Hell — The Citadel of Ash
Far below, through layers of broken realms and rivers of molten dusk, Uriel stirred.
She was mid-ritual—kneeling within the Sanctum of Cinders, her wings folded in penance, her hands pressed to the obsidian floor. The scent of burnt myrrh hung thick around her, smoke coiling upward like lost prayers. Her voice wove through the ancient hymn—a melody meant to still the restless dead.
And then—
she felt it.
A vibration that shuddered through the marrow of creation itself.
Not mere tremor, not mere quake—something alive, something vast, pulsing through the bones of every realm like the echo of a divine heartbeat.
The flames in the braziers dimmed.
The ground whispered.
The air itself trembled.
Uriel's song faltered. Her eyes snapped open, irises blazing faint gold. Feathers rippled down her back, each one reacting to the unseen current now coursing through Hell's air.
