Keiran's POV — Age 5The throne room smelled of iron and fire. His small feet padded against the black stone floor as he stood before Lucifer.
"Again," his father commanded, tossing a dagger at his feet. "Pick it up. Strike. Kill without hesitation."
Keiran's hands trembled as he lifted the blade. Before him, a snarling demon was chained, its yellow eyes rolling in rage. It lunged, and Keiran flinched — but instead of fear, a strange heat filled his veins. His hand moved before his mind caught up, and the dagger pierced the creature's throat.
Blood sprayed. Silence followed.
Lucifer's smirk widened. "Good. You will be strong, boy. Stronger than any who came before you."
But when he looked at his father, Keiran felt nothing. No pride. No joy. Just… emptiness.
Lilith's POVLater, in the quiet of her chambers, she pressed Keiran to her chest, his small hands still trembling.
"You don't have to listen to him, my love," she whispered, kissing his hair. "You are more than his weapon. You are mine."
But Keiran's young eyes were cold, sharper than they should have been. "Then why do you let him treat you that way?"
Lilith's breath caught. Tears welled, but she said nothing. She couldn't.
And in that silence, Keiran's heart hardened.
Narrator's InterludeYears passed, and the boy grew. He learned the ways of Hell — combat, strategy, witchcraft. His father honed him like a blade, his mother tried to soften him with fragile affection.
But Keiran was not Lucifer's servant, nor Lilith's comfort. He was his own. Always his own.
Sometimes, when no one was watching, strange things happened around him. Shadows bent where they shouldn't. Flames dimmed when he walked past. And once, when he fell and scraped his hand, midnight-colored feathers shimmered in the air before vanishing.
No one saw. Not even Lilith.
Keiran kept it secret. Some power belonged only to him.