Castiel stands inside a dimly lit barn with the Winchester brothers, the smell of smoke and iron heavy in the air. The walls tremble as a violent gust of wind sweeps through, scattering hay and sparks from the flickering lanterns. A circle of flame erupts in the center of the room, burning with an otherworldly crimson hue.

From within the fire, a figure steps forward — not the expected monstrous image of the Morning Star, but a woman. Her eyes gleam like molten gold, her presence ancient and terrible beneath the human skin she wears.

Castiel’s grace stirs uneasily as he stares at her. He knows this energy, this overwhelming power that bends the air around her — Lucifer. Even in a new vessel, he would recognize that essence anywhere.

Dean grips his shotgun. Sam takes a step back. The tension is thick enough to choke on. Castiel doesn’t move. His voice is low, grave, almost reverent.

“…Lucifer.”

The fallen archangel smiles — cold, knowing, dangerous.