[ It’s frustrating when the illusion doesn’t oppose him. His surroundings blur before coming into focus again—they’re on that edge where he threw the Singularity off in one last attempt at rebellion. With the setting, old feelings emerge, though faint. He would have easily accepted any punishment, almost craving it—anything from Lucifer. He was overwhelmed by the kindness he received when he wholly didn’t deserve it.

But now he thinks he can accept it, though it pains him to see his role model in such a state... Without his wings, yielding to him, asking for forgiveness. His face twists, grimacing in pain. He didn’t want this back then, not now, either. The grip on the handle tightens, but he doesn’t send a barrage. Instead, he lingers there, entertaining what he thinks is an illusion. ]

No, it’s not your fault.

[ In his heart, he still believes he failed Lucifer. He should be the one asking for forgiveness. Sheathing his sword, the rage had past and all he’s left with is his thoughts. Despite the company, he considers himself alone. ]

I did this to myself. Back then, no words would have changed my mind. [ He takes a deep breath. ] I’m better—I’ve grown... It’ll still take time before I can use your wings properly, but I’m getting there and the archangels, while obnoxious, have been supportive.

[ ... ]

Even if you’re an illusion... Thank you, Lucifer.