The heart of Kur'thaal was nothing like the rest of the Abyss.
Where most of the land was jagged, broken, and scorched by an eternal fire, Lilith's domain was different. It pulsed with something older than time itself, something that had existed long before the war had carved its way into the bones of angels and demons alike. Here, the very ground seemed to breathe with life—a far cry from the desolate and fractured terrain that marked the rest of the Abyss.
The ground, thick with the weight of history and the blood of countless battles, did not crack underfoot as it did in the outer reaches of Kur'thaal. Instead, it seemed to hum, to throb with an ancient, primal energy. The air here was thick with the scent of earth, of wet roots that burrowed deep beneath the surface, as though the land itself were a living organism, responding to the rhythm of the pulse beneath it. It was as if the very essence of the Abyss had found a strange harmony here, one that neither war nor time could ever break.
The obsidian walls of the sanctuary pulsed like a living heart, woven from tangled roots and blackened stone. The stone was slick with moisture, veins of crimson running through it like blood flowing through ancient veins. The walls themselves seemed to breathe with a life of their own—an exhalation that carried with it a sense of waiting. Shadows clung to every corner, as though even light was reluctant to enter this place. Strange flora bloomed here in defiance of the Abyss's harshness—twisting vines laced with blood-red veins, petals that shimmered like dying embers, glowing faintly in the dim, unnatural light that seemed to seep from every crack and crevice of the walls. The plants seemed to lean toward Lilith as though drawn by an unseen force, their faint glow offering the only illumination in the otherwise murky sanctum.
At the center of it all sat Lilith.
Not on a throne of carved stone, nor atop the bones of the fallen. No, she sat among the roots themselves, where the very foundation of Kur'thaal wound itself around her body like an extension of her will, an unspoken connection between herself and the very fabric of the world. The roots seemed to whisper in response to her presence, shifting and growing ever so slightly, as if acknowledging her dominion over them. They curled around her, almost protective in their nature, creating a throne formed not by the hands of builders, but by the earth itself.
In her lap, a small creature curled—a draconic pup, no larger than a demon's arm, its scales shifting between onyx and deep violet. Its eyes, though still wide and innocent, glowed faintly, matching the eerie light of the sanctuary. The pup purred faintly, a sound that was more akin to the distant echoes of a storm than a true comfort. Its tiny body shifted with each breath, the air around it charged with an electric hum as if it were a small storm cloud, waiting to burst.
Lilith stroked it absentmindedly, her long fingers moving with a graceful, hypnotic rhythm. Her expression remained unreadable, her golden eyes distant, as though she were lost in thoughts far beyond the world around her. She was waiting. But not passively. No, Lilith was always waiting—her patience, a force that could stretch across centuries, was as much a weapon as any blade.
She did not have to wait long.
Footsteps echoed through the vast chamber, each step resonating with a deep, reverberating sound that seemed to vibrate through the walls of the sanctuary. The ground itself seemed to respond to the sound, the roots along the walls shifting, whispering, as if they, too, sensed the arrival. There was a subtle crackle in the air, a faint tinge of suppressed power, as though the very energy around them was held at the edge of something—something poised to break free.
Then, two figures stepped into the dim light of the sanctuary.
Nethros—tall, broad-shouldered, his infernal wings barely folding in the narrow entrance, his molten eyes burning with frustration. His presence was as commanding as the storm clouds gathering on a horizon. His very aura crackled with power, and yet, there was something restrained about him. He had the air of a being who had been forced to hold back, to suppress the full extent of his strength for far too long.
And beside him, Vael.
Vael was different. His presence was less a force of nature and more a quiet storm—a presence that felt more like a shadow than a full force of destruction. His form was more composed, more calculated, as though every move he made was deliberate, every glance carefully measured. He did not look as though he belonged to the chaos of Kur'thaal, but rather, as if he had been forged by it, a creature born from the shadows and the flickering remnants of a comet's last breath. His eyes, the color of dying embers, flickered, betraying nothing of his emotions, nothing of the storm that brewed within him.
Lilith did not look up.
Not immediately.
Instead, she continued to stroke the small beast in her arms, humming softly—a sound that did not belong in this world, something lost to the passage of time. It was a lullaby of sorts, ancient and haunting, carrying with it the weight of forgotten stories and long-lost promises. The melody seemed to stir the very air around her, causing the roots beneath her to twitch, the plants in the sanctuary to lean closer.
Nethros exhaled sharply, his wings twitching with frustration. "Mother."
Lilith smiled faintly, her lips curving into the smallest of smiles, a smile that did not reach her eyes. "My children."
Her voice was gentle, almost too soft, like silk wrapped around a blade. It was a voice that could soothe and wound in equal measure. A voice that demanded attention, not with force, but with its subtlety.
Neither of them spoke at first. The air between them was thick with the weight of unspoken words, the silence stretching long and heavy.
Lilith's golden eyes flickered upward, meeting Nethros's first. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, but not unkind. She studied him, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if considering his every word before it was spoken.
"Is it urgent, then?" she mused, her tone cool, almost detached. "That you would disturb my work?"
Nethros clenched his jaw, the tension in his posture was obvious. "You know why we're here."
Lilith's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Do I?"
Nethros's fingers twitched at his side, his barely-contained frustration rolling off of him in waves. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak again, Lilith silenced him with a single glance—a glance that carried with it the weight of centuries of rule. She had seen it all before. She knew what he would say before he did.
"Kur'thaal is stirring. The demons grow restless. We need action."
Lilith finally set the draconic pup aside, letting it slink into the shadows, disappearing as silently as it had appeared.
Then, she stood.
Her movement was slow, deliberate—effortless, as though she were one with the very land beneath her. The air itself seemed to still as she rose, the weight of her presence so immense that it left a tangible silence in its wake. She did not need wings, for the very fabric of Kur'thaal bent to her will. She was its heart, its pulse. Where she walked, the earth responded, shifting and bowing to her command.
She approached them with measured steps, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like a silken cascade. Her bare feet made no sound as they pressed against the stone, each movement a whisper of power.
"You speak as if you are already at war, my son," her voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it now, an undertone of something ancient, something dangerous. "And yet, Asphodel does not see us as warriors. Only as pests to be burned."
Nethros's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with barely-contained fury. "Then we burn them first."
Lilith smiled. It was a slow, deliberate smile—one that held no warmth, only the faintest trace of amusement.
And something in the room shuddered.
Vael watched her carefully, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Unlike Nethros, he did not bristle at her words. He did not demand or argue. He simply observed.
Because Lilith never wasted breath on meaningless conversation. She was leading them. Guiding them. Even in silence.
Lilith turned her gaze toward Vael now, and though her expression was unreadable, her golden eyes saw everything. It was as though she could see deep into the core of him, unraveling every thought, every feeling. She knew him as few ever would.
"Vael."
Vael inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her. "Mother."
A flicker of something unreadable passed through her gaze. Not warmth, not distance. Something else—something that might have been affection, but far deeper, far older.
She reached for him then—not touching him, but close enough that the tips of her fingers brushed against the air around his runes.
His skin tingled where she hovered, as if his very essence were being drawn toward her.
"Strange," she murmured, her voice soft, as though speaking to herself.
Vael held still, his breath barely a whisper in the stillness.
Lilith's gaze flickered, the slightest hint of recognition flashing across her face.
"You've been watching the sky again."
The words were barely a whisper, but they cut through the air with startling clarity.
Vael's shoulders tensed involuntarily. "I—"
"You feel it, don't you?" she continued, her voice a quiet thread in the tense air. "The shift."
Vael did not answer.
Because he did feel it.
That pull.
That unnatural tether—something reaching for him beyond the Abyss.
Lilith did not smile this time. Instead, she stepped away, folding her arms behind her back. Her posture became one of quiet contemplation, as though she were considering something far beyond their conversation.
"There is no need to rush," she murmured, her voice a smooth, quiet lullaby. "Darkness does not need to chase the sun to know it will always set."
Nethros's patience finally snapped.
"With all due respect, Mother," he said, his voice low but tinged with impatience, "we cannot wait forever."
Lilith tilted her head slightly, as if considering something far beyond him.
Then, softly—almost too softly to hear:
"What makes you think we are the ones waiting?"
The air cracked.
Not physically.
Not magically.
But the weight of her words sent something rippling through the room, through them, through Kur'thaal itself.
For the first time, Nethros faltered.
For the first time, Vael's runes burned—not in battle, not in anger, but in understanding.
Lilith's gaze sharpened.
She knew.
She had always known.
And now?
So did he.
The Abyss did not wait.
Kur'thaal did not cower.
It was calling.
Not to war.
To something greater.
Lilith smiled.
She turned toward the darkness, lifting a single hand.
From the shadows, something moved.
A creature.
No—a message.
A pulse of energy, invisible to the untrained eye, spread through the veins of Kur'thaal, whispering to the restless, to the powerful, to those who had been waiting without realizing it.
She was not summoning an army.
She was awakening one.
Lilith's voice was barely above a whisper.
But it carried through the entire Abyss.
"The time will come soon. But for now... we let them believe they still hold control."
She turned to Nethros, to Vael, to the children she had built from defiance and ruin.
And for the first time, her voice hardened.
"Prepare."
"Everything is falling into place."