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Everything within me stilled; the infernal call silenced.

Fallen don’t shift. We fall. Once and final. That was the celestial law: no second shape, no deeper monstrous form. But what had happened in that house and what had nearly happened again in my flat with Valden’s ring wasn’t a mere flare of power or a simple reaction. It felt like…I had nearly transformed into something not celestial and not fallen. Something else entirely.

I gently touched my forehead again as if I could still feel the bones trying to split it open, the skin stretching taut. There were no ridges now. The aura in that cursed house had ripped me open, exposing something deep within me. I was…I was changing.

And if I didn’t understand why, if I couldn’t control it…I wouldn’t survive.

A particular memory then surfaced, clawing its way from the depths of where I had buried it for so long. Kraków. Sera. The witch. The passage.

Sera and I hadn’t gone there seeking power or a thrill. We had gone seeking answers. A rumor in the supernatural underground had led us to whispers of a black witch coven that held one of the fabled Lucifer’s coins—an artifact that could open a direct passage to Hell’s antechamber or the Crossroads, depending on what spoken incantation. We believed it might hold the key to understanding what was happening to Sera, what we were becoming.

The witch lived in the crumbling back of a burned-down chapel. It was a forgotten, desecrated place. She was ancient and wary, her one good eye unsettlingly sharp. The other had been sewn shut with what appeared to be gold wire.

She recognized our conflicting auras immediately. “Peeking into the abyss has a cost,” she warned, her voice a dry rustle. “It is not a mirror. It is a doorway. And some things, once seen, can see you back.”

But we were relentless and desperate, and after our pleading, she agreed. From a hidden nook, she retrieved a single dark coin that seemed to absorb the candlelight. She began the ritual, her chant a guttural whisper that made the air grow thick. With a final word, she pressed the coin against the air, and it tore open to reveal a shimmering portal. We were then looking through the doorway into Hell itself.

It was a landscape of shadows and silent, screaming torment, a vista of endless suffering under a dying ember sky. The heat was so oppressive, almost psychic pressure.

In the distance, on a cliff observing the damnation below, two figures were standing still, exuding an aura of royal presence. One had been a regal woman with an aura of terrible ancient power, and the other had been an elegant man whose silhouette was painfully familiar.

I pause, finally looking at the keeper. “Now, I know it was Lilith and Valden.” I let out a short, humorless laugh. “And now that I think about it, they looked like they were embracing. Could there be love between them? Heavens, I hope not. I do not think I can survive any more surprises in our family lineage.”

The keeper chuckles, a dry rustling sound like old pages turning. It shakes its head. “Love in Hell is rarely a surprise, my dear. Merely an inevitability. It adds a certain…spice to the eternal torment.” It gently gestured with its hand. “But don’t let ancient passions distract you. Continue with the story.”

As if the two figures had felt Sera’s and my gaze, they had slightly turned their heads. The tables had turned. We were no longer just looking but being watched. I felt my mother’s cruel eyes on me.

Shaken, Sera and I broke from the vision and fled. We made it perhaps half a block down the cobbled street when Sera stopped, her face pale. She was missing her bracelet, a small silver trinket given to her by Lysanthe.

“I’ll go back,” I said, needing a moment to pretend I wasn’t as terrified as she so clearly was. “You wait here.”

When I pushed open the chapel door again, the smell of fresh blood hit me like a physical blow. The witch lay slumped against the desecrated altar—brutally murdered. Her eyes, ears, and tongue had been removed. Her hiding spot, a loose stone behind the altar, had been ransacked. Lucifer’s coin was missing.

And beneath one of her bloodless hands lay a note scrawled on rough parchment. In stark fresh ink, it read:

It is not the right time yet.

The realization that this was an assassination to steal a key to Hell was cold and sharp. It implied that a cosmic cold war was already underway, and we had just stumbled onto one of its battlefields.

I had been so terrified that all I could do was snatch Sera’s bracelet from the floor and run. I never told Sera the truth, just handed her the bracelet and said that the witch was gone. And we never spoke of Kraków again.

But now, lying beside the man who had once called me a flame, I wondered who had left that message. Who silenced the witch with such brutal precision? What if we weren’t supposed to survive looking through that passage? And what if this thing stirring inside me, this terrifying becoming, wasn’t new at all? What if it was what I was always meant to be, a truth hidden even from myself?

“Cassia?”

The voice was soft, pulling me from the depths of that chilling memory. I blinked and realized I hadn’t moved, my fingers tangled in the sheet.

Remiel was sitting up now, slightly leaning over me. His light brown hair was messy from sleep, his brows drawn together. He was staring at me. Or through me.

“Your eyes,” he breathed, his voice hushed.

I tilted my head. “What about them?”

“You…” He hesitated. When he continued, his voice was barely a whisper. “Your eyes… Cassia, they were—” He paused, shaking his head. “Just black. All black. No infernal fire or your natural brown.”

I stared at him. He wasn’t recoiling in disgust. He was…scared. Scared for me. And that was worse than any condemnation.

I held his gaze. “I think something’s changing in me,” I said, the admission a heavy weight. Before he could ask, I spoke once more, my voice low. “And I don’t think it’s done with me yet.”