"Where is he going?"
Lucifer's voice was low as he stepped out from the ruins of the shattered base. Smoke curled around his boots, his wings folding against his back. The cold dawn wind brushed his white hair, carrying the scent of blood and fire across the silent city.
Then—
[Whatever it is he's planning, I advise you not to pursue. Gather your people. Leave this world.]
The voice slid into his mind like a whisper down his spine. Calm. Deep. Familiar.
Lucifer frowned, eyes narrowing. "What… was that just now?" he muttered, scanning the empty street around him. The voice felt like it came from everywhere and nowhere. But he recognised it. The timbre. The tone. It was the same voice that guided him moments ago through his awakening.
His father's voice.
"How is that… possible?" he whispered, his fingers flexing slightly, claws retracting and extending with quiet clicks.
