(Caelum Ashborne)
Hell shuddered.
Not the way it did when souls screamed, or when lesser lords tore at each other’s borders for sport. This was deeper. Older. A pulse through the bones of the realm—through obsidian, through magma, through every shard of dead star that made up the Devil’s palace. A seismic remembering, as if Hell itself had flinched at a name it had not spoken in centuries.
Caelum felt it before he heard it.
Standing alone on one of the high balconies, half-shadowed behind a column, he felt the first tremor roll through the stone beneath his boots. The air went thin and sharp, as if the world had drawn a breath and refused to release it. The pressure settled behind his eyes, a familiar warning ache that the Emberborn learned to respect young. Somewhere in the mortar lin
