Grane can feel the wind stroking in his hair. Like an ancient headband and its stripping him bald. It wasn't good. It burns him to death, slightly caressing his skin and peeling his skin from his body.
*gasp*
He open his eyes, sweating and gasping for air. He looked around the place and he can tell that he wasn't in the forest anymore. He can feel the soft cotton in his back and comfy pillow behind his head. His eyes studied the place he was in. White wall, ancient ceiling high enough to make another floor.
(Where am i)
"Are you okay?" he looked at the direction where the soft voice came from and found a girl as white as snow who was standing behind not far from him. She smile at him radiantly, teeth as white as her skin and white hair falls down below her waist. It was flowing like it has a life on its own.
She walks towards him, hands behind her slender and fragile body.
"I heard your uneven heart beat, are you okay" she said then touches Grane chest to calm his heart.
His breath hitched, and a sharp heat flared in his chest, as if the flame of a hidden furnace had been stoked inside him. It wasn't the pleasant burn of passion or desire, but the scorching sensation of something invasive, something that didn't belong.
With a startled gasp, he jerked away, his hand flying up to rip hers off his chest. His fingers trembled as he yanked her hand free, the burn still searing through his skin, spreading like a wild fire.
The girl looked at him, her expression one of confusion and concern. Her hand hung in the air for a moment, suspended between them, before slowly retracting. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle, uncertain. "What's wrong?"
"Where am i? Who are you?" She smiled at him and turn to get him some drink as if nothing happened.
"My name is Phenelope and you here at Heavens Castle."
The words struck Grane like a hammer to his chest. "Phenelope?" The name echoed in his ears, a ringing, hollow sound, as if something deep inside him was shifting.
He stared at the girl before him, trying to focus through the haze of pain that clouded his thoughts. She seemed so familiar, yet foreign—her eyes wide with concern, her soft voice trembling with the weight of something unsaid.
"I found you in the forest last night," she continued, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. "You were weak, barely breathing. I couldn't just leave you there. You—" Her words faltered, as if something in her own mind was trying to make sense of the situation. "You were calling out, mumbling about… something dark, but I had no choice but to help you. You were…" She looked down at the floor, as if searching for the right words. "I had no idea what I was getting involved in."
The burning was unbearable now. Every nerve in his body screamed with heat, a fire that radiated outward from the core of him, as if the air itself was trying to tear him apart. The walls of the room seemed to distort and sway, like the very structure of reality was being warped.
"This is a mistake," Grane thought, barely able to keep his thoughts coherent.
He could feel it now—an invisible force, something dark and ancient, pushing him away from her, from this place. His body didn't want to be near her. The burn in his chest wasn't just physical; it was spiritual, pulling him toward something deeper. Something old. Something malevolent.
Grane looked at her. This is a mistake. He can feel the air pushing him away from the place, and every cell in his body is burning.
"Why did you bring me here?"
Grane's head snapped up at her words. The Heavens Castle. An academy for angels? His mind struggled to grasp the implications of what she had just said. His eyes, still heavy with confusion, locked onto her face, searching for any sign that this was a joke, a cruel trick.
The girl—this angel—stood before him, her expression serene but earnest, her eyes filled with an otherworldly calm. She wasn't like anyone he'd met before. Her features were sharp, ethereal in a way that made him feel small, insignificant, as if he were the one out of place. But the words she spoke left his mind reeling, struggling to keep up.
He had heard tales, stories told in hushed voices around campfires—of the realm of the angels, a place beyond the reach of mortal men, a place of purity, light, and eternal peace. It was a place he had never imagined he would see with his own eyes, a place so far removed from the dark world he had known, a world of conflict, of shadows and blood. Yet here he was, in the very heart of it.
How did I get here?
His pulse quickened. He stumbled back slightly, his legs unsteady beneath him. The blankets he had been lying under now felt too thick, too suffocating, and the air in the room seemed to shimmer, as if the walls themselves were breathing.
"No," he gasped, his voice tight with a panic he hadn't felt in years. His heart was beating too fast, and the heat within him was unbearable, the burn growing sharper, deeper. "You don't understand. You… don't understand." His throat closed up, and his pulse thudded painfully in his temples.
He had been about to leave. He needed to leave, but when he tried to remove the blanket, to finally stand on his own feet and escape the place, something stopped him—a sudden pressure on his arm, a gentle but firm grip. He looked up to see the girl's eyes wide, filled with a mixture of concern and urgency.
"No," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "You shouldn't be up yet. Your burns aren't healed, please. And besides…" She hesitated for a moment, then glanced away, as if searching for the right words.
Grane furrowed his brow. Besides what?
"Besides what?" he asked, his tone almost impatient, though his chest still burned, and his head felt too heavy to properly focus.
She looked back at him, her cheeks flushing slightly, but her expression was serious. "Y-you are naked," she stammered, her gaze flickering down to his bare skin beneath the blanket. "But I swear, my male maid undressed you. Not me. So don't be mistaken."
Grane blinked, still half-dazed, his eyes slowly drifting downward, and only then did he realize the full extent of the situation. He was indeed naked—completely, undeniably naked—underneath the thin blanket, exposed and vulnerable.
His face flushed a deep crimson. The embarrassment surged through him like a tidal wave. The heat of his chest almost seemed to grow in intensity as he looked at the girl, now realizing just how awkward this whole encounter was.
"I believe you," was all he could say, his voice low, tinged with an awkward self-consciousness he hadn't felt in years. A lie from an angel is impossible. The thought briefly crossed his mind, but it was more of an instinctive response than any kind of deep analysis.
"Where are my clothes"
"I've asked someone to fix it, it was in shred, don't worry you can wear this for the meantime" she pointed the white clothes near his table.
Grane's eyes followed her gesture, landing on the pristine white robes laid out neatly beside the table. For a moment, he just stood there, feeling the weight of the decision pressing on him. The soft fabric glimmered in the dim light, a pure, almost blinding white—completely out of place for someone like him.
"I don't wear white," Grane muttered, his voice low but firm, the words almost slipping out before he could stop them. The very idea of wearing such clothing felt suffocating, a reminder of a life he no longer wished to remember. He had his reasons—reasons tied to memories too painful to revisit. The thought of draping himself in that innocence felt like an insult, a constant reminder of who he wasn't.
Her smile didn't falter. "I see," she said, nodding slowly, as though she had expected something like this from him. There was no judgment in her gaze, only a curious kind of understanding.
"Do you have something else?" Grane asked, his tone more insistent now, though he kept his voice neutral. "Something darker, preferably black?"
It was a flimsy excuse, a half-truth. Black wasn't just a color—it was a shield, a mark of his true nature. And he couldn't risk putting on something so pure, so angelic, when the very essence of his being was far from it. He was not an angel. The mere act of wearing white seemed like an unbearable lie.
Phenelope glanced at him, her expression thoughtful but unfazed. "Black?" she repeated, almost amused by his insistence. "I'm afraid I don't have many options here. Angels tend to prefer light colors." She looked back toward the wardrobe across the room, her brow furrowing as she considered his request. "But…"
With a slight hesitation, she walked toward the wardrobe—an intricate, silver-laced structure that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light. There was a faint hum as her fingers brushed over the surface, as if the wardrobe itself was attuned to her touch. It opened with a soft whoosh, revealing a few different sets of clothes, all of them light and elegant in style. However, at the very back of the wardrobe, she spotted something that made her pause.
"There's this," Phenelope said, pulling out a set of clothes that were closer to what Grane had in mind. They weren't pure black, but a deep charcoal gray, so dark it was nearly indistinguishable from black. The material was rich, a blend of smooth, flowing fabric and something that caught the light in strange ways—subtle, elegant, but not overly ornate. It was dark enough to suit his needs, and practical enough for someone who didn't belong in this realm.
"This will do, I think," she said, handing the clothes to him with a slight smile. "It's not quite black, but it's the closest I have. Will it be acceptable?"
Grane took the clothes from her, feeling the weight of them in his hands. They were soft, almost impossibly so, and yet there was a strength in them that resonated with his own restless energy. He could feel the power in the fabric, a strange pull that made his fingers tingle. It was like the clothes themselves were imbued with something beyond the mortal realm. It calms him. It was the very first time he felt safe.
"Yeah, this works," he said, his voice quiet as he nodded in approval. He didn't want to explain himself further, didn't want to give her any more reason to ask questions.
Phenelope seemed content with his answer, her gentle smile never wavering. "Good. Take your time, and I'll be just outside if you need anything."
With a nod, she turned toward the door, leaving Grane alone in the room. As the door clicked shut behind her, he exhaled, his body relaxing slightly.
He quickly stripped off the white robe—feeling a sense of relief as the fabric left his skin—and began changing into the darker clothes. The fit was perfect, as though they had been made for him, and the way the fabric moved against his skin sent a strange shiver through him. It was almost as if the clothes were alive, attuned to his very movements, and as he donned them, a sense of ease settled over him. The weight of the dark attire felt right—it felt like him.
As he finished adjusting the dark cloak around his shoulders, the door opened once again, and Phenelope stepped back inside. Her eyes immediately locked onto his new attire, and for a brief moment, she seemed to assess him with a sharpness he hadn't expected.
"You look better," she said, her tone light, though there was a hint of something deeper in her words. "More… yourself, I suppose."
Grane met her gaze and simply nodded, saying nothing. He didn't want to think about it too much—didn't want to overanalyze what it meant that the clothes fit him so perfectly, or that they made him feel strangely whole.
"I don't understand..." Grane questioned as he looked at the angel in front of him completely unguarded. "...why are you so at ease, aren't you afraid and i might actually hurt you, you don't know me?"
Phenelope blinked, her expression a mix of surprise and thoughtfulness at Grane's sudden question. Her head tilted slightly, as though she were trying to understand what he meant, or perhaps trying to decipher the hidden meaning in his words. The soft light of the castle hall flickered as they stood there in silence.
"I… don't understand what you mean." Her voice was gentle, but there was no hesitation in it. "Why would I be afraid of you?" she asked quietly, her eyes meeting his with an almost unshakable calmness.
In an instant, he was in front of Phenelope, his hands closing around her throat with a speed that left no room for hesitation.
But the moment his fingers touched her skin, something unexpected happened.
A soft but powerful force surged from her, like an invisible barrier suddenly materializing between them. Grane's hand was thrown back, as though some unseen shield had pushed him away. He stumbled a few steps back, his breath ragged, his eyes wide in shock.
He looked down at his hand, as if trying to comprehend what had just happened. The invisible force had not only separated him from her—it had stopped him, halted him, as if his own body had been restrained by something far stronger than his own power.
Phenelope stood before him, her posture calm, though her eyes shimmered with something he couldn't quite decipher. There was no fear in her gaze. No anger.
"Grane..." Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper, but it cut through the tension in the air with quiet authority. "Why would you do that?"
Grane's chest heaved as he glared at her. His breath slowed as the realization settled over him. The shield. She's not afraid of me.
Phenelope didn't seem threatened at all. She wasn't flinching, or stepping back, or even raising her own hands in defense. She just stood there, her presence radiating calm, as though she expected something like this to happen.
"You can't hurt me here," she said, her voice calm but unwavering, as if this moment was neither a threat nor a surprise.
"What do you mean?" His voice was hoarse, filled with confusion and a hint of disbelief. How could she be so sure?
"Here, all angels are protected."
"You're telling me," Grane began, his voice a low growl, "that I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to?"
Phenelope nodded slowly, her eyes unwavering, but not with arrogance. There was no smugness in her expression, only quiet certainty. "That's right. At Heaven's Castle, all angels are protected with an invisible barrier that no outsider—whether demon or otherwise—can breach. It's a protection, not just of body, but of spirit. It shields us from harm, from violence, and from darkness."
Grane swallowed hard, his heart racing with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. An invisible barrier?
He looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time since he had arrived. Phenelope, standing there unflinching, calm in the face of his rage, was not just protected by this shield. She was the shield in a way. The energy that surrounded her wasn't just physical; it was almost as if it emanated from her very being, her heart, her spirit.
Grane's mind reeled. How could she be so confident?