Sirens. Screams.

The city street blurred into chaos as a car tore through the traffic, metal shrieking, horns blaring, pedestrians scattering in terror—some fleeing from overturned street stalls, staring back with bloodless faces at the shattered remains that had been seconds away from burying them alive. Despite all the signals and cursing, the highway savage wasn't slowing down. It wasn't stopping. It was high on its own racing spree.

"HQ, requesting order!" Henry's voice cracked through the comms, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the roaring beast. His hand pressed tight to his earpiece, his other raised in a sharp signal—his team braced on standby.

On the monitors far away, Luna's fingers flew across her console, nerves thrumming at the speed that refused to yield to any racer, high or not. "Collision calculated. Danger level D—fatal." She looked up, tense. "Orders, sir?"

"Approved." Sam, Senior Coordinator, ninety-eight and steady as stone, didn't hesitate. His nod was final. "Proceed."

"Action team—engage!" Luna barked.

The speedster swerved. Tires screamed as it veered off the asphalt, hurtling straight toward a roadside house. On the sidewalk: a toddler. Frozen. Wide-eyed. Too small to even scream.

The world slowed. Gasps. Cries. Time stretched into horror.

"Son of a—" Henry lunged, desperate to push her clear. The car was faster. Too fast.

"Ray! Leo!" he roared.

Two figures exploded into motion. One slammed himself against the hood, muscles straining, while the other leapt overhead, snapping a tow hook onto the frame. The car buckled, momentum grinding—but it wasn't enough.

"Aaron, with me!" Henry shouted, shielding the child. His tension turned to shock. "Wait—what are you—?!"

From above, Aaron descended. Made his epic entrance.

With a tree. Twenty feet and healthy. Freshly plucked from its cozy pit.

Now brought down in a thunderous crash, like an angry titan.

The trunk slammed into steel with an impact that silenced the street. Dust and debris swallowed the car in a choking cloud. When it cleared, the machine lay mangled beneath the timber like a crushed toy.

On its dented roof stood Aaron, cold, unflinching. His chest heaved once, eyes darting to the little girl now sobbing in her mother's arms—safe. Relief flickered across his face.

"Aaron, you reckless—cough—" Henry staggered from the wreck, his white uniform and sharp features smeared with dirt and fury. He seized Aaron's collar, spit flying. "I told you to shield the Charge! Not uproot half the damn street!"

"Shielding her would've only softened the blow." Aaron jabbed a finger at the wreckage, shouting back. "Stopping it was the only way to keep her unharmed."

Henry's glare could've split granite. "Look closer. At the driver!"

Aaron froze. The unconscious man was being dragged from the twisted metal, whisked away by an ambulance wailing like a dirge.

"He was drunk," Aaron rasped, trembling lips betraying the stubborn fire in his eyes. "He was at fault."

Henry's fist drew back—stopped only when Leo and Ray caught his arms.

"Calm down, Captain," Leo hissed, trying to ease his veiny knuckles off Aaron's crumpled collar.

"Internal later. HQ first," Ray muttered, shooting Aaron a warning look.

Henry wrenched free, still fuming. "Just wait until I deal with that punk." He stormed away.

Aaron's gaze lingered on the little girl carried inside her home in a hurry, then he followed his team. The police and passersby paid them no attention, as if they were invisible.

In her own house, the mother still shook. Leaving her three-year-old daughter with the caretaker for a moment, she hurried to the prayer room to soothe her pounding heart.

Kneeling at the family altar, incense trembling in her grip, she bowed deeply to the portrait above.

"Grandfather... thank you for blessing us," she whispered, eyes brimming. "My Jenny avoided the accident, like a miracle. Please... continue protecting her."

The portrait's eyes were gentle, his warm smile eternal: Samuel Stone. Eighty-one years old when passing. A man who had lived with honor.

Today, he had made the request and commanded the order to save his own great-granddaughter.

As Sam, Senior Coordinator of the BOH—Balcony of Heaven.

___

The night fell quickly upon the world—both beneath the sky and above it.
The vast, deep-blue expanse was thick with clouds and glittering stars, perfectly veiling a long-standing secret: a structure that had endured with grit and pride for as long as mortal history—perhaps longer.

It began as a pure white balcony suspended in the air, vast and open, then unfolded into a magnificent building crowned with colossal pillars and timeless architecture—elegant, eternal, unshaken by the ages.

This was the Balcony of Heaven.
Here, prayers were forwarded, blessings requested, and missions delivered—coordinated and dispatched by the agents of BOH.

Sam busied himself in his quarters, sorting through his documents as he always did at the end of his shift. A thorough gentleman, he straightened his crispy white uniform before stepping out into the lobby, where others greeted him with quiet respect.

"Hi, George."
"Evening, Killie."

He nodded to familiar faces, people he'd known across nearly twenty years of service.

"Leaving early, sir?"

Luna looked up from her usual hangout at the reception desk. Her eyes lit up at the sight of her superior. With her workload finally lightened, she was back to her bright, cheerful self.

"Yes, I've still got some time left." Sam checked his watch and smiled. "What a day, huh?"

"It was worth it," Luna replied, her smile turning solemn. "How's your great-granddaughter?"

"Safe and steady now." Relief softened Sam's features. He glanced around the lobby, as though searching for someone.

"Action Team Thirteen must be tied up with post-mission reports," Helen, the receptionist, supplied knowingly. "They came in an hour ago. Looked a little dirty... and down."

"Oh?" Sam's Santa Claus-like brows drew together. "What about Aaron?"

Luna and Helen exchanged a glance.

"Agent Cross is at his usual place," Helen said carefully, her eyes flicking toward the space outside. "You'll find him there."

"Sorry to say, sir," Luna added, her voice edged with irritation, "but Cross acted rashly again. If he keeps this up, it'll affect the coordination team, too."

Sam gave a slow, heavy nod. "I know you're worried. I'll remind him to be careful. But he's a good kid. Don't be too hard on him, alright?"

The senior's gentle, entrusting smile was impossible to refuse.

"Y...yes, sir." Luna's cheeks warmed. "I understand."

But as she watched him leave, Luna let out a quiet sigh.

"That Cross," muttered James, another agent lingering nearby. "Isn't he one of the top performers? Highest completion rates?"

"Right," Helen chimed in, curiosity sparking. "I heard his soul energy level is crazy high. But since he has no loved one to give blessings to, he pours it all into missions, even the toughest, the impossible ones."

"That explains the recklessness," Luna said flatly. "He's a Cross, after all."

"You mean Heaven's shared last name?" James blinked, puzzled. Like most BOH employees, he had kept both his name and his memories intact.

"It's not just a name." Luna's voice dropped to a whisper, pulling her coworkers closer. "It's a seal—meant to protect unstable souls. Their memories are too overwhelming, too dangerous for them to remember."

James's eyes widened. "But I thought BOH only recruited people who helped others in life—people with no crimes in their past? What could be dangerous in those memories?"

"I don't know," Luna admitted, shaking her head. "But there are stories—of the saintliest souls turning vengeful with a single thought. Anything could happen."

"I feel bad for his family." James's shoulders slumped. "They must be down there, giving him so much love and remembrance—for no blessing in return."

"What a waste of such energy," Helen sighed, only to brighten suddenly. "Was he a war hero? Or maybe an idol, once? With those looks—it's possible!"

"If that were true, we'd know." Luna laughed. "We already have a famous one here, remember?"

"Right! The one with that insanely massive fandom, his energy's at legendary level Z!" James lifted his hands in pure awe and worship.

"If I were him," Luna said with dreaminess, "I'd check in at the Balcony every day, soaking in the love and fame from above." She shook her head and frowned. "But Cross, why's he always there? He doesn't have anyone to watch over, does he?"

Both Helen and James only shrugged. No idea.

___

Away from the gossip, Sam approached the Balcony itself—an ancient, celestial structure encircling the BOH headquarters in ethereal stillness. Its waist-high white onyx balustrade gleamed with a quiet majesty, opening onto an endless sea of drifting clouds that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

At a quiet corner sat a young man in his twenties, his eyes fixed downward on the mortal world with the weariness of someone eighty. One knee bent on the railing, the other leg dangling, his uniform loose at the collar, he looked as if he couldn't care less about anything else.

"Evening, Aaron." Sam came over, beaming. "Enjoying the view?"

Aaron startled—he'd always come here to avoid people.

But it wasn't people. It was Sam.

He smiled. Rarely. But this one was real.

"Sam," he said softly, his voice tired but warm. "Here you are, gramps."

___

Meet the BOH agents - angels without wings. They are all good people, just love gossiping during breaks. - Alley