Sleep took Lucien quickly, not gently.
He woke standing on cold stone.
The throne room stretched outward in uneasy silence, vast and hollow, its scale meant to inspire awe but now stripped down to something closer to unease. Pillars lined the walls, cracked and leaning, their carvings worn smooth by time or deliberate erasure. The ceiling rose high above, fractured in places where darkness seeped through like old stains. At the far end of the hall stood a throne of pale marble veined with gold, majestic even in decay. Entire sections had crumbled away, yet its presence still dominated the room.
The throne was empty.
At least at first glance.
A pristine white snake slowly coiled around its base, scales flawless and luminous against the ruin. It moved with deliberate grace, each motion controlled, intimate, as though the throne belonged to it more than it ever had to any king. Its eyes lifted to Lucien, calm and knowing.
Lucien felt his jaw tighten. His eyes narrowed for just a fraction of a second before he smoothed his expression, forcing reverence into his posture and stillness into his breath.
Azazel.
The snake's voice slid into his mind without sound, warm and familiar. "You have returned again, child."
Lucien lowered his head slightly, careful not to let the hatred surface. "Patron Nova," he replied, measured and respectful. "I hear you."
The sight dragged memory with it.
For years, Lucien had dreamed of this place. He would wake in this throne room, alone except for the serpent that called itself Nova, patron deity of the long-lost Novian Empire. Founder. Benefactor. Guardian of a fallen bloodline. The snake had told him stories of splendor and ruin, of an empire erased by jealous rivals and time. It had told him that it lived within the serpentine pendant he wore, bound there until a worthy heir emerged.
Lucien Nova, last of the imperial bloodline.
Nova had chosen him, it said. Chosen him to restore what was lost. It promised guidance, power, protection, and a future where the Novian name would command the world once more.
All lies.
Later, in another life, Lucien had heard Azazel rant about the seal that bound him, snarling about how close it had come to breaking, laughing in disbelief at how perfectly Lucien had arrived as it weakened. The patron deity. The savior. Nothing but a devil playing a long, careful game.
The snake shifted, coils tightening around the throne. "Are your preparations complete?" it asked. "Tomorrow marks your first step toward ascension."
Lucien's mind flickered backward through the years.
For five, maybe six years now, Nova had guided him with quiet insistence. Always the same clearing beyond the city walls, hidden deep within the forest. Lucien had been told to bring blood and pour it into the earth. To place the corpses of animals there, arranged just so. He had done it without fully understanding why, trusting the voice that spoke with such authority.
Once, late at night, he had found a vagabond dead by the roadside. Before the guards could arrive, Lucien had dragged the body away, heart hammering, and buried it in the clearing. The earth there had seemed to drink it in.
The worst had come later.
Using errands and influence borrowed from the inn, Lucien had helped arrange contracts for mercenary work, nudging two small companies with a long-standing feud toward the same mission. He had gone ahead of them, laid a bear trap where Nova instructed, and waited. When it snapped shut and shattered a man's leg, shouting turned to violence with terrifying speed. Steel was drawn. Old hatred ignited.
Forty bodies had gone into the ground that night.
At the time, Lucien had told himself it was necessary. That it was for a greater purpose. Only now did he understand what those acts had been preparing him for.
The Hellsworn Trial.
Nova's voice softened, heavy with expectation. "You stand on the brink of greatness. With your ascension, the restoration of Novia can begin. Speak. Are you ready to take your place?"
Lucien dropped to one knee, head bowed low. His voice was steady, practiced. "I am ready, my patron. I will not fail."
The serpent watched him closely, eyes gleaming with approval.
A sharp pain split through Lucien's skull, sudden and vicious, as if something twisted deep behind his eyes. He clenched his teeth, steadying himself, and forced his voice out through the pressure. "Please… allow me to rest. I must be sharp tomorrow."
There was a pause.
Then the snake inclined its head slightly. "Very well. Rest, chosen one."
The throne room began to fade, stone dissolving into shadow as Lucien's consciousness pulled away. The last thing he saw was the serpent still coiled around the throne, patient and assured.
He stared up at the ceiling of his room, breathing slowly until the sudden bout of headache from the soul splitting eased. He couldn't go on like this much longer. His hand curled against the sheets, fingers digging into the fabric.
No matter the pain, He would get back at Azazel.