The First Heart
Morning in the Nether Court was unlike any morning in the mortal world.
No sun rose. Instead, the black sky shifted slowly into shades of deep wine and bruised violet, as if the heavens were bleeding inward. Ethereal mist crawled across the obsidian floors, coiling around the legs of court officials seated in eerie silence. The stained-glass windows lining the grand hall pulsed with ancient light, portraying battles no one alive could remember — except the one who sat on the throne.
Lucifer. Or rather, Morris. Or both.
He sat draped in white and shadow, his figure tall and commanding beneath a mantle of star-spun silk. His expression was unreadable, his golden eyes fixed on something no one else could see — the sky beyond the towering windows. A porcelain cup of chilled blackroot tea rested in his hand, the steam trailing like ghost's breath.
No one dared speak.
Not even Ivan, who stood at his right hand — darkly dressed, broad-shouldered, unwavering. He had served Morris since the day the Devil walked again, and knew the man's silence was not to be mistaken for indecision.
Lucifer took a slow sip.
And smiled.
A ripple ran through the room.
It wasn't a pleasant smile. It was the kind of smile a storm might wear if it knew it was about to tear the world apart.
He was thinking of her.
Elowen.
Her eyes, dark and soft, filled with defiance and innocence all at once. The way she'd smiled when she stepped out into his cursed world. The way she had kissed him, trembling and real. It stirred something in him he did not have a name for — something that didn't belong to Lucifer.
Something that belonged to the boy.
To Morris.
But Lucifer held dominion now. And he would not allow a girl — even her — to unravel what remained of his control.
The cup clinked softly as he placed it back on the table beside him.
He rose.
Every court official lowered their eyes and bowed deeply. Their chairs groaned as they leaned forward in reverent fear. The very air shifted when he stood — reality itself bending to his will.
"Enough patience," he said. His voice was a melody of ice and steel, echoing through the great chamber like divine judgment. "Salvation has come. The age of waiting ends now."
Heads lifted in fearful confusion.
"I have allowed the humans their centuries of false peace. I watched them thrive atop the ashes of my name. But now—" He stepped forward, robes trailing like living shadows behind him, "—the gods will remember who was first."
He stopped before the high fire brazier in the center of the room. The flames turned from gold to black as he neared.
"It is time," he said softly, "to retrieve what is mine. To reclaim the hearts that were stolen."
The court remained silent.
Then one brave official — a lean figure with skin carved from living stone — rose slowly.
"My Lord," the official said, trembling. "You... speak of the Four Hearts?"
Lucifer turned to him.
"The first," he said, "is within reach."
Whispers broke out at once, low and terrified.
Ivan stepped forward and unfurled a scroll from his sleeve, placing it upon the altar-shaped table before the throne. The parchment shimmered with silver ink that danced and shifted like smoke.
He read aloud:
"The Heart of Power.The first to be buried.Hidden within the Mountains of Howling Smoke,Beyond the cursed veil.Guarded by the beasts that remember the making of worlds."
The room fell still.
Ivan paused and looked to Lucifer for permission to continue. A slight nod was given.
"Without this Heart," Ivan continued, "our Lord cannot wield the magic to bend the great rivers of time, or summon the armies that wait in the Frozen Gate. It is the core of destruction, the fountain of war."
As Ivan rolled the scroll closed, another official — older, eyes sunken with age and dread — slowly stood.
"My Lord…" he bowed so deeply his forehead grazed the stone floor. "That mountain is... cursed. Even for us. During the war, a thousand years ago, eight hundred vampire warriors died without crossing its threshold. Their bodies burned before the gates. The magic there is… ancient. It does not recognize kings. Or devils."
A murmur of agreement ran through the court.
Lucifer smiled — slow, patient, cruel.
"I know," he said simply.
He turned back toward the window, hands folded behind his back.
"That is why I will not go."
Another wave of murmurs.
"Instead," Lucifer continued, "I will find those who can."
He turned back to the room.
"Tomorrow morning," he declared, "you will present to me five beings capable of taking on human form. Five perfect masks. They will enter the mortal world. There, they will identify the right pawns — humans strong enough, foolish enough, or cursed enough to enter that mountain and survive it."
Another silence followed.
Then a newer official — one who had never spoken directly to the throne — found his voice.
"But, my Lord…" he dared to ask, "the curse that binds your hearts… it was sealed by the Moon Goddess herself. It cannot be lifted without the Chosen."
Lucifer's eyes flicked to him like a blade.
"Do you think I am unaware?"
The room went ice-cold.
Lucifer's voice dropped, smooth and poisonous. "What do you suppose I've been waiting for all these centuries?"
No one answered.
Lucifer approached the center of the dais again, descending two steps with measured grace.
"The Chosen has come," he said. "She walks among us."
A ripple of awe and fear rushed through the officials.
Ivan's eyes flicked toward the throne, but his expression remained unreadable.
Lucifer continued, voice like dark silk.
"You do not know her. You do not need to. And if any of you attempt to find her, touch her, or betray my plans to your own ends..."
He turned to face them.
A faint red glow pulsed in the room.
"You will find your heart no longer belongs to you."
All officials instantly dropped to their knees, hands to their chests.
They knew the threat wasn't metaphorical. He had marked each of them — bound their hearts to his own soul using infernal magic. Any betrayal would tear them apart from within.
Lucifer exhaled softly, his moment of rage passing.
He stepped back toward the throne.
He was quiet for a long time.
Then, so quietly some almost missed it, he whispered:
"She cannot know yet. Not what she is. Not what she means. Not who I was."
His mind spun. How could he explain to Elowen that he once sat in a golden cradle in the very kingdom now ruled by those who sought his death? That Queen Dowgar was once a maidservant who wormed her way into his father's bedchamber, poisoning his mother slowly over years? That the king had sold his soul — and his son — to preserve a stolen crown?
Only Ivan knew that truth. And even Ivan feared it.
The Devil — the first son — the rightful heir — had died screaming at the hands of a father who feared his power.
And in that boy's death, Lucifer was born again.