried angel. An ordinary one, with a restless mind. Uneased, keen to serve others more than it does to itself. He was flying at full speed, with a prominent despair to reach one place; removing companions from between him. Rising among the infinite parcels from the kingdom of glory and light. His smile was luminescent, despite his endless anxiety. The steps followed quickly for him, although his spirit rested in calmness. And the elevated certainty born within him, despite the times of uncertainty that kept the consciences of the gifted realm in agony.     Hope lived inside of him, while the angel fled as fast as he plausibly could; with a jug and five goblets damascened in gold, carrying them with lack of attention and rush. He ascended with his strange flight over the hills suspended by the depth of nowhere, and the beauty of the divine dimensions. Rose between the fountains of all dreams, crossing the pools that housed the purest illusions and intentions, and reached the openings of a wide temple. One where all the gathered angels lay in ponder; feeling an event. Watching a legendary battle.    With his heart racing, the angel entered the wide temple, and tried to find his way through the crowd; as he got closer into the vicinity of the wild narrative. There he pushed from side to side, until he found a floating table of hundreds, right in front of a giant sphere, where other children of light awaited him. "Why did you take so long, Seferot?!" exclaims an angel. "Did I missed something?" asks Seferot. "Did you missed something?!" asks the angel. "You missed everything!" "How are we doing?" asks Seferot.      The gazes then met each other. Silence settled over the table number three hundred. Seferot looked around him, and through the eyes of his brothers, he saw fear. He saw frustration, and hopelessness. The sphere revealed images of an event that robbed the harmony of the hallowed creatures. The nerves of the crowd arouse in perilous levels, then revealed to him a truth that he already knew, but that his heart could accept not.     "Well the cups of gold are here!" Seferot exclaims. "We can raise our glasses like they said!"     "Are you blind?" exclaims an angel named Deliath. “Or are your eyes still not choosing to see? We are losing the battle. We are losing in war.”      Seferot tried to ignore the comment, and simply poured from the golden jug five glasses for his four friends, and himself. Filled with a silver juice, which came out like wonderful, shiny water from the chosen jug. He served everyone, and began to see the images reflected through the sphere.     A terrible battalion was going ahead. A remote and lost place could be seen in the sphere, falling among the most agitated realms. Shadows’ domain spread through the sprawling ground, and light descended everywhere. A battle of angels, carried out on a distant planet; around expanses of the universe, that only those chosen by the eyes of light had been selected to be, and fight. The lightning bolts fell everywhere. Fire and ashes gushed from the bottoms of the place. Pieces of the untamed gripped the grayish sky, and roars from these furious volcanoes were driven out like the echoes of unthinkable beasts from the hearth of chaos and destruction. "It's Vianor!" exclaims one of the angels. "It's the colonel!"      Then the applause and acclaim took suddenly over the temple. Among the images of the ceaseless duel, they could see a superior archangel. A commander, leading in battle. Appearing among the commands of desperation. Fighting the infinities of dark specters. Undefined shadows, whose physical expressions were dead and ghostly, and their energies darkened enough to reflect their repression; felt even in the highest dimensions of the realm of peacefulness.     The presence of the commander covered the astral hearts of these spirits in rejoice; even those of the observers. The felony of war consumed the kingdom. The legendary battle weighed over the shoulders of these souls. Disturbing their consciousness. Their brothers fell. Their best warriors found themselves in deplorable states. And the ceaseless battle crumbled at the visions of all. The future was uncertain.     Suddenly, the sphere reveals how a set of shadows began to trap a crucial group of angels. High beings were captured with the greater speed. The time of darkness was coming and increasing; conquering the angels in battle. Vianor's leadership was beginning to break beyond comprehension. His angelic faces were twisted in pain. The images revealed the dimension losing to the affliction, covered in anger and fire. The children of heaven were seen struggling in war, when suddenly, an eerie scream was heard, and ran through the room of the temple. An evil portrayed in dismay. The edge of a dark age, had slowly pierced the commander's ribs; who fell to his knees, surrendered in the pits of suffering. All eyes took their astonished gaze away from the sphere. Angels began to fly everywhere. Screams of despair and commotion were heard in pain and disdain. And the agony showed the true face of it, once the grief of the leader of the Army of Angels, fell undoubtedly in battle. Then one of the Dark Shadows held his face, and with his other extremity filled with mist and fire, he pierced the dagger again over the Archangel Vianor. This time, in the center of his astral heart. In the center of his spirit’s pride.     Misery was then known deeply in Seferot. The goblet of gold fell from his hand, as time paralyzed the moment in drastic matter. They saw through the enchantment of the revealing sphere, the unbearable truth. Angels began were lost everywhere. There were no mediators, there was no peace. The realm of light felt the absence of its own self, and in the center of the souls of these beings, a true pain sprouted. And a true sadness.     It was in the midst of chaos and uproar, in the name of screaming and despair, that Seferot closed his eyes, and his body slowly gave way in swoon. And when his body touched the suspended cloud floor of the temple, his energy vanished. His essence faded away. His garments fell to the ground, while his soul simply dissolved, and left as in shoots of fate; trapped by the hands of destiny, for although it seemed that this was knowing the presence of death, in reality, this was only being transported, into somewhere else.     Then a cry was heard. A cry among the carnations of a river. The curtains of night were already covering the land of that place; and between a silver nest of stars, and two reminiscent moons, bowing as a blue, and a pink sight, a woman of the Valkala Race of the Giant Elves, happen to be there by chance, and felt the lament. She approached between the bouquets and the dark carnations, as she was on her way back to her home; and under a cluster of orchids and rising leaves, she found a basket. A basket with a child.