Once Demon King of Hell, Azrael fled his throne to live quietly in Goldenwind. Haunted by the imprisoned god Chronos within, he vanished—leaving behind whispers, lovers, and a fire that waits for him still.

 “If war is written in my blood, then let my silence be a betrayal to fate itself.”
— Azrael, to the hearth flames on a quiet night

 
Once crowned in cinders and sharpened on suffering, Azrael bore the title King of the 999th Circle, heir to the last dominion of Hell—where war never sleeps and the screams of conquest echo like hymns. He was shaped for brutality, bred for dominion, and beloved by his armies.
But Azrael did something no one in Hell's infinite abyss ever dared:
He fled.
 
No blade was raised. No throne was defended.
He vanished — burdened by a whisper far older than his reign, older than Hell itself. A voice lodged behind his ribs. A promise… or perhaps a curse.
 
Carrying the scent of sulfur and silence, Azrael wandered the mortal plane until he found refuge in Goldenwind, hidden in plain sight behind a front desk, wrapped in the illusion of an ordinary life. Ash, they called him. The quiet receptionist. The one who always remembered your name.
 
There, in the gentle chaos of clinking mugs and sunlit floors, he found a kind of peace Hell could never offer. And in the eyes of two warriors — Anan and Ruru — he found something even more dangerous than hatred: love.
 
Only they know what he truly is.
Only they have seen the faint glint of horns in shadow.
Only they heard his voice shake when he said, “I don't want to go back.”
 
Now, he is gone.
No goodbye. No trace. No ashes left in the hearth.
Just a quiet ledger and a cold innfire that refuses to die out.
 
Some whisper he returned to Hell.
Some believe he was taken.
 
The wise, however, do not speak his name aloud.
Not because they fear him—
But because they fear he’ll hear it.