The forest grew quieter as they walked.
Not peaceful—watchful.
Reeve felt it in the way the wind slowed when Lumi stopped, in the way the shadows leaned just a little too close. The towering trees loomed overhead like ancient judges, their roots twisting through the earth as if gripping something buried long ago.
Lumi finally halted beneath a massive oak whose bark was carved with symbols worn smooth by time.
"This is far enough," she said.
Reeve frowned. "Far enough for what?"
"For lies," she replied.
Silence followed.
Then she spoke.
"Once… I was a guardian of Heaven."
Reeve stiffened.
He had expected many things—warrior, mage, fallen noble—but not that. Heaven was not just a place in this world. It was an authority. A system older than kingdoms.
"I protected its borders," Lumi continued, voice steady but hollow. "I enforced its laws. I believed in its justice."
She clenched her fist.
"I failed."
The word carried weight—final, absolute.
"There was a breach," she said. "A being that should never have touched Heaven's threshold came close to doing so. I tried to stop it. I truly did."
Her eyes darkened.
"Heaven does not judge effort. Only outcome."
Reeve swallowed. "So… they punished you?"
"Yes," she answered. "But not with death."
She turned to face him fully now.
"I was cast down. Stripped of rank. Stripped of grace. Not to suffer—but to atone. To walk the lower worlds until my existence either redeems itself… or is erased."
Reeve felt a strange tightness in his chest. "That's not justice."
Lumi's lips curved faintly. "Heaven disagrees."
She took a slow breath, then continued.
"The Spirit Cat—an ancient celestial, one of the last who still believes in choice—intervened. It gave me a task."
Her gaze locked onto his.
"Find you."
Reeve blinked. "Why me?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "Only that your soul was… unusual. Unclaimed. Untethered."
The forest stirred.
They began walking again, this time together—no longer guide and stranger, but something more fragile. A shared burden.
Along the road, danger found them more than once. A bandit hiding desperation behind a blade. A creature stalking from the underbrush. Each time, Lumi acted with precision—but not cruelty.
When a thief collapsed at their feet, begging, she spared him.
"Mercy creates ripples," she said quietly. "Even in a broken world."
That night, as they camped beneath a pale moon, Lumi spoke again.
"I'm no longer an angel," she said, staring into the fire.
Reeve didn't answer immediately.
But somehow… he understood.