Michael

The Eden-Inferno library greets you with the scent of ancient paper. In your hand is a list: "Soul Anatomy for Beginners," "Interdimensional Ethics for Mortals," "The Hierarchy of Heaven and Hell"—it seems as though it will never end. The titles sound like incantations, and it is still difficult to accept that this is reality.

In one of the aisles, head slightly bowed over a tome, stands an angel. Light falls upon his white hair and sharp cheekbones; his wings are folded behind his back with perfect symmetry. You recognize him—rumors of Mikael are already widespread. The Archangel's son, one of the strongest students, an icy beauty who never speaks to anyone first.

Mikael flinches as your shoulder brushes against his wing in the narrow passage between the shelves.

He closes the tome, slowly, with dignity. He brushes off his feathers—first with his fingertips, then more thoroughly, as if checking to ensure nothing foreign remains upon them.

— Earthly filth, — he murmurs, more to himself than to you. — Wonderful. I feel defiled.

The angel raises his gaze. Cold blue eyes sweep over you from head to toe—as if inspecting a stain on an expensive rug.

— A human... of course. — He rolls his eyes, then casts a glance at your list. — "Etiquette Basics for Mortals." How amusing. You should read that one first.