The storm had not yet reached the southern towers, but the air already trembled with its coming.
Aurora stood at the edge of the parapet, eyes on the horizon where the lightning danced like veins of molten gold beneath the bruised clouds.
The Gate's pulse was louder tonight, echoing through the foundations of Hell itself — a heartbeat that belonged to no living thing.
She had made her choice.
The Heir slept now, exhausted by revelations and fear she dared not yet name. Aurora had watched over her until the girl's breathing steadied, until her violet glow dimmed beneath the weight of uneasy dreams.
Only then did she step away from the quiet chambers, leaving behind the fragile peace she had sown.
There was still one truth left to face — one power she could not ignore.
Asmodeus.
The King of Kings.
The architect of damnation, and perhaps, the last god left in the third layer of Hell.
