Every rebellion has a beginning.
Before the serpent spoke in Eden, before humanity’s first choice, there was another choice — made in the courts of heaven. A guardian became a trader, a servant became an adversary, and the first blueprint of deception was drawn.

“You were the anointed cherub who covers,
And I placed you there.
You were on the holy mountain of God;
You walked in the midst of the stones of fire.
You were blameless in your ways from the day you were created
Until unrighteousness was found in you.
By the abundance of your trade
You were internally filled with violence, and you sinned;
Therefore I have cast you as profane from the mountain of God.
And I have destroyed you, O covering cherub,
From the midst of the stones of fire.”
— Ezekiel 28:14–16, NASB95

Before there was a tree in the midst of the garden, there was a throne in the heights of heaven. And upon the holy mountain of God stood the anointed cherub, radiant among the stones of fire. His form reflected beauty that did not originate in himself but in the glory of the One who created him. He was blameless in his ways from the day he was created, entrusted with nearness, given a place to cover — to guard the sacred things in the presence of the Most High. His wings cast shadows of protection, his steps carried the authority of divine appointment.

Yet stewardship is dangerous when the heart begins to crave ownership. Somewhere along the unmeasured span of eternity past, something began to stir — unrighteousness was found in you. It did not arrive as a flood, but as a drop. Like dark water poured into a vessel of light, it began to displace the pure, seeping into thoughts and desires. The vessel that once brimmed with worship began to brim with something else: a will that no longer found joy in serving, but in being served; not in reflecting the light, but in possessing it.

The prophet Isaiah gives voice to this inward turn:
“I will ascend to heaven; I will raise my throne above the stars of God… I will make myself like the Most High” (Isaiah 14:13–14).

And yet, outwardly, he still moved among the stones of fire. The brilliance remained; the appearance was unaltered. Paul would later write that “Satan disguises himself as an angel of light” (2 Corinthians 11:14) — for deception works best when clothed in the familiar.

It was then that the “trade” began. By the abundance of your trade… the Word says. He trafficked not in gold or silver, but in ideas. He carried his discontent like contraband, peddling it in the courts of heaven as a merchant sells wares in the marketplace. Pride was his merchandise; autonomy his currency. His questions were invitations: Could you not be more? Do you not deserve more? With calculated charm, he exchanged the truth of God for a lie (Romans 1:25), and the seeds took root.

But trade changes the trader. With each exchange, something else filled him — you were internally filled with violence. Not the sudden violence of sword and spear, but the deliberate violence that fractures peace, that seeks to overthrow the good simply because it is good. This was violence against the order of God, against the unity of heaven, against the very harmony of creation. The dark water had reached the brim. The dark energy within him surged — no longer to protect, but to possess; no longer to serve, but to subvert.

And so he sinned. The heart that once covered now uncovered its rebellion before the throne. Judgment came swift and sure: “I have cast you as profane from the mountain of God… I have destroyed you from the midst of the stones of fire.”

Revelation bears witness: “The great dragon… the serpent of old who is called the devil and Satan… was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him” (Revelation 12:9; cf. v.4). The guardian had become the adversary; the light-bearer had become the deceiver. His place was no more.

Yet exile did not end his ambition. If he could not rule the mountain, he would claim the plains. His gaze turned to the world below — to the unshaped earth that would soon be filled with life and image-bearers. He knew the language of trade. He knew how to make the forbidden look profitable. The blueprint of deception that had corrupted heaven would be offered again in another marketplace: a garden where life walked with God. And in the shadow of that still-unplanted tree, the serpent was already waiting.

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Next: Chapter 3 | Inheriting the Curse
The serpent’s blueprint would not stay confined to his own fall. It would be offered to humanity as a bargain — a trade of truth for a lie. In the next chapter, we’ll step into Eden and watch as the Domain of Darkness claims its first human citizens.