Hue and The Discovery of Manipo (Chapter 5)

I never imagined the Tree of Knowledge would be fused with the entrance to Eden. The realization struck with a bittersweet thrum — here I was, finally uncovering the garden’s precise location, yet frozen and helpless, as if Yahweh Himself were teasing me with revelation just out of reach.

My mind spun with questions, multiplying faster than I could form them. The tree’s brilliance alone was enough to overwhelm me, but nothing about it explained why David had hidden himself so abruptly. And then — just as the tree unveiled its true nature — something else revealed itself too.

Three cherubim materialized.

They didn’t descend or appear with fanfare; they simply were, as though they had always existed in the space between one breath and the next. Ezekiel’s descriptions were accurate down to the unsettling, celestial precision of their faces. Their forms blazed with authority. Their anger didn’t show on their expressions — but it seeped into the air, thick enough to choke on.

They were here for David.

Removing that book had triggered a response, one swift and divine. My dream came roaring back:

“He will not be stopped. Only at the appointed time.”

Was this the moment?

Would David truly escape them?

Or had I just witnessed the beginning of his annihilation?

For the first time, I feared a battle would erupt — and that even though I wasn’t meant to exist in this moment, the universe might punish me anyway. I told myself I was only a spectator, an innocent bystander. But the truth whispered underneath: I had come here out of greed. I wanted Eden. I wanted treasure. I wanted what no mortal should have.

And now three divine beings hovered before me, proof of authorities far beyond time — far beyond me.

When their eyes settled briefly in my direction, shame burned through my chest. Their sight felt endless, penetrating. As if they saw not only my presence, but the darkness of my desires.

But David held their full attention.

The three men who had accompanied him reappeared suddenly — now on their knees, sobbing in pleas for forgiveness. Their desperation struck me. I knew that feeling. Treasure had tempted them just as it had tempted me. Their voices rattled against the cave walls, their prayers scraping up from their throats like confessions of drowning men.

Then something cracked across the air.

A flaming sword appeared before the middle cherub.

Before I could even comprehend, the sword fired a blast — a diagonal surge of divine energy ripping through the cavern and toward David. He had tried to slip out of sight, but the attack struck before he could escape.

For a shameful heartbeat, I hoped the blast would end him. A drawn-out battle could destroy everything, including me.

But David caught it.

With his bare hands.

The impact shattered the stone around him, and though the energy forced him to his knees and left him trembling, he survived. The sight stunned me. A single burst from a cherub had once erased an entire battle line in front of me. How could he withstand even a fraction of that power?

The second blast answered my question.

He couldn’t — not twice.

The energy hurled him against the granite wall with a sickening crack, dust filling the air like smoke from an unseen fire. His groaning breath told me he was still alive, but barely.

Then two more flaming swords appeared.

My stomach sank.

The cherubim combined their power, weaving the energy into a massive fireball — so dense, so vast, I felt its heat even from a distance. Instead of launching it outward, they shaped it into a continuous stream of fire that poured toward David like molten judgment.

I thought it was the end — not just for him, but for me, for the cavern, for everything. The power radiating from that attack could have erased mountains.

Then — music.

A voice rose from the chaos — melodic, triumphant, and overwhelmingly beautiful. A male voice, ethereal yet powerful enough to shake the cave. It seemed to come from David, though I couldn’t be sure; he had vanished behind the barrage.

But the voice was enough.

The fire dissolved mid‑air, crumbling into harmless embers that drifted like dying stars. The cherubim staggered, disoriented — confusion washing through their forms in ways I never thought possible. They unleashed scattered blasts in all directions. One nearly hit me. Another struck the cave wall inches from where I stood.

And then the smoke parted.

David reemerged — alive.

Barely.

But alive.

His clothes had been shredded from the waist up, revealing a body carved from discipline and survival. His skin was bruised and blistered, and part of his mask had been torn away, exposing a damaged cheek. Yet he moved with stubborn, impossible endurance.

He was human.

That realization brought an unexpected warmth to my chest. Until now, I had believed myself to be the only one with abilities. But here he was — a man who could face divine beings and survive.

And suddenly, desire sparked within me — not romantic, but ravenous.

Who was he?

How could he do these things?

Could he tell me who I was?

Could he know something of my origins — my parents — my existence?

But the answers slipped away before I could grasp them.

He fled — swift, wounded, unstoppable.

And as he passed me, I glimpsed the book clutched to his chest.

The Book of The Fallen.

An angelic figure adorned the cover, its wings wrapped protectively around the title. Ominous. Ancient.

Forbidden.

I barely had time to process before the cherubim’s confusion hardened into fury. The ground trembled violently. The Tree of Knowledge cracked at its roots, the cavern walls crumbling around us. Pebbles struck my skin, sharp like divine warning shots.

This was it.

I was about to die for my greed.

A strange peace settled over me — until I heard the three men still praying. Their voices rose from the dust and destruction with a desperation that bordered on holy.

I had never prayed before.

Never once offered myself to the Lord in submission.

But I did then.

I begged Yahweh to spare me.

And in return, I vowed to retrieve the tome David had stolen.

Maybe He heard me.

Maybe He answered.

Because the ceiling split open, and heavenly light poured into the cave like liquid dawn. The cherubim calmed. The trembling ceased. Silence washed through the cavern — broken only by the fading echoes of prayer.

As the divine light dimmed, I noticed three green apples hovering above the kneeling men.

They looked ordinary — yet their glow said otherwise.

A voice thundered across the space, deep and ancient, speaking a language I didn’t know. I had learned several tongues in my travels, but arrogance had made me prioritize wealth over wisdom.

I listened anyway.

Every syllable felt like a piece of a puzzle I would one day need.

When the voice fell silent, the apples ignited with radiance, encasing themselves in crystal. Then they drifted downward into the men’s outstretched hands.

They ate them — biting through the crystal as if it were sugar.

Light spread through their bodies, glowing a soft green.

And then — they vanished.

As for me, exhaustion dragged me under. The last thing I felt was the world softening into darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, I lay beside a campsite — three tents standing quietly in the early light.