The sky was serene, a flawless blue that seemed to stretch into infinity, and Kutichay trained under the bright light of the celestial sun. His skin glistened with sweat as he leapt between the floating marble structures, which reflected flashes of light like mirrors. Each swing of his celestial chains resonated with a metallic hum, while he struck floating dummies with surgical precision. The air vibrated with every impact, and tiny particles of light scattered upon contact, like sparks of hope ignited.
From above, Lute watched him, her eyes evaluating every movement, every breath. Her presence radiated an imposing, almost tangible energy that made the surrounding structures tremble slightly. After a moment, she descended to the floating ground, her steps reverberating like firm drums.
—A competition? —she said, with a smile that was both challenging and playful—. You and me.
Kutichay tilted his head, silently accepting. He took his combat stance, muscles tense, chains dancing in his hands. In an instant, the air filled with the metallic clash of swords and chains, a chorus of pure energy echoing between the floating pillars.
Kutichay moved with grace, dodging and countering with precision, his chains spinning like serpents of light around Lute. Every one of her attacks was brutal, charged with raw force and electric sparks that tore through the air. Each failed strike made her frown, a mixture of frustration and determination that electrified the atmosphere.
—Come on! —Lute shouted, breathing heavily, as her blows kicked up tiny gusts of wind—. You won't stop me that easily.
With an agile spin, Kutichay gently wrapped his chains around her, cushioning her force with a warm aura of light that pulsed around him. The clash felt like a whisper of a contained storm, and Lute, panting, finally yielded:
—…You won —she murmured, respect mingled with exhaustion, as her energy stabilized.
—Are you okay? —Kutichay approached carefully, his eyes shining with genuine concern.
—Yeah… but… put on a shirt —she said, crossing her arms—. I don't want to see you sweating like a demon again.
Lute stepped back, and Kutichay took the opportunity to put on a shirt, leaving his sword on his back. He walked slowly through the celestial city, where floating bridges and crystal buildings refracted the light into fleeting rainbow glimmers. The wind carried a scent of peace and lavender, almost tangible, a sharp contrast to the recent tension of combat.
Upon reaching a floating bridge, he saw César, his uncle and close friend of his father, leaning calmly, gazing at the city.
—Hello, César. How are you? —Kutichay greeted, with a calm smile that softened the fatigue from training.
—Hello, Kutichay. I'm well, thank you —César replied, returning the smile, the sunlight reflecting in his eyes, filling them with warmth.
They stopped and talked for a while. The celestial city seemed to listen, silent yet alive, with the pillars of light softly vibrating around them. Kutichay, with a hint of nostalgia, asked:
—César… what was my father like?
César fell silent, letting the memories flow. His eyes softened, and his voice lowered, filled with sincerity and a subtle tremor of melancholy:
—Your father… was honorable, kind. Patient and loyal. One of those people who leave a mark —he said, his gaze embracing the memory of his lost friend.
Kutichay nodded, grateful, and bid farewell with a serene smile.
Arriving home, his personal space welcomed him with a comforting calm, where the light in his room floated like a river of liquid gold. At eighteen, young but already independent, he left his sword by the room and approached the mirror. For a moment, he saw himself; his reflection showed a young archangel, strong and serene. But the image began to twist, transforming into a demonic face, with a smile full of malice.
—Well, well, my dear self —the shadow whispered, its voice filling the room with an echo that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves.
—What do you want now, Millaychayuq? —Kutichay asked tensely, fists clenched.
—It's been a while since we talked… —Millaychayuq replied, with a thread of sadness—. I still miss our father… just like you do.
The demonic side moved subtly, surrounding Kutichay like a dark mist probing his emotions, seeking to merge with his heart. Millaychayuq had been born from his pain, his anger, and his resentment —everything Kutichay had suppressed to maintain his light as an archangel.