Atlas stared at the girl. The word still echoed in the air between them, a tremor that would not die.
"…von… Roxweld?" he muttered, the syllables tasting like ash and disbelief.
Wind dragged the scent of scorched earth and iron across his tongue. His heartbeat stuttered.
'What the fuck?'
His thoughts were jagged, raw. 'What the fuck was happening?'
Aurora's face mirrored his confusion—eyes wide, mouth half-open, her features tightening with the same horror creeping through his veins.
She took a step forward, boots crunching through gravel and ash, and reached for the child's shoulder.
"Eliana?" she said carefully, voice shaking. "Say that again. Your name."
The girl blinked, calm—too calm—golden eyes reflecting the dying light.
Aurora's grip tightened. "You said you were the child of Dagon once, didn't you? In the first descent, when I came to Hell alone.
