Five years had passed since the infamous Festival of Light. Time, cruel like a hungover angel, had stolen Liora's innocence and replaced it with an eighteen-year-old dripping with sarcasm and a celestial résumé that included accidental exorcisms, improvised miracles, and a record of ceremony-escapes so impressive it was now a case study at the Angelic Academy.
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Morning at Solmaria Palace
Liora awoke to the sound of clanging pots and fervent prayers. She burrowed under her white blanket like it was divine armor against morning zealotry. In Solmaria, mornings began with hymns, blessings, and the occasional prophetic crow dive-bombing through the window.
The door creaked open with a holiness-worthy horror movie vibe.
"Good morning, daughter!" sang Lucia, radiant as a sunrise sermon, balancing a tray of sweet bread, tea, and unachievable expectations.
Liora groaned. "Already? Can't I just skip straight to the apocalypse?"
"Today we have arcane theology and a controlled power demonstration!" her mother beamed, brushing a rogue strand of Liora's white hair, which looked more like a lightning bolt plotting its escape.
Liora blinked. "Controlled power demonstration? I was a demonic general. My idea of control is... cataclysmic. I blinked yesterday and set a tapestry on fire."
"Which is why we train, my little angel of light," Lucia said with infuriating calm.
Angel of light, Liora thought, staring at the ceiling like she was weighing the pros and cons of summoning a minor earthquake.
Right on cue, Morian entered. Former Demon King, current "celestial behavior consultant." He wore a black robe embroidered with solar symbols, probably thrifted from the clergy's clearance bin in a bid to blend in.
"Eighteen, huh?" he said, crunching on a honey biscuit. "They're grooming you to be the next Saint of Light. Fancy. And your hair? Still looks like moonlight had a passionate fling with a snowstorm."
"Thanks. I'll need a mirror and therapy after class."
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Corridors & Divine Encounters
In the halls, choirboys rehearsed hymns while armored guards clanked past — because of course, the guards were also sopranos. Liora spotted Luziel in the distance, draped in white silk and holding a golden harp that looked suspiciously weaponized.
He smiled — the kind of smile that said I know how annoyingly perfect I am, and yes, I'm doing it on purpose.
"Liora," he greeted. "You're looking… radiant. As always."
She raised an eyebrow. "Luziel. Here to remind me that even if you fell from heaven, you'd still land with a triple axel and applause?"
"Just came to wish you luck," he said, humble in the most arrogant way possible. "Ready for your big moment?"
"Totally. Time to prove a runaway comet can still be graceful."
He laughed — the kind that made the nuns swoon and Liora question her vow not to commit minor felonies.
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Arcane Theology Class
The sacred amphitheater smelled of old parchment and oppressive hope. At the center stood the altar where each student would channel the "Purifying Light" to levitate a crystal sphere. Classic divine education.
"Liora Hallow," called Madriessa Celeste, who looked like her very soul ran on disapproval.
Liora stepped onto the altar. It creaked in protest, as if sensing doom.
"Focus on your inner light," the professor instructed.
Liora sighed inwardly.
Inner light? I'm a former demon general. My inner light probably wears spiked boots and carries a flaming halberd.
She inhaled, concentrated. A blinding flash burst forth. The sphere shot to the ceiling, ricocheted, and slammed onto her foot with the grace of a drunk goat.
"OW!"
The sphere rolled to Luziel, who caught it mid-air like a bouquet tossed by fate.
"Friendly reminder: don't wear sandals in magic class," he said, handing it back with that infuriatingly charming smile.
"Dramatic, yet effective," Liora muttered, limping back to her seat. "At least nothing exploded. Yet."
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Break Time & Minor Threats to Sanity
In the courtyard, beneath an enchanted oak glowing like it drank moonlight, Liora collapsed onto a bench. Luziel sat beside her. Morian lounged nearby, flipping through a grimoire labeled Celestial Recipes — which almost definitely contained Level 12 destruction spells hidden between muffin instructions.
"You're improving," Luziel said. "Your control's getting… sharper."
"'Sharper' is a nice way of saying 'didn't level the altar.'"
"You can trust me, Liora. I know what you're going through."
She stared at him. "Do you know what it's like to be a demon reincarnated as the divine poster girl of a cult that sings around you 24/7?"
He paused. "...Not in those exact words."
"Exactly. That's why I talk to Morian. At least he's fluent in sarcasm."
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A Shadow from the Past
On the marble staircase, a shadow loomed. High Priest Theon — also known as "That Guy Who's Never Smiled" — watched Liora with eyes sharpened by years of righteous suspicion.
Since the Festival, he had nurtured doubts: no one should be that powerful, that unpredictable… or that bad at hymnals.
While Liora struggled to fly without blowing up the chapel, he refined his faith and his schemes — determined to uncover the truth. Or fabricate a truth. Whichever came first.
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Final Reflections of a Former General with Angel Wings
At eighteen, Liora had learned that growing up wasn't just about a deeper voice or a haircut that still screamed "trauma." It meant balancing her demonic soul with celestial expectations, dodging overenthusiastic nuns, and keeping Morian far from the alchemy lab.
And above all — learning to fly without becoming a tragic legend.