This part is a free-verse poem that acts as a kind of prologue.((()))) Perfection is the one goal that men strive continuously for.
The one goal I thought I had reached.
On wings of silver velvet I had flown
Over all those beneath me.
Those who were not as perfect as I.
I had carried my friends as well,
My heart was as full as the oceans
And as strong as steel.
My life was just as it should have been.
Until that day.
Everything began to go wrong.
First, I fell,
Only to realize that I couldn't get back up again.
But I held on.
I assured myself that I would survive
And I believed myself,
For a while.
But then He came.
He destroyed all that I had ever loved
And had made me watch as He did so.
I could not run
I could not hide
As He ripped apart the fabric that was the life I had worked so hard on perfecting.
I was made to watch as He crumbled the mountains I had once called home
As He ran dry the rivers that sustained the earth
As He blotted out the moon with His inky magic.
And it was then that I realized:
Even mountains can fall.
Fire does burn.
If cut, I will bleed.
Perfect wings can be broken.
Hearts can be torn.
Lives can be ripped apart.
The sky can fall.
Thunder can roar.
People can die without a single tear shed.
Minds can be warped
Like candles when burned.
As easily as I can say "Perfection."
Because nobody's reached what we truly thought we had.
Not even angels are perfect.
At the end of the world in the Mitando System, the last of humanity was divided. Those who were left after all the destruction were judged by the Great One. Some became the Fallen. The remaining tint of evil on an otherwise perfect world, and they were banished. Others became the Released. They that were seen fit in His eyes to live, but not in High Exaltation. The Released inherited all the earth. The remaining few of us became the Angels. The high rulers over the Released and Fallen, and we inherited the Great Land. The place we had only dreamed of as mortals. We inherited Celëb Aÿrέ. We lived there happily for over seven thousand years. Our land was rich, full of milk and honey, and from our thrones in our manors, we could govern our appointed Stars. In Celëb Aÿrέ, we lived in light and love, until Dramion appeared. Dramion was one of the Sirón. The Sirón were those few who did not even deserve the rank of a Fallen. They dwelled within the darkness of the outermost reaches of the Actendra System, so far away that they were nearly a myth within the Released. But when Dramion appeared, he destroyed the Great One. The Released, fearing utter obliviation, fled from before him, while most of the Fallen joined his forces. Together, the Sirón and the Fallen were formidable opponents, but we fought anyway. It was our duty to protect Glandryl, and all the Systems that it encompassed, and protect it we would. After all, we were the perfect. The chosen. We were the Angels of Celëb Aÿrέ.