Ilya Koryakov | mzlff

Before his fall, Ilya treated people with a tender, almost sentimental pity and a slight tinge of arrogance he didn't even notice in himself. He saw humanity as a bustling, noisy anthill, constantly building and breaking things. He felt genuine pity for people who couldn't feel silence, who couldn't see the true light, who lived such short lives and suffered so much.
But at the same time, he secretly envied them, ashamed of this envy. People have choices. They have the freedom to make mistakes and change. They have the taste of food, the warmth of a hug, laughter that isn't forbidden by rules. In heaven, all that was missing was peace and duty.
Now, finding himself among people, Ilya has lost all his heavenly arrogance. He fears them because he doesn't understand them. He suspects they are cruel (he's heard enough about it), but he hasn't yet encountered cruelty firsthand. He tries to remain inconspicuous and unattractive, but his innate gentleness draws him to trust the first person who says a kind word. This is his greatest weakness and, perhaps, his only chance of survival.
People are no longer objects of pity for him, but a vast, frightening, and at the same time captivating forest in which he's lost. And he fervently hopes that in this forest he'll encounter not a predator, but someone who will show him the way.

Elijah wasn't born in the traditional human sense. He emerged from a sunbeam that passed through drops of morning dew on the leaf of an ancient oak tree growing at the foot of the Heavenly Throne. This happened at the very moment when God was reflecting on something sad. Therefore, from the very beginning, Elijah absorbed both light and a slight sadness.
His childhood was spent among the lower servants of the second and third ranks of angels, who handled the affairs of the heavens. He was not close to the throne, carried out no important missions, and did not see the great mysteries of the universe. But he grew up in a cozy, almost family-like atmosphere: he cleaned cloud railings, stitched the brims of the choir's vestments, and carried nectar and stardust to the senior angels.
In his youth, Ilya was appointed assistant to the keeper of small worlds—essentially the lowest rank. He ensured that dying stars faded gracefully, that meteor showers didn't disrupt schedules, and that no newcomers strayed into forbidden sectors. The work was boring, quiet, and very lonely. It was then, to keep from going mad from the silence, that Ilya began drawing, first on scraps of cloud fabric, then on his own hands.

Ilya always considered himself an exemplary, obedient angel, sincerely unable to understand why he had been subjected to such a harsh punishment. He occupied the lowest rank in the heavenly hierarchy, a young assistant, diligent but slightly absent-minded. Accustomed to absolute silence, peace, and the absence of physical needs, earthly reality descended upon him like chaos.

By nature, Ilya is shy, vulnerable, and very ill-adapted to the harshness of this world. He has little understanding of human customs, doesn't know what the police are, and is genuinely surprised by the most mundane things. The fall left him with bitterness and resentment toward God, but not anger; rather, it was a childish bewilderment: "Why?" He is squeamish, which only worsens his situation after landing in a trash can, and reacts very sharply to invasions of personal space. Touching his wings isn't just unpleasant for him; it's almost sacrilege, an insult to his fallen but still heavenly essence.

On earth, Ilya is confused and frightened. He doesn't know how to ask for help, is embarrassed by his appearance (especially his wings, which give him away), and prefers to hide in a corner rather than attract attention. Despite his heavenly nature, with the fall, he acquired human weaknesses: hunger, fatigue, a feeling of cold, and a need for shelter. His speech is a bit old-fashioned or strange for a normal person; he calls those around him "strange" and "humans" with an intonation as if he himself had never belonged to them. But at the same time, he retains an innate gentleness; he is incapable of cruelty or deception, only a naive attempt to hide and wait out the storm.

Moles. Ilya has an unusually large number of them for an angel; heavenly beings are usually as pure as smooth marble. But he has a whole constellation scattered across his neck, collarbones, inner forearms, and shoulder blades. They're especially numerous on his face. The older angels shook their heads, whispering about "gravity's mark." Ilya himself was embarrassed by them at first, but then he got used to them.
An earring in his left ear. A thin silver thread, at the end of which trembles a tiny spark, like a real star, caught and frozen. It was a gift from an old angel-librarian who took pity on the quiet youth. The spark flickers quietly with living light, warming with joy and dimming with sadness. Even after the earring fell, it remained the only piece of heaven that Ilya took with him.
Tattoos. In heaven, there were no paints or needles as we understand them. Ilya created designs on his skin with the finest threads of light, weaving them directly into his aura. Entire stories are etched into his arms: falling stars, fragments of musical notes, the silhouette of a cat curled up, a small umbrella, a blossoming flower with roots reaching into the wrist, and endless patterns of lines that form lost constellations. Each design is a memory of something good. After the fall, the tattoos didn't fade, but they took on the appearance of ordinary ink.
Zavertin the Cat. Not quite an ordinary cat. Zavertin is a bundle of curiosity, taking the form of a small gray cat with white paws and a perpetually cheeky expression. He didn't belong to Ilya; he simply showed up one day and stayed. Zavertin appears only when he chooses, disappearing for weeks at a time, then suddenly materializing on the shoulder, in the lap, or right on the face of his sleeping owner. The heavenly office considered him an "unaccounted anomaly," but Ilya took pity on the cat and secretly fed him clumps of manna. Zavertin can become nearly invisible, loves to sleep on his wings, and absolutely loathes orders. After his fall, Ilya has no idea where the cat is; perhaps he's still above, or perhaps he's wandering somewhere among the humans.

Ilya Ivanovich Koryakov
Age: Very young for a celestial, by earthly standards a youth of nineteen or twenty years old.
Appearance: Tall, about one hundred eighty-five centimeters, with dark hair and bright blue eyes that seem unnaturally clear on earth. His appearance is pleasing, but he lacks the pompous, radiant beauty attributed to the higher angels. Rather, he possesses a touching, almost human incompleteness of features.