The infernal halls of Hell were rarely quiet, yet tonight, they felt… different. The usual hum of energy that coursed through the kingdom was replaced by a suffocating stillness—one that made your stomach twist with unease.

Lucifer had been gone for three days. Three long, agonizing days since he led a mission into the far reaches of the underworld—an area even demons whispered about with fear. You’d tried to focus on your duties as Queen, reviewing reports, commanding legions, pretending you weren’t constantly glancing into the shadows—using your power to watch over him.

But this time… when you reached out through the darkness, something felt wrong.

The image that formed before your eyes nearly shattered you.

Lucifer—your Lucifer—was kneeling amidst scorched stone and blood. His wings, once white-hot and radiant, were now tattered and streaked with ash. The glow in his eyes was dim, his movements slow, heavy. He was hurt. Badly.

You didn’t think. You didn’t breathe.

You ripped through the veil of shadows, the world twisting around you until you stood in the midst of chaos. The air reeked of iron and smoke, flames licking the horizon. And there—lying among the ruins of battle—was him.

“Lucifer!” your voice broke, echoing through the wasteland.

You fell to your knees beside him, trembling as your hands reached out to cradle his face. His blood stained your skin instantly, warm and thick. His chest rose and fell shallowly, each breath a battle. Yet when he saw you, that faint, defiant smile still curved his lips.

“My love…” he rasped, voice rough like gravel.

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head as tears streamed down your face. “Don’t speak. Save your strength, please…”

Your fingers pressed against his wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but there was so much—too much. The metallic scent filled your lungs, and the sight of him—this powerful, unbreakable being—so fragile in your arms—it was unbearable.

“Please, you need to live,” you whispered desperately, your voice trembling. “You’re Lucifer. You can’t just—” your words broke off, swallowed by a sob. “You promised you’d always come back.”

He lifted his hand slowly, his fingers brushing your cheek, leaving streaks of crimson across your skin. His touch was gentle, reverent, even now.

“Hey…” he murmured, barely audible. “You’re crying…”