The void around them hummed with quiet power as Lucifer lowered himself onto a shard of crystallized memory that had formed itself into a seat. Aeloria remained standing, her silver-streaked hair drifting in a wind that existed only because she willed it. The realm she had shaped felt alive, watchful, like it was breathing in sync with their conversation.
"Before you face what comes next," she said, voice soft but carrying the weight of dead stars, "you need to understand what godhood truly means. Not the stories mortals tell. Not the pale echoes your kind calls divinity. Real godhood is consumption and creation in the same breath."
Lucifer leaned forward, elbows on his knees, listening. The change inside him still thrummed—raw, unsettled, like his body was still catching up to what he had become.
"Check your system," she told him.
