Teemah didn't waste time.
The moment Lucifer gave the word, she was gone—her cloak vanishing into the heat haze like a shadow dissolving in firelight. Word moved faster in the Demon Realm than any written summons. By the time the next sun-cycle reached its midpoint, the summons had already crawled through every ring, carried in whispers, threats, and unspoken orders.
They came.
The hall chosen for the meeting wasn't Daniel's throne room. Lucifer didn't want it to be his brother's ground. This was an old place, older than Daniel's reign—built in the First Cycle, when the Demon Realm was still chaos without borders. The walls were carved from black obsidian veined with faint gold, as if someone had trapped lightning inside the stone. No banners. No thrones. Just a long, curved table and enough space for power to breathe.
