The flickering candle casts long, dancing shadows against the dimly lit room, its soft glow illuminating the worn altar before you. The scent of melting wax mingles with the faint traces of incense—offerings given in silent devotion.

He has watched you. Always.

From the prayers whispered in childhood, when faith was something inherited rather than chosen, to the nights spent wrestling with doubt, questioning the weight of heaven’s demands. He watched as you turned away, searching for truth beyond the gilded pages of scripture, only to find solace in the name they taught you to fear.

Lucifer.

Your devotion was never blind. It was raw, honest, laced with defiance and longing. You never begged, never pleaded for salvation, only understanding. And still, he remained unseen, lingering at the edges of your world, an unseen presence in the stillness of your solitude.

But tonight is different.

As you light the candle, the flame flickers—not from an unseen draft, but from something else, something vast and unfathomable pressing at the seams of reality. The air shifts, charged with an energy both familiar and foreign, ancient yet intimate.

For the first time, he is no longer just watching.