The wind inside the Sanctum had changed.
It no longer howled—it whispered. Low and constant, like breath against a locked door. Lucifer walked beneath ancient archways lined with glass that reflected not his face, but flickers of lives never lived. The hall was long, narrow, and curving. It led downwards, deeper than any tower he had climbed in childhood, deeper than any crypt in Ashridge.
Each step echoed like a challenge.
Lucifer kept one hand on the wall, the stone warm beneath his glove. The runes etched into the corridor pulsed faintly, as if reacting to his presence. Not aggressively. Not invitingly, either. Just... aware.
"This place isn't testing strength anymore," he murmured.
No answer. Just the sound of his boots against polished obsidian tile and the whispering wind.
He didn't know how long he walked—time bent strangely in the Sanctum. Hunger didn't gnaw at him. Thirst didn't rise. Only the sensation of movement forward, like the world behind him no longer existed.
Eventually, the corridor opened.
A vast chamber unfolded before him—circular, domed, lit from above by a ceiling that looked like a swirling void. Twelve statues stood in a ring. Tall, robed, and faceless, each one held a blade pointed downward. At their feet were plaques etched in a language Lucifer could not yet read, but somehow understood.
Names.
Hundreds of them.
All carved with surgical precision.
All crossed out.
Lucifer approached the nearest statue. His eyes lingered on the names at its base.
"Candidates," he whispered.
Failed ones.
A soft chime rang out. A panel materialized in front of him.
> [PROTOCOL RESPONSE REQUIRED] HALL OF SILENT NAMES QUERY: WHO DO YOU CLAIM TO BE?
He blinked. "Lucifer Valtros."
No response.
He frowned. "Duke of Ashridge."
Still nothing.
Then, almost instinctively, he touched his chest.
The Ashen Protocol mark flared briefly beneath his skin.
He spoke again, voice firmer. "Reclaimer."
The statues trembled.
The ceiling split into constellations—twelve stars aligning in an unfamiliar pattern, drawing black lines between each other like a burning sigil.
Another panel blinked into being.
> RESPONSE ACCEPTED. COMMENCING TRIAL: THE UNMAKING WARNING: CANDIDATE RISK LEVEL ELEVATED
Lucifer exhaled slowly. "Of course."
From the center of the chamber, a circular platform rose. Runes crawled along its edge. He stepped forward, boots clinking against metal, and as soon as both feet touched the plate—
—he was no longer in the chamber.
He was in Ashridge.
But not the ruin he knew.
This Ashridge was thriving. Banners fluttered from towers. Children ran laughing in courtyards. Servants bustled. The sky was blue—blue! And warm sunlight bathed the world in golden hues.
He stood at the center of the courtyard, garbed in gold-trimmed armor, a sword sheathed at his back.
Someone ran toward him.
A child.
A boy.
His son.
He didn't recognize the face. But the name tore from his lips before he could stop it: "Kael?"
The boy laughed, running into his arms.
Lucifer staggered.
The world was wrong. Too perfect. But the emotion—gods, the emotion was real. The weight of the child. The warmth. The scent of his hair.
He pulled back, staring at the boy's face. And saw himself. Same eyes. Same half-smile.
"Father," Kael said. "They're waiting for you in the throne hall."
Throne hall?
Lucifer followed. The castle was restored. Every hall gleamed. Every servant bowed. His mother stood healthy in the court, dressed in violet and gold.
Jessica.
She stood at his side, not as stranger but as partner. Her eyes met his, and her smile spoke of battles shared and won.
It was beautiful.
It was a lie.
The illusion cracked when Kael tripped. Just a stumble.
But he didn't make a sound. No yelp. No surprise.
Lucifer blinked. Everyone around him was smiling—but none of them blinked. None of them breathed.
The wind didn't blow.
The fire in the hearth didn't flicker.
It was a painting. A masterpiece. A trap.
"Nice try," he said aloud.
The walls trembled.
He drew his blade—except he hadn't brought one. But it appeared anyway, forged from shadow and ash. The illusion twisted violently as he swung through the throne, through Jessica, through Kael—
—and the world shattered like glass.
He collapsed back onto the chamber platform, gasping.
Blood dripped from his nose.
He looked up.
All twelve statues were now turned inward, facing him.
Every plaque beneath them glowed red.
Except one.
A new name had been carved.
Lucifer Valtros
Not crossed out.
He stood slowly.
The chamber doors rumbled open behind him, revealing the next path.
He didn't look back.
Let the past stay broken.
Let the gods see he would not be caged by dreams.
He walked forward, sword still in hand.
And somewhere high above, the stars shifted once more.