When I was younger, I once touched the stove by accident.The pain was instant—searing, stupid, unforgettable. I cried for an hour while Mom ran cold water over my fingers, whispering apologies like it was her fault.
Tonight, the burn mark on my wall didn't hurt.And maybe that was worse.
I sat on my bed, staring at the scorched crown of horns and the single word beneath it—Heir. The room around me felt too still, like time itself was holding its breath. My fingers hovered near the mark, trembling, but not from fear.
No.From something else.Recognition.
I knew this symbol.
Not from a textbook or movie or some edgy band logo. I knew it the way you know your own reflection, or the way a song you've never heard still feels like home.
The moment I touched the mark, something inside me throbbed.
A pulse.A heartbeat.No—a roar.
Flames flickered at the edges of my vision. The air grew heavier, hotter. Somewhere deep in my skull, a voice whispered—not in words, but in ancient fire. My chest ached, and my blood felt like lava.
Then the front door slammed shut.
Mom was home.
Her keys hit the counter, footsteps light, familiar. I heard the plastic rustle of takeout bags and the soft clink of her bracelets.
"Kai?" she called. "I got dumplings—your favorite!"
My body moved on its own. I flew out of my room and shut the door behind me, praying she wouldn't see the burn. Not yet. Not until I had answers.
She blinked when she saw me in the hallway.
"You look like you saw a ghost," she said, raising an eyebrow.
I forced a weak smile. "Bad dream. Again."
She studied me for a beat too long, then nodded slowly. "Let me guess. Red sky? Screaming? Fire?"
I froze."You—how did you—"
She didn't answer. She turned toward the kitchen, her movements too smooth, too rehearsed."Eat first. Then we talk."
We sat at the table like nothing was wrong.Except everything was.
The silence between us was loaded—like a storm cloud waiting to burst. I picked at my food, appetite gone. Mom didn't eat at all.
Finally, I couldn't take it.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" I said.
She looked up, slow and steady. "Tell you what?"
"Don't play dumb," I snapped. "The dreams. The heat. The way people act weird around me. And now this—"I almost mentioned the mark, but stopped myself.
She sighed. Not annoyed. Not angry. Sad.
"Because I wanted you to have a normal life," she said. "Even if it was just borrowed time."
"Borrowed time?" I repeated, voice rising. "What the hell does that mean?!"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
I stood. "You know what I am. You've always known."
She didn't deny it.
Instead, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment—old, brittle, singed at the edges. She slid it across the table.
I unfolded it with shaky fingers.
It wasn't a letter.
It was a contract.
"By blood and fire, the bearer of this seal shall bind the Heir until the appointed Hour. No angel shall touch him. No demon shall claim him. He is flame unlit—until the Flame returns."
At the bottom, a signature burned into the page:
LUCIFER.
I dropped the paper like it had scorched me.
My chest heaved. "This is some kind of joke."
"I wish it were."
"I'm dreaming. This isn't real. I'm—"
"You're not human, Kai."
The world tilted.
"I raised you as one. I tried to give you that life. But you were never meant to stay hidden forever."
I backed away, stumbling into a chair.
"You're telling me... what? That I'm the son of the freakin' devil?"
"Not the devil," she said softly. "Not the monster humans made him out to be. But yes. You are Lucifer's son. The heir to his throne. The Prince of Hell."
The words hit me like punches.
I wanted to scream. Laugh. Break something. Cry.
But all I did was whisper, "Why me?"
Her voice shook. "Because he chose you."
I didn't sleep that night. Not really.
I sat in my room, lights off, staring at the burn mark on my wall. My thoughts spiraled like smoke—too fast, too thick to breathe through.
Lucifer.Father.Heir.
What did that even mean?
And what the hell was Aria? How did she know?
My phone buzzed.
A message.Unknown number.
"If you want answers, meet me behind the old chapel. Midnight. Come alone."
I stared at the screen, heart racing.
No name. No context.
Just a promise of more.
I looked at the clock.
11:17 PM.
The chapel had been abandoned since before I was born.Crumbling stone. Rusted gates. Vines choking stained glass windows that hadn't seen sunlight in years.
And yet… something about it felt alive tonight.
I slipped past the gate and into the courtyard. The moon hung low, casting pale light through cracked panes.
She was already there.
Aria.
Leaning against the archway like a painting come to life. Same silver hair. Same unreadable eyes.
"You came," she said, voice low.
"You sent the message?" I asked.
She nodded. "You deserve to know what you are. What's coming."
"You mean what I was," I said bitterly. "I'm just some cursed freak pretending to be normal."
"No," she said. "You're so much more than that."
She stepped closer.
"When Lucifer vanished seventeen years ago, both Heaven and Hell wanted to find his heir. Some to protect. Most to kill."
My blood ran cold.
"You're saying someone's after me?"
She nodded again. "Not someone. Everyone."
"And you? What are you, really?"
Her eyes glowed faintly in the dark. "I was sent to watch you. That's all I'll say… for now."
"So you're spying on me?"
"I was," she admitted. "Until I saw who you really were."
I narrowed my eyes. "And who's that?"
Aria tilted her head, voice soft. "Someone worth saving."
We sat in the chapel ruins for what felt like hours.
She told me little—only what I "needed" to know. That Hell was in chaos. That factions were already hunting me. That my awakening had started, and the seal that kept my blood locked away was breaking.
"When it shatters completely," she said, "you'll stop being human. You'll remember what Hell looks like."
"And if I don't want that?"
She hesitated.
"Then I hope you're strong enough to fight fate."
When I got home, dawn was bleeding into the sky. Mom was on the couch, half-asleep, a sword—yes, an actual sword—across her lap.
She didn't look surprised to see me.
"Still think I'm crazy?" I asked.
She smiled sadly. "No. But I wish I could be."