The grey didn’t end.

It mutated.

Lucifer noticed the change when the ground beneath his feet shifted from cracked earth to something else—something softer. He looked down. Sand. Grey sand, littered with fragments of colored glass that caught light from no visible source.

He picked one up.

Blue. Like the sky over New Earth, before Adam broke it.

Damaris stood beside him, his golden eyes scanning the horizon.

"The Shattered Coast."

Lucifer pocketed the glass.

"Doesn’t look like a coast."

"It’s not." Damaris pointed toward the distance. "Look closer."

Lucifer looked.

The horizon wasn’t flat. It was jagged. Pieces of landscapes jutted at odd angles—a forest here, a mountain there, a crumbling city floating upside down above a frozen sea. They didn’t blend together. They were glued. Forced together by something that didn’t care about geography or logic.

"It’s broken," Lucifer said.

"Yes." Damaris started walking. "That’s why they call it the Shattered Coast. Pieces of dying worlds wash up here. Wounded realities. Failed creations."

They walked.

The sand crunched beneath their boots. Every step kicked up fragments—glass, bone, rusted metal, things Lucifer couldn’t identify.

After a while, they saw movement.

Not wraiths.

People.

Or what used to be people.

They huddled in the shadow of a half-collapsed cathedral that had no business being here. Their bodies were translucent around the edges, flickering like old photographs. Some had faces. Some didn’t.

Souls.

Trapped souls.

Damaris stopped walking.

Lucifer stopped beside him.

"Refugees," Damaris said quietly. "Some have been here for millennia. The Coast doesn’t let go."

One of the souls noticed them.

She was old—or had been, once. Her body was whole, which was more than Lucifer could say for most of them. Her eyes were grey, matching the sand, matching the sky.

She stared at Damaris.

Then her lips moved.

"The Progenitor who fell."

Damaris flinched.

Lucifer saw it. Small. Barely noticeable. But there.

The old soul stepped closer, her translucent feet leaving no prints.

"I remember you. The Vampire Progenitor. The one who died."

Damaris’s jaw tightened.

"Yes."

"Adam," she said. "And the Adversaries. They ambushed you."

Damaris didn’t answer.

The old soul’s grey eyes flickered—something like sympathy, something like accusation.

"You didn’t run. They cornered you. They killed you." A pause. "But you still left them."

Lucifer’s voice was sharp. "Left who?"

The old soul looked at him.

"His people. His realm. His son."

Damaris’s wings drooped.

"I didn’t choose to die."

"Does that matter?" The old soul tilted her head. "You were gone. They had to survive without you."

Silence.

The other souls watched from the shadows of the cathedral. Waiting. Listening.

Lucifer stepped between Damaris and the old woman.

"He’s here now."

The old soul’s gaze shifted to him.

"And who are you?"

"His son."

Something flickered across her face. Recognition. Surprise. Something else.

"The one who rebuilt the Vampire Realm."

Lucifer didn’t answer.

The old soul laughed—soft, broken, like wind through dead leaves.

"He’s proud of you," she said. "I can see it. Even now. Even after everything."

She looked back at Damaris.

"You never stopped thinking about him. Even when you were dead."

Damaris’s voice was hoarse.

"No."

The old soul nodded slowly.

"That’s not running. That’s love."

She turned and walked back toward the cathedral.

The other souls parted to let her through.

Damaris stood frozen.

Lucifer watched him.

"You didn’t tell me."

Damaris looked at his son.

"Tell you what?"

"About the ambush. About how you died." Lucifer’s voice was steady. "You always made it sound like a fight. A fair one."

"It wasn’t."

"I figured."

Damaris’s wings folded tighter.

"Adam brought twelve Adversaries. They sealed the exits before I knew they were there. I killed six before they took me down." His golden eyes dimmed. "I thought about you. At the end. Wondered if you’d survive without me."

Lucifer’s jaw tightened.

"I did."

"I know." Damaris’s voice cracked. "That’s what hurts."

They stood there, father and son, in the middle of a broken landscape filled with broken souls.

Then Damaris straightened his shoulders.

"Thank you."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For not letting me lie to myself."

He started walking.

Lucifer followed.

Behind them, the old soul watched from the cathedral steps.

"Find what you’re looking for," she whispered.

The wind—if it was wind—carried her words away.

They walked for hours.

The landscape shifted around them—forest to desert to ocean to ruin. Nothing stayed the same for more than a few minutes. The Coast was restless. Hungry.

They passed more refugees.

Some called out to Damaris. Others just stared.

Lucifer noticed his father’s shoulders grew heavier with every encounter.

"You can’t save them," Lucifer said.

Damaris didn’t look at him.

"I know."

"Then why does it bother you?"

Damaris was quiet for a long moment.

"Because I should have been stronger. At the ambush. If I’d killed Adam then—"

"You’d be dead either way."

Damaris stopped walking.

"You don’t know that."

Lucifer stopped too.

"I know Adam. I know the Adversaries. They wouldn’t have come without a plan that guaranteed your death." His crimson eyes held his father’s gaze. "You were going to die that day. The only question was how many you took with you."

Damaris’s hands curled into fists.

"Six."

"Six what?"

"Six Adversaries. I took six with me." His voice was bitter. "Not enough."

Lucifer shook his head.

"It was enough."

"How?"

"Because I killed the rest." Lucifer stepped closer. "Adam. His allies. The ones who survived you. I finished what you started."

Damaris stared at him.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Damaris laughed.

Not bitterly.

Real.

"Ironic."

"What?"

"I spent centuries running from the guilt of dying. And you spent a century running toward the guilt of living."

Lucifer’s expression didn’t change.

"We’re both idiots."

Damaris nodded.

"Probably."

They started walking again.

The Coast stretched ahead.

Red wound. Collector’s domain. Francisca’s soul.

Still far.

But closer now.

Damaris glanced at his son.

"When we find her—"

"When," Lucifer interrupted. "Not if."

"When," Damaris corrected. "What are you going to say to her?"

Lucifer was quiet.

Then:

"I don’t know."

"You’ve searched for a century."

"I know."

"And you don’t know what to say?"

Lucifer looked at the horizon.

"I’ll figure it out when I see her."

Damaris didn’t push.

They walked.

Behind them, the old soul’s words echoed through the broken air.

Find what you’re looking for.

Ahead, the red wound pulsed.

Waiting.