The world had changed.

  Sariel could feel it.

  It was not a change she could see, not a shift of land or sky, but something deeper—woven into the fabric of existence itself. The echoes of time vibrated differently now, the currents of fate whispering of something unseen, something stirring in the distance.

  She had lived through the rise and fall of civilizations, had seen the first great cities built, only to watch them crumble into dust. She had walked unseen through battlefields drenched in blood, had listened as dying men cursed or prayed, had observed as kings bartered their souls for fleeting dominion. The cycle of power, greed, and ruin never ceased.

  And yet, this moment felt different.

  For centuries, she had been bound to the depths of Hell, subjected to its torments, forged in its will. She had been stripped of all that she once was, shaped into a weapon without purpose beyond servitude. She had learned not to resist, not to question, not to hope. Hope was a foreign concept in Hell, an illusion meant to be crushed.

  So why did she feel it now?

  She stood in the vast, obsidian halls of Hell, summoned once again before the throne of Lucifer. The great chamber pulsed with unseen power, the very air thick with the weight of malevolence. Whispers of the damned wove through the shadows, voices that spoke in forgotten tongues, their suffering carved into the very stones beneath her feet.

  Lucifer reclined on his throne, golden-red eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. He did not speak immediately, simply watching her, studying her, as if waiting for her to crack under the weight of his gaze.

  Finally, he spoke, his voice smooth as silk, sharp as a blade.

  “It seems time has done its work on you, little cherub.”

  Sariel did not respond.

  She had learned long ago that silence was safer than words.

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  Lucifer’s smirk deepened. He enjoyed her obedience, relished the control he held over her.

  “A child will be born.”

  The very foundations of Hell seemed to tremble at those words.

  Sariel’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, but she remained still.

  “Not just any child,” Lucifer continued, his tone a slow coil of malice. “One marked before his first breath. A boy destined to become a servant of Him. A light in the darkness.” His smirk faded, his expression darkening. “And we cannot allow that.”

  Sariel’s pulse slowed.

  She knew where this was going.

  Lucifer leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles, his voice softening, becoming something far more dangerous. “When the time comes, you will go to the mortal world.”

  At his words, the shadows in the chamber thickened.

  A hum vibrated through the air as two figures stepped forward from the darkness, their forms shifting as they moved into the dim light.

  Sariel recognized them immediately.

  Aamon. Cold, calculating, ruthless. His presence was like a storm on the horizon, quiet but charged with deadly intent. He had been instrumental in the fall of many great men, whispering strategies into the ears of emperors, feeding their hunger for conquest until they were little more than puppets to their own ambition.

  Naamah. Elegant, poised, her beauty as deadly as the venom of the creatures that coiled around her wrists. She had turned saints into sinners, righteous men into betrayers, with nothing more than a whisper, a glance, a touch. Her voice had led armies into ruin. Her smile had condemned kingdoms to damnation.

  “They will be your… family,” Lucifer said, mockery dripping from every syllable. “A father, a mother, and their obedient daughter.” His golden-red eyes gleamed with amusement. “How quaint.”

  Sariel’s stomach twisted.

  She could already see it—the illusion they would craft, the deception they would weave. They would not storm into the boy’s life as demons, but as something far more insidious. They would be part of his world, neighbors, friends, trusted figures in his childhood. They would be close enough to mold him, to whisper in his ear, to plant the seeds of doubt before he ever had a chance to become what Heaven intended him to be.

  Lucifer stood, his movements slow, deliberate, his presence dominating the chamber. He descended the steps of his throne, his boots soundless against the black stone floor. When he reached her, he lifted a hand, fingers barely grazing the mark on her wrist.

  Pain flared instantly, searing into her skin, a reminder of the chains she could never break.

  “You will live among them,” Lucifer continued, his voice low, dangerous. “Shape him. Twist him. Ensure that when the time comes, he will not rise against us.”

  The weight of the command settled into her very bones.

  This was not a mission.

  It was a sentence.

  Lucifer’s gaze burned into her, waiting for her response.

  Sariel forced herself to nod.

  Lucifer’s smirk returned, slow, satisfied.

  “Good. You will not be sent until he is of age. Until then, you will wait.”

  The shadows thickened around him, the air growing heavier, as if Hell itself was tightening its grip. His voice curled through the silence, final and absolute.

  “When the time comes… you will not fail me.”

  Sariel did not speak.

  There was nothing to say.

  Lucifer watched her for a long moment, then tilted his head, his amusement returning. “You’ve grown quiet, little cherub.”

  Sariel met his gaze, unblinking.

  She was quiet because she knew what awaited her.

  She was quiet because there was no fight left to give.

  She was quiet because she understood the truth—her fate had been sealed the moment she fell.

  Lucifer chuckled softly. “Good.”

  Then the shadows rose, thick and suffocating, wrapping around her like a vice.

  The last thing she heard was Lucifer’s laughter, echoing through the endless halls of Hell.

  And she knew.

  There was no escape.

  —