One by one, Heylel climbed the steps towards the Throne. He felt weary, each step felt like a boulder being laid down. His armor bore heavily on his body. He wanted to rest but he clenched his fist to remain focused. He was determined to relay his blasphemous request to the Creator.
"The Master shall grant me this one. I deserve it," he said proudly to himself. But deep inside, he felt bitter. He knew that in the middle of this unblemished misty marbled staircase was his brother waiting for him, Ithuriel the Keeper. "The Guardian" of the Throne. Heylel was aware that his brother would not agree to his request but he had decided on what he must do. He was prepared to kill him.
As Heylel continued to climb, he felt the urge to look back at the vast perfection of Skydome. Everything was at rest. A peaceful silence hung around the place. But below these massive white clouds was an entirely different scene. His brothers and sisters were killing each other. Everyone was fighting for what they thought was right. This war, of course, was orchestrated by him. The war between what was known to be good and eventually what would be considered as evil. All of these were done for a right to become a creator, equal to the Master himself.
This peaceful silence brought fragments of memories to his mind. Memories which he thought he had long forgotten. "Why am I remembering this now?" he asked himself as he recalled the very first time he received an expression of gratitude. The catalyst for this catastrophe started with one small gesture of admiration.