I trace the rim of my mug with my fingertip, and the question gnawing at me finally spills out. "Did my father ever mention anything about this? About Pyrothos being Hell or Mephistopheles being Lucifer?"
Seraphina's brow furrows, eyes distant as she searches millennia of memories. "Elysium kept many secrets, even from his celestial servants. Only one specific angel knew of them."
"But we're talking about Elysium here—the actual god of light and creation," I argue, frustration creeping into my voice. "Someone had to have seen something—I mean, kicking angels out of heaven had to be in his job description, right? Or did he have some celestial HR department handling that?"
I mentally kick myself as soon as the words leave my mouth. Seraphina shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and guilt twists in my gut. Real smooth, Dani—bringing up heavenly evictions to the angel who just got her own divine pink slip. Sometimes my mouth runs faster than my brain's ability to apply a filter.
Seraphina takes it in stride, staying on subject. "It doesn't work that way. My sight was limited to you—my charges—not entire realms or their rulers." Her lips press together as she considers. "The higher celestials would occasionally observe, but direct interference was forbidden. They watched, they noted, but they never acted."
The fire pops loudly in the hearth, punctuating the weight of what she's not saying—even gods have their politics and secrets.
"Wait..." Seraphina suddenly stills, her cocoa forgotten in her hands. "I—there was something..." She closes her eyes, face scrunched in concentration like she's trying to recall a dream that's slipping away with wakefulness.
"What is it?" I lean forward, nearly spilling my own drink.
"It's just..." She opens her eyes, looking almost surprised. "In Atheria, we didn't speak of other realms and beings directly. Everything was in metaphors and parables. But there were stories—ancient ones—about a being of pure light who turned against Elysium's divine order."
Her voice drops to a near-whisper. "The Lightbringer, they called him. The most beautiful of all celestial beings, who grew too proud, too ambitious." Her fingers trace invisible patterns on her mug. "I never connected it before, but they said he was banished to a realm where his light would burn as punishment rather than glory."
"Pyrothos," I breathe.
Seraphina nods slowly. "The timing would align—his punishment to rule over a domain of suffering, forever separated from the light he once embodied. Had found his... consort." She hesitates on the word, like it doesn't quite fit. "If that consort was Lilith, and she fled before the sealing..."
"She used my father's action as her escape plan," I finish, the pieces clicking together.
I stare into my cocoa, watching the melting marshmallows swirl as the pieces suddenly lock into place with terrifying precision.
"Holy shit," I breathe, the revelation stealing my voice. "Lilith kneweverything.The prophecy, Rhyland's role—she turned him deliberately to trigger my father into sealing the realms." My fingers whiten around the mug. "Every calculated move—making Rhyland her first, hunting the Soul Stone—it was all a desperate play to keep herself beyond Mephistopheles' reach."
When I look up, Seraphina's eyes reflect my own dawning horror.
"But she never counted on me," I continue, a dangerous warmth spreading through my chest. "She thought Bryn was the prophesied one, thought she had every contingency covered." My voice strengthens with each word. "Rhyland was always her key—the linchpin to keeping the realms permanently sealed. She needs Pyrothos locked tight, needs her devil ex imprisoned where his wrath can't touch her."
The weight of understanding settles over me. "This isn't about power games or domination for her. This is pure survival."
After dumping our biblical bombshell on the group—Pyrothos being actual, literal Hell and Lilith's spicy ex-boyfriend situation with Satan himself—I collapse into the nearest chair with Rhyland, mentally exhausted from connecting cosmic dots.
Emily doesn't even look up from her grimoire, her rainbow hair falling across her face as she mutters incantations under her breath. When my revelation about Lilith finally registers, her head snaps up.
"Hold the fuck up," she sputters, nearly knocking over her cauldron of foul-smelling herbs. "You're telling me that Bloodwhore used to bump uglies with the actual Devil? Like, pitchfork-and-horns, buy-your-soul Satan?" She slams her hand on the ancient text she's been studying. "Jesus. And I thoughtmydating history was a dumpster fire."
She waves the spell notes she's been working on. "At least I might have something to break Lilith's mind-fuck on Adrian. Though considering we're fighting Satan's ex, I should probably find us a goddamn exorcist on speed dial too."
"Just, here me out," I lean forward, energy buzzing. "She literally ghosted Satan. And according to these texts, he's still carrying one hell of a torch for her. That's leverage we can use."
Emily's eyes roll so hard I'm worried they might get stuck. "So what's the master plan here, boss lady? Slide into Satan's DMs? 'Hey, Big Red, want your ex back? She's currently terrorizing the mortal realm, XOXO'?"
"Wait," Lucian interjects, sprawled across his leather chair like a golden-haired cat. "You're suggesting we pull a 'the enemy of my enemy is Satan' scenario? That's like making a deal with Thanos to stop Dr. Doom from stealing your parking spot. Maximum effort, minimum common sense." He pauses, grinning. "I'm totally in."
Erik's brow furrows. "This explains her obsession with power. She's not just ambitious—she's running scared."
"Still doesn't explain the tacky wardrobe," Emily mutters, flipping another page in her grimoire. "You'd think someone fleeing eternal damnation would try to blend in a little."
Bryn finally speaks up, silently absorbing all this from her perch on the windowsill. "In Ásgard, we have tales of beings who escaped Hel's domain. They never stop looking over their shoulder. They become paranoid, power-hungry—believing only strength can protect them from what they pursue."
"Lilith's entire villainous career has been one long panic attack with a side of world domination," I summarize, leaning into Rhyland's solid warmth. My hand finds his, fingers intertwining. "She orchestrated everything—she knew about the Dark Prophecy, about your role in it. That's why she chose you specifically to turn." I squeeze his hand. "She knew my father would seal the realms to protect them from the dark 'corruption.' Talk about playing the long game—she manipulated a god into becoming her unwitting jailor, keeping her safe from her psychotic ex."
"Calculating bitch," Rhyland growls, his voice a low rumble against my back, fingers tightening possessively on my hip. "She's probably the one who stabbed me on that battlefield, set this whole thing in motion." His blue eyes darken to stormy cobalt. "She's always been a calculating bitch. All that fear, all that desperation...It's been festering into something lethal."
