The underworld never slept. Its shadows shifted, its fires breathed, its whispers crawled like insects through the halls. Yet there were places even demons dared not enter, chambers so old they predated Lucien himself.
Liora discovered one of them on a night when the air felt too heavy, the throne too sharp, the whispers too loud. She had dismissed the court early, ignoring their protests, and retreated into the endless corridors, following instinct more than intention.
Lucien found her there, barefoot on the cold obsidian floor, her gown trailing firelight. He leaned casually against a wall as though he had been waiting.
"Restless?"
Liora didn't startle anymore when he appeared without sound. "Always."
He pushed away from the wall. "Come. There is somewhere you should see."
---
They walked together in silence, passing doors that hummed with secrets, stairways that twisted into impossible directions, arches that led into nothing and then into everything. Lucien moved as though he had mapped every inch of the labyrinth, yet his pace was unhurried, measured.
At last, he stopped before a door of black iron overgrown with thorns of living flame. He brushed a hand across it, and the fire parted like curtains.
"After you," he said.
Liora stepped through—and gasped.
The chamber beyond was no throne room, no nightmare vault. It was a garden, but not like her own. This place was alive with fire. Trees burned without ash, their leaves made of flame that danced but never consumed. Rivers of molten gold flowed between fields of black roses, each petal glowing like embers. Above, the sky was not dark but crimson, shifting like a dawn that never ended.
It was beautiful. Terrible. Eternal.
"This is…" she whispered, "…impossible."
Lucien's voice was low. "This is the First Garden. Before angels, before men. Before thrones and crowns. This was mine."
She turned to him sharply. "Yours?"
He walked into the fire without hesitation, and it bent away from him like reeds before the wind. "I was not always Devil, Liora. Once, I was something else. Something nearer to what they now call angel. This was my sanctuary. When I fell, it fell with me."
Liora followed, the flames licking at her gown but never burning. "Why show me this?"
Lucien's silver eyes softened. "Because this place is not written in any pact. Not even the court knows it exists. It is not power I offer you here—it is truth."
She looked around, her chest tightening. "It's beautiful. But lonely."
A shadow passed across his face. "Everything eternal is lonely."
---
They walked until they came to a tree larger than the rest, its trunk wide as a tower, its branches stretching endlessly into the crimson sky. At its base, flowers of fire bloomed, releasing sparks that drifted like fireflies.
Lucien stopped, his hand brushing the bark as if it were an old friend. "This tree grew from the first flame I ever created. A spark meant to light a world. Instead, it lit my exile."
Liora touched the trunk. It was warm, beating faintly like a heart. "And yet it still grows."
He looked at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Like you."
Her breath caught. "Is that why you chose me? Because I remind you of a tree?"
He chuckled, low and dark. "Because you remind me that fire does not always destroy. Sometimes, it creates."
---
They sat together beneath the great tree. For a while, neither spoke. The fire hummed around them, steady and eternal. Finally, Liora broke the silence.
"Lucien… if you had the chance to leave this place, to be free of it—would you?"
His silver gaze fixed on the flames. "Once, I would have said yes without hesitation. But now…" He paused. "Now I wonder if freedom is found not in leaving, but in sharing."
Her crown pulsed faintly, as though agreeing. She studied him—his sharpness, his shadows, his sorrow. For all his power, he carried something heavy. Something fragile.
And for the first time, she did not see the Devil. She saw the man beneath.
---
Hours—or perhaps eternities—passed before they rose again. As they left the First Garden, Liora felt something shift inside her. The throne no longer seemed like a cage. The court no longer seemed like enemies. Even the whispers of demons carried less weight.
Because now, she knew a secret.
The Devil was not just a ruler of fire. He was a keeper of gardens.
And she—whether she admitted it aloud or not—was beginning to want to tend it with him.
---
But beyond the walls of flame and roses, shadows gathered. The court whispered. The demon lords plotted. Mercy, they said, was weakness. A queen who balanced justice with kindness was dangerous.
And somewhere, in the farthest pit of the Ninth Flame, something ancient stirred.