Heaven was unlike anything that existed in the mortal world.
Even to the imagination of poets, dreamers, or prophets who had tried for centuries to describe it—reality far surpassed their words.
The very air shimmered with a warmth that felt alive, a quiet pulse of divinity that hummed beneath every breath.
Instead of soil or stone, vast fields of soft, luminous clouds stretched endlessly in every direction, glowing faintly beneath the eternal light that hung over the skies.
They weren't just white, but ever-shifting hues of silver and gold, their surface glimmering like silk under sunlight. Each step upon them sent out ripples of light, gentle waves that dispersed like the surface of a celestial sea.
And above and around, the heavens unfolded into sights both breathtaking and otherworldly.
Massive temples of glass and crystal rose from the clouds, their spires piercing through layers of light until they seemed to merge with the sky itself.
Each temple bore intricate carvings, moving gondolas that told the stories of gods long past, their deeds replaying in subtle, shifting patterns of divine energy.
Rivers of golden water wound their way through the realm, cascading down the sides of floating cliffs and spiraling islands. These rivers glittered like molten sunlight, and their sound was not a mere rush of water, but a melodic harmony, as if the rivers themselves sang praises to creation.
When their golden streams fell from higher plateaus, they didn't splash or roar, but descended like silk ribbons that shimmered into mist, raining soft motes of light over the cloudlands below.
Farther beyond the rivers were crystal forests, trees with translucent leaves that refracted the celestial light into endless rainbows.
The trunks glowed softly with veins of silver that pulsed like living veins, and when the wind swept through the branches, the leaves chimed like wind bells, producing a music that no mortal instrument could ever hope to match.
There were even cities suspended midair, linked by bridges woven from beams of starlight, communities where angels, demons, and celestial beings mingled freely.
The air was full of life: pixies with wings of light, fluttering in clouds of silver dust; seraphs gliding between temple spires, their radiant halos casting patterns across the sky; pegasi and winged lions soaring gracefully above; and celestial whales drifting through the higher atmosphere, their translucent bodies reflecting the cosmos beyond.
In some far regions, gardens of eternity bloomed, fields of flowers that shimmered with prismatic hues, their petals made from divine energy rather than matter. The fragrance there was so sweet and rich it almost sang, carrying the faint echo of laughter, prayer, and the heartbeat of heaven itself.
Everywhere one looked, the realm was alive, not in the way the mortal world was, with noise and chaos, but in perfect harmony. The very air resonated with a sacred hum, a rhythm that felt like the breathing of the universe.
It was as if every corner of heaven whispered, this is where creation began.
And amidst this endless majesty, floating gently in the open skies between two rivers of gold were two figures.
A mother and her son.
Vanitas and Kafka.
Vanitas floated a few steps ahead, her robes flowing weightlessly in the air. Her eyes sparkled with childlike excitement as she gestured around them with both hands, her voice brimming with pride and wonder.
"Look there, Kafka! That's the Celestial Archive, the oldest library in the heavens. Every word ever spoken by gods, angels, or mortals who ascended is written and preserved there. You could spend an eternity reading and still not finish even a single floor!"
Before Kafka could comment, she had already turned to gesture at a massive silver waterfall flowing from one floating island to another.
"And that one, that's the River of Purity. Its waters are made from divine essence, not liquid. If a mortal were to touch it, every sin in their soul would dissolve instantly. Isn't it beautiful?"
Kafka smiled faintly. "It's impressive, yeah."
But she was already moving on, her enthusiasm carrying her from one wonder to another.
"And over there, beyond those golden cliffs, that's Elysian Vale. The fields bloom with starlight instead of flowers. The petals open only when someone laughs sincerely."
"Oh! And that forest, do you see it? The one shimmering with those faint violet hues? That's the Whisperwood. Every leaf there remembers every song ever sung in heaven. If you stand quietly, you can hear them hum."
Kafka raised an eyebrow as he watched her point animatedly from one divine marvel to the next. Her voice was musical, full of awe, as though she were seeing them all for the first time.
"And that floating citadel! That's Aetherion Palace, where the High Seraphs hold their banquets. You can hear the music from miles away. Oh! And over there, that glowing lake, it's the Sanctum Mirror! When you look into it, it doesn't show your reflection, it shows what your soul looks like when it's at peace!"
She turned to him again, still holding his hand.
"And see that ridge, beyond the crystalline trees? That's the Eternal Peak, all the mythical creatures that ever existed rest there. Phoenixes, celestial lions, unicorns, and even the long-forgotten sky dragons. Oh, they're magnificent, sometimes they soar past here when the divine winds blow."
Kafka simply let her talk, the corners of his mouth lifting as he listened.
She was radiant, far more animated than the solemn goddess the world knew her as. Every word from her lips came with a spark of warmth that made the divine light around them seem even brighter.
She went on and on, listing countless places with excitement, her voice rising and falling with genuine joy all the way until Kafka commented:
"You sound like a tour guide, Mom."
That finally made her pause mid-sentence. Her eyes blinked, and for the first time since they arrived, a small flush of pink rose to her cheeks.
She brought a hand to her lips, laughing softly. "Oh...wait. I—" She tilted her head, embarrassed. "I already told you about all these, didn't I in out previous visits?"
"Mm-hm. At least three times." Kafka smiled, his expression gentle.
Vanitas's fluttered lightly in the air as she sighed, pouting in a rare display of bashfulness.
"Oh dear, I'm sorry, my sweet boy. I just..." She laughed again, brushing her hair back. "...I just get so excited whenever I come here with you. I can't help myself."
"Excited?"
"Yes." She said earnestly, looking around at the radiant expanse. "Every time I step into this realm with you beside me, it feels...new again. Like I'm seeing it all for the first time. I want to tell you everything, to show you every single place I've ever loved here. It's silly, I know."
Kafka smiled faintly, his tone soft and warm.
"No, it's not silly at all. It's actually...kind of endearing, really. You're a god who could probably recreate this entire realm in a matter of seconds if you wanted to—and yet here you are, gushing about it like a mortal seeing it for the first time. I find that rather surprising."
Vanitas let out a quiet sigh, her gaze sweeping over the shining horizon.
"Well, right now, yes, I have that power." She admitted softly. "But before? Before all this, I wasn't as strong as I am now. I was just another resident here, living among the divine. And even now, after everything...I still haven't settled into this power."
"It's strange, really. I can create stars and worlds, and yet I still find myself in awe of everything around me."
She looked back at him, her expression thoughtful, almost wistful.
"Is that wrong of me? Shouldn't I be...more ethereal? More omnipotent?"
Kafka blinked, then quickly frowned, looking almost offended.
"Please, no." He said, half groaning. "Don't even start with that."
Her brows lifted in mild surprise as he went on, more animated now.
"This version of you, the one who gets excited about clouds and rivers and temples, that's the one I like. If you actually became some untouchable, all-knowing, glowing entity floating above everyone else, you'd lose everything that makes you you...You'd lose your human side."
His gaze softened.
"And I don't ever want to see that happen. I like you just the way you are."
For a moment, Vanitas stared at him, her eyes wide with quiet wonder. Then, as if his words had struck some deep chord within her, she broke into a smile, radiant and warm.
"Oh, Kafka..." She murmured, her voice trembling slightly with emotion.
Then she threw her arms around him, holding him tight against her.
"I love you so much! You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better!"
Kafka chuckled softly, patting her back.
"Yeah, yeah. I love you too, Mom."
He then looked around the glowing expanse, the endless clouds and shining palaces stretching to the horizon.
"Still, to think I could've lived in a place like this...it's bizarre."
"Are you sad about that?" Vanitas tilted her head, curious.
"Not really." He shook his head, smiling faintly. "Sure, this place is amazing, the rivers, the temples, all the beauty—but the mortal world has its own wonders too. The internet, amusement parks, coffee shops, movies, different cuisines, different cultures, people from every background..."
He trailed off with a nostalgic sigh.
"Both worlds have their own charm. I'm just glad I get to experience both. Not everyone gets that."
Vanitas looked at him for a long moment, her smile softening into something deeply maternal.
"You really are remarkable, Kafka." She whispered. "To see the beauty in both heaven and earth...I couldn't have asked for a better son."
"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Mom." He grinned.
"Hmm, we'll see about that." She teased, before giving him a kiss on his forehead.
Then, after a moment, Kafka glanced around and asked.
"So, as much as I'm enjoying the sightseeing...aren't we going to be late for the event?"
Vanitas blinked as if remembering something, then laughed lightly.
"Oh, we're definitely late already."
"Seriously?" He groaned.
But she waved her hand dismissively, her tone playful and proud.
"That's the point, my dear boy! We can't just arrive on time like ordinary gods. We're supposed to make an entrance. If we came early, it would look like we were expecting it. No, no, arriving fashionably late shows status and pride."
"Of course it does." Kafka rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath.
"But nonetheless..." Vanitas smiled knowingly. "...we shouldn't delay too long. The ceremony is about to start, and we can't miss that part."
Before he could respond, she raised her hand, and in an instant, golden light enveloped them both.
The next moment, the two of them were gone—
—only to reappear upon a floating garden suspended high above the clouds.
The place was breathtaking, delicate and ethereal, far smaller than the grand palaces and sky-cities around it, yet infinitely more beautiful.
Silver-leaved trees swayed in a wind made of light, their branches heavy with glowing fruit. The air was filled with the scent of divine blossoms and soft humming from unseen choirs.
In the center of it all stood a modest temple, not vast or imposing, but warm and serene, its walls faintly illuminated by runes of gold.
As they stepped through the garden and entered the temple, Kafka glanced around, still admiring the tranquil design.
"You know..." He said. "...even though I've been here before, it still surprises me. I always thought that since you're the Goddess of Vanity, you'd have something...grander. Bigger. You know, like a golden palace stretching miles across the clouds."
Hearing this, Vanitas scoffed lightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
"Just because I'm the God of Vanity doesn't mean I have to show it in my home. Those massive temples, those towering fortresses, those belong to weaklings trying to compensate for their lack of power. True strength..." She said with a proud smirk. "...doesn't need to be screamed. It simply exists. That's why my home is simple."
"Of course you'd say that." Kafka chuckled softly.
But then Vanitas's tone softened, her expression shifting as she looked around her temple.
"It's also because...when I used to live in those enormous halls, I always felt lonely. I didn't realize it before—but after you came into my life, after I realized how much I loved you and regretted letting you go, those empty spaces just made that loneliness worse."
She gave a quiet sigh.
"So I chose this place instead. It's smaller, humbler...but it feels alive. It feels like home."
Kafka's smile turned warm, touched with understanding.
"Yeah." He said quietly. "I get that. Even in the mortal world, you can have the biggest mansion in the city, but if every room's empty, it just feels cold. But a small home, filled with warmth and people, it feels alive."
Then he looked up at her, his expression soft but steady.
"But you don't have to worry about that anymore. Not ever again. Even though our home down in the mortal world might not be as grand as this—no endless halls, no floating gardens, no pillars of gold, I promise you this: not once will you ever feel lonely again."
"Every day will be different, full of noise and laughter, of new memories and small adventures. You'll never be alone...I can say that for sure without a doubt."
Vanitas blinked, her lips parting slightly before curving into a smile. She didn't answer right away, she simply pulled him into her arms, hugging him tightly, her laughter spilling out.
"Leave the house aside, Kafka." She murmured between giggles, her voice thick with emotion and mirth. "Just a cardboard box with the both of us...and also the rest of the girls in it would be more than enough for me. That's all I need in the world."
He couldn't help but smile wider at that, a quiet chuckle escaping him.
And as he rested there in her embrace, feeling the faint hum of her heartbeat echoing through the divine air, he thought to himself that it really was true—
A house wasn't a home because of its size or splendor.
It was the people you loved who made it alive.
And with the family he had in his home, he could proudly say that he had the warmest home in existence...