THE WAR

At the end of the times of the nations…

The realm ruptures in a cold, absolute break. Light slices through the heights. A violent surge rises, twisting the expanse. Shadows gather like a storm. Dread sweeps the realm.

A presence that should be near is gone, drawn instead toward the advancing darkness.

Then everything collapses into stillness.

A little earlier…

I move along the upper terraces, trying to keep my steps measured even though anticipation pulses through me. The preparations for the crowning fill the realm with a bright expectancy. Everywhere, spirits adjust lines of radiance, refine harmonics, and shape the ceremonial pathways.

Lighty stands apart from the activity, observing with a focused, analytical calm. His presence feels heavier than usual, as though he carries conclusions he hasn’t shared.

I approach with a small wave. “Lighty.”

He shifts his attention toward me. “Angy. You’re late.”

“You always say that,” I reply, trying to lighten the moment. “Maybe you’re just early.”

He doesn’t respond with amusement. He simply gestures toward the platform. “They’re nearly finished.”

The platform pulses with a soft, steady glow. “It’s beautiful,” I say.

“It’s functional,” he replies.

I hesitate. “It can be both.”

He doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t agree either. His presence feels distant, thoughtful.

“Are you excited?” I ask.

“Excitement isn’t the right category.”

“What is?”

“Uncertainty.”

That startles me. “Uncertain? About what?”

He studies me for a moment. “Angy… do you ever question the pace of these developments?”

“No,” I say without hesitation. “This is good. This is right.”

He releases a faint pulse of resignation. “You always answer that way.”

“Because I trust,” I say softly.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Even when you don’t understand.”

I shift uneasily. “Is that wrong?”

“No,” he says, and his presence warms slightly. “It’s simply not how I operate.”

Before I can respond, Rema approaches, her radiance brisk and focused. “Satty, Angy—please maintain distance from the harmonics. You’re interfering with the calibration.”

Lighty withdraws a few steps. I follow.

Rema glances between us. “Everything must align perfectly for the crowning.”

“It will,” I say.

Lighty emits a faint, skeptical pulse. “We’ll see.”

Rema notices but moves on.

I turn to him. “Lighty… something is troubling you.”

“Not now,” he replies.

“But—”

“Angy,” he says gently, “enjoy the moment. You’re good at that.”

I fall silent.

***

When the ceremony begins, the realm brightens in a way that fills me with awe. It isn’t just illumination—it’s purpose, harmony, joy. Spirits gather in vast formations, their presences woven together in anticipation.

Michael steps forward, composed and radiant. The realm quiets.

A declaration manifests—strong, resonant, filling every layer of existence. I feel a surge of emotion. Lighty stands beside me, but his presence remains guarded.

When the crowning completes, joy ripples through the assembly. Spirits release pulses of celebration, forming clusters of shared radiance. I turn to Lighty, hoping to see even a flicker of warmth.

Instead, he is focused upward, analyzing something unseen.

“Lighty?”

He doesn’t respond.

Then the signs appear.

A great sign manifests in the heights—vast, bright, like a woman clothed in brilliance. A cry of effort pulses through the realm. Another sign follows—a dragon, immense and red, coiling with hostile intent.

Shock ripples through the assembly.

Lighty murmurs, “So it begins.”

I reach toward him. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t perceive the underlying structure,” he says quietly.

“What structure?”

He doesn’t answer. His presence tightens with resolve.

***

Joy continues around us, but tension spreads beneath it. Groups of spirits move quickly toward the outer boundaries. Lighty watches them with a calm that unsettles me.

“Lighty,” I say, “please tell me what’s happening.”

He finally turns his attention fully to me. “Angy… I’ve been analyzing the patterns for a long time. The decisions. The inconsistencies.”

“Inconsistencies?”

“Yes.” His presence grows heavier. “And I’ve reached conclusions you won’t accept.”

A cold ache forms within me. “Lighty… don’t say that.”

“I’m not opposing you,” he says gently. “But I’m not aligned with you either.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t ignore what I perceive.”

Before I can respond, a tremor moves through the realm—a warning pulse. A violent rupture follows, cold and absolute.

Lighty straightens. “It’s starting.”

“What is?”

He doesn’t answer.

The Dragon rises at the far edge of the realm, his presence a violent distortion. Demons surge behind him, their collective force like a storm tearing through the calm.

Michael appears above the assembly, steady and composed. “Stand down,” his declaration manifests. “There is no need for this.”

The Dragon releases a pulse of defiance.

Lighty steps away from me.

“Lighty?” My presence wavers. “Where are you going?”

“I must stand where my reasoning leads.”

“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t do this.”

He pauses—just for a moment. “Angy… I wish you could understand.”

Then he moves toward the advancing darkness.

My entire being tightens. “Lighty!”

But he is already gone.

***

The battle erupts in a burst of force and fury. Radiance clashes with shadow. Waves of impact ripple across the realm. I’m swept into the defensive formations, barely able to focus.

A demon rushes toward me. I react instinctively, releasing a burst of force that pushes it back. Another follows. I block it, trembling.

I search the battlefield desperately.

I find him.

Lighty stands among the opposing ranks—not raging, not chaotic, but directing, analyzing, guiding the movements of those around him. His presence is calm, precise, resolved.

A fracture opens inside me.

A demon strikes from the side. I falter, but a loyal spirit reinforces me. “Stay with us, Angy!”

I nod, though my awareness stays fixed on Lighty.

Michael moves through the chaos like a steady flame, urging restraint even as he defends. “Do not force this,” his declaration manifests.

The Dragon answers with a violent surge.

The clash intensifies. Radiance bursts. Shadows recoil. The realm trembles.

Then, with a final surge, Michael drives the Dragon downward—out, away, expelled from the heights. The demons follow, hurled after their leader.

Including Lighty.

I perceive him fall—not resisting, not pleading, simply watching the realm recede with an unreadable calm.

“Lighty…” I whisper.

Stillness settles.

Then a triumphant declaration spreads through the realm:

“Rejoice, you heavens, and all who dwell within!”

Around me, spirits pulse with relief and joy. Some release bright waves of celebration. Others collapse in quiet gratitude.

I remain still, focused on the empty space where Lighty once stood.

A loyal spirit approaches, offering gentle reassurance. “Angy… we are secure.”

I nod. “Yes. We are.”

But deep within, a quiet ache remains.

Because my closest friend is gone.

And I could not reach him.