They called it Heaven Magrichela — a realm where only kindness could take root, and happiness bloomed as endlessly as the seasons. Here, emerald forests stretched beyond sight, the air shimmered with light, and beauty itself seemed alive. Words were too small to capture its glory. Its people, known as the Angel’s Colony, carried a grace that turned every corner into a living masterpiece.

But Magrichela was not without order. The vast heaven was divided into eight great sectors, each ruled by four leaders, forming sixteen governing groups. They guarded the sacred principles, ensuring that peace was not just a dream, but a way of life. And peace reigned so perfectly… that even Hell envied it.

From the depths of that Hell, a ruler named Pavathian watched who was an immortal. His hunger for power was endless, his will to dominate unshakable. At his side stood two right-hand warriors — and among them, the most feared of all: Golka, a monster of unmatched strength, cursed and blessed with the ability to take the form of an angel.

Yet, Pavathian had a fatal flaw. His demonic presence was bound by an ancient seal that barred him from setting foot in Heaven. But the seal could not stop his ambition. With venom in his thoughts, he forged a plan — a plan as sharp as a dagger’s edge.

If he could not enter Heaven himself, he would send his deadliest weapon instead.

And so, Golka’s journey to Heaven began…

Golka — the deadliest weapon of Pavathian — had traded her monstrous form for the delicate features of an angel. Her beauty was disarming, her expression pure and innocent. It was the perfect mask for the perfect lie.

According to her plan, she staged her own capture, appearing as a helpless prisoner in the claws of a demonic raiding party. When a group of high-ranking angelic soldiers ventured into the outskirts of Hell for a scouting mission, they found her bound and pleading for mercy.

Unaware of the darkness behind her eyes, they rescued her. Golka smiled inwardly — her plan was unfolding exactly as she had imagined.

But in Magrichela, even the rescued were not free from scrutiny. The soldiers followed strict procedure, escorting Golka to the High Court. It was there that she first laid eyes on Angurich — an elder of immense wisdom… but blind to the cunning of demons.

With a single glance, Angurich’s suspicion dissolved. He saw only a fragile angel wronged by fate, her beauty veiling the storm beneath. And so, he made his decision. Golka would be sent to the North — a land of poverty, the starting ground for many young angels.

In the North, fledgling angels trained for their debut into society, guided by the region’s governors, known collectively as V.M.S.B.A.K. Since Golka was far older than the young recruits, she was placed not as a student… but as a teacher, woven into the very system she had come to destroy.

And with that, the fox had entered the henhouse.

The North’s greatest pride was the Magrichela Saga, an institution present in every sector of Heaven. But each region gave it its own name. In the South, it was known as SMS. In the West, WMS. And in the North — where Golka had been sent — it was called NMS.

For most angels, NMS was a sanctuary, a place where young wings grew strong and knowledge bloomed like the endless skies above. The halls echoed with laughter, the classrooms smelled of polished wood and heavenly ink, and every corner seemed alive with the innocent chatter of fledgling angels learning their first lessons about the world. To an ordinary angel, NMS was a promise of guidance, safety, and growth.

But to Golka, it was more than a school. It was a stage — a sprawling, shining stage where every action, every smile, and every whisper could be woven into her intricate plan. She walked through the main gates with deliberate grace, her long silver hair catching the light like strands of liquid moonlight, her delicate wings folded neatly behind her. Every step she took was calculated, each gesture rehearsed countless times in her mind. A teacher among angels, yet her heart beat with the cold precision of a predator stalking its prey.

Her eyes, soft and luminous, swept across the courtyard as she observed the students. They ran in pairs, chased each other in playful games, or sat in quiet clusters, reading or practicing small spells of light. Golka noted each movement, each gesture, and each expression. A casual smile here, a nervous glance there — every little detail would later become a thread in the web she was weaving.

When she reached the grand archway of the main hall, she paused, letting a gentle smile curve her lips. “First impressions matter,” she whispered to herself. And in that moment, the very air seemed to respond, shimmering lightly around her presence, as if Heaven itself approved of the innocent angel before them.

The children noticed her immediately. Their chatter softened, replaced by curious, cautious glances. She knelt gracefully to meet the eyes of the smallest among them, speaking in a voice as warm as sunlight. “Welcome,” she said, each word carefully measured to convey kindness without weakness. “I am here to guide you, to help you grow, and to watch over you as you learn.”

Her hands, delicate and flawless, reached out to straighten a bent sleeve here, brush a stray feather there. Small acts, almost imperceptible, yet enough to win the hearts of those she approached. The students felt it — a comfort, a gentle presence — and soon, one by one, they began to approach her. They shared their worries, their small joys, and their minor grievances. A young angel sighed about missing home, another whispered about a prank gone wrong. Golka listened intently, nodding and offering a soft word of encouragement to each one, making them feel understood, making them feel safe.

“I will be more than your teacher,” she told them, her voice calm and melodic. “I will be your friend.” And they believed her.

As the hours passed, Golka’s mind never stopped. While her voice remained gentle and warm, her thoughts were a whirlwind of strategy. Every piece of information, every small detail the children revealed, was a tool, a key that could later unlock secrets or manipulate events. Names, habits, fears, dreams — all cataloged in her mind with meticulous care. Her calm demeanor never faltered; her mask of innocence never cracked.

By evening, when the soft golden light of Heaven began to fade into the silver shimmer of the moon, Golka found a quiet corner of the courtyard. The other teachers had gone to their chambers, and the students had returned to their dormitories, leaving the grounds empty save for her. She leaned against the marble railing, her eyes tracing the silver path of moonlight as it danced across the courtyard. A soft smile appeared, but it held no warmth.

“By the time they see me for what I am… it will already be too late,” she whispered, a faint shiver of satisfaction running through her. Every move she had made today had been deliberate. Every interaction carefully crafted. She had planted the first seeds of trust, the first tendrils of influence. Soon, those seeds would grow, twisting into the structures of her power.

And yet, even in this quiet moment, she remained aware of the eyes of Heaven. Every step she took, every smile she offered, was under the unseen gaze of her new peers, the governors, and the elders. Golka did not flinch. She welcomed scrutiny. For scrutiny was simply another way to learn, another way to turn the system’s own strengths against itself.

She thought of Angurich, the elder who had first judged her. How easily he had been swayed by her delicate guise, her seeming fragility. How little he suspected the true mind beneath the surface. A smirk crossed her lips. Soon, he would see just how misplaced his trust had been — but not today. Today, she would remain the angel they believed her to be. Today, she would continue weaving her threads.

The night air was cool, carrying the soft scent of Heaven’s gardens. Stars shimmered faintly in the sky, reflected in the polished stones of the courtyard. Golka stretched her wings slightly, feeling the subtle tension of readiness in her muscles. Every day here would be a performance, every interaction a calculated move. And she would play it perfectly, until all of Heaven’s unsuspecting souls bowed to her influence without realizing it.

As she finally retreated to her chambers, she glanced back once more at the quiet courtyard, the empty benches, and the sleeping dormitories. A single thought echoed in her mind, steady and relentless: patience. Every smile, every gentle word, every carefully orchestrated gesture was a step toward her ultimate goal. The children she had charmed, the governors she would manipulate — all were pieces on a board she controlled. And by the time they realized the truth… it would already be too late.

At first, the angel students trusted Golka with all their hearts. How could they not? She was a vision of beauty — her silver hair glinting like moonlight, her delicate wings folded neatly, her smile warm and soothing. Every movement was graceful, every word gentle. To the young angels, she was the embodiment of kindness itself.

Her presence was calming, as if the very air around her had softened. The classrooms felt brighter when she entered, the hallways quieter. Students who had once been timid began to approach her, seeking advice, comfort, or simply someone to listen. She allowed them to confide in her freely, nodding in understanding, offering words of reassurance. A soft touch to straighten a sleeve, a careful glance to show she noticed their struggles — small gestures that made her appear infinitely trustworthy.

“She listens,” whispered one young angel to another, awe in their voice. “She really understands us.”

And she did… in her own way. Every whisper, every secret shared was a piece of intelligence Golka collected. Names, habits, fears, small grudges — all cataloged meticulously in her mind. She memorized the students’ routines, the subtle expressions that betrayed their emotions, even the slight tremor in a wing when they were nervous. Every tiny detail could later become a thread in the web she was weaving.

Slowly, the students began to reveal more than they intended. They complained about strict rules, vented frustrations about sector heads, and shared petty quarrels between friends. One would sigh about being misunderstood; another would mutter about a peer deliberately ruining their day. And Golka listened. She nodded, comforted, and pretended to be on their side, while inwardly calculating how each piece of information could serve her.

Because the truth was, she was not merely a listener — she was the architect of some of the very tensions she soothed. A careful word here, a subtle suggestion there, a look that planted doubt — and the seeds of discord took root. No one suspected that the kind smile and soft voice belonged to a serpent.

As the days passed, her observations grew bolder. Her gaze, once soft and reassuring, began to sharpen. Her questions, while still appearing gentle, were pointed and precise. She began noting every slip, every careless gesture, and every secret murmured behind closed doors. And every discovery was reported to Angurich, the elder of Heaven, as though she were merely a dutiful angel. The students thought they had found a friend. They did not realize they had stepped straight into the web of a spy.

But Golka’s ambitions extended beyond the students. She studied the sixteen sector heads, noting routines, weaknesses, and subtle flaws. Every detail, every habitual gesture, every minor lapse — nothing escaped her attention. Like a master painter observing a canvas, she understood the patterns of behavior and the invisible threads connecting one angel to another.

Her first strike was calculated and merciless. A sector head, respected for years, was suddenly disgraced. The scandal seemed to erupt out of nowhere, a ripple of chaos that sent shockwaves through Heaven. The reason for the disgrace? A secret only Golka had known, carefully timed to reach the ears of Angurich. To the onlookers, it appeared as a natural consequence of hidden mistakes, but in reality, it was a trap laid with precision.

And as the sector head fell, Golka stepped into the role of temporary head of the North. Not with arrogance, but with careful humility, showing herself as capable, trustworthy, and deserving. To the unsuspecting angels, it was a natural transition — she was the one to fill the gap, the one who could steady the sector. But anyone paying attention could see the subtle hints of her orchestration. This was no accident. It was the first step in a game far greater than anyone realized.

Even in moments of calm, Golka remained vigilant. She walked the halls during quiet hours, observing interactions, noting alliances and tensions, understanding the flow of influence and power among the angels. She smiled gently at students, nodded encouragingly to colleagues, all while her mind raced with plans, contingencies, and strategies. Every interaction, no matter how small, was an opportunity to gather information, to manipulate, to strengthen her position.

The web she was weaving extended far beyond the North. Every smile she offered, every comforting word, every whisper of encouragement to the students or subtle guidance to the staff, all were threads connecting her influence across the sector. And as the day ended, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the moonlight spilled across the courtyard, Golka allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction.

The angel who appeared so gentle, so kind, so innocent, was far more than she seemed. By the time anyone in Heaven realized the truth, it would already be too late.

And Golka, the fox in the henhouse, smiled once more, ready to continue her game of whispers and webs of power.