Above the Cloud Sea.
Schiller stood atop the clouds, his brows furrowed and head bowed, his gaze as if surveying the earth, focused on a particular corner.
It had been some time since God had told him that he, too, would be assigned a mission.
Perhaps… twenty years already?
Even for beings like angels who had no sense of time, not to mention twenty years, even two hundred years really amounted to nothing. But for the proud Schiller, twenty years… was unbearably long.
Every day, he woke up with expectation, opening his eyes and then gazing toward the distant Divine Throne, waiting for the Divine call. And every night, he would close his eyes in dejection, for that day, too, he had not received his mission.
Schiller could not help but feel restless and increasingly impatient as time passed.
He would not confess this mood to God on the throne, because seeking answers after only twenty years seemed too hasty, barely fit for a great responsibility.
