YiJun is heaven's most ruthless weapon, until the day he falls, and then he keeps falling.
How low can an Archangel fall, to protect that which is most precious to him?
Can he win the heart of the one for whom he chose to rebel or will the very thin...
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YiJun's POV
Heavenly bells ring in my ears; white clouds surround me. Hundreds of angels, all fully dressed, ready to march at the flick of my wrist, stand behind me.
Xuan is standing to my left and Jian to my right. And in front of me is none other than Heavenly Father. He is smiling, and so are my siblings.
He raises his hand, and silence falls around me. He walks closer, "I am so glad that you are back, Son. I have missed you." He states, squeezing my shoulder.
Where is Xian?
"Son, now that you are back, I am returning the armies to your care," He adds, handing me my sword. "After all, you exist to protect me; serve me." He continues; my mind wanders.
Xian, where are you?
"Son, all you need to do, is get rid of that abomination: Xian."
My ears perk up at the mention of his name. "What did you say, Father?"
"Get rid of Xian. He is a threat to us." He elaborates, and I shake my head. "But he is innocent, Father." I explain and look at Xuan, "Meimei, tell him. Tell him that Xian is innocent."
Xuan frowns and turns away, "Gege, you know he is an abomination. You have seen it in his eyes, haven't you? He will be your downfall, our downfall!"
"Xuan, how can you say that!" I growl and feel a stabbing pain in my back. I wince and fall to my knees.
"You should have listened to them, Jun." A voice floats over to me: Xian's voice. I turn and come face to face with Xian, who is holding my sword. It's dripping blood: my blood.
I shake my head, "You are not him. You can't be him. You can't be my Xian!" I scream, trying to deny what is right in front of me.
It must be a trick; it has to be a trick!
I close my eyes. I hear the sound of a child giggling; it's beautiful and innocent. I leave heaven and embrace the voice.
I open my eyes; the sky is vermilion. Golden sand tickles my toes; gentle waves caress my ankles, "Xian?" I call, looking around and find him building a sandcastle just a few meters away.
"Jun!" The child, a six-year-old Xian, runs towards me and flicks my wrist, "You are late!" He points at his sandcastle, "Look, the waves almost took it down." He whines, stomping his feet.
I crouch next to him, "I am sorry, my prince," I ruffle his hair, "I got held up."
"By whom?" He enquires; crossing his arms over his chest, he pouts, "Who dares keep you away from me!?"
