Marked by the Devil’s Touch.

The Ninth Ring had never been silent.

But on the day of the Gathering, silence fell like a curse.

Above the charred city of Eldreth, where ash forever lingered in the skies, the dark towers of the Old Houses stood tall and arrogant, casting long shadows over the obsidian streets. A thousand flames burned in ceremonial braziers—each one signaling a noble house in attendance.

From the East came the Bone Witches, their skeletal veils rustling like dry leaves.

From the West, the Iron Marquis arrived on a beast made of armor and screams.

The House of Cinders descended like smoke, their lords half-shadow, half-flame.

And from the heart of all things dark, Asmeryel came last—dripping elegance and venom in equal measure.

She wore white. The cruelest color.

A mockery of innocence, wrapped around a woman who had drowned nations in blood.

Her silver gaze scanned the Gathering Courtyard with unspoken judgment, and her lips curled when she saw the platform where Lucivar would speak.

"You always loved drama," she murmured to herself.

And then she saw Liana.

Standing beside Lucivar.

Cloaked in red, the Mark of the Infernal Consort glowing black and fresh above her heart.

A mortal.

How delicious.

Asmeryel's smile grew as she stepped forward.

Let the ruin begin.

---

Liana's fingers tightened around Lucivar's hand.

This was nothing like the Hall of Cinders.

There, they had been surrounded by his people—his loyalists. Here, they stood amidst enemies cloaked in tradition and poison-tipped words. The old laws allowed the Gathering, but it did not guarantee survival. Especially not for her.

Lucivar's presence beside her was absolute—his aura pulsed like fire barely contained—but even that couldn't quiet the tremble inside her chest.

"Don't let them see you afraid," he murmured, low and fierce.

She nodded. "I'm not."

A lie. But one she wore like armor.

The crowd parted as Asmeryel approached the dais, her entourage gliding behind her like a funeral procession.

Lucivar's jaw clenched.

"Lucivar," she said sweetly, every syllable dipped in poison. "You look… alive. How disappointing."

He said nothing. But the power rolling off him made the stones beneath their feet crack.

Asmeryel turned her eyes to Liana, appraising her like a merchant inspecting a cracked mirror.

"And this," she said, "is the mortal you've bound yourself to? My, how low you've fallen."

"She is higher than you'll ever be," Lucivar growled.

A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd.

Asmeryel arched one perfect brow. "Oh, darling. Don't be so… impulsive. You always did mistake lust for love."

Before Lucivar could respond, Ravel stepped forward. His voice cut through the air like thunder.

"This is a formal Gathering. Speak your challenge."

Asmeryel's lips twitched. "Gladly."

She turned to the assembly.

"I, Asmeryel of the House of Ash and Light, challenge Lucivar the Forsaken for his claim to dominion. He has violated ancient law by bonding with a mortal, diluting infernal bloodlines, and weakening the balance of the Rings. I demand trial by judgment."

Liana stepped forward. "And I accept."

Gasps erupted.

Lucivar whipped toward her. "Liana—"

But she kept her gaze steady on Asmeryel.

"If this is about me, then I will not hide behind him."

Asmeryel's laugh was music dipped in madness. "You think you can survive the Trial of Truth, girl?"

"I don't think," Liana said. "I know."

Lucivar looked at her, fury and awe warring in his eyes. But he didn't stop her.

He couldn't.

Because somewhere deep in his immortal heart, he trusted her.

---

The Trial was held in the Mirror Hall—a chamber of cruel reflections. Every wall was a truth. Every surface a memory. You couldn't lie inside it. Not to others. Not to yourself.

Only one could emerge unbroken.

If both survived, the realm would judge.

Lucivar had been forbidden to intervene.

Not by magic.

But by tradition.

So he stood outside the doors, fists clenched, power cracking through the floor beneath him.

"Why did you let her go in alone?" Ravel asked softly.

Lucivar's voice was a whisper of storm. "Because she chose it."

Inside, the doors sealed.

And Liana faced her first reflection.

---

It was her, standing in the orphanage hallway, age nine. Crying. Clutching a bloodied rag.

"You let her die," the reflection said.

Liana staggered back.

"No," she whispered. "I tried—"

"You weren't fast enough. You weren't strong enough."

The reflection vanished.

A new one appeared.

Her, standing before Lucivar the night he first touched her. Her lips parted. Her body yearning.

"You're just another pet," the mirror hissed. "He'll tire of you like all the others."

She gritted her teeth. "No."

"He will forget you."

"He already bled for me."

The mirror cracked.

But another rose.

Lucivar this time.

But not the one she loved.

This Lucivar had no mercy. No warmth. He wore his devilhood like a throne.

"You think I love you?" he sneered. "I made you mine because I could. You were convenient. Replaceable."

Liana's throat closed.

But then…

A memory surged.

The night he played the piano.

The way his voice shook when he told her about his mother.

The way his fingers trembled as they touched hers.

"That's not you," she said. "Not really."

The mirror shattered.

And silence fell.

---

Outside, the doors of the Mirror Hall exploded open.

Liana stepped out.

Alive.

Bleeding.

But victorious.

Lucivar rushed to her side, catching her before she fell.

"Liana," he whispered, pulling her into his arms. "You did it."

She looked up at him, eyes glassy but strong. "I saw her."

"Who?"

"Your loneliness."

He went still.

"And I carried it," she said. "Just like I promised."

He kissed her forehead, then her lips, holding her like she was the last light in a world of ash.

Behind them, Asmeryel stood in silence.

Her expression unreadable.

Then, with a cold smile, she turned to the crowd.

"Let it be known," she said, "that I accept the outcome of the Trial."

Whispers surged like waves. Some in outrage. Others in awe.

Lucivar rose to his full height.

"She challenged me," he said to the gathered Houses. "And lost. This is your proof. Not of my strength, but of hers."

He turned to Liana, pulling her hand into his.

"This mortal bore the fire meant to break me. And stood unshaken."

He raised their hands together.

"The realm will remember this day. The day I stopped standing alone."

---

That night, the fires of the Ninth Ring burned higher than they had in centuries.

And in the tower where no light had dared reach for years, Liana stood with Lucivar by a wide window, watching the stars.

"What happens now?" she asked.

Lucivar wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"Now," he said, "they will plot. They will whisper. But they will no longer doubt who you are."

"And who am I?" she asked softly.

He smiled against her neck.

"The girl who walked through hell—and made the Devil believe in something more."

---

When the bells of the Ninth Ring tolled at midnight, it wasn't to announce a death—but a reckoning.

Lucivar had left the Gathering Hall hours ago, but the echo of Asmeryel's laughter still clung to the walls like perfume. Even in defeat, she had power. The kind born from old pacts and older blood.

And Liana knew—this wasn't over.

Not truly.

She sat in the quiet of Lucivar's chambers, the crimson robes he had draped over her shoulders still soaked with Trial blood. Her own. Her scars still hummed beneath her skin, reminders of each truth she'd faced. Each illusion shattered.

A knock pulled her from thought.

She turned as Ravel stepped inside, his usual indifference replaced with something softer. Almost… reverent.

"She asked me to give you this," he said, placing a box carved from blackwood on the table.

Liana's brow furrowed. "She?"

"Asmeryel."

Liana's entire body tensed. "What is it?"

Ravel hesitated. "A warning. And a gift."

The lid clicked open.

Inside lay a single feather.

Dark as pitch, but threaded with silver veins that pulsed faintly.

Lucivar's voice rang behind her. "That belonged to my father."

Liana spun as he entered, his presence like thunder after lightning—sudden, charged, impossible to ignore.

"Your… father?" she echoed.

Lucivar's jaw tensed. "The original ruler of the Ninth Ring. He vanished before I came of age. Some say he was murdered. Others say he surrendered to madness."

"And Asmeryel had this?"

"She's reminding me that legacy never dies," he said darkly. "Not even when buried."

Liana stared at the feather, then looked up at him. "She's planning something."

Lucivar nodded. "She always is."

"She won't challenge you again so soon," Ravel said. "Not publicly. But she'll use her roots. Her spies. Her games."

"She'll use me," Liana whispered.

Lucivar crossed the room and knelt before her, taking both her hands in his. "She won't touch you."

"She already has," Liana murmured. "Not with claws. With doubt. And I don't know if I can keep fighting her mind."

Lucivar looked up, something raw flashing in his eyes. "Then let me give you something she can't break."

She blinked. "What?"

He reached into his coat and drew a small obsidian dagger—curved, ancient, etched with runes she didn't recognize.

"This is a soul-binding blade," he said. "It cuts through illusions. Through fear. If you ever find yourself doubting what's real again—cut the air. And it will show you."

She took it, heart pounding. "You trust me with this?"

"I'd trust you with my realm," he said quietly. "With my life."

Her breath hitched. Not because of the words—but because of the way he said them. Like he meant every damn syllable.

"I don't need a throne," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "That's why you deserve one."

A knock interrupted them again.

This time, it was a servant.

"High Lord," she bowed, "A message from the Seventh Ring. Urgent."

Lucivar's smile faded instantly. He took the scroll, read, and then swore beneath his breath.

"What is it?" Liana asked.

"They're summoning me to the Citadel of Flames. It's a council call. One that cannot be refused."

"And you think it's a trap," Ravel said flatly.

Lucivar nodded. "Asmeryel has influence there. More than I'd like to admit."

Liana stood. "Then I'm coming with you."

Lucivar hesitated.

"I faced the Mirror Hall," she said. "Don't you dare leave me behind for some political masquerade."

He searched her eyes—then smiled faintly. "Fine. But stay close."

---

Later, in the skies above the Seventh Ring

The wind howled as Lucivar's skycraft—an obsidian-winged vessel shaped like a serpent—cut through ash-clouds and moonlight. Liana stood at the prow, watching the glowing spires of the Citadel rise from the molten plains like claws from the underworld.

Lucivar joined her.

"This place was once holy," he murmured. "Now it's just a monument to betrayal."

She turned toward him. "Then why still honor their summons?"

He exhaled. "Because if I don't show up… they'll take that as weakness. And weakness is the one sin the realm never forgives."

When they landed, fire-walkers lined the gates, their eyes glowing like embers. The Council was already seated.

Thirteen thrones of stone and gold. Twelve filled.

One—Lucivar's—empty.

Until now.

He walked in silence, flanked by Liana and Ravel, each step echoing like a vow in the ancient hall.

Councilor Virel, the Lord of Flames, stood first.

"Lucivar of the Ninth," he greeted coldly. "Your presence honors this council."

Lucivar didn't bow. "I doubt you called me here for compliments."

A ripple of laughter.

Asmeryel sat in the shadows, her smile unreadable.

Virel lifted his hand. "We gather not for war. But for warning. There are whispers from the mortal realms. Something stirring. Something... ancient."

Lucivar frowned. "You called me for fairy tales?"

"No," Virel said. "We called you because something is killing demons in the north. Something that even hell fears."

A hush fell.

Liana felt the shift. The unease beneath the bravado.

"We believe it's connected to her," Virel said, pointing at Liana.

The entire chamber turned.

Liana didn't flinch.

She stepped forward.

"If something's coming," she said, voice steady, "then let it come. I walked through the Mirror Hall. I bled for this realm. And I won't run from a shadow."

Lucivar smirked.

And behind him, even Asmeryel's smile flickered.

Something had changed.

A new game had begun.

And Liana?

She wasn't a piece anymore.

She was the flame.

---