Phoenix’s POV

  Why am I here?

  That question followed me the moment the Gates of Hell came into view.

  I should have asked Father to reconsider.

  His order was madness.

  What is even more foolish is that I obeyed.

  Not out of duty.

  Out of curiosity.

  Ten Dark Lords stood behind me.

  Nahaan stood at my right — as always — silent, alert, loyal to a fault.

  She follows me everywhere.

  Sometimes I find it suffocating.

  Six years ago, I pulled her out of death’s grip when outlaws nearly slaughtered her village. She pledged herself to the Dark Army that same night. Since then, she has been my shadow.

  My most trusted blade.

  And today, I did not want her here.

  Because I know this will not end cleanly.

  There will be blood.

  There is always blood.

  Not that I fear it.

  But my mother would have hated it.

  And somehow… even now… that still matters.

  I care for people who left me.

  I protect those who gave me pain.

  Pathetic.

  The Gates of Hell rose before us — towering, carved from black stone that seemed to breathe. Dark energy coiled around it like living smoke.

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  The air itself resisted my presence.

  The gates opened the moment I stepped forward.

  Not forced.

  Not commanded.

  Opened.

  As if expecting me.

  Nahaan immediately moved ahead, positioning herself between me and whatever waited beyond.

  Always ready to die first.

  The sight beyond the gates stole the air from my lungs.

  Hell was not chaos.

  It was design.

  Structured.

  Architectural.

  As if cruelty had been sculpted with intention.

  I stepped inside.

  The air was heavier. Thicker. It clung to the skin like guilt.

  I slowed my pace, letting the Dark Lords move ahead. Letting Nahaan assume I followed.

  Instead, I turned.

  And I walked alone.

  If I do not understand something, I explore it.

  That has always been my flaw.

  The streets were carved from obsidian stone, glowing faintly with red veins beneath the surface. Structures rose like twisted cathedrals. Beauty and brutality woven together.

  Then the sounds reached me.

  Screams.

  Not chaotic — rhythmic.

  Punishments executed with precision.

  Men chained, forced to relive their crimes.

  Women bartered like currency.

  Children starving, fighting each other over scraps tossed by laughing demons.

  Creatures fed not just on flesh—

  But despair.

  It was agony to witness.

  And I do not possess a mortal heart.

  My hand twitched toward my sword.

  One swing.

  One command.

  I could turn this street into ash.

  But one more interference…

  And my father would not merely lecture me.

  He would take my sword.

  And that—

  That I would never forgive.

  It is the only thing that is truly mine.

  Everything else — my rank, my authority, even my relationships — were granted.

  The sword chose me.

  By now, Nahaan would have noticed my absence.

  She would tear through Hell searching for me.

  I turned to return—

  And then I saw it.

  Light.

  Impossible.

  A soft glow between towering black cliffs. I moved toward it without thinking.

  There, in the middle of desolation, stood something I could not explain.

  A garden.

  Not heavenly.

  Not pure.

  But alive.

  Dark vines curled around crimson flowers that pulsed faintly. A lake shimmered like liquid shadow, reflecting starlight that did not exist in this realm.

  It was evil enough to belong here.

  Beautiful enough to feel sacred.

  For a moment, I forgot where I stood.

  For a moment, I believed even Hell could hold something untouched.

  Perhaps the Almighty exists everywhere.

  Perhaps even here.

  Reality struck.

  Nahaan.

  I turned—

  And felt it.

  A presence.

  Close.

  Too close.

  I did not hesitate.

  My sword was in my hand in a single motion, cutting through the air toward the figure beside me.

  Steel met steel.

  Blocked.

  The clash rang through the silent garden.

  He stood before me, dressed in black, face partially concealed by shadow.

  But his eyes—

  Those eyes did not belong to a stranger.

  They burned with quiet amusement.

  Recognition.

  Power restrained, not unleashed.

  My grip tightened.

  “You,” I breathed.

  He lowered his blade slightly.

  A slow smile curved beneath the darkness.

  “Princess,” he said softly.

  The word did not sound like mockery.

  It sounded like inevitability.

  And in that moment, in the most cursed place in existence—

  Hell felt dangerously alive.