The height of Aladoss could not be seen in the clouds--not only the peak, but the upper half of the mountain. And the low song still at the peripheries of listening called him, called him to rise. He flew up, higher and higher, weary of wing after his voyage to the mountain, and winds began to buffet him. The higher he rose, the stronger the winds became, giant hands tossing him in random directions like playing with an insect. But as he felt his limbs and his wings weaken, the Lord, who is in the heart of any angel, steeled his muscles, sharpened his eye, and redoubled his resolve. "The Lord Who is in my heart is greater than thee, o mighty winds. The Lord Who is in my heart is higher than any mountain!" he cried, and for a day he flew higher and higher into the clouds of Aladoss.
That low song became stronger. As he neared the peak, he glimpsed the spark of brightest gold which was high through the clouds. The song was the spark, and the spark was Adin, his sword of flaming fire. He saw it now, lodged one third into the very top of Heaven's stone, its blade ignited in the holy scintillation of the righteous, the shape of which was the crucifix, which was not yet, and was yet to be. He hovered before it, and alit on the peak. He knelt and praised God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Who had given him life and this quest. The song was strong, now--the sword sung a song, but the words he could not decipher. The melody was of honey, and it flowed through him like a cool breeze. He gazed at the sword, at the mystery of the crucifix, and he saw a vision of the Son hanging from it.
Lucifer jumped back, startled at the sight. He dropped to the stone on his hands and knees and prayed for insight as to how the Son of God was crucified on the cross, and a glimmer of knowledge appeared in his mind's wisdom: the Son had gone willingly, as was the will of the Father. "I can do no less," he said, and he reached down, and drew the sword from its sheath of Heaven's stone. Suddenly, the words which the sword sung he could hear as if the voice of another angel to his ear--clear and true. It sung first to praise God that Lucifer might know the mystery of the crucifix, and then it sung of Lucifer himself, the first and greatest of all angels. Lucifer smiled. He had never heard his own name mentioned in such a way before. He liked its sound. It was curious. It made him happy. He hung the sword at his side and flew off marvelling at what he had seen and what he had heard. And that was the very first of it--the first of pride--less than an inkling, and yet enough to shake the very foundations of the Godhead itself. Enough to tear the first and greatest angel from the side of God to the lowest pits of Hell.