An erratic knock echoed against Lucien's bedroom door.
Not the crisp, formal cadence of a servant. Nor the alert rhythm of a guard.
This knock was hesitant. Human. Fragile in a way that made every sound feel like it was holding its breath.
Lucien stirred where he sat cross-legged on his bed, shadows still clinging to his thoughts. The weight of recent events, his awakening, the summoning, and the peerage bond lingered like fog. Kuroka lay upside down on the chaise with her legs hooked over the top, tail lazily twitching through the silence. Yamato sat polishing her kanabō with practiced ease, while Ghislaine leaned against the window, eyes narrowed at the shifting violet hues of the Underworld sky.
The knock came again, quieter this time. Almost like the one knocking wasn't sure they had the right to.
Kuroka's ears twitched. "Nya~? That's not a maid or a soldier. Who knocks like they're asking permission to breathe?"
Lucien stood and crossed the room. He wasn't sure why his heart felt heavier with every step.
He opened the door.
And froze.
Standing there, dressed not in the cold armor of the Lucifer Queen but a flowing silver-gray dress that shimmered like starlight, was Grayfia Lucifuge. Her hair was usually immaculate, hung a little loose, as if she'd run her fingers through it too many times. Her pristine poise was still there… but the eyes told the truth.
She looked tired. Not physically. Emotionally. As if something deep and sacred inside her had been stretched far too thin.
"Lucien…" she breathed, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it. "You haven't left this room in over a day. You didn't come to dinner. You didn't even touch the tray I brought last night."
The room behind him stilled. Even Ghislaine, the feral warrior who faced down monsters without flinching, straightened instinctively, alert, respectful. The Ice Queen was here. And she was showing emotion.
Kuroka slowly peeked over the back of the chaise, her usual lazy smirk gone. Her golden eyes widened faintly at the sight of Grayfia's trembling arms, her unguarded voice.
"…I've seen her crush traitors without blinking," she whispered. "But I've never seen her like this."
She slowly sat up, eyes distant, haunted by a memory.
"When Shirone and I ran… I always wondered if anyone in the high clans knew what it meant to choose love over duty. I thought the answer was no."
She looked at Lucien, then at Grayfia.
"Maybe… I was wrong."
Yamato's hand paused over her weapon, kanabō halfway through a polished motion. She blinked, as if trying to reconcile the woman in front of her with the legend she knew.
"She looks like she could freeze heaven itself… but she's… worried?" she murmured, voice almost reverent. "Is this… what a mother's love is supposed to look like?"
Lucien swallowed, guilt rising in his throat. "Sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to scare you. I just… needed time to think. Everything happened so fast."
Grayfia didn't wait for the rest of them. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, firm and grounding. There was no etiquette here, no noble distance, just a mother pulling her son back from whatever lonely edge he had walked to.
"I'm not angry," she whispered, holding him tight. "Just don't do that again, Lucien. If you're hurting, if it seems like it's too much. Then come to me, you don't have to carry anything alone, my son."
His arms slowly came up around her, surprised by the tremble in her frame. Grayfia, the unshakable Queen of Ice, was shaking in his arms.
"I won't," he murmured. "I promise."
When she finally stepped back, the mask of control had begun to return to her face, but her eyes still held the residue of fear.
She looked past him to the figures standing in his room. "Are these your peerage members?"
Yamato bowed immediately. "Ma'am. It's an honor to stand at your son's side."
Ghislaine grinned with pride. "I see where Lucien gets that steel spine of his."
Grayfia blinked once. "Compliments from warriors carry weight. I accept."
Then came the final voice, silken and smug.
Kuroka stretched, now fully seated, tail flicking like a banner of mischief. "And I'm the one with seniority~ Don't worry, Lady Grayfia. I'll make sure your little prince stays warm at night."
Lucien choked on air.
Grayfia's left eye twitched. A glacier might have cracked somewhere in the distance.
But instead of unleashing the full fury of Lucifuge frost, she simply gave her son a long, flat look.
"Breakfast. Now."
And then, with terrifying grace, she turned and walked down the hall, trusting he would follow.
He did.
And so did the weight of her worry.
Gremory Estate – Dining Hall, 15 Minutes Later
As Lucien entered the hallway in Grayfia's wake, the signs of his awakening, his system, and his evil pieces stirred beneath the surface. His awakening became more apparent. His face, once marked by youth, now carried the weight of refinement and maturity. Now framed by the same long crimson hair that flowed like a flame woven into legacy. His sharp pale blue eyes shone with clarity, the usual warmth replaced by the weight of responsibility and power. He had the look of someone who had just unlocked his destiny.
His attire, though noble, was different from the usual Gremory family garments. Instead of the formal uniform, he wore dark, tailored attire more fitting for a ruler-in-training. A long, black coat embroidered with gold, matching his noble rank, highlighted his newfound stature. He looked every part the future heir of House Lucifuge, his appearance sharp, regal, and unyielding. The red tones of his hair and eyes made him look as though he had been sculpted from fire and ice, embodying the bloodlines of both Gremory and Lucifuge.
His presence felt heavier now, like a burden he had chosen to carry, a king's weight on his shoulders.
The grand table was laid out with care, a morning feast worthy of a noble household: baskets of fresh bread still warm from the oven, spiced meats sizzling gently on enchanted platters, exotic fruits from the Agreas markets sliced into jeweled perfection, and delicate tea brewed from Yggdrasil leaves whose steam shimmered with faint green motes of life.
Lucien and his peerage sat at one end of the table. Kuroka half-curled in her seat with her tail draped over one thigh, Yamato sitting with military posture but eyes flicking between the silverware like she wasn't sure which utensil was for which dish, and Ghislaine already devouring meat with wild, unapologetic grace.
Across from Lucien, Grayfia sat composed as ever, carefully slicing a piece of honey-glazed ham onto his plate like he was still ten and she refused to let propriety override motherhood.
She set down the knife, folded her hands, and looked across the table with the same icy clarity she used to end negotiations.
"Now that you've decided to return to the land of the living," she said dryly, "I have questions."
Lucien straightened instinctively. "About?"
"You," she replied coolly, "and your new peerage."
Her gaze flicked first to Ghislaine, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Lucien smiled as he gave an introduction of his peerage members with pride.
"Ghislaine Dedoldia, my knight. Mercenary. Exiled warrior. Famed for defecting from three noble houses and breaking a devil duke's jaw during a peace talk."
Ghislaine swallowed a bite and grinned widely. "All true. I hit harder when nobles talk too much."
Grayfia's lips twitched. Barely. "…Noted."
Then to Yamato, whose back stiffened like a soldier before a review.
"Yamato, my rook. Last survivor of a shattered realm. Wields a special ability that allows her to turn into a divine wolf whose power is on par with Fenrir from the Norse pantheon. She once stood alone against a hydra of the Styx. Records say her willpower burns brighter than her giant kanabō."
Yamato inclined her head. "I serve with purpose, Lady Grayfia. Lucien gave me one."
Grayfia said nothing for a long moment, but her eyes held a flicker of something, approval, or perhaps recognition.
And finally, he pointed to Kuroka.
"You already know her, Mom, and she is my bishop.
Kuroka shrugged, not even pretending to be surprised. "And yet you still let me in."
"I did," Grayfia replied. "But only because my son believes in second chances. If you betray my son, I promise I won't spare you."
"I won't," Kuroka said quickly, ears lowering. "Not again."
A moment of stillness passed between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Grayfia's expression didn't change, but her next words were softer.
"Good."
Then, as she poured herself tea, she added offhandedly, "Your fiancée stopped by last night."
Lucien nearly knocked over his cup. "…She what?"
Grayfia's tone turned sharp as a needle dipped in frost.
"Yes. She introduced herself while you were locked in your room, ignoring your meals and responsibilities." She sipped her tea with regal precision. "Flawless etiquette. Impeccable breeding. Terrifying loyalty. And she called me Mother-in-law with a straight face."
Lucien blinked slowly. "She… what?"
"She asked if she could start preparing your formal quarters," Grayfia continued, as if reading a shopping list. "Mentioned wanting to reorganize your closet. Also said she'd skin a dragon alive if it interrupted your sleep again. Polite. Very clear."
Even Ghislaine paused, chewing. "That one sounds like a keeper."
"Possessive," Yamato muttered.
"Yandere," Kuroka whispered with admiration. "Nya~ I like her already."
Grayfia ignored the commentary, though her expression twitched once at the corner. Her eyes turned back to Lucien, measured, assessing.
"You'll speak with her today."
Lucien nodded quickly. "Right. Of course."
Across from them, Grayroad, looking every inch the indigo-haired, sleep-deprived teenager he pretended not to be, grunted between bites of mochi. "You got louder."
Lucien blinked. "Louder?"
"In the shadows," Grayroad muttered. "Your Lucifuge magic. It's humming like a second heartbeat now. It was faint when we sparred last month. Now it pulses. Like it wants to grow teeth."
Grayfia set her teacup down gently. "He's correct."
Her voice softened, but there was no loss of weight in her words.
"Your shadow sigils have matured. They're reacting even when you're unaware. Your control is instinctual but incomplete. You move, and they answer."
She leaned closer, studying him like a scholar examining an unstable enchantment.
"Your growth is unnatural. Even among the Lucifuge."
Lucien shifted uneasily. "That… doesn't sound reassuring."
Grayfia's gaze warmed just enough.
"It's not a warning, Lucien. It's a sign. You are more than Sirzechs' heir. The darkness in you isn't a flaw; it's a legacy. One I intend to make sure you master… not get consumed by."
Ghislaine leaned back in her seat, tearing through a skewer of meat. "So he's got flame from his father, and from his mother, he got shadow and ice?"
Grayroad smirked. "Yeah. And if he survives puberty, he'll be terrifying."
Lucien groaned. "Great. Thanks for the confidence."
Grayfia, for once, didn't scold. She simply cut another slice of ham and placed it on his plate.
"You'll need your strength."
Gremory Private Training Grounds
The sun in the Underworld cast a golden-violet sheen over the Gremory estate's private training grounds, its radiance dulled by the eternal twilight sky. The courtyard ringed with obsidian pillars and arcane wards was alive with energy.
At its heart stood Lucien, crimson hair matted with sweat, shirt torn at the collar, his breath steady but heavy. Power radiated from him in controlled pulses. The atmosphere pulsed with heat and a deeper, ancient force, unseen. Not fire-born, but shadow-bound.
Circling him were his new peerage: three warriors from different worlds, bound now by blood, purpose, and instinct.
Ghislaine prowled like a war hound off leash, arms coiled, eyes locked on Lucien. Her savage grin widened every time he deflected one of her bone-crushing punches or twisted out of a grapple with a burst of shadow.
"You're reading me better," she said with a fang-baring smirk. "I'll stop going easy then."
Beside her, standing tall as a myth reborn, Yamato danced through the battlefield with graceful brutality. Her kanabō sang through the air, its force cracking against wards. Each movement was a storm, her white hair flowing like a battle banner, divine energy laced with draconic fire trailing behind her strikes.
From a sun-warmed boulder nearby, Kuroka lounged like a queen on her throne, golden eyes tracking every exchange with lazy amusement.
"Nya~ I like this little family," she purred, tail flicking. "But I still get top cuddling rights, right, Master?"
Lucien laughed mid-dodge. "You're all lethal and slightly unhinged. I must have impeccable taste."
Kuroka's grin sharpened. "Took you long enough to figure that out."
A gust of wind scattered the sweat off his brow as Lucien twisted midair, avoiding both Yamato's downswing and Ghislaine's sweeping kick. He dropped into a low stance as the shadows exploded outward.
Black sigils ignited beneath him in a spiral of shifting ink, ancient Lucifuge glyphs glowing with umbral light. Tendrils surged from the dark, ensnaring Ghislaine's arms and wrapping around Yamato's leg just long enough to halt their advance.
Then vanished.
At the edge of the arena, Grayfia stood beside Grayroad, arms folded. She had not spoken for several minutes until now.
"His control…" she murmured, voice quiet but sharp. "He's already anchoring the third circle. Without formal seals."
Grayroad gave a low whistle, his slouch straightening ever so slightly. "And not collapsing the construct. That's rare. At this rate, he'll breach the Veil Arcana by the next lunar cycle."
He glanced at her sideways. "When Sirzechs hears this, he's going to panic and then gloat to the other Three Great Satan's."
Grayfia didn't reply right away. Her expression remained composed, but her eyes shimmered, not just with pride but with calculation and something close to awe.
"He's condensing the core too early," she finally said. "But he's adapting. It's… alive in him. The Lucifuge legacy didn't awaken it, recognized him."
Across the grounds, Lucien dropped to one knee, shadows peeling away like smoke. His breath came in slow, measured breaths. Yet his stance held firm, unshaken.
Then he spoke, quiet but firm:
"System."
"Initiate task integration. I want to accelerate the Lucifuge core."
[Acknowledged, my King. Syncing shadow reserves with current mana flow… Lucifuge inheritance ratio: 47% and rising. Initiating shadow harmonization.]
Lucien rose, and the sparring resumed.
Ghislaine charged in with a roar. Yamato followed with an overhead strike that turned the air to mist. Kuroka joined with a flurry of spells, laughing as she danced around the chaos.
Off to the side, Grayroad crossed his arms. "He's making them better just by standing in the ring. That's Devil King-tier charisma."
Grayfia watched in silence for a long moment. Then, quietly, almost reverently:
"He's becoming what I feared… and what I hoped."
The air around the Gremory estate pulsed not just with magic, but with something ancient. Flame. Steel. Fang… and shadow. And at its center stood the child of Crimson and Midnight, a prince not only of name but of power.
Father and Heir
After training ended and his peerage dispersed to rest or eat, Lucien paused just outside the estate's inner hall to compose himself. His clothes were fresh, dark velvet trimmed in silver, his crimson hair loosely tied back, and a subtle aura of power clung to him like a second skin. He didn't hide it.
Let them feel it.
He walked through familiar corridors lined with ancestral portraits, each gaze a silent reminder of legacy and expectation. Enchanted sconces burned with cold flame, flickering in shades of violet and blue. Servants paused mid-step as he passed, no longer with idle curiosity, but a calculating kind of deference.
At the grand double doors of his father's study, he stopped.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
He knocked once.
"Enter," came the voice, measured, calm, unmistakable.
Lucien pushed open the doors.
The study was vast and steeped in quiet majesty. Shelves of moon wood stretched floor to ceiling, cradling tomes of history and forbidden knowledge. Etched with the memory of lost stars, the domed window surveyed the Underworld's distant horizons where constellations once burned; now only silence remained. Arcane sigils glowed faintly at the corners, pulsing in time with some unseen rhythm.
At the room's heart sat Sirzechs Lucifer, no armor, no ceremonial robes, just an obsidian tunic with sleeves rolled up, his crimson hair tousled, and eyes rimmed with fatigue. He sifted through parchments layered in magical glyphs, the room humming softly with sealed power.
Behind him, Grayfia poured tea into crystal cups. Her expression remained composed, but her silver gaze flicked toward Lucien with subtle intensity.
Sirzechs looked up and smiled, warm but tired. "Lucien, my boy, to what do I owe the visit? Please don't tell me you blew up another training dummy."
Lucien chuckled, stepping inside. "Not this time."
Sirzechs gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit. Drink."
Lucien obeyed. The tea was a rare Underworld blend of aged bark, Honey root, and a hint of spiced moss. Gave off an Earthy, smoky fragrance. After a few sips, Lucien leaned forward and folded his arms across the table.
"I want to know about my territory."
That pulled both his parents from silence, their gazes locked onto him with sudden intensity.
Sirzechs arched an eyebrow. Grayfia's hands stilled on the teapot.
"Oh?" Sirzechs leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "You're not even officially declared a Duke yet."
"Not officially," Lucien said, voice level, "but the moment I activated the Evil Pieces and brought in a peerage with stories, powers, and presence that will make nobles whisper. Rumors have already started. I'd rather steer the narrative. Let them see a young Lord forging his own House, not a reckless heir hiding in his family's shadow."
A slow smile curved Sirzechs' lips. He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he waved a hand over the obsidian inlay of the desk, summoning a glowing sigil. A map of the Underworld burst to life above the table, shimmering with layered enchantments. Toward the eastern edge of the known territories, a mountainous region pulsed in soft crimson light.
"That is Ebon Wild," Sirzechs said. "A pocket realm. It was fractured during the last dimensional collapse and only partially restored. Untamed. Dangerous. But rich in mana veins and forgotten vaults. It borders the Waste lands; raw land filled with ancient echoes and chaos."
Lucien studied the region with narrowed eyes. "That's no noble estate. That's a war frontier."
Sirzechs nodded. "Exactly. You'll build from nothing a fortress, a banner, a city if you have the vision. You'll defend it. Rule it. Name it. The Council barely approved the claim. Most hoped it would keep you too busy to stir the political waters."
Lucien smirked. "They've clearly never played chess against Rias or Sona."
"Or cards against Grayfia," Sirzechs added with a grin.
Grayfia stepped forward, her voice smooth and cool. "Construction is already underway. Your teleportation gate will link directly to this estate and Kuoh. Your keep will be completed within the month."
Lucien leaned back with a faint grin. "So… it's a fixer upper."
"Let's call it a blank canvas," Sirzechs offered.
Then Grayfia's voice turned sharp. "Once you're settled, contact both of your betrotheds."
Sirzechs coughed into his hand, clearly suppressing a laugh.
Lucien blinked. "Right… I'll reach out. To both of them. And invite them to move in after I'm settled."
Grayfia arched a brow, her tone edged. "You better."
Sirzechs chuckled, but his voice held a touch of sincerity. "Dracarys may need more… finesse. She won't bow to titles. But if you earn her loyalty, she'll scorch your enemies before they know they've been judged."
Lucien thought briefly of the golden-eyed hybrid with fire in her blood and chaos in her smirk. "She'll be interesting."
He finished his tea and rose to his feet.
"I'll start packing."
As he turned to leave, Grayfia's voice stopped him. Quiet. Measured. But undeniably maternal.
"Lucien."
He paused.
She stepped closer, just enough that her words were for him alone.
"The noble houses are watching. You have raw power and a bloodline that threatens tradition. The more you shine, the darker your shadows will grow."
Lucien met her gaze. "So… slow down?"
"No," she said. "Just don't trip over your ambition. You carry Lucifer's flame… and Lucifuge's shadow. You don't get to ignore either."
Lucien hesitated, then smiled softly.
"I won't do anything too crazy."
Grayfia's expression didn't change, but her eyes glinted. "That's what your father used to say. Right before we blew up a castle."
Sirzechs coughed. "That was one time."
Lucien turned to the doors, adding over his shoulder with a wry grin, "Thanks, Mom. Dad. I'll try not to outshine you… just yet."
Sirzechs laughed, leaning back. "Try your best, son."
Grayfia's smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but in her silence was approval, pride, and warning.
They weren't blind.
Just patient.
And Lucien, heir of flame and shadow, was finally stepping into the storm he was born to command.