Aran’s expression dims. “They’re not pleased. A mortal was brought to Hell twice. A soul once claimed, now returned. It unsettles them.”
My chest tightens. “Returned? What do you mean, a soul once claimed has now been returned?”
Aran’s eyes widen like he just told me something he probably shouldn’t have. “Uh… that is not for me to disclose, Miss Sandoval. Please forgive me,” he stutters.
I let it drop, despite wanting to know what on earth he was talking about. For some strange reason, I didn’t like seeing him so flustered.
“Are these Divine Six powerful?”
“The most powerful.” Aran nods. “Seraphiel, Amarithe, Velentha, Calrix, Elaron, and Mal’Thariel. Each one represents a force of the cosmos. Judgement. Light. Time. Order. Dreams. Fate.”
My eyes widen. Maybe I’m still dreaming, or maybe I have died, and this is my torture. My head goes fuzzy again from the new information. So there isn’t just Hell, and demons, and princes who take soul bargains from idiotic mortals—there’s a whole system of divine creatures.
“They summoned him, because of me?”
“Not entirely. They’re pressuring him,” Aran responds. “He cannot ascend the throne without a bride. Law of balance, as they like to remind him often.”
“A bride?” I whisper.
He shrugs lightly. “He needs someone who balances him. Anchors him. They believe love is weakness, yet still demand it as a condition to rule, of stepping up in the line of hierarchy.”
My heart skips, not able to stop myself from blurting out my next question, “Does he have someone?”
“No.” Aran studies me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But perhaps one day, he will choose someone worthy, made from fire.”
The words sink in, spreading through me. Made from fire. What a strange thing to say. Before I can ask more, Aran stands up from the chair, brushing imaginary dust from his suit.
“I shall have more food brought for you soon. You’ll need your strength if you are to fully recover. And when you’re ready, I would be honoured to show you around. Help you stretch your legs. But first, rest, eat, and heal.”
He strides towards the door, but glances back over his shoulder, “He won’t say it, but we are both glad you made it, Miss Sandoval.”
With that, he leaves, the door clicking softly shut behind him. I lay back against the cool pillow, my head spinning. Hell. The Divine Six. A throne. Korithax.
I don’t know what any of this means. Only that I survived, again. Did I want to survive? I most certainly didn’t when I took that overdose, but now, I’m not so sure.
The daysin Zeriavoss blur together, but at least my body doesn’t feel like it’s dying anymore.
The tonics burn less each day, and I can finally sit up without tipping sideways, even managing to keep down an entire slice of something called pyreloaf this morning—blackened crust with ash berries, and some kind of warm fruit preserve that left my lips tingling. I’ve also stopped flinching every time a demon enters the room. Mostly.
Aran visits often, always knocking softly first, unlike everyone else, who just enters as they please with no warning. His presence is steadying and oddly comforting. Korithax hasn’t come back, though. Not even a glimpse of his shadow through the doorway, or anywhere, for that matter. It shouldn’t sting… but it does.
By the fourth day of being awake, I’m begging to go home, despite enjoying my time here more than I should. It’s strangethat despite the trauma, despite everything, there’s something about Zeriavoss that calls to me. Maybe it’s the sky, so vibrant and always with skittering crimson lightning. Maybe it’s the gardens: lush, filled with spiralling obsidian statues, emberfruit trees, and an assortment of flowers that are breathtaking. The trees look like those back home, but are so much more vibrant, growing the most intoxicating fruit I’ve ever tasted. It’s so sweet, with a hint of smokiness that makes me groan every time I bite into it.
Aran must’ve picked up on my restlessness because he’s been taking me around the palace several times a day, even letting me venture into the kingdom gardens to get some air. Today, he’s taken me to the outer balcony, high up in the palace. From here, I can see nearly all of Korithax’s realm.
“Ready?” Aran says, gesturing for me to join him at the edge of the stone railing.
I nod and step forward, resting my hands on the warm Blackstone ledge. The view almost knocks the breath out of me.
Below, and far beyond the cliffs Zeriavoss sits upon, stretches a world unlike anything Earth could ever hold. To the south, far off in the distance, an ominous red glow pulses like a heartbeat.
“That’s Gehenna,” Aran says, following my gaze. “Where Lucifer rules. The traditional Hell—lava pits, screams echoing through canyons. Mortals think it’s all like that, but as you can see, it’s just one region. The place was built for justice, though it’s grown twisted over the millennia. Torment isn’t chaos there; it’s structured. Ritualised.”
I shiver. “Sounds… horrifying.”
“You’d be correct.” He responds.
He shifts, pointing west. “See the white spire glinting near the horizon? That’s the Realm of Children. Vailith’s territory. It’s quiet there. Peaceful.”
