Arin sat at the edge of his bed.
Heaven was silent at this hour. The glow outside his window had dimmed into a softer silver, and the air felt almost weightless.
He leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling.
"…Okay," he muttered.
Slowly, he raised his hand.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
The air above his palm shifted.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
It didn't spark or flare.
It simply… thinned.
Like something invisible had stepped aside.
A faint distortion, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.
Arin watched it carefully.
The strange, dark shimmer hovered quietly, obedient but unnatural.
His expression turned serious.
"So…" he said softly.
"You're weird."
The magic flickered faintly, as if reacting to his voice.
He studied it for several long seconds.
It wasn't beautiful.
It wasn't radiant.
It didn't glow like divine magic.
If anything, it looked… empty.
Yet it didn't feel hostile.
It felt quiet.
Alone.
Arin's serious look slowly softened.
Then his lips curved upward.
"Let them say whatever they want."
His voice lost its tension.
"You're kind of adorable."
He tilted his head slightly, examining the distortion with a fond, almost ridiculous expression.
"My first magic and you're already causing drama."
He closed his fingers gently.
The distortion folded into nothingness without resistance.
"How can I hate you?"
He flopped backward onto the bed.
"Guess we're both weird."
—
By the next cycle, Heaven was less quiet.
Voices carried differently in celestial halls. Not loud—but intentional.
And at the center of it stood Aurelius.
Golden, composed, and effortlessly radiant.
"I'm not accusing him," Aurelius said lightly to a small gathering near the eastern colonnade.
"I simply think we should be… cautious."
One of the younger divines hesitated. "Cautious of what? He's just a human."
Aurelius' gaze shifted faintly.
"Humans do not distort divine flow."
Silence.
"He arrived at the precise moment before the seal closed."
Another pause.
"And yesterday, the Goddess herself descended."
He didn't need to say more.
The implication formed on its own.
"Heaven does not react without reason," Aurelius continued gently.
"And abnormalities rarely remain harmless."
The word lingered.
Abnormal.
It spread faster than accusation.
Because it sounded reasonable.
—
Arin noticed the change around midday.
A conversation stopped when he approached.
Two attendants bowed slightly lower than usual—too careful.
Someone whispered.
He blinked.
"…Did I miss something?"
Later, as he walked beside Caelum through one of the long corridors, he glanced sideways.
"Why does everyone look like I might explode?"
Caelum did not slow his pace.
"You are under discussion."
"Oh good," Arin sighed. "Love being trending."
"It is temporary."
"Is that supposed to be comforting?"
Caelum's expression remained neutral.
"You did produce an irregular phenomenon."
Arin scratched his cheek.
"Yeah, about that."
He lowered his voice slightly.
"It's not… evil-looking, right?"
Caelum glanced at him.
"It does not resemble dark magic."
"Great. So it's just suspicious instead."
"You are thinking too emotionally."
"I'm human. It's kind of our brand."
Caelum almost—almost—looked amused.
"Focus on control."
Arin nodded lightly.
But when he looked ahead again—
His eyes weren't joking anymore.
—
That evening—
In a chamber untouched by outside sound—
The Goddess stood before a suspended thread of time.
Caelum appeared behind her.
"Aurelius is accelerating the rumors," he said.
"Yes."
"Should he be corrected?"
"No."
Caelum's gaze sharpened slightly.
"He is influencing perception."
"He is revealing perception," she replied softly.
Silence.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"The magic is not dark."
"No."
"It does not corrupt."
"No."
"It feels…" he hesitated, choosing the word carefully.
"…Absent."
The Goddess' fingers brushed lightly across a temporal strand.
"Yes."
Caelum lowered his voice.
"That type of phenomenon is recorded."
"Yes."
"And sealed."
"Yes."
He inhaled slowly.
"Then why are you calm?"
She turned her head slightly.
"Because the boy is not."
Caelum blinked.
"He is confused," she continued. "Concerned about how others see him. More worried about appearing dangerous than becoming so."
Her gaze softened faintly.
"He called it adorable."
Caelum paused.
"…Adorable?"
"Yes."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"He is protecting it."
"That may not be wise."
"Perhaps not."
She looked toward the distant horizon of Heaven.
"But power that is embraced gently does not awaken violently."
Caelum considered her words.
"And if Heaven pushes him?"
Her eyes cooled slightly.
"Then Heaven will test its own assumptions."
Silence returned.
—
Back in his chamber—
Arin sat cross-legged on the floor.
He lifted his hand again.
The distortion formed more easily this time.
Still quiet.
Still thin.
He stared at it.
"You're not going to eat Heaven, right?" he asked quietly.
The magic did nothing.
He sighed.
"Please don't."
After a pause, he smiled faintly.
"Let's just survive, okay?"
The distortion trembled softly.
Not menacing.
Not hungry.
Just present.
And outside his door—
Whispers continued to grow.
But inside—
Arin chose not to listen.