Benedict knelt before the altar of Mikkael. He was at the Cathedral of Lux Aestius, praying to the Warrior Angel. It had been another week after he had saved Count Jovan's life and the count had pledged allegiance to him. A week of no dreams. With the uttering of a phrase, Benedict had been elevated to the title of duke. With la'Manse delle Simia as his de facto capital, he was now Prince Benedict Navíste, Duke of Lusitania.

Word had also arrived that the Lord Constable and the Arch-Cardinal had finally set off from Navitium. Word had gotten out that the king was gravely wounded and had sent the city into an uproar. They had been delayed trying to quell the dissent. In a few days, they would arrive at Lux Aestius.

His guardian angel had uttered a few things every once in a while throughout the week but remained mostly silent. Benedict was still trying to figure who it was that was in his head. As he prayed, he heard the prit prat of slippers on marble. A nun was probably watching him. Most likely fascinated at the sight of a prince. He continued his praying, not wishing to be interrupted. After he finished, he opened his eyes and reached out to touch the altar. The second the tip of his middle finger rested upon the smooth cocowood, he felt a strong wind slam into his body and all went black.

Light filtered through the slits of Benedict's closed eyes. He got up, groggily and fazed. What had just happened? As he stood up and turned around, he almost immediately fell to his knees.

He stood upon a lone cliff overlooking a massive city―no, that was not doing it justice―a massive kingdom that stretched on seemingly forever. To his left, a waterfall cascaded down into a river that flowed through the kingdom, its sparkling waters so clear and crisp. The architecture of the city was a myriad of different cultures; Carabaí, Carabaí, Evrúopean, Nyove and Soyove Royne, even some Far Eastern architecture. Great ships passed through the grand river, their flags and sigils too far for Benedict to make out. And far, far out in the distance, Benedict could make out the shape of a truly impossible tall palace. It's spires scraping the dome above their heads. There seemed to be no sun here, but that was no matter for the entire land seemed to radiate a light... a heavenly light. 

Benedict wept.

How? How? How could he be so blessed as to rest his gaze upon this image? He could hear the pure, sweet voices rising from the kingdom, voices so true and undiluted from the pains of life that there was no way this place could be a location in Arkenheim.

And so he wept. He wept at the sight that had been gifted to him. The sight of Heaven. Or at least, what he thought it would like. Perhaps this was all just a figment of his imagination.

All doubts were shattered as soon as he heard the voice of his guardian angel. "How in the Angel King's name did you get here?"

Benedict turned and saw the angel. She was shorter than Mikkael, her hair curly and a deep red. Freckles dotted her face and in her hands, she held a poleaxe. She was dressed out in battle armor, plate covered her chest, legs, and arms with mail filling in the gaps. She glowed with a faint heavenly light.

"W-who are you?" he asked his voice nothing but a whisper.

"Juliana, Leader of the Order of Dominion, the Angel of Leadership."

The Order of Dominion was the Fourth Order of the Angels in the Kingdom of Heaven as stated in Angelic Tome. Benedict was familiar with the Nine Angelic Orders.

"W-what is happening?"

Juliana sighed, tapping her foot in frustration. "I'm afraid that I do not know."

Benedict opened his mouth in surprise. Juliana reacted harshly. "Yes, I know, incredible isn't it? An angel of the King does not know?" Her voice was wrought with sarcasm.

"Forgive me, Gracious Angel," Benedict revered. "I spoke foolishly."

Juliana waved a hand. "No, no. Forgive me, Duke Benedict. I am... tense."

"Tense?"

"A mortal has not been to Heaven in over fifteen hundred years, Benedict. I knew something would... change when the Lord Mikkael assigned me to be your guardian. I knew the boundaries of the Covenant would be stretched, but still, I listened to the Warrior Angel. And now... how did you come here?"

Benedict told her what had happened. How he had touched the altar of Mikkael and been transported to Heaven.

Juliana touched her face, surprise showing once more. "So Mikkael wanted you here. No... no... what has he done." Her cold voice sent a shiver down his spine.

"M-my lady?" Benedict was frightened. He was in an unfamiliar... place? One he thought he would not see until he was dead. He was awed and frightened at the same time. He did not quite understand how this land (if you could call it that) worked, for only the truly ancient stories tell of heroes who have seen Heaven.

"No time to talk," she said sharply. "I have to get you ou―"

An explosion sent her flying.

Benedict tumbled to the side of the rushing river that spilled over the cliffside. He tried to get up quickly but almost fainted from the movement. There was a ringing in his head―

―He heard screams.

His vision blurry gazed to where Juliana had been blown to. The angel was already on her feet, wings spread and her poleaxe in a defensive position. There was about forty feet of space between them.

"Benedict!" the angel boomed, her powerful, white wings flapped and she flew across the field at an astounding speed, but she was knocked to the ground by another blast.

This time, it sent Benedict tumbling to the edge of the cliff. He cried it out in pain and fear. "Juliana!"

He gazed to where the blast came from and saw a terrifying sight. But no, it was not the black colors of a Demon Prince, but soldiers marching with bright yellow armor, raising a banner that held a five-pointed star.

The Star of the Evrúopean gods.

At their head, a ten-meter tall figure lead them. His face hidden behind a fiery helmet. His cloak billowed behind him and the army which followed roared.

Benedict heard explosions from below. Tearing his eyes away from the figure for a second, he saw that the heaven-city below him was under siege. What looked like a magical barrage pounded against invisible wards.

He heard Juliana shout but couldn't make out what she said. The giant figure brought up his hands and began to summon some sort of godly power. A purple substance formed between his fingers and he stared out to the city below, ignoring Benedict.

The sounds of battle below were drowned out as the soldiers behind the giant shouted all at once. The sound was so loud that Benedict felt blood pool in his ear. He screamed in pain and covered his ears. Only then, did the giant notice him. It's head cocked in a gesture of curiosity. It took a step back in... surprise? Shock? Suddenly, the giant directed his hands towards Benedict―

―and released his power.

The purple mass of power hurtled at him and Benedict closed his eyes, ready for death's release.

But all he got was the sound of the godly power smashing into a magical shield. He managed to open his eyes and see Mikkael standing over him in all his warrior glory. He held his hands out, forming a shield over Benedict as the giant's power flooded onto the shield. But the shield did not protect him entirely.

Benedict screamed.

As Mikkael's shield struggled against the onslaught of the giant's power, magical discharge flooded into his body. It felt both scorching and freezing at the same time. Both releasing and imprisoning. Both ecstatic and tormented.

He faintly heard Mikkael scream, "No!"

Through all the magical discharge, he saw an army of angels down to face the soldiers of the giant. He saw a heavenly battle in which heavenly ichor flowed from both sides. Mikkael screamed something at Juliana, but Benedict couldn't make it out. His body was burning away, inch by inch, he was turning into nothing more than ash and dust.

Finally, the giant stopped his onslaught and Juliana swooped in, lifting Benedict―at least, what was left of him. She grabbed his torso and immediately flew into the river, submerging Benedict completely. The waters were frigid cold and it felt like ice was seeping into his very veins. Tiny icicles pricked his body like a thousand little nails.

His last image before everything blacked out was of Mikkael with halberd in hand, fighting the giant but barely managing to hold his ground.

***

Prince Jacquez entered the room in which the king was resting. It was not a peaceful rest―far from it. King Gallo Navíste of Sersalvon labored with his every breath. His chest rose up and down, shakily. For over a month, the king was like this. A constant state between life and death. Sometimes awake, most of the time he was asleep. Jacquez dismissed the maids and nurses and sat at the bedside of his dying brother.

"The Lord Constable and Arch-Cardinal have arrived," he said to the sleeping king. "They have brought an army."

Jacquez stopped and clasped his hands together. He stared out at the lone window where the pitter patter of the rain falling provided a kind of comfort. Summertime was ending and autumn was hot on their heels. The season would bring fierce storms which would pound the seas. Hurricanes.

"The Arch-Cardinal has brought the Serpent Crown," he said. "They are planning to coronate the next King of Sersalvon." Jacquez sighed. "It is a shame that my son ended up so much like you. He could've been so much more. So much more. But you infected him. You spread your taint within him. My son."

He put his hand on Gallo's forehead and smiled. "But your time is ending. The world is shifting, my lord. Shifting. Change is upon us. The Evrúopeans come down from the north to claim old lands. Corsairs grow in stronger numbers and raid the coasts. The nobles of Sersalvon are preparing to strike, for the Crown is to fall upon either the head of my son... or yours.

"Your son, Benedict. Can you believe it, brother? No, you would not. You cared nothing for him. Only my son―" He laughed. "―oh the irony. Yes, Gallo, your son is a threat to mine. And as much as I hate to say it, he would be a better leader than my son could be. But with experience, I do believe Francisco would have a chance."

Jacquez looked at the wound on Gallo's head. A machete from the Company of the Hook had slashed him there, leaving a nasty scar. Along with that, an arrow had punctured his gut. It had quickly been removed and the wound cauterized had finally begun to heal, but it did not help the king's ailment. Prince Jacquez's hands touched the scar on his brother's head. He felt an almost brotherly affection when he did... something he had not felt in many, many years.

Gallo's eyes fluttered open.

"B-brother," the king whispered. "Where is my wife? H-how... how long have you been here?"

Jacquez removed his hand and his lips tightened. Your wife doesn't care about you. Only me. "She just left. She had been here for hours before I arrived."

"Oh. How long has it been since... the battle."

"Over a month."

"Oh dear... how is my son doing?"

"Benedict is fine. The Count Galamez just swore allegiance to him."

Gallo's eyes flared. "The man who sent the Hook to attack us? How could he! But no, I speak of Francisco."

Jacquez gave him a mirthless smile. "The Crown Prince is... good. But his enemies are beginning to move against him."

Worry shone in Gallo's eyes. "Why? What do you mean?"

Jacquez gave out a little laugh and ignored the question. "Why do you cling to life, brother? Death has had you in his grip for this long... wouldn't it not be such a sweet release?"

Gallo was clearly confused. "B-brother... I..."

"There is nothing keeping you here! As soon as you pass, the world will move on like you never existed. No one will mourn your passing. Not even your own... son... There is nothing left for you here."

"B-b-but... I―"

"What is it, brother?"

Gallo swallowed. "I'm scared. Do you think... do you think I'll go to Heaven."

This time when Jacquez smiled, it was mirthful. "My enemies are moving against my son. They threaten his claim to the Serpent Crown with theirs. I shall not have them steal what is rightfully my son's. The Crown. I cannot give them time to act... it must be now. I must force their hand early before they have built up enough to challenge him."

"Your son? Jacquez... you have three daughters from your late wife but no sons..."

Jacquez laughed. "No, brother. You're wrong. Francisco is my son..."

Gallo's eyes widened. "What? No! You lie!"

He shook his head. "I do not. And to answer your question: No, you will not see Heaven's gates." And with that, Jacquez grabbed a pillow and smothered the King of Sersalvon. For a time, Gallo struggled and writhed but soon his convulsions died out until he lay completely still...

The King of Sersalvon was dead.