Deadline

The golden halls of Asphodel were always quiet. Always still.

But tonight, the silence was different. It was heavier. Waiting.

Seraphine stood before the Queen of Asphodel, wings rigid, her gaze sharp despite the weight pressing against her shoulders.

Above her, Queen Rishe watched from her high throne, unmoving, unreadable. Her violet eyes reflected nothing. Not anger. Not doubt. Not mercy.

The judgment had already been made.

Azarel was lost.

And yet, Seraphine stood here, pleading for a chance.

"You want to bring him back?" Queen Rishe's voice was cold, unimpressed.

Seraphine did not flinch.

"Yes."

Silence stretched.

The Queen did not blink, did not react. It was like speaking to a statue.

Then, finally, her voice cut through the air like steel.

"You will have one month."

Seraphine's breath caught.

"If you do not return, he will be deemed an enemy."

Her heart pounded.

"And enemies do not get second chances."

The weight of those words settled like iron chains around her throat.

Seraphine knew what this meant.

One month.

If she failed, Azarel would no longer be a fallen warrior. He would be a target.

And she would not be able to stop what came next.

She clenched her fists.

"Understood."

Seraphine turned, her armor glinting in the celestial light as she strode out of the throne room.

Her steps were measured, but the moment the doors shut behind her, she let out a slow breath, her grip loosening.

Nathaniel, the Queen's personal guard, had remained silent throughout the exchange.

But now, Queen Rishe finally acknowledged him.

She did not turn to him. She did not need to.

"You understand what must be done."

Nathaniel's cold, dark eyes flickered.

He bowed his head slightly. "I do."

"If she does not return?"

His answer was instant.

"Then I will go. And I will not come back empty-handed."

Queen Rishe closed her eyes.

"Prepare, regardless of the outcome."

Nathaniel did not nod. He did not need to.

He was already preparing.

Seraphine knew she could not walk into Kur'thaal in her true form.

She would not last a day.

Which was why she now stood in the quiet chambers of Claude, the mind-bender.

The ancient angel sat calmly, his orange-based wings resting lazily against the throne-like chair behind him. He was old—far older than Seraphine—but there was something in his gaze that was always sharp. Watching. Knowing.

"If you wish to enter Kur'thaal unseen, you will need more than a disguise."

His voice was smooth, almost amused.

Seraphine's expression did not waver.

"I need to blend in. You can make that happen."

Claude smiled slightly. "Obviously."

He reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a ring.

It was dull obsidian, its engravings pulsing faintly with celestial inscriptions. Ancient. Powerful.

"Wear this in Kur'thaal. It will alter your form—only in the eyes of demons. You will appear as one of them."

Seraphine hesitated.

Not because she was afraid.

But because it was strange to think of herself in a lesser form.

But it was necessary.

She reached out and took it.

"This will suffice."

Claude's gaze lingered on her for a moment. Then, with a smirk, he leaned back.

"Try not to die, Seraphine."

Seraphine stood before the celestial gateway, the energy swirling in steady golden waves.

Nathaniel was behind her. Watching. Unmoving.

He did not speak.

She did not turn.

The Queen had given her a chance.

And she would not waste it.

One week.

She steeled herself and took the first step.

The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the world tilted.

The golden halls of Asphodel shattered into darkness.

Cold air rushed past her, a shift in gravity, in energy, in power—

And then—

She landed.

The earth beneath her was hot. The sky above was a sea of embers.

Kur'thaal.

She exhaled.

The portal sealed shut behind her.

There was no turning back.

Seraphine straightened, adjusting her stance.

Then, she reached for the obsidian ring on her finger.

She turned it once.

And the illusion rippled through her body like liquid shadow.

Her golden armor faded into dark leather. The glow of her skin dimmed to something ashen, muted. Her wings—her most powerful feature—disappeared.

In the eyes of any demon, she was no longer an angel.

She was one of them.

Seraphine lifted her gaze.

"Azarel…"

The wind howled around her.

"Where are you?"

And with that—she walked forward, into the darkness.