A fresh breeze swept through the dock as the sounds of conversations filled the air. Azazil wondered how long it had been since the clock had struck. Has it been four hours yet? Ten? Twenty? With no one to converse with, he was used to losing track of time. Yet, even so, he had never gotten used to the feeling of incessant boredom as he waited.

Perhaps I should rest. He gently sighed and bit the inside of his check. But what if it’s almost dawn?

He soon got his answer upon hearing a grating chime, which was known for its beauty. Unfortunately, as Azazil had heard it half a million too many times, his ears winced at the sound.

The chime resounded across the entirety of the Harbor, if one could even call it that. Rather than a typical tourist attraction with dozens of ships and restaurants, the “Harbor” was just Azazil’s boat, some trees, and a rather intimidating bell tower.

The chimes had the expected effect of commanding attention to the bell tower, which worked in Azazil’s favor. It also had the wonderful ability of shutting everybody up.

Azazil cleared his throat, trying his best to keep everyone’s eyes on him. As he spoke, doubt lingered in his mind. The others may have been successes, but what if I fail this time?

Although his stomach sickened as he spoke, he tried to ignore the thought as best as he could. “C-Congratulations, new saints of Heaven. I am Seraph Azazil and today I will be, um, transporting you to paradise. I will help you settle everything you need and, ah, showing you around. N-now, please start boarding this boat,” he said, pointing to his right.

No one dared to tell him that the boat was actually on his left.

Azazil grasped around for the boat, but his hands snagged only empty air.

Sweat dripped down his face. What if everyone thinks I’m not fit to guide them, or aren’t satisfied with their service, or —

Azazil tripped over two of his six wings and plummeted into the water below.

Not long after, strong arms reached around his torso and pulled him up. “Hey, what happened?”

Azazil hung his head in shame. “Actually, erm, I can’t really see. So things like that happen a lot.”

“I see,” his rescuer said. “Would you like me to help you dry off? I can lend you my jacket while your clothes dry.”

“H-huh? Erm, that’s alright.” Azazil mumbled. “We should really go to Shamayi now. I-it’s a long journey.”

*

A five year old held on to his mother and started kicking the deck out of boredom. “Mama, when are we going to get therrrrrrrrre?”

“Soon, my lovely child,” the mother responded, unsuccessfully trying to comfort her son.

“But maaaaam, I’m bored and this boat keeps on rocking! I thought you said we were going to have fun here! I miss Daddy!”

“We are going to, when we get there,” she replied. “Why don’t you ask this kind young man something? He may even be fun to play with.”

Azazil normally would’ve clarified that he was actually thousands of years old, but he couldn’t bring himself to. His necklace—a silver cross through a loop—chafed his neck as it pointed to the West. He held the cold cross in his hand, a final gift from his Father. The memory of it brought a pang of sadness.

Suddenly, a little boy forcefully tugged at his cloak, causing Azazil to lose his balance. Not long after, his head hit the floor, causing the boat to rock. Azazil clenched his lips; he could feel some of the patrons glaring at him from their seats.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Oi, look here! You, you!”

Even though the last thing Azazil wanted to do was talk, he still forced himself to respond. “Um, yes?”

“You drive bad! Not like Daddy, he drives goodly! I want Daddy, not you!” The boy stomped and then burst into tears. “Waaaa! Where is Daddy?”

How many times has this exact situation happened? Azazil lost count long ago. Even though he had witnessed the feeling of grief many, many times, he just couldn’t bring himself to sympathize with the little boy. Was it the fact that being surrounded by it so many times had desensitized him? Was the previous day still lingering in his mind? Or, as a certain seraph would say, was he hardening his heart to God?

Azazil sighed, unable to respond. He and his passengers stayed silent until they finally arrived at Shamayim.

Shamayim, the First Heaven, was located in the sky. The beautified saints resided there, joy written across their faces. With streets made of gold, pearly gates, and a crystal sea, there was not a drop of sadness in the land.

The Second Heaven, Gehinnom, was actually nothing like one. Featuring seven layers full of calamities, an outpour of sin, and an ocean’s worth of despair, it was no wonder that humans liked to call it by another name. Hell, was it?

The Third Heaven, Shamayi H’Shamayim was on a different plane of existence entirely. It was where the angels lived, close to God. It was where Azazil used to live, before … everything.

The thought of it dampened his mood, but Azazil forced a smile for his passengers, for they had just arrived at Shamayim. “Please, everyone, follow me. I’ll guide you to your new home.” Azazil’s necklace showed them the way.

They passed wonder after wonder, and Azazil explained what each was in an absent minded tone. The tour managed to drag on and on without fail, and he hated it every time.

After showing the starstruck souls around, he concluded with a speech. “I hope you all will be able to live in pleasure here, for God will always be here with you. N-now, go in peace.”

During the tour, he noticed that something was off. The wind was light and airy, just like all the times he had been summoned by his elder brother, Seraphiel.

Surely this must be a fluke, Azazil thought to himself. Seraphiel wouldn’t do this.

Yet, as warmth spread out from his chest to his entire body, he reconsidered. The feeling of warmth and comfort was something that Azazil rarely felt back then, but he would always remember it. It told him that he was wanted in Shamayi H’Shamayim. He was welcome there.

With bated breath, he prepared his wings, and flew.

It had been so long, Azazil couldn’t figure out how to get there. Yet his body moved on its own, as if possessed by his desire to return. He needed to go back. He needed to see if his Father would finally accept him again.

Azazil didn’t know how long he flew. Fatigue settled in his wings, which beat furiously. He pretended he couldn’t feel the pain.

After quite a while, he heard the singing of the illuminated Seraphim. Their powerful voices pierced the air, singing “Holy, holy, holy” in reverent prayer.

Azazil started to shake all over. Shamayi H’Shamayim was so close! He was almost there …

“What do you think you’re doing, Failed Seraph Azazil?”

Azazil recognized who the voice was from immediately. Cherub Mireille, one of the two Cherubim who guarded the entrance to Heaven. Since Mireille was there, that meant that her partner Victoria was also present.

“I … Miri, Vicky , I …”

“Have you no respect? 3000 years, and you still can’t remember basic etiquette?” Victoria said, sharply interrupting him. Unlike Mirielle’s voice, which was steady and strong, Victoria’s was high pitched and irritating.

“I, uh, ah … I’m sor—no—dearly sorry that I addressed the two of you incorrectly, Cherubim Mireille and Victoria. But I t-thought I could return?” Azazil struggled to speak.

Victoria let out an ear piercing roar, almost as if she was laughing. “You insolent little…”

“I… I-”

“Ahem.” Mireille’s annoyance showed through her voice. “Cherub Victoria, cease. We are to discuss the matter at hand.”

Azazil started to quake. But wasn’t I told I was allowed back? What happened?

The whip of Mireille’s thick curls brought him back to the conversation at hand. Even after all these years, those long blonde curls that Mireille prized were still just as deadly.

“Failed Seraph Azazil, a reminder.”

Azazil’s heart sank in his stomach. He could already feel a lecture brewing in Mireille’s mind.

“Yes?”

“Barring our Lord’s command, you are to not step foot here under any circumstances. Therefore, we will have to transport you back.”

“Wa-” Too late. Mireille and Victoria grasped him tightly. Azazil’s heart began to race. No … not this again, please!

“Remember this, Failed Seraph Azazil. The punishment you received was caused by your own doing,” Mireille stated. Then, with a mighty heave, the two cherubim hurled him down to the depths below.

Azazil cried as he fell, the thought of saving himself never even crossing his mind. It had been over three thousand years since his failure, and despite all the time that passed, it still hurt. His failure to see the light had cost him everything—his pride, his sight, and most importantly, the feeling of love he desperately craved.

Perhaps it was fortunate that his shame was so great that he couldn’t even comprehend the fact that he was falling to his death.

Perhaps it was also fortunate that he blacked out soon after.