East of the Earthly Realm, Year 650 BC of the Second Earth

When Abaddon opened his eyes again, he found himself in a dimly lit hut, the scent of herbs filling the air. His body ached, and a flickering fire danced in the corner, casting shadows on the walls.

Blinking, he focused on the figure kneeling beside him—a Mayan man, gentle yet worn. "Rest, my friend," the man said, his voice soothing. "You are safe here."

"Who are you?" Abaddon croaked, confusion mingling with relief at escaping Lucifer, though wary of his current state.

He tried to move, but the wounds from the demonic blade felt too much; an incantation was clearly at play, draining his strength. Abaddon looked at his surroundings and can vaguely tell which part of the earthly realm he is.

"I am Isop," the healer replied, gently applying salve to Abaddon's wound. "You are gravely injured. I know the sword that struck you. I am here to help you heal."

In one swift motion, Abaddon drew a blade from the side of his armor and held it to the man's throat. "Tell me, friend," he demanded, suspicion coloring his tone. "How do you know the sword that struck me, and what are you using to cure my wounds?"

Isop met his gaze, smiling softly, his eyes reflecting a wisdom beyond his humble appearance. "This salve is from a tree passed down by my ancestors. I recognize the sword because I have seen one before. You had a curse blade wound you, and the spell is still taking effect, I will do my best to stop it."

"Why would you help me? You must know who I am."

"All life comes from God. It must be valued, no matter how weak or incomprehensible it may seem. The priests warned our village of an abyssal presence in our realm. But for now, you need me to cure you. Whether you kill me later is a concern only when and if it happens."

Abaddon lay back, contemplating the healer's words. In the Abyss, he had been revered and feared, a figure of immense power. Yet here, in this simple dwelling, he felt vulnerable and small.

He sheathed the blade. "You should fear me," he said quietly. "I am a being of darkness."

"Fear does not dictate my actions," Isop replied, steady. "Compassion does. You are suffering, and I will not abandon you to your pain." He continued applying salve to Abaddon's wound.

Days turned into weeks under Isop's care. The healer tended to his wounds with unwavering dedication, whispering soothing words and sharing stories of the stars, the spirits of the earth, and the interconnectedness of all beings.

As Abaddon healed, he began to understand the deeper meaning behind Isop's musings. And the shadows of his wrath yielded to the divine sword's power as well, binding it away within Abaddon's being once more. "You've shown me kindness I didn't believe I deserved," he said one evening, firelight dancing in his eyes. "Why do you go to such lengths for me?"

Isop shrugged, thoughtful. "Our tribe believe that every life has worth. Even those who have lost their way can find redemption."

Abaddon's thoughts raced. In the Abyss, he had ruled with an iron fist, believing strength was the only path to power. But here, surrounded by kindness and care, he began to question everything he had ever known.

One evening, as the moon hung low, tranquility shattered with approaching footsteps.

Abaddon's instincts flared, and he tensed. "They come for me," he whispered, fear creeping in.

Isop stepped outside to confront the guards of his tribe. Abaddon, still unable to move, prepared incantations for defense.

Not long after, Isop returned, his usual calm smile unwavering. "They are gone. The elders sensed an ominous being, but they will not find you here. My Oikos(family) will protect you."

"Oikos?" It was the first time that Abaddon heard the word.

"Those I hold dear and share my life with."

"Why not surrender me to them?" Abaddon asked, brow furrowed. "It would be easier for you."

Isop's gaze was steady. "The authorities do not understand your plight. They seek to extinguish what they fear. As a hiereus, I am a healer as much a priest. My duty is to protect life, all life."

Abaddon considered this, struck by Isop's conviction. "But I am not a creature of life. I am a king of shadows."

"And even shadows have their place," Isop replied gently. "You are not defined by your darkness. You can choose to forge a new path."

Many moons have passed, and as Abaddon's strength returned, he felt drawn to Isop's wisdom.

The healer shared stories of his life, his connection to the Tree of Life from which the salve that healed Abaddon's cursed wound was made, and ancient rituals honoring their ancestors.

Abaddon listened, absorbing every word. The time spent in Isop's presence began to shift something deep within him.

Elyon's treachery had stirred the darkness that once consumed him, yet it felt less suffocating, replaced by understanding.

Finally, one day, Abaddon managed to sit up on the straw bed. And not long after, he managed to step out of the straw hut which has sheltered him for many moons, surprised to find himself greeted by the children of the tribe.

"Do they not fear me?" He turned to Isop.

"What is there to fear?" Isop smiled back and Abaddon remembered that he lies in a bed inside the gathering room where the tribes come to worship

"Thank you, Isop," he said, voice stronger now. Isop smiled, warmth in his gaze.

"In my tongue, I will call you my friend—Ki'imak."

"Ki'imak," Abaddon repeated, testing the sound. "A pact of friendship, then?"

"Indeed," Isop said. "Friendship is a bond stronger than any sword. It is a pledge to honor life, even in its darkest forms."

A newfound resolve filled Abaddon. "Then I swear this pact, not only with you but with mankind. I will honor the life that exists beyond the Abyss."

As they spoke, the air shimmered with possibility. Their bond transcended realms, echoing through time as a testament to compassion and understanding.

In the months that followed, whispers of the King of the Abyss faded into legend, and the tale of Abaddon and Isop became one of friendship and redemption.

Across centuries, the pact expanded across the four realms of Earth—North, South, East, and West. The Church of the Keeper of Secrets was established to honor their bond, a legacy of light rising from darkness. Thus, the world learned that even in despair, hope could bloom, and life in all its forms was to be cherished.

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Earthly Realm: Year 2007 of the Second Earth

Lualhati sobbed uncontrollably, her tears mingling with the gentle babble of a brook as she felt herself becoming corporeal once more.

The familiar voice of her angel reached her, trembling with raw emotion. "I cannot measure the cost of your sacrifices because of the pact Abaddon made with your kin, Lualhati."

Lualhati looked up, the pain in her angel's eyes piercing her soul.

"But I swore to be by your side through it all," he confessed, deep melancholy and promise lacing his tone.

Her heart ached as she tried to catch her breath. "It's not fair," she choked out, wiping tears with trembling hands. "Even the King of the Abyss had a lover, while I can't even manage a date without mastering the Balaraw."

Her angel's voice darkened, frustration creeping in. "I've shared the darkest days of Abaddon's reign with you and yet this is your focus? His affair?! Love is a burden, not a gift! Do not dwell on it, child!"

Lualhati's sobs intensified, the weight of her longing intertwining with the angel's despair. In that moment, the raw truth lay bare: love, in all its treachery, haunted them both, leaving sorrow in its wake.

It took Lualhati a long while to stop crying, even surprised that her dream allowed her tears to settle.

The brook continued to gurgle, and she asked, "Are you still there?"

"Of course I am here. As here is where you need me to be."

Lualhati felt heat rise in her cheeks as unfathomable anger towards her future choked her words, "So, Lucifer overthrew Abaddon from the Abyss. Is that why the Fallens are in such unrest?"

"Abaddon reclaimed the throne of the Abyss long ago, Lualhati. But the unrest will persist until God's final judgment arrives."

"So, the Keeper of Secrets will always battle the Fallens until the end of time?!" Lualhati gasped, frustration darkening her heart as she stomped her foot angrily. "What kind of King is Abaddon if he can't maintain order in his dominion?! I wish nothing to do with him!"

A great thunderbolt struck the brook, causing the water to explode, and Lualhati jolted awake.

The echo of thunder still rang in her ears as Lualhati gasped awake, drenched in cold sweat, her heart pounding like a war drum. The scent of sulfur clung to her sheets, and for a brief moment, her room felt like the very edge of the Abyss—its corners too dark, the silence too vast. She sat up, breathing hard, her chest tight with something she couldn't name. Not fear. Not sorrow. Something deeper.

Loss.

It was as if something sacred had been torn from her soul while she slept.

For a long time, Lualhati remained there, unmoving, unable to shake the lingering ache in her chest. Her guardian's voice—always so present, so familiar—was now absent, as though drowned in a storm she couldn't remember entering. And with that silence came a gnawing emptiness. That night marked the end of something unspoken.

From then on, the dreams ceased. The brook. The shadowed halls of the Abyss. The whisper of wings. All gone.

Her guardian never returned to her sleep again.

And in the waking world, something darker stirred. The activities of the fallen grew increasingly bold—more coordinated, more violent, as if the veil between realms had frayed. Reports of sightings, possessions, and attacks once dismissed as superstition surged in frequency, whispered urgently between babaylans like wildfire on dry grass. As though the rage Lualhati had glimpsed in Abaddon's heart had spilled into the Earth itself, echoing across time and spirit.

Something had been lost to her. But something terrible had been unleashed upon the world.

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