Hell had quieted, but only on the surface.
Underneath the throne room, beneath obsidian floors and rivers of flame, the Heart pulsed louder than ever—calling to Lina like a forgotten song, half memory, half prophecy.
The fire was changing. And so was she.
At first, it was in the way the flames no longer danced for Andra unless she willed it. Then it was the whispers—voices in the fire, ancient and feminine, speaking in a language Lina didn't recognize, but somehow understood.
It was the First Flame, the source of all power in the underworld. Not just a chamber or a symbol—but a sentience. A living, breathing force of creation and destruction.
And it was choosing her.
One night, drawn by instinct more than thought, Lina descended alone. Past forbidden doors, through collapsing tunnels, down into the hollowed roots of Hell.
At the center, she found it.
The true Heart.
A molten core suspended in air, pulsing with light that wasn't just heat—it was memory. She saw visions flash through it: wars before time, queens of flame long erased, betrayals buried beneath centuries of silence.
And then… herself.
She was not the first human the flame had touched.
But she was the first to survive it.
"Why me?" she whispered into the heat.
And the flame answered—not in words, but in feeling. You were never meant to be taken. You were meant to awaken.
Behind her, Andra appeared.
He didn't speak, just watched as the flame coiled around her like it knew her. For a demon born of wrath and ruin, he looked almost… reverent.
"You feel it too," she said softly.
"I do."
Lina turned, her skin glowing gold in the Heart's light. "This place… it doesn't just obey me. It remembers me. It chose me long before you ever saw me."
Andra stepped forward, his voice barely above a breath. "I didn't bring you here."
She tilted her head. "What?"
He met her gaze, and for once, there was no fire in his eyes—only truth.
"I thought I stole you," he said. "But now… I wonder if I was only playing a part. If something greater used me to bring you home."
Silence.
Then Lina smiled—not cruelly, not bitterly, but with something deeper.
"Maybe we were both chosen," she said.
And the Heart burned brighter in agreement.
From that day forward, Lina's power deepened. She no longer borrowed the flame—she commanded it. Not as a demon. Not as a queen made by force.
But as a sovereign of fire reborn.
Hell wasn't ready for her.
But it would bend.
Or it would break.