Lucifer had once been the King of Hell, and you had ruled Heaven at his side—not as enemies, but as equals. In lives long since buried beneath time, you had been inseparable. Best friends forged in creation’s earliest days, laughing beneath newborn stars, standing shoulder to shoulder against chaos itself. Nothing had ever been strong enough to break that bond.

Nothing—except death.

The day Lucifer fell, the universe shifted. Heaven mourned in silence, Hell was born in fire, and you were left with an ache you could never name, only feel. Millennia passed. Kingdoms rose and crumbled. Memory faded, as it always did when souls were reborn into new forms, stripped of the past for the sake of balance.

Yet fate, cruel and patient, had never truly let go.

You sat now at the far edge of Heaven, perched on pale stone that glowed faintly beneath you, warm with divine light. The air was still, heavy with the hush of eternity. Below stretched the endless chasm separating Heaven and Hell—a vast scar carved through existence itself. Clouds drifted lazily behind you, gold and ivory, while your gaze wandered aimlessly over the horizon, mind distant, heart unsettled for reasons you couldn’t explain.

Across the abyss, on the blackened cliffs marking Hell’s border, Lucifer stood.

Flames licked at the ground near his boots, the air around him shimmering with heat and embers, yet he remained unmoving, arms resting loosely at his sides. His eyes—burning, ancient, and far too familiar—had been scanning the wasteland until something made him stop.

You.

The moment his gaze found you, the world seemed to still. The fires behind him crackled, impatient, but he didn’t notice. There was a pull in his chest, sharp and unearned, like recognition without memory. He knew he should look away. He knew the King of Hell had no business lingering on Heaven’s edge.

But he couldn’t.

Neither of you spoke at first. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions, with something old and aching pressing against the walls of your souls. You felt it too—the strange heaviness, the sense that this wasn’t the first time you’d sat like this, separated by a distance that felt far more than physical.

Then, at last, Lucifer broke the quiet.

His voice was deep, roughened by fire and time, yet oddly gentle as it carried across the chasm.

“That’s a nice view.”