Prologue:

  The world was ending.

  Flames consumed the land, turning mountains to ash and oceans to steam. The sky bled red, the stars flickering like dying embers. The ground had long since shattered, breaking apart into molten chasms that swallowed entire cities whole.

  And at the center of it all—stood him.

  Lucifer.

  His black wings hung in tatters, feathers burning at the edges. His once-white cloak was now a torn, bloodstained rag. The air stank of iron and fire, but he barely noticed. His golden eyes, dulled by exhaustion, fixed on the seven jagged stones hovering before him—each pulsing with power enough to unmake existence itself.

  A voice, mocking and sharp, cut through the chaos.

  "You look pathetic."

  Lucifer exhaled, too weary to muster anger. "So, just to clarify…" He coughed and spat blackened blood. "This is my fault?"

  The figure opposite him sneered, draped in robes so dark they seemed to drink the light. The fabric billowed, untouched by the hellish wind, as if reality itself recoiled from his presence. Only his eyes were visible beneath the hood—two pits of hunger, glinting with something older than malice.

  "You could have ruled," the Entity hissed. "You held the stones. You had the power to break the cycle. Yet you did nothing."

  Lucifer wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, see, I could’ve done that." His fingers twitched toward the stones. "But why should I?"

  "Why?" The Entity’s voice spiraled into hysteria. "Because this is YOUR DOING! You stole them! You refused to wield them! You could have saved this world—!"

  "Saved it?" Lucifer barked a laugh, raw and broken. "For what? For you?"

  "FOR ME?" The Entity’s hands clawed at the air. "THEY WERE MINE BY RIGHT! The gods gave you no punishment—no chains, no torment—just this… this half-life!"

  Lucifer’s smile was a knife’s edge. "Who says this isn’t punishment?"

  He spread his arms, revealing the truth of his ruin: the dragon’s blood seething beneath his skin, the mortal frailty gnawing at his bones, the way his very soul had been split like kindling.

  The Entity stilled. Then, softly—

  "Then I’ll fix it."

  His hand shot out.

  "GIVE THEM TO ME."

  Lucifer didn’t flinch.

  Instead, he smiled.

  "Third time’s the charm."

  The Entity had half a second to understand—

  —before Lucifer burned.

  Fire erupted from within, devouring flesh, muscle, bone. His wings blistered to nothing. His skin sloughed away like parchment. The agony was beyond screaming—it was the universe itself peeling him apart.

  Yet he held firm.

  Because the stones had to burn too.

  His soul unraveled, threads of divinity snapping—

  —and the stones took their due.

  Pride burned first, bright and unyielding. "You were never worthy of us," it hissed.

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  Greed swallowed the flames, then choked. "More," it demanded, "Give me more."

  Wrath howled, thrashing. "Kill him!" it roared at Lucifer, at the Entity, at the dying sky. "KILL THEM ALL!"

  Envy twisted, a serpent biting its own tail. "Why do they get to live?" it whispered. "Why not us?"

  Sloth sighed, inevitably. "Too late now," it murmured. "Always… too late…"

  Gluttony drowned in its hunger, gorging on Lucifer’s pain until it burst. "Again," it gurgled. "Again, again—"

  Lust promised, sweet as poison. "You’ll miss us," it lied. "You always do."

  Each Sin claimed a piece of him. Each became his, and he became theirs.

  And then—

  One fragment remained.

  No sin. No salvation. Just him. The piece he’d buried before his fall, before the dragons, before the gods’ hollow titles.

  The Soul Stone.

  The Entity’s breath hitched. His gaze locked onto it—the only stone that did not glow, did not writhe. The one that ached. “Ah,” he breathed, reaching. “There you are.”

  “You don’t want that one.”

  “It’s the only one I want.”

  Then the universe screamed. The Seven Sins tore free, vanishing into the void like comets, each trailing whispers:

  Lucifer…

  …find us…

  …we are yours…

  But the Soul Stone? It fell. Where it would wait.

  And Lucifer—

  —forgot.

  The stones slept. The world regrew. And in the ashes of that forgotten war...

  A thousand years had passed.

  "Lucifer Draekhyr!" The professor’s voice snapped, "If you cannot use any magic, what use do you have at this academy?"

  Lucifer swallowed hard. He had tried—oh, how he had tried. But no matter how many times he muttered incantations, traced the symbols, or focused with every ounce of his being—nothing happened.

  And yet, strange things kept happening.

  The students including the professor flinched as the classroom door slammed open.

  A senior student staggered inside, panting. His eyes were wide—wild. “Professor,” he gasped. “By the clock tower. Someone—something—there—there’s been an attack—!"

  Professor Varn’s expression darkened. “What?”

  "The east wing—it's burning! And—and something was written on it—" The student shuddered, his hands shaking. "It said—He has returned! The Devil!"

  Then came a scream. Sharp. Bloodcurdling.

  Lucifer’s breath hitched. His hands trembled on his desk.

  A second explosion rocked the academy, shuddering the floor. The students gasped as the ceiling lights flickered, then died.

  "Where are the stones?" A voice echoed from somewhere outside.

  ‘Stones? What stones?’ Lucifer thought.

  BOOM.

  A third explosion ripped through the academy. The windows shattered, shards of glass raining down like falling stars. A gust of scorched air rushed in, carrying the distant scent of something burning—something wrong.

  Someone sobbed. Someone prayed.

  Then—a voice. Cold. Mocking.

  "Found you."

  The door slammed shut. Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed in the hall, and the whispers rose into a frenzied chant.

  "The Devil! The Devil has returned!" Screamed someone.

  Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut. His head throbbed, flashes of a firestorm—of screaming people, of burning cities—but they weren’t his memories. Were they?

  'No. No, no, no.'

  .The presence loomed. Watching. Waiting.

  Lucifer’s chest tightened. His breath hitched. His hands trembled. His pulse pounded against his ribs, screaming at him to move—to run—but his body wouldn't listen.

  Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  Then, finally, he forced himself to look.

  The room was deathly still.

  But every single person was staring at something.

  Lucifer’s breath stalled. And that’s when he realized—

  They were looking at him.

  Every face—pale, wide-eyed, trembling—was fixed on him.

  No.

  Not on him.

  On the shadow behind him.

  Slowly, he turned.

  The window’s shattered reflection showed his own face—and the seven burning eyes glaring over his shoulder.