***
Azrael waves his hand and fresh clothes replace the torn, bloodied ones. He looks radiant, as if freshly bathed—sweat and battle grime erased. His familiar emberleaf aroma wafts from him. I inhale deeply, letting it calm my nerves.
He strides through the castle like it belongs to him. Mage lights flare awake as guards drop to one knee upon our passing, heads bowed, swords lowered against the gleaming onyx floors. I wonder if they know who he truly is—or if a spell still clouds their minds.
“Where are we going?” I ask curiously as more guards kneel.
“Throne room.” His clipped response offers no room for questions as we continue our brisk stroll through the castle.
“Why?”
“You’ll see. Like I said, there’s quite a lot to do before we return.” Another cryptic answer.
Our footsteps echo into the vast throne room. At its center waits Azrael’s father.
“Beelzebub, brother,” Azrael greets as they embrace each other.
Brother?I thought this man was his father.
Azrael senses my confusion.
“The curse has broken, my love. All will be revealed soon enough. Have patience.”
“The others will arrive soon for the crowning ceremony. Before they do, I have one last gift for your mate.”
I glance to Azrael. “A gift? For me?”
He nods.
“Quickly, follow me to the crypts,” Beelzebub commands, motioning us on.
At the thrones, he waves his hand over a stone wall. It slides open to reveal a spiraling passage descending into darkness. Without hesitation, Azrael follows, and I cast one last uncertain look before trailing after them.
Down deep below the castle we go, sweat dripping steadily from my body, the heat thick and suffocating. Each breath is a struggle, and my legs burn with every step, threatening to give out.
“We’re almost there,”Azrael’s deep voice whispers through our bond, sensing my exhaustion.
I don’t reply. I’m far too focused on placing one foot carefully in front of the other, afraid a misstep will send me tumbling to the bottom.Azrael doesn’t have to speak; I know he would never allow harm to touch me. Yet even his protection cannot shield me from destiny.
Finally, we reach the bottom. The space opens wide, the ceiling disappears into black, bone-like columns rising to support it. I exhale a shaky sigh of relief, leaning against the cool stone wall, letting my burning skin meet its relief.
The catacombs are hauntingly beautiful. At the center lies a large ritual space with a black stone dais, thrumming with unfamiliar magic pulsating from it like a living heartbeat. My own power rises in a protective response, and the runes on my dagger hiltsglittering, ready. Every hair on my body stands on end as the dark presence sweeps over me, probing my soul, testing the shields I had so carefully maintained.
I resist the intrusion at first, fighting to push it out, refusing to submit to its power.I won’t let you hurt either of us. Turn back, or I’ll have no choice but to end you.I hurl the words through my mind and watch as they attach to the shadow-steeped threat.
It cackles, a shrill, high-pitched shriek.I’d like to see you try and end me, dear one. For I am older than time itself. I have no intention of harming you.”The laughter curls around my mind, mocking yet amused by my boldness.I only seek to test your identity and your worthiness to receive the gift I protect.”
I’m sorry, ancient one. I didn’t mean to threaten you.I lower my shields, letting the presence flow through me, allowing its scrutiny without resistance.
It touches every part of my soul, spreading a tingling numbness over my body. My knees buckle, and I clutch the wall to keep from collapsing. Then, just as suddenly, it withdraws. The pressure is gone, leaving only the cool, dank air against my sweat-drenched skin. My lungs fill with oxygen greedily, the weakness fading from my muscles.
I glance around, taking in the catacombs, they hum with a power I’ve never felt before. The ritual space is encircled by tunnels, branching into an intricate web, pulsing like a living force. At the center, the dais waits—ominous, patient, as though it knows what’s to come. The walls are lined with souls sealed in glassvotives, each one glowing faintly, illuminating the path. Magic thrums beneath my feet, interlaced in the stones themselves. Every slab is inscribed with a rune—the level of detail is impressive. I can’t help but marvel at it all. Small clues reveal themselves through the ancient voice that whispers in my head, bestowing fragments of its knowledge upon me.
“Here, power sleeps until called. Each soul you see is no mere mortal. Gods, demons, witches, and ancient supernatural beings await a new destiny… This is the marrow of the kingdom. Every stone is bound in blood and sacrifice. The souls wait, not for death’s end, but for rebirth—a second forging.”
“The dais remembers every cut of a blade, every oath spoken. Only blood opens the way as sacrifice seals it shut. Power is never given, only traded—life for life, breath for breath. Do you fear bleeding, Celestial One? Even gods bled here, when thrones were forged.”
“Your soul hums like a star created for shadow. You’re not a guest here. You’re one of us. May you never fear the darkness again, allowing it only to bring you comfort and strength. Lucifer’s echo walks again. You were carved for him before breath touched your lips. The throne will not break you. Not when you were made to balance it. It’s yours as much as his to rule as equals.”
