The stone doors of the throne room creaked open.
Lucifer stepped through, his cloak dragging faint blood trails across the polished floor. The air inside was warm but still. Heavy, like it remembered every decision ever made here. He didn't pause. His boots echoed as he walked down the center aisle, toward the throne—but he didn't sit.
He turned around and faced them.
Valena stood by the left column, arms folded, eyes sharp but uncertain. Zane leaned against a pillar near the back, one boot kicked up, quiet as always. Dracula was closer to the front, regal as ever, cloak over one shoulder. They had gathered quickly, just as he asked. No one else spoke.
Lucifer looked tired—but more than that, he looked different.
Older. Sharper. Like something inside him had stopped pretending.
He looked at Valena first.
"Status," he said.
