"The wheel of fate cannot be undone. You have a role to play, Samael—and you will fulfill it."
A-Nihil stood there behind Samael, her white hair flowing back.
Samael didn't even turn his head. He sat alone at the edge of a flowering peak, one hand draped lazily over his knee, his back resting against a marble stone cloaked in moss and sunlight. The breeze played with strands of his pitch black hair, but his gaze remained fixed ahead—on the Garden of Eden.
Below him, the cradle of paradise bloomed in divine harmony: cascading waterfalls shimmered like liquid crystal, birds of impossible colors danced in the trees, and golden vines crept up white pillars that stood like silent sentinels of an ancient dream. The Garden was truly beautiful.
But his eyes—those deep, dark amethysts—held no reflection of that light.
"I have no interest in your so-called wheel of fate," he said quietly. "Nor do I care for whatever glimpse of Fate you've seen in me, A-Nihil."
