Seraphine slowed when the road finally widened.
We had been walking for hours, through valleys of glass and ridges of black stone. Behind us, the Demonwood shivered and bled, and the thin sky rippled like a wound. Ahead, the valley opened to a plain carved by rivers of molten rock. Beyond that, the Demon Capital loomed—an iron crown of towers rising from a sea of ash and mist.
At this distance, the city looked like a fortress built into the bones of a god. Spires of obsidian jutted upward like jagged teeth, connected by bridges and cables that burned with constant flame. Smoke coiled from the city's heart, joining the haze above. Red banners flapped on the outer walls, covered in runes that glowed faintly. The air crackled with heat and power. The roads leading to the outer gate were lined with pillars carved into screaming faces.
Seraphine stopped at the last bend. Her shoulders stiffened as she took in the view. Her cloak shifted in the hot wind, and the white tether mark I'd placed on her chest pulsed faintly beneath the fabric. She took a deep breath, like she was preparing for a fight, then turned to us.
"This is my city," she said. "You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not kill unless I tell you to. And you will not harm my people."
Veyra tilted her head, amused. "What counts as harm?"
"Don't," I murmured.
Seraphine's gaze flicked between us, wary. "Remember," she said, softer, "if my father senses a threat, he will do whatever it takes to protect the Court."
Lyra smiled. "I'm eager to see what 'whatever it takes' looks like."
Seraphine ignored her and adjusted the sword at her hip. She was still holding onto the idea of control, the idea that the weight of her title would matter once we stepped through those gates. It was almost sweet.
We crossed the plain, our shadows stretching long over ash. The world's hum was louder now, like the whine of metal under pressure. Every few steps, I felt the ground tremble. The heat from the rivers was intense, but none of us sweat. The miasma from Eclipsera drifted lazily in the warm air, curling over the road like smoke. Where it touched the asphalt, tiny fissures formed.
The demons guarding the outer gate saw us coming from a distance. Their armor glowed dull red, marked with sigils that pulsed when they shifted their weight. As we approached, they lowered their spears in a coordinated motion, blocking the path. Their faces were masked, only their eyes visible: bright, wary slits of ember.
"Halt," one shouted. "Identify yourselves."
Seraphine stepped forward. "I am Princess Seraphine of the Third Infernal Court. Stand aside."
There was a moment of tension as the guards processed her words. They glanced at each other, then at the seven of us. One guard took a hesitant step forward and bowed, horns dipping low. "Your Highness," he said. "We were not told you were returning."
"Because no one told them," Cirel murmured, voice just loud enough for the demons to hear.
The guard's eyes darted to her. Seraphine did not look back. "Open the gate," she ordered.
The guard hesitated for a heartbeat, then lifted a hand. The gate began to open with a low groan, pulling inward on chains that rattled like bones. The air that escaped the city was hot and thick with the scent of sulfur. Behind the gate, a row of demon soldiers stood at attention, weapons ready. They wore heavier armor than the outer guards, and their horns were trimmed sharp, signifying higher rank.
When we stepped through, the world changed again. The inside of the city was a maze of narrow streets and towering buildings. Demons of various shapes and sizes moved through the alleyways—some with horns as long as their arms, others with scales like molten iron, and a few with wings folded tightly along their backs. The light that filtered down from between the spires was dim and red, giving everything a perpetual dusk. Fires burned in open pits on street corners, casting flickering shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.
The city was loud. Voices shouted, metal clanged, hooves clattered on stone. The air thrummed with magic. But as we passed, a hush fell around us. Demons stopped mid-step to stare. Merchants lowered their voices. Children darted behind pillars to watch us with wide, glowing eyes. Some of the elders made gestures with their claws—protective signs of warding against evil.
They could feel we didn't belong.
Lyra kept her hands clasped behind her back, but her eyes never stopped moving. She cataloged every detail—the etched symbols in the stones, the way the street lamps were carved to resemble twisted bodies, the pattern of cracks that spread along the buildings' foundations. I knew she was memorizing the city the way a tailor memorized a client's measurements.
Veyra inhaled deeply, as if savoring a scent. "They're afraid of their own gods," she said, voice low and pleased.
"They're afraid of us," Kaen corrected her, his own eyes bright with interest. The flames on his skin flared when we passed a group of soldiers. They flinched at the heat.
Sareth walked with his cloak drawn tight, his chains silent for once. His expression didn't change, but I saw him glance at the demons that stared too long. They looked away quickly. Even without moving, he radiated decay—an aura that threatened to rot anything too close.
Alinor drifted slightly behind me, her gaze unfocused. Her footfalls were so light they barely left a mark on the ash. She hummed a tune under her breath, something slow and haunting, and as she hummed, tiny sparks appeared in the air around her, flickering like stars. The demons who saw them whispered prayers under their breath, not understanding what they were seeing but feeling the wrongness of it.
Cirel's hands were in her pockets. She looked around with a smile that was almost genuine. "There's something delightful about being the monster under someone else's bed," she said to me quietly.
I didn't answer. I was watching Seraphine.
She held her head high as she led us through the streets. Demons bowed as she passed. Whispers followed her—murmurs of "Princess" and "Why is she with them?" and "Are those angels?" Once, a smaller demon reached out to touch her cloak. Seraphine brushed him aside, not unkindly, but firmly.
When we reached the inner wall—a second, thicker barrier carved with rows of barbed symbols—Seraphine stopped and turned to us. "Beyond this is the Court," she said. "My father. My people. This is not the forest. If you cause a scene—"
"A scene?" Kaen repeated, amused. "We are a scene."
Seraphine's jaw tightened. "If you ruin this, I will—"
"Die," I finished for her. "Yes. You've said that."
She glared at me. "Just… behave."
We said nothing. She nodded to the guards at the inner gate. They watched us warily as they pulled the levers that raised the portcullis. Behind it, a broad courtyard opened. It was paved with dark stone worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. At the far end stood the palace—if you could call it that. It was more like a mountain: a massive structure of molten rock and bone, shaped into halls and towers. Firelight flickered inside it, casting the shadows of huge statues along the walls.
The moment we stepped through the portcullis, the world's hum amplified. I could feel the city's heart beating now, a slow, deep thud that made the stones under my feet tremble. There were runes carved into the courtyard floor—a huge circle filled with intricate geometric shapes. It pulsed underfoot, reacting to us. The demon soldiers lining the walkway shifted nervously.
We walked straight toward the palace doors. They were enormous slabs of black iron, engraved with scenes of battles and sacrifices. They swung open as we approached, revealing a hall large enough to fit a dragon. The ceiling vaulted high overhead, supported by pillars carved into intertwined bodies. Rows of braziers burned along the walls, feeding the oppressive heat.
At the far end of the hall, upon a raised dais, sat the throne. It was carved from a single piece of obsidian and bone, with jagged edges and spikes jutting outward. Seated upon it was Lord Vaedros, the demon lord of the Third Infernal Court. He was huge. Even sitting, he was taller than Sareth. His skin was dark red and black, like cooled magma. His horns curved back and around his head, forming a crown of bone. His eyes burned with a steady, crimson light. He held a massive sword across his lap, the blade etched with runes that glowed faintly. His presence filled the hall—heavy, suffocating, ancient.
To his right stood another demon, slender and tall, with delicate horns that swept back over their skull. A scribe? A consort? Their eyes were silver, not red. To his left was a group of nobles, identifiable by their elaborate armor and the glowing jewels embedded in their horns. All of them stared.
Seraphine took a step forward and bowed deeply, one knee touching the stone. "Father," she said, her voice steady but softer than I'd heard it. "I bring guests."
"Guests?" Lord Vaedros' voice was a rumble of thunder through stone. It vibrated in my chest. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze shifting from Seraphine to us. "You bring outsiders through the forest, past the gates, into my hall? Without invitation?"
Seraphine lifted her head. "They fell from above. They are… not demons. They are powerful. I thought it wise to bring them to you before the priests or the other courts found them."
There was a pause. The temperature in the hall seemed to spike, then drop. Vaedros' eyes narrowed as he studied us. "You," he said, his gaze settling on me, perhaps because I stood at the front with the miasma slowly drifting from the blade across my shoulders. "Who are you?"
I let the question hang. For a heartbeat, no one spoke. The tension in the hall tightened. The nobles shifted. Seraphine's hand twitched toward her sword, then stilled. Even Lyra glanced at me, curiosity and mischief flickering behind her calm expression.
"We are travelers," I said, my voice carrying across the hall without needing to rise. It had a softness to it that often made people lean closer. "We have no names you'd know. We come from far above. We have no home. We wander."
Vaedros' gaze did not waver. "You carry a weapon," he said, eyes flicking to Eclipsera. "Why?"
"It likes me," I said.
A few nobles hissed at the flippant tone. Seraphine's fists clenched at her sides. Vaedros' eyes narrowed further. "You speak disrespectfully."
"I speak honestly," I replied.
He leaned back in his throne, his fingers tapping once against the armrest. "Do you know where you are?" he asked. "Do you know who I am?"
"I know you call yourself a lord," Cirel murmured, stepping forward slightly. Her voice echoed strangely in the hall, like a whisper layered over itself. "I know this is your court, for now."
Vaedros' lips curled, revealing sharp teeth. "For now?"
Alinor drifted forward, her eyes half-lidded. "Everything is temporary," she said, her voice soft as falling ash.
Lyra spoke next, her tone polite, almost sweet. "We would love hospitality," she said, "but only if it is genuine. We don't respond well to traps."
The demon with the silver eyes on Vaedros' right hissed under their breath. "They threaten," they said.
"Do they?" Vaedros asked, his gaze turning to his consort. "I hear only arrogance and ignorance."
Kaen laughed, a low, rumbling sound. "We're very ignorant," he agreed. "We don't know your customs. Should we bow? Should we kneel? Should we offer a sacrifice? We've already broken your bridge by accident, so perhaps we should—"
"Bridge?" Vaedros' voice sharpened. "What bridge?"
"The outer one," I said. "It fell when we crossed it. It was old."
A murmur rippled through the hall. The nobles exchanged anxious looks. Vaedros' eyes blazed brighter. "You bring ruin with you," he said. "Do you think this is a game?"
"Yes," Veyra whispered. Her smile was blood-bright in the firelight.
Seraphine flinched. "Father," she said quickly, "they are… strange. They don't understand. But they are strong. We could—"
"Could what?" the demon lord snapped. "Control them? Use them? You think because you dragged them here, they will obey?" He shifted, lifting his sword slightly. The runes along the blade flared. The heat in the hall intensified. "My daughter," he said, not looking at her, "you have always been headstrong. But this… this is madness."
The silver-eyed consort stepped forward. They had a voice like smoke. "You will kneel," they said to us. "You are in the presence of—"
"We will not kneel," Sareth said quietly, his voice cutting through the heat like ice.
The consort stared at him. "You will," they said again, more forcefully. "If you wish to keep your heads attached to your—"
I saw Cirel's head tilt. She looked at the consort with her unblinking, almost empty eyes. "If you don't believe in your head, can it be removed?" she murmured.
The consort blinked. For a moment, their form flickered. Their head blurred. They swayed on their feet. Then they hissed and steadied themselves, anger flashing in their eyes. "Sorcery," they spat. "Dark magic."
Vaedros' grip tightened on his sword. "Enough," he barked. His voice cracked like thunder. The floor shook. "You do not kneel. Fine. You do not bow. Fine. You will not speak out of turn. You will not taunt my consort. You will answer me: why are you here?"
"To see," Alinor said softly.
"To wander," Kaen added.
"To play," Veyra whispered.
"To measure," Lyra said, fingers twitching as if weaving unseen thread.
"To doubt," Cirel offered, almost teasing.
"To watch," Sareth murmured, eyes half-lidded.
"To ruin," I said last, smiling gently.
The hall went very still. Vaedros' eyes flared. Seraphine's breath hitched. The consort took a step back. The nobles leaned forward, tension on every face.
"Ruin?" Vaedros repeated, voice dangerously quiet.
I didn't look away. "Everything breaks, eventually," I said. "We simply speed up the process."
He stared at me for a long moment, the heat of his gaze almost tangible. Then he threw back his head and laughed—a deep, booming sound that echoed off the walls. The consort glanced at him, startled. The nobles exchanged confused glances. Seraphine stared, wide-eyed.
"You are honest," Vaedros said when he stopped laughing. "Arrogant, but honest. I admire honesty. It is rare in my court." He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. "You are powerful," he continued. "But so am I. You bring decay, but so do I. You love chaos, but so do I. Why should I not cut you down where you stand and feed your bones to my hounds?"
"Because you're curious," I said. "And because you can see—if you look—what happens to worlds that try to hold us."
Vaedros' eyes narrowed. "Threats," he said, the humor draining from his voice.
"Warnings," Sareth corrected, almost kindly.
"You entered my realm without permission," Vaedros said. "You will make amends."
"Amends?" Lyra echoed, intrigued.
"You will serve," Vaedros said. "For a time. You will fight the wars I choose. You will burn what I ask you to burn. You will obey my commands. In exchange, you will enjoy my hospitality. You will be housed and fed. You will be allowed to live. And when I tire of you, you will die. That is my offer."
Seraphine drew in a sharp breath. I felt Veyra's grin widen. Kaen's eyes brightened. Alinor tilted her head. Cirel's smile sharpened. Lyra sighed, almost in disappointment. Sareth chuckled softly. I smiled.
"No," I said.
The word echoed in the hall, small but clear.
Vaedros' expression stilled. His consort hissed. The nobles tensed. Seraphine closed her eyes briefly, as if bracing for impact.
"No?" Vaedros repeated, voice low.
"No," I said again, softer. "We don't serve. We don't obey. We don't make deals. We walk. We watch. Sometimes we ruin. Sometimes we don't. We decide when. Not you."
The demon lord's eyes flared to white-hot for a moment. His grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles cracked. He rose from his throne, towering over us. The temperature in the hall skyrocketed, waves of heat rolling off him. The air shimmered.
"I could crush you," he said, voice like stone grinding on bone.
"Yes," I replied. "And in doing so, you would tear open your own world. You've seen the bridge. You've seen the scouts. You've felt the ground shaking. This place is already breaking. If you attack us, it ends faster. Maybe you survive. Maybe you don't. But your city? Your court? Your people? They die with us."
Silence. Only the crackling of the braziers could be heard. Vaedros stood very still, towering over us like a storm held barely at bay. I saw sweat gather at Seraphine's temples. The consort's hands tightened on their staff. The nobles exchanged glances, fear creeping past pride on their faces.
Then Vaedros sat back down. His movement was slow, deliberate. He rested his sword across his lap again. "You speak truth," he said after a heartbeat. "This world is fragile. This throne is old. I will not risk my people on a foolish pride. Not yet."
Relief flickered across Seraphine's features for a moment, quickly hidden. The consort looked displeased. The nobles murmured quietly among themselves.
"You will not serve me," Vaedros said. "Fine. You will not obey. Fine. Then you will leave. You will walk through my lands and out. You will not return. You will not disrupt. If you see my enemies, kill them. If you see my allies, pass them by. If you pass through a village, leave it standing. That is my command, not as your lord, but as a host to those who are dangerous and strange."
"We don't take orders," Kaen said, but his tone was amused rather than confrontational.
"We don't," I agreed. "But we do… appreciate hospitality."
Vaedros' mouth twisted, as if this amused him and angered him at the same time. "You may remain until tomorrow's end," he said. "Sleep in the palace. Eat at my table. Speak to no one but my daughter. At sundown, you will leave my gates. And if you are wise, you will keep walking until my lands are far behind you."
"Wise?" Cirel murmured. "What a novel idea."
Vaedros ignored her. He looked at Seraphine. "Daughter," he said, "you will escort them. You will ensure they stay out of trouble. This is your mess. Clean it."
Seraphine bowed her head. "Yes, Father," she said.
He leaned back, his gaze moving past us to the far wall. "Go," he said. The heat in the hall lessened. The runes on his sword dimmed. "Before I change my mind."
We turned. The demon soldiers lining the hall stared, fear and curiosity mingled in their eyes. The nobles whispered. The consort glared. Seraphine led us out, her back straight, shoulders stiff. As we walked past the threshold, the temperature dropped abruptly, the oppressive heat replaced by a cooler, almost soothing breeze.
Outside, in the courtyard, the air tasted fresher. The city was quieter now—news of our arrival had clearly spread, and many demons had retreated indoors. A few remained, peeking from behind windows, watching us with wide eyes. The runes on the ground pulsed as we walked over them, reacting to us with a dull glow.
"That could have gone worse," Lyra said cheerfully.
"It will," Sareth said quietly.
Seraphine didn't speak until we reached a smaller side courtyard. It was still part of the palace complex, but separate from the main hall. It held a fountain of molten stone, the fiery liquid flowing in a continuous loop. Benches of polished bone encircled it.
"Stay here," Seraphine said. "Rooms have been prepared. Servants will bring food. Do not wander. Do not touch my family's artifacts. Do not—"
"Kill anyone?" Veyra asked.
Seraphine's eyes flashed. "Do not kill anyone. Please."
Veyra pouted. "That ruins my evening."
Lyra glanced around. "It is a nice courtyard," she said. "I could make a tapestry from the patterns in the bones."
"Don't," Seraphine said quickly.
Cirel flopped down on a bench, stretching her arms along its back as if she owned it. "Your father likes us," she said, amused.
"He likes power," Seraphine corrected, voice tight. "He respects it. He fears what he cannot control. He thinks he can contain you by letting you pass. He's wrong."
"Yes," I agreed.
She looked at me, eyes narrowed. "Why did you refuse?" she asked. "You could have had an army at your back. You could have burned kingdoms with his blessing. You could have been gods in my world."
"We don't need armies," Kaen said.
"We don't need blessings," Cirel added.
"We don't need gods," Sareth murmured.
"We don't need worlds," Alinor whispered.
"We need entertainment," Veyra said cheerfully.
"We need to walk," Lyra said, fingers twitching as she traced the patterns of ash on the bench.
I looked at Seraphine. "We don't stay in one place," I said. "Not because we can't. Because we don't want to. We break things by existing. Armies would break. Alliances would break. Wars end when we arrive. It's boring."
She stared at me for a moment, then looked away. "You're insane," she said, but there was no heat in her voice. More resignation. More fatigue.
"Perhaps," I said. "But we're honest about it."
She snorted softly. "Honesty isn't a virtue here."
"Then it's valuable," Cirel said.
A servant approached—a demon with curved horns and eyes like burning coals. She carried a tray with cups of steaming liquid and a plate of meat roasted over coals. She set it on a low table between us, bowing quickly. "My lords, my ladies," she said, eyes downcast. "Food, as ordered by His Grace."
Veyra sniffed the meat. "It smells lovely," she said. "What is it?"
"Boar, my lady," the servant said, voice trembling.
"Not demon?" Lyra asked innocently.
The servant's hands shook. "No, my lady."
"Pity," Veyra murmured, but she took a piece anyway and bit into it.
The servant bowed again and started to leave, but Seraphine grabbed her wrist. "Where is Lord Vaedros now?" she asked.
"In the war chamber, Your Highness," the servant said. "With the priests."
Seraphine released her. "Go," she said.
The servant fled, almost running, her footsteps echoing in the quiet courtyard.
"War chamber?" Sareth mused. "A war brewing?"
"There's always a war," Seraphine said. "Against the Second Court, against the humans on the plains, against the beasts in the south. It doesn't matter. It's constant. It keeps my father busy."
Kaen smiled. "If he's busy, we can explore."
Seraphine's head whipped toward him. "No," she said sharply. "No exploring."
"We like exploring," Alinor said, almost petulant.
"You'll get lost," Seraphine snapped.
"That's the point," Lyra murmured.
Seraphine pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why do I bother," she muttered.
"Because you care," I said softly.
Her head jerked up. "I—no. I don't—"
"You do," Veyra said, grinning. "It's cute."
Seraphine glared at us all, then threw her hands up. "Fine," she said. "Stay here. Eat. Sleep. Try not to kill anyone. When the sun reaches the top of the palace, we leave. If you wander, I will not come looking for you. If you break something, I will not help you. If you die, I will laugh."
"You lie," Cirel murmured.
"I'm trying to," Seraphine replied, but a smile tugged at her mouth. She didn't let it take hold. She turned and stalked toward the archway leading back into the palace, her cloak swirling behind her.
When she was gone, the courtyard felt quieter. The distant sounds of the city filtered in—a bell tolling, the murmur of voices, the crackle of fire. The world's hum was louder here. It vibrated through the stone. I could feel it on my tongue, metallic and sharp.
Lyra took a sip from one of the cups. Her nose wrinkled. "Bitter," she said. "Like burnt sugar."
Veyra leaned over and took a sip from another. "Oh, it's lovely," she said. "Tastes like heat."
Kaen poured his drink into the fountain. The fiery liquid hissed. "They're watching us," he said, glancing at the shadow of the archway.
I turned my head slightly. A pair of silver eyes glinted in the gloom—the consort. They watched us for a moment, then vanished into the darkness.
"They're afraid," Cirel said, almost wistful.
"They should be," Sareth replied.
We slept in separate rooms carved from bone and stone. There were no windows. The walls were etched with symbols meant to ward off bad dreams. They didn't work on us. When I closed my eyes, I heard the city's heart beat. Slow. Heavy. Unsteady. The floor trembled in time with it. I dreamed of cracks spreading through the palace, of fire turning to ash, of towers tilting and falling like dominos.
I woke before dawn. The air in my room was hot and still. The heart of the city was beating faster. I could hear it echoing through the stone like a drum. I rose and stepped into the hall. It was empty. The guards who had stood there earlier were gone. Their spears leaned against the wall, abandoned. A faint whisper carried down the corridor—voices murmuring prayers or curses.
I followed the sound. It led me to a balcony overlooking the main hall. Below, Lord Vaedros stood before a huge table carved with maps. Red pins marked troop positions. Black pins marked enemy forces. Blue pins marked allied villages. Priests in bone masks stood around him, chanting softly, their hands moving in the air, drawing sigils that glowed and then faded. The consort stood to the side, watching with narrowed eyes.
Vaedros slammed his fist on the table. The pins jumped. "It's coming apart," he snarled. "The border villages are collapsing into sinkholes. The Second Court reports tremors. The priests say the sky burns. They whisper of prophecy. They speak of gods falling. They speak of Seven."
One priest hesitated. "Your Grace," he said carefully, "the texts mention… an eclipse. A black sun. Seven pillars. Seven disasters."
Vaedros' head snapped up. His eyes burned. "Prophecy," he spat. "Fairy tales."
"It's happening," the priest insisted. "We cannot ignore—"
"Do you see me ignoring?" Vaedros roared, gesturing to the table. "I am moving armies. I am reinforcing the coast. I am securing the capital."
"It won't matter," another priest whispered, so quietly I barely heard. "Nothing will matter."
Vaedros spun toward him, sword lifting. The priest flinched. "Then why do I pay you?" Vaedros demanded. "Why do I feed you? Why do I give you gold? If all you can do is whisper of doom? Leave. All of you. Leave me with my generals. I will find a way to fix this."
The priests bowed hastily and shuffled out of the room. Vaedros turned back to the map, his hands curling into fists. He slammed them down again, and I felt the impact through the stone. It echoed like a heartbeat—quick, uneven, desperate.
I watched him for a moment, then turned away. It wasn't my problem. Not yet.
When I returned to the courtyard, the others were already awake. Lyra was spinning thin threads of miasma between her fingers, testing the tension. Veyra had her feet in the fountain, swirling the molten liquid with a lazy motion. Sareth stood with his hands behind his back, chains hanging loose. Kaen leaned against a pillar, flames flickering over his arms. Cirel was perched on the back of a bench, looking up at the sky. Alinor sat cross-legged on the ground, her eyes closed, humming softly.
Seraphine arrived shortly after, her cloak freshly polished, her expression guarded. She didn't ask if we slept well. She didn't ask if we were ready. She simply said, "We leave."
We walked toward the outer gate in silence. The servants we passed bowed. The soldiers saluted. The nobles watched from doorways, whispering behind their hands. We left footprints in the ash. The world's hum was louder now, vibrating through our bones. The ground trembled, then stilled, then trembled again.
At the gate, Vaedros waited. He stood in the middle of the road, arms crossed, sword on his back. The consort stood slightly behind him, eyes narrowed. A line of soldiers flanked them. The gate itself was open, the portcullis raised. Beyond it, the plain shimmered under the red sky.
Vaedros surveyed us. "You will go," he said. "You will not return. My daughter will escort you to the border. If you break my world, I will find you. If you threaten my people, I will find you. If you cause trouble with the other courts, I will find you."
I smiled. "We cause trouble everywhere."
His eyes darkened. "You are not invincible," he said.
"Neither are you," I replied.
For a moment, there was something like understanding between us. A shared recognition of power. Of arrogance. Of inevitability. Then he turned to Seraphine. "Daughter," he said, voice softer, "I do not envy you. Do not die."
She gave a small smile. "I'll try."
He reached out and placed his hand on her head, briefly. It was almost tender. Then he stepped back. "Go," he said.
We stepped through the gate. The world's hum surged. The ground shook slightly. The city behind us loomed like a mountain of black and red. The gates began to close with a groan. The portcullis lowered. The demons on the walls watched us until we were out of sight.
We walked back through the valley of glass. The road cracked beneath our feet. The air shimmered. In the distance, I heard the rumble of something large collapsing. The world was shivering in its skin. We didn't slow.
"Where now?" Lyra asked when we were far enough from the city that its walls were a dark line on the horizon.
Seraphine looked straight ahead. "There is a rift to the east," she said. "A tear between this realm and the next. We can reach it by dusk. It's unstable, but if we can pass through, you'll be outside my father's control. The other worlds out there are… less structured. More open. For creatures like you."
"Creatures," Veyra repeated, amused.
Seraphine didn't take the bait. "We'll have to cross the Ash Plains," she continued. "They're dangerous. Volcanoes, lava flows, ash storms. There are creatures—rock serpents, flame hounds. We'll have to be careful."
"Careful," Kaen said, tasting the word like it was foreign.
Seraphine shot him a sharp look. "Yes," she said. "Careful. I know you think everything is a game. I know you think you can't die. But the Ash Plains don't care about your power. If the ground opens beneath you, you will fall. If the ash fills your lungs, you will suffocate. If you wander into a lava vent, you will burn."
"Will I?" Veyra asked, curious.
"Yes," Seraphine said.
"We've burned before," Kaen said.
"And died," I added.
"And returned," he finished.
Seraphine's mouth compressed into a thin line. "I hate you," she muttered.
"We know," Cirel said, smiling.
The road wound between hills of pumice and charcoal. The air was thick with ash, making the world look like a hazy painting. The sky was still red, but darker now, like dusk. The world's hum was a constant presence, vibrating in my teeth. The ground cracked occasionally, fissures opening then closing. Lava flowed in glowing streams down distant hills, painting the landscape with orange light.
We saw the first ash storm from a distance—a column of gray moving across the plain, swirling and churning. It was like a living thing, devouring everything in its path. Seraphine cursed under her breath. "Masks," she said, pulling a cloth from her cloak and wrapping it over her mouth and nose. She handed similar cloths to us. "Cover your faces. The ash can cut your throat if you inhale it."
Veyra held the cloth delicately, then shrugged and tied it around her neck like a scarf. It didn't cover her mouth. Lyra wound hers around her wrist like a bracelet. Kaen burned his, the cloth turning to ash before his fingers. Alinor let hers drift away on the wind. Cirel didn't take hers. Sareth tucked his inside his cloak. I took mine and tucked it into my belt, unused.
"You're impossible," Seraphine snapped. "Do you want to die?"
"Not particularly," I said. "But ash is ash."
She shook her head, exasperated, and pulled her cloak tighter around herself. "Stay close," she ordered. "The storm will hurt if it touches you."
The ash cloud reached us soon after. It wasn't like normal dust. It was heavy. Thick. It stuck to skin and hair, clinging like tiny shards of glass. It stung my eyes. It cut at my throat, but I didn't cough. The world went gray and white. Shapes blurred. The ground vanished under a layer of ash inches thick.
Seraphine's cloak whipped around her as she pushed forward, her horns barely visible through the haze. I followed her, the miasma from Eclipsera swirling around me, pushing some of the ash away. The others walked with ease, unaffected by the storm. I saw Lyra catch ash on her fingertips, examining it as if it were snow. I saw Sareth's chains drag through it without leaving a trail. I saw Kaen's skin glow brighter, each ash particle igniting as it touched him.
The storm passed after several minutes. The world emerged from gray. The ash settled. The hum continued. The ground shook again, this time hard enough to make Lyra stumble. A crack opened at her feet, then closed. She glanced down, then at me, and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. The world was impatient.
"It's accelerating," Alinor murmured. "It feels faster. Stronger. The cracks are wider."
"Good," Kaen said. "I'm bored."
Seraphine glared at him. "You're always bored."
"Yes," he agreed. "Imagine if we weren't."
She shivered, despite the heat. "I don't want to."
We reached the edge of the Ash Plains as the sky darkened further. The landscape beyond was a series of black, jagged ridges, interspersed with pools of glowing lava. The air was hot enough to make the horizon waver. A thin line of darkness in the distance marked the rift—the tear in reality Seraphine had mentioned. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
"That's it," she said. "Once you're through, you'll be out of the Third Court's domain. Whatever lies beyond is not my problem."
"What lies beyond?" Cirel asked, curious.
"Nothing," Seraphine said. "Chaos. Void. Other worlds. I've never crossed. I have no desire to. I like my sky red."
"We prefer variety," Veyra said.
Lyra stepped forward and lifted her hand, palm facing the rift. Thin threads of magic extended from her fingers, reaching toward the tear. They touched the edge of it, then recoiled as if burned. She smiled. "It bites," she said.
"Everything does," I murmured.
We continued toward the rift. The ground here was unstable. It shifted under our feet. At one point, Kaen stepped on a patch of rock that crumbled, revealing a pit of lava beneath. He jumped back, laughing. The heat didn't bother him, but the sudden drop amused him.
As we neared the rift, the ground began to hum in sync with it. The air grew colder, despite the lava flows. My skin prickled. The light dimmed. The rift looked like a crack in glass, vertical and jagged, edges glowing faintly. Through it, I could see darkness. No stars. No sun. Just void. It called to me, not like a voice, but like gravity. It tugged.
Seraphine stopped a few paces away. "This is as far as I go," she said. She lifted her chin, proud even now. "I did not think it possible to pity you. I was wrong."
"You pity us?" Kaen asked, genuinely curious.
"Yes," she said. "You have no home. No anchor. You move from world to world, breaking everything you touch, never staying. You think that's freedom. It's emptiness. It's loneliness. It's… sad."
Lyra smiled softly. "It's fun."
"And true," Sareth added.
Seraphine shook her head. "Go," she said. "Get out of my world before it collapses on you."
I stepped forward. "Seraphine," I said.
She looked at me warily. "What?"
"We didn't kill your father," I said. "Be grateful."
She snorted. "I am," she said. "It means I have a chance to do it myself."
I laughed. It surprised her. Her eyes widened, then narrowed. "Goodbye," she said firmly.
"Goodbye," I replied.
I stepped through the rift.
There was a moment of sensation—cold and heat at once, pressure and weightlessness, a sound like ice cracking. The world twisted. The red sky vanished. The ash plains disappeared. For a moment, there was nothing. Just black, endless and silent.
Then there was light. New light. White and blue and green, bright and clean. Air that smelled of rain, not sulfur. Ground that was soft with grass, not ash. A sky that was wide and open, filled with clouds like pulled cotton. Mountains in the distance. Trees with leaves that shivered in a breeze. Birds calling in clear voices. A sun that was yellow, not red.
The others stepped through behind me. Lyra gasped, just a little. Veyra laughed out loud. Kaen hissed as the cold air hit his molten skin, steam rising off him. Sareth blinked, as if adjusting to brightness. Alinor closed her eyes and smiled. Cirel looked up and whispered, "It's so… bright."
The rift closed behind us with a soft sigh. The hum of the demon world faded until it was gone. We stood in a new world—one that did not yet know us. One that would.
Seraphine's world trembled behind the veil. I heard it in the distance, like thunder far away. It would fall soon. The cracks we'd left would widen. The city would collapse. The red sky would bleed out. Lord Vaedros' throne would shatter. Seraphine's crown would break. The lower world would end.
We walked forward, into the grass and sunlight. The new world's hum began—quiet, curious, unaware of what was coming.
We were The Eclipsed Seven. We were beautiful and wrong. And we were very, very lost.
But that was fine.
Getting lost was how we found things worth ruining.