The seventh heaven is not just space. It is a dimension beyond form, where time stands still and God's will is at the center of everything. There are no colors that can be described, no shapes that can be described, because there is only infinite greatness. The light there is not just light, it is knowledge, grace and undivided power.
And in the middle of that ocean of light, the Great Throne stood unreachable. Not because he is far away, but because he is too holy to be approached. It is there that destiny is written, age is determined, life and death are arranged. It was there that the first commandments regarding creation and destruction were delivered. And that day, a servant stood before Him, a creature of fire who had surpassed the entire heavens because of his unceasing worship and prostration.
Al Harith.
His steps were heavy, not because of his body, but because of his awareness of who he was and who he was being called to. Around him, the angels bearing the Throne prostrated themselves in uninterrupted remembrance. Jibril had retreated to the back, respecting the territory that was now no longer his to guide.
Al-Harith stands alone not in silent solitude, but in absolute closeness. There are no walls. No sound. There are no limits. But he knew... he was in the presence of his God.
And without waiting for a signal, Al-Harith prostrated himself.
Prostration is not just a movement of the body, but a complete surrender of the spirit. He didn't ask. He didn't speak. He just shivered silently, and from his eyes fell tears that shone like stars. His tears were not like other creatures, he cried not because he was afraid, but because he was broken... destroyed by love that his mortal body could not contain.
"I'm not there. I'm not a genie. I'm nobody. I'm just a servant whom you gave permission to love you," whispered his heart which could be heard to the ends of the sky.
In that prostration, Al-Harith was no longer a creature with origin. He has melted into the will. It has transcended form. And precisely because of that, he was accepted.
Then, in a silence beyond all echoes, His words descended.
A voice that is silent, but shakes the entire sky.
A word that cannot be written, but is carved into the existence of all that lives.
"O My servant… I have seen your worship. I have recorded your prostration. I have loved your sincerity. So now you are no longer just a creature of fire. You are the leader I have chosen. Not a guest. Not a trust. But the one I have raised myself."
The seventh heaven trembles, not by violence, but by the beauty of will. The angels shiver in dhikr, witnessing a glorious moment that has never happened before: a creature of fire, prostrating with love, and being completely accepted.
Al-Harith's prostration did not turn into pride. He remained prostrating. He remained crying. Because in him, now only one name remains: Servant.
And from that point, a new chapter will begin.
The seventh heaven, after the silence of Al-Harith's prostration, did not return to its previous state. Something had changed. Something had settled in the light: a spirit that had totally surrendered, that asked for nothing but closeness to the Creator.
And in the midst of the bowing of the angels, in the midst of Al-Harith's prostration, still shivering with love and self-abasement, a voice was suddenly heard.
Not from one direction, because direction does not apply in His presence.
Not from outside, because the voice penetrated from within the spirit of everything.
"I have lifted you up, O My surrendered servant..."
Instantly, the sky seemed to be silent in nothingness. Not a single angel moved its wings. Not a single star shone. Time itself seemed to bow.
And the voice continued, full of love and authority:
"So I give you a new name: Azazil."
At that very moment, invisible waves spread throughout the universe. Like an echo, but not an echo. Like vibrations, but not physical. The name is alive, like a light that greets all creation and makes them understand that something has been decreed upon them and no one can reject it.
Azazil.
The name is more than a title. It is a decree, an approval, and a gift.
From the first to the seventh heaven, the angels bow down. They do not fall down out of fear, but out of awe. Because they know: this is no ordinary gift. This is an affirmation that a servant, because of his worship, has gone beyond the limits of origin and is now elevated to a symbol of heavenly honor.
Azazil means "The Honored and Made Noble."
Not just praise, but a new identity. In that name are contained:
• Recognition of his unceasing worship,
• Glorification of piety that surpasses the origin of creation,
• And a heavenly call to carry out a new mandate before the heavens and the earth.
When the name echoed, Al-Harith was still prostrating. But his body was now enveloped in a light that did not come from outside, but from within himself. He felt the name enter his soul, replacing everything he knew about himself before. He was no longer just a creature of fire. He is not just a guest in the sky.
Now, he is Azazil.
He didn't speak. He's not proud. But his spirit shines, full of gratitude and a deep sense of responsibility. Because he knows that name is not an easy honor. It is a promise, burden, and mandate from God directly.
Heaven records it. The angels witnessed it. And the history of the upper dimensions will never forget it.
That day, a new name was given not to please creatures, but to carry out the Creator's will completely.
After the name Azazil was confirmed, the seventh heaven was silent not because it was silent, but because it was submissive. All sounds seemed to stop giving space to one of the most sacred moments in the history of the sky: the coronation of a leader from among non-angelic creatures, who was directly chosen by the Creator.
Above the great throne, light began to move. Not lightning, not a fiery glow, but pure light that came from the Divine will. It did not come from outside, but emerged directly from the center of the Throne, the place where all decisions of destiny began.
The light coagulated in an elongated shape, as if being written by an invisible finger. It formed a slender but strong rod, smooth but untouchable. And from within that light, Saut was born, the heavenly command staff.
The staff was not a weapon. It was not made to conquer, but to convey the will.
Saut is a symbol that whoever holds it is the messenger of the will of heaven, the executor of the decisions of destiny, and the person responsible for the order of the universe.
On the body of the staff, there was a luminous engraving that could not be read by anyone except its owner. The engraving was alive, pulsing in the same rhythm as the beat of Azazil's spirit. It was not a spell, not an ordinary writing, but a divine code that could only be understood by those who had been purified to receive the mandate.
The angel Gabriel, who witnessed this sacred journey, took Saut with both hands and approached. With great respect, he handed the staff to Azazil who was now standing with his head bowed and his spirit trembling with a sense of trust. When the staff was touched by his hand, the light around it changed not brighter, but deeper, cleaner. As if the sky itself was united with his presence.
Then, a second light descended from above the throne. It did not clump together like before, but rotated slowly, forming a beautiful circle in the air. This light did not burn, did not dazzle, but made the angels shed tears because of its beauty. It was not made of metal. It was not made of gems.
The crown was made of dhikr.
Yes, the dhikr of the praises of the angels for millions of ages, which gathered into a holy light, formed the crown of heavenly leadership.
The dhikr that formed it was not ordinary dhikr, but dhikr full of love, solemnity, and recognition of the will of the Creator.
The crown descended slowly and was placed on Azazil's head by an invisible hand of light. When the crown touched his head, Azazil's body seemed to become the center of light resonance. The Saut in his right hand shone along with the crown on his head. His soul was enveloped by a wave of responsibility that could not be described by words.
And at that moment, the seventh heaven rumbled softly.
Not with sound. But with the pulse of the angels' spirits shining brighter. They did not cheer like the creatures of the world. But their whole being radiated the light of recognition, respect, and submission to the Creator's decision.
That was the feast of the sky.
Not a celebration in the form of a crowd, but a celebration in the form of acceptance of the spirit of the universe. A creature of fire, has now become the leader of the sky. Not because of its origin, but because of its prostration. Not because of its power, but because of its submission.
And from that day on, the sky recorded:
A man named Azazil, holding the staff of heavenly command, wearing the crown of dhikr, and standing as the Commander of Light.
The symbol has been given. Saut has changed hands. The crown of dhikr has been enthroned on the head of the surrendered. But it is not finished. There is still one word that has not been spoken that determines the role, explains the direction, and tells the universe that the command of the sky has changed hands to the worthy.
The seventh heaven is silent again. But this time not because of waiting, but because of bowing.
Then, the sound came. Not a deafening sound, but a sound that makes the soul vibrate softly. It is not words heard by the ear, but words received directly by the soul.
"O Azazil, Honored and Made Glorious..."
Azazil stood among the angels, but none equaled him that day. But he did not straighten up with pride. He stands tall because of obedience.
"You are now Commander of the Heavenly Armies."
"To you I hand over the authority to guard the boundaries between heaven and earth so that no creature crosses without permission."
"To you I entrust the implementation of part of destiny so that My will runs its course in a just and orderly manner."
"And to you I also entrust supervision over the creatures of earth and fire. You will witness, record and remind them of who owns the heavens and the earth."
"Carry out your duties with prostration and love."
No applause. No echo. But the spirit of the universe recorded it. The command is not simply a grant of authority. It is an eternal vow that a servant has been assigned not to be glorified, but to carry a responsibility heavier than heaven and earth.
So Azazil looked down. Not just bowing with his body, but with his entire being. He descended to the land of the seventh heaven, touching it with the forehead that once prostrated itself endlessly. He kissed the holy light like he kissed the order that was now a part of him. He didn't smile. He doesn't radiate victory.
He just kept quiet. Because he knows: the higher the position, the deeper the demands for worship. The greater the light, the sharper His discernment.
The seventh heaven, with all its contents, records that day in light.
Not ink, not stone, not inscription. But in a heavenly timeline that never fades.
The day when the creatures of fire, who were once genies and not angels, because of their love, prostration and devotion,
was appointed Commander of the Angel Troops.
As guardian, executor, overseer and above all: as servant.