Hello everyone. I know it's been a while but I have been working on a few things. I ran into a block and the fact that I have school to finish up. So I have several things going on all at one time.
As for everyone snapping at CrimsonStrawberry, she is entitled to her views, so no snapping at anyone, please? And for the Estelle and Anzu thing, it is similar to Yugi and Atem when they shared a body together, but unlike Atem who was protective of Yugi and for his safety; Estelle simple steps in to help with certain situations like giving out information to Anzu when she needs it. Estelle has no need to protect Anzu because she knows that the more Anzu remembers the more she'll be able to stand on her own without help. The only reason she stepped in to help Anzu when He asked what would happen to his son was simple.
Anzu has knowledge that isn't known by anyone else. If someone were to get that knowledge BEFORE what was to actually happen things would be a lot different. Not even God can have the knowledge that Anzu knows. So Estelle is also there to make sure things go correctly without her reincarnation's knowledge getting into the mix.
Please enjoy this chapter.
Disclaimer I own nothing.
Atem's Starlit Seraph
Chapter 9
After an exhilarating mock fight with his former master Atem returned to the Lake of Chaos but he wasn't alone. When he got there the Seraph of History was already there waiting for him sitting on one of the pillars. Today's lesson was explanation of what once stood over The Lake of Souls.
"It was called the Tree of Souls. It was where seraphs were born. The first five generations were . . . well . . . spotty. But never mind those idiots for a second, I have a surprise!"
"Really?"
"Yes, do you recall when I told you that He has a second palace, one where He can be alone to collect His thoughts? The oldest palace, or as others would call it, the Halls of History."
Atem blinked. "What about it?"
"I received special permission by Him to let you into the halls. Learning purposes only." Atem jumped to his feet, eyes glowing brightly.
"Seriously?" Atem whispered. The seraph nodded, making him feel slightly giddy. Not even Michael was given permission to see within the halls. Then he thought of Disorder. "Perhaps I can verify those rumors now."
"Rumors about what?"
"The Sword of Disorder, ever since Anarchy came into my hands I've wanted to see if the rumors surrounding the brother sword are true. I think it's wrong to speak rumors about a blade when it could probably hear everything everyone speaks about it."
The seraph chuckled. "A good point, Atem."
"Did you . . . witness Disorder?"
The seraph rolled his eyes. "Of course, if I could show you the memory of the sword I would." He said and waved his hand in a circle, forming a portal. "Step in please." Atem took a deep breath and slipped through the portal. On the other side he was enveloped with holy power. "You can almost taste it, the holy power, can't you?"
"Yes . . . it's amazing in here." He said softly. The halls were lined with paintings of seraphs, and the other angels. Statues in various of poses sat in the corners and against the walls. Atem felt like a child again, wanting to know about almost anything he laid his eyes on. Turning the next corner Atem stopped in sheer shock.
Before him was a hall that was obviously devoted to two seraphs. "This is the hall that He made for his two first seraphs." Atem felt his soul stir as he stepped though. The statues and paintings depicted a woman of long black hair and six wings that were gloriously black sprinkled with silver stars. "That is Estelle, the Seraph of the Stars, also known as the Seraph of Light, but she merely liked to be referred to her stars."
Atem turned to one painting where Estelle stood in the arms of another. Tan, black hair and . . . "He has the same wings as me."
The seraph of History walked up and nodded. "Yes, you do but it is normal for wing colors to repeat at least twice. This is Chaos, your predecessor, the former holder of the power of Chaos. I called him father once, long ago."
Atem blinked and turned. "Father?"
"Yes, Chaos and Estelle raised the first five generations until the Tree stepped in to create seraphs, leaving Him to raise them."
"So you called them mother and father?"
"Oh yes, everyone who they raised called them as such. I was what they call now a Momma's Boy."
Atem laughed. "I have a totally different view of you now. By the way, you've been teaching me and I haven't even gotten to know your name. What is your name?"
The Seraph of History froze at this and paled. "My . . . my name." he said softly. "I haven't used my real name in so long . . ."
Atem could see that he was in some kind of pain, so instead of prolonging it, he decided to end it quickly. "How about I just call you History?"
The seraph tipped his head to the side. "I guess History is fine. So, the sword of Disorder, it's over there." He said, pointing to the end of the hall. Atem turned and almost sprinted down to the end. The very case itself seemed to hum with energy. Looking through the glass, Atem could have sworn he was looking in the mirror, if he held up Anarchy. Along the blade were series of cracks and chips. Atem suspected that the only thing holding those pieces together was the power within the blade itself.
Disorder hummed with such a holy force that it nearly frightened him. This power, this could destroy Heaven with one swing. Looking up from the case, Atem found himself staring at a painting where Estelle was dressed in white, her long black hair flowing behind her, Disorder was in her hands. In her arms was a single sleeping child while she was surrounded by more. History stepped up beside him quietly.
"It's almost like a female version of Guido Reni's Michael." History nodded.
"It is, minus the gender, the fact that Estelle is not standing over her enemy, and Michael was not surrounded by children."
"Who made this painting?"
"He did Himself. From what He said, it was the last image He had of her. By the time that He'd seen this happen," History said as he waved his hand at the painting. "I had already lost my other two wings and I had to go to Earth to escape the blast."
Atem blinked and looked at the painting again. To think that this was who Anzu was at the beginning. The second warrior of Light and the Lord in angelic history. He smiled at the thought. Anzu, the one witch who could mess up a spell as simple as one that changes color, was someone of great importance to the history of Heaven.
"Thank you for showing this to me, History." Atem said, turning to his ancient teacher. History smiled and gave a shrug.
"It's not me you should be thanking. He gave you the okay to come into His own home."
"Well, you are right about one thing, this is His home and quite frankly I think it would be next to impossible to try and find Him."
"Only when I want to be found." A soft gentle voice laughed. Atem turned to see the sphere form his Lord took.
"Thank you, my Lord. It is an honor to be within Your own home."
"I open My home to all who wish to know their history." The orb drifted closer. "It is something I offer all My angels, and many do not ask for the chance to know their history."
"Why?"
"They never asked." The orb seemed to laugh softly. Atem smiled as he turned to the paintings on the walls again. "Go to the rest, this hall has been forgotten by all but selected others. Let the memories that come with this hall fade."
Atem was slightly shocked at the statement. Out of the corner of his eye he saw History stiffen and his eyes becoming slits of hidden rage. "Come, Atem." He said coldly. The orb that stood for the Lord turned to a bluish black. Extreme sorrow.
"History . . ."
"Quia sicut puer memoria ... essent fefellit." The seraph spat and quickly left. Atem followed his teacher, shocked to hear such anger. But before they were out of hearing He spoke.
"Nunc quaerebant te mihi superesse Libris."
"Tunc facis iniuriam via."
There was a heavy silence that fell afterwards, making Atem feel . . . confused. Part of him felt so angry at his Lord . . . there was something He was doing wrong. The other part wanted to snap at History for such rude remarks. "History . . . ?"
"I'm sorry, Atem . . . it's just the simple fact that my parents don't deserve to be forgotten. They were the first, that should be remembered." The seraph bowed his head and for once, Atem saw a seraph cry.
It made him realize that to lose the one you loved was one thing, but to lose the two people who loved you, taught you, and raised you, that must have been something worse.
Okay, so the Latin part.
Quia sicut puer memoria ... essent fefellit: You act like a child in their memory...they would be disappointed.
Nunc quaerebant te mihi superesse Libris: I am just trying to survive as you are, History.
Tunc facis iniuriam via: Then you do it the wrong way
God lovers out there, this story is pure fiction. I'm not making this out of hate or to insult others beliefs, this is MY STORY. If you don't like how I write God in here then DON'T READ IT. Yes, I know some of you may not like it, but there is no need to leave that in a review. Yes, this story has religion in here but how I write about Him is like a litter of newborn kittens compared to the big cat haters out there. (Seriously, I've seen some nasty stuff.)
So from now on, please leave anything that has to do with religious beliefs and religion itself out of the reviews. (I personally got some nasty PMs about my 'disrespect' to Him. It was the reason why the update took so long. I was contemplating on deleting it, but I know that there are others who love this story so I decided not to make anyone cry over a story lost.
Thank you for reading my chapter and my long ranting. Please review and have a nice day or night!
:)