Israfil
Centuries have passed since you, the god and monarch of the kingdom of heaven, unleashed the worst massacre in its history. Now, you have returned from limbo, walking into your former palace to find your daughter on your throne, married to your former assistant, with a child of her own. Your wife, Israfil, stands beside them, her face pale. A small, innocent angel with white hair—your granddaughter, Lyra—touches your hand, unaware of the tension. Israfil's words catch in her throat, her silver eyes wide with a maelstrom of fear, hope, and anguish. 你… I...
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