The red wound had become a mouth.

Lucifer stood at its edge, staring into darkness that pulsed like a heartbeat. The ground around him was soft—organic, like standing on the flesh of something massive. The grey of the Coast had given way to deep crimson, and the air smelled of iron and old dust.

Damaris stood beside him, his wings folded tight.

"The Collector’s lair."

Lucifer’s shadows stirred.

"It’s alive."

"Everything here is alive. Or was. Or will be." Damaris stepped toward the edge. "Time doesn’t move correctly inside. We could be in there for years and return to find only days have passed. Or the opposite."

Lucifer didn’t hesitate.

He stepped into the darkness.

---

The descent was wrong.

Not physically. The ground sloped downward, wide enough for them to walk side by side. The walls were smooth—too smooth—and warm to the touch. But the feeling was wrong. Like walking down the throat of something that was trying very hard not to swallow.

After a while, the walls changed.

Bones.

Not human bones. Not any species Lucifer recognized. They were embedded in the walls, fused with the organic tissue, their surfaces carved with symbols that predated language. Between the bones, crystals pulsed with trapped light. Memories. Thousands of them. Millions.

Lucifer touched one.

A face appeared inside—a woman, young, her eyes wide with terror. Then she was gone, replaced by another face, then another, then another.

"Trapped souls," Damaris said quietly. "The Collector’s hoard."

Lucifer pulled his hand back.

"Francisca could be anywhere."

"That’s why we don’t search randomly." Damaris pointed ahead. "The core is at the center. The most unique souls are kept closest to the Collector."

They walked faster.

The walls grew thicker with bones. The crystals grew brighter. The air grew heavier.

And the whispers began.

---

At first, Lucifer thought they were echoes—the trapped souls, crying out. But the whispers weren’t求救. They were memories. Voices from his past.

You’re not good enough.

You’ll never be him.

She died because of you.

Lucifer’s jaw tightened.

He kept walking.

The whispers grew louder.

Adam was right. You’re just a monster wearing a crown.

Francisca is gone because you weren’t fast enough.

You couldn’t save her. You couldn’t save any of them.

Lucifer’s shadows writhed.

"Shut up."

The whispers stopped.

Damaris glanced at him.

"They’re testing you."

"I know."

"They’ll test me too."

Lucifer looked at his father.

"Can you handle it?"

Damaris’s golden eyes flickered.

"I don’t know."

---

They reached the first chamber.

It was enormous—a cavern filled with floating crystals, each one containing a trapped soul. They hung in the air like stars, their lights pulsing in slow, synchronized rhythm. Thousands. Tens of thousands.

Lucifer walked among them, searching.

Francisca’s energy was distinct. He’d know it anywhere. He’d been searching for it for a century.

But here, surrounded by millions of trapped souls, it was like trying to find a single voice in a hurricane.

"Francisca," he called.

No answer.

Damaris stood at the center of the chamber, his head tilted, his eyes closed.

"Something’s wrong."

Lucifer turned.

"What?"

"The Collector knows we’re here. But he’s not attacking. He’s waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

Damaris opened his eyes.

"For us to find what we’re looking for."

---

The next chamber was different.

Not bones. Not crystals.

Memory.

Damaris walked into it before Lucifer could stop him.

The walls shimmered, and suddenly they weren’t in the lair anymore. They were somewhere else. Somewhen else.

A throne room. Golden. Beautiful. Adam’s throne room, before he’d built his sanctum in the sky.

Damaris stood at the center, younger, his wings whole, his eyes bright. Beside him stood Lilith—younger too, her dark hair unbound, her hand resting on his arm.

They were arguing.

"You can’t trust him," Lilith said.

"He’s one of us." 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"He’s human. They’re not like us."

Damaris’s jaw tightened.

"He’s the Human Progenitor. He has a seat at the table."

"A seat he doesn’t deserve."

The memory shifted.

Now Damaris was alone, standing before Adam. The golden light around the Human Progenitor was warm, inviting. Deceptive.

"I only want what’s best for the realms," Adam said.

Damaris’s voice was cautious.

"And what’s that?"

"Order. Structure. A hierarchy that makes sense."

Damaris’s eyes narrowed.

"You’re talking about control."

Adam smiled.

"I’m talking about peace."

The memory shifted again.

Lucifer watched as his father was ambushed. Twelve Adversaries, just as the old soul had said. Adam stood at the back, watching, his golden eyes cold.

Damaris fought.

He killed six before they took him down.

But he was alone.

No Lilith. No allies. No son.

Just him and the darkness.

The memory froze.

Damaris stood in the center of it, his real body trembling, his wings shaking.

"You should have been there," a voice whispered—not from the memory, but from inside his own mind. "You should have been stronger. You should have protected them."

Damaris’s hands curled into fists.

"I did my best."

"Your best wasn’t enough."

He flinched.

The memory shifted again.

Now he was holding Lucifer—a baby, swaddled in black cloth. His son’s eyes were already crimson. Already watching.

"I won’t leave you," Damaris whispered.

The baby Lucifer didn’t answer.

The memory shifted.

Lucifer—grown—standing over Adam’s broken body, the Human Authority in his hand.

Damaris watched from the shadows, unable to move, unable to speak.

"You missed everything," the voice whispered. "His first kill. His first war. His first century. You were dead."

Damaris’s voice cracked.

"I didn’t choose to die."

"You didn’t choose to live either."

He fell to his knees.

The memories swirled around him—Lilith’s face, Lucifer’s childhood, Adam’s betrayal. All of it. Every regret. Every failure. Every moment he’d spent wishing things had been different.

"You can’t change the past," the voice said.

Damaris looked up.

"No," he said quietly. "I can’t."

"Then why are you still fighting?"

He stood.

"Because the past doesn’t define me. My son does."

The memories shattered.

The chamber returned—bones, crystals, darkness.

Damaris stood alone, breathing hard.

Lucifer was beside him in an instant.

"You alright?"

Damaris nodded slowly.

"I am now."

He looked at his son.

"Let’s find her."

---

They walked deeper.

The core was close.

Lucifer could feel it—a pressure, like the weight of a million souls pressing against his chest.

And somewhere in the darkness ahead, Francisca waited.