The Angel of Song

Among the countless hosts of Heaven, there was one who stood apart—not by strength, nor by might of hand, but by voice. He was called the Angel of Song, and his gift was unlike any other. While other angels carried swords or bore light in battle, he carried sound, weaving the essence of creation into melody. When he sang, even the stars bent low to listen. One season, Auron called forth a great gathering in the city of Heaven.

 “Sing for us,” the King commanded. “Let all Heaven rejoice.” And so the Angel of Song lifted his harp of starlight, and for seven days and seven nights, his voice filled the cosmos. His music was not merely sound, but substance. Notes became rivers of fire, chords became mountains, and harmonies shaped oceans.

    With each verse, something new was born, until by the seventh day, a world had taken shape beneath Heaven. Its skies glowed with newborn light, its waters gleamed like crystal, and its soil pulsed with life unseen. This world would be called Earth, born not of hand, but of song. All of Heaven rejoiced at the miracle. Angels wept at the beauty of it, their wings trembling as they sang in chorus with him. The people of Heaven bowed, filled with awe, their voices raised in celebration of the performance.

   Yet when the final note faded and silence fell, their praise rose not to the singer, but to Auron.“Blessed be the King of All!” the angels cried. “Blessed be Auron, who gives us light and breath! ”The Angel of Song lowered his harp, his face still glowing with the fire of creation. 

But within his chest, something colder stirred. His heart, once lifted high by melody, grew heavy with shadow. He had given all of himself, seven days and seven nights of pure devotion—and yet the glory belonged not to him, but to Auron. The angels praised the King. None looked upon the Singer. 

None saw him. And in that silence where gratitude should have been, pride crept in like poison.