The Wolf’s Contract

Chapter 1: The Contract

I sold my soul to save my brother... but hell wants interest.

The contract burned into my skin like acid, each word carving itself into flesh. Zayn Blaze didn't look at me when he signed. He didn't need to. The Devil doesn't beg.

"Your brother lives," his voice was smoke and winter, "but you ride with me now. Hellfire Rider."

Outside the penthouse window, Dhaka burned gold at dusk. But in here, only hellfire lit his eyes. The city stretched below us, millions of lights like fallen stars. But none of them burned as hot as the hellfire in his veins.

I pressed my thumb to the burning seal. The moment my blood touched ink, the room temperature dropped 20 degrees. Frost crawled up the glass walls in jagged patterns. My breath turned to mist.

Zayn finally looked up. Those ice-gray eyes met mine and I understood—he wasn't saving my brother. He was recruiting a weapon. A soldier for his endless war.

"Welcome to hell, Aria," he said. "We burn together now."

The contract flared one last time, searing my skin. Pain shot up my arm like lightning. My soul wasn't mine anymore. And Zayn Blaze? He was the Devil who owned it. The contract rolled up with a sound like cracking bones and vanished into smoke.

The penthouse door slammed behind me. I was alone with him now. Alone with the Devil who owned my debt and my destiny. No way out. No escape clause.

Zayn walked to the window, his black coat swirling like smoke behind him. Hellfire danced in his veins, visible through the pale skin of his throat. Every step he took left frost on the marble floor. He was winter and fire at once.

"You're afraid," he said without turning. "Good. Fear keeps you alive in hell."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But my brother's face flashed in my mind—pale, dying, the hospital machines beeping their death song in Room 314. The contract was his only chance. So I stood tall. Stubborn. Willful. Just like always. Like our mother taught us before she died.

"I'm not afraid of you," I lied. My voice didn't shake. Much.

Zayn turned then. Slow. Deadly. His lips curved into a smile that had no warmth. "Everyone's afraid of me, Aria Mercenary. The difference is... I don't care."

He stepped closer. The air crackled with hellfire. I could smell sulfur and winter and something else... something like ozone before a storm.

"Sign the rider clause," he commanded, holding out a second contract written in blood and gold. "Or I let your brother die."

My hand shook as I reached for the pen. Hellfire licked at my fingers but didn't burn. Yet. But I didn't flinch. Bodyguards don't flinch. Mercenaries don't beg. Mercenaries survive.

I signed. Aria Mercenary. In blood.

The moment the ink dried, power surged through me. Heat. Ice. Pain. Pleasure. The hellfire marked me as his. Not as a lover. As a weapon. As property.

Zayn's eyes burned brighter. "Good girl," he whispered, and the words felt like a brand seared into my bones.

Outside, Dhaka's lights flickered once. Twice. Inside, hell had a new rider.

And I? I was bound to the Devil until the debt was paid. Until every soul was collected.

But debts in hell... always come with interest. And interest compounds daily.

The next morning, hellfire marked my wrist. A black chain tattoo, burning cold against my skin. Zayn's mark. His property. His claim.

He showed up at my apartment with coffee. Black. No sugar. Just like he drank his victims' souls. No knock. He just appeared.

"Training starts now," he said. "Hellfire Rider doesn't get days off."

I glared at him from my couch. Stubborn to the end. "I didn't ask for this."

"No," he agreed, sliding the coffee across my table. The cup didn't burn his fingers. "But you chose your brother over yourself. That's why you're valuable."

The coffee burned going down. Or maybe that was the hellfire inside me, waking up for the first time.

Zayn watched me over the rim of his cup. Those gray eyes saw too much. Saw my fear. Saw my rage. Saw my stubbornness.

"By the end of this month, you'll either control the fire... or it will control you," he said. "And if it controls you, I burn you myself."

I set the cup down hard. Ceramic cracked. "And if I refuse?"

His smile was winter and sin. "Then your brother dies. And I find another rider. There are always more desperate sisters in Dhaka."

The threat hung in the air like smoke. I had no choice. I never did. Not since the hospital called at 3 AM with that voice. That cold, clinical voice saying "Your brother has 24 hours."

"Fine," I spat. "Teach me."

Zayn stood, his coat swirling. "Good girl. First lesson: Hellfire doesn't burn what it owns."

He grabbed my marked wrist. Flames erupted from his palm, engulfing my arm. I screamed—then stopped. The fire didn't hurt. It felt like coming home. Like this was always meant to be.

Zayn's grip tightened. "See? You're mine now, Aria. Body, soul, and fire."

The mark on my wrist blazed bright. The chain tightened one link.

Hell had claimed another rider. And I was just getting started.

For the next three days, Zayn trained me in ways that broke me and rebuilt me from ash. He taught me to summon hellfire without burning. To see through lies. To kill without hesitation. To feel no mercy.

Each night I went home exhausted, the mark on my wrist pulsing like a second heartbeat. Each morning Zayn was there, waiting. No words. Just training. Just pain.

He taught me how to channel the fire through my fists. How to make it coil around my arms like living snakes. How to make it obey me instead of consuming me.

"Again," he would command, and I would throw another blast of hellfire at the stone wall. "Until you don't flinch. Until you don't blink."

My muscles ached. My throat was raw from screaming. But Zayn never softened. Never showed mercy.

Because in hell, mercy was weakness. And weakness got you killed. Got your brother killed.

On the fourth night, he took me to the underground arena beneath Dhaka. A place where demons fought and humans bet their souls and Zayn collected his due.

"This is your test," Zayn said, pushing me into the circle of fire. The crowd roared. "Survive ten minutes against a hellhound, and you're officially a Hellfire Rider."

Across from me, the beast snarled. Twice my size. Teeth like knives. Eyes like burning coal. Smoke poured from its nostrils.

I had no weapon. Only the fire Zayn had forced into my veins.

The horn blew. The hellhound charged.

I moved on instinct. Ducked. Rolled. Let the fire rise in my chest and explode from my palms.

The beast howled as hellfire engulfed it. But it didn't die. It adapted. It was born from fire.

For ten minutes I fought. I bled. I burned. But I didn't fall. Not once.

When the timer ended, the hellhound dropped to its knees before me. Submitted. Bowed.

Silence filled the arena. Then applause. Demons cheering. Humans gasping. Zayn watching.

Zayn stood at the edge of the circle. His expression unreadable. But his eyes... his eyes burned with something like pride.

"Welcome to hell, Rider," he said as I stumbled toward him, bleeding and burning.

He caught me before I fell. His arms were cold. His lips were at my ear.

"You survived," he whispered. "But surviving hell is just the beginning, Aria."

I looked up at him, chest heaving. "What now?"

"Now," Zayn said, carrying me from the arena, "we collect the debt your brother owes. And I collect what's mine."

The chain on my wrist tightened. The hellfire inside me roared in approval.

I was bound to Zayn Blaze. The Devil who saved my brother by damning me.

And somewhere in hell, someone was counting the interest. Adding it up.

The city above us slept peacefully, unaware that Dhaka now had two riders. One who owned hell. And one who owned him back.

Whether Zayn knew it yet... was another story.

For now, I had survived. For now, my brother lived. For now, the Devil's debt was paid.

But in hell, "for now" always came with a price.

And Zayn Blaze always cPar. With interest.

The hellfire in my veins settled into a steady burn. I wasn't human anymore. I wasn't free anymore.

I was Aria Mercenary. Hellfire Rider. Property of Zayn Blaze.

And I would burn the world before I let him break me.

Because stubborn girls don't break. They burn brighter.

Even in hell. Especially in hell.

The first week as Zayn's rider passed in a blur of pain and fire and blood. He dragged me from one hellish contract to another. Collecting debts. Punishing traitors. Burning enemies.

I learned that being the Devil's weapon meant no sleep. No mercy. No choice.

But I also learned something Zayn didn't expect.

I learned that hellfire answered to me too. Not just to him.

The mark on my wrist wasn't just a chain. It was a connection. And connections went both ways.

One night, after we burned down a demon lord's casino, Zayn looked at me differently. Like he was seeing me for the first time. Really seeing me.

"You fight like you have nothing to lose," he said.

"I don't," I replied. "You took everything else."

For a moment, something flickered in those ice-gray eyes. Something almost human. Almost regret.

Then it was gone. Replaced by the Devil's cold mask.

"Get some rest, Rider," he ordered. "Tomorrow we ride again."

But as I walked away, I felt his eyes on my back. And I felt the chain on my wrist pulse in time with his heartbeat.

Hell wanted interest. And Zayn Blaze was paying it in ways neither of us understood yet.

The contract wasn't just binding me to him.

It was binding him to me.

And in hell, that was the most dangerous debt of all.

Because Devils don't fall in love.

But Hellfire Riders?

We burn everything we touch. Including Devils.

Three weeks passed. Three weeks of fire, blood, and Zayn's cold commands. Three weeks of watching my brother recover in the hospital, safe because of the deal I made with hell.

Every night Zayn came to my apartment. Every night he trained me until I collapsed. Every night he left without a word.

Until the twenty-first night.

He didn't come to train me. He came to test me.

"There's a rogue demon in Old Dhaka," he said, his voice flat. "He's been taking souls without permission. Kill him."

I stood from the couch, the hellfire already rising in my veins. "Alone?"

Zayn's eyes met mine. For the first time, there was no command in them. Only expectation. Only trust.

"You're a Hellfire Rider now, Aria. Not my shadow. My partner."

The word hit me harder than any punch. Partner. Not property. Not weapon.

I nodded once. Stubborn. Willful. "I'll bring you his head."

Zayn almost smiled. Almost. "Bring me his contract instead. Dead demons don't pay debts."

I walked out into the Dhaka night, the hellfire marking my path like a comet. The city didn't know it yet, but hell had sent a collector.

And I was done being collected.

Tonight, I collected.

The rogue demon was hiding in a basement beneath Sadarghat. I could smell his sulfur from the street above. I could taste his fear in the air like copper.

He thought he was safe in the dark. He was wrong.

I kicked the door down and let the hellfire light the room like daylight.

The demon turned, surprised. Then he saw the mark on my wrist. Zayn's mark.

"You're Blaze's dog," he snarled. "Tell your master—"

"I don't have a master," I interrupted, and the fire exploded from my hands.

The fight was short. Brutal. Final. One-sided.

When it was over, the demon's contract burned in my palm. Ash. Proof of death.

I walked back to Zayn's penthouse at dawn. The city was waking up. People going to work. Children going to school. All unaware that hell had walked among them last night.

Zayn was waiting on the balcony. Coffee in hand. Black. No sugar.

I dropped the ashes at his feet.

"Done," I said.

Zayn looked at the ashes. Then at me. Blood on my knuckles. Fire in my eyes. Smoke in my hair.

He was silent for a long time.

Then he set his coffee down and stepped closer.

"You did well, Rider," he said quietly.

I waited for more. For praise. For something.

Zayn reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers were cold. His touch burned like ice.

"But you don't have to do it alone anymore," he whispered. "Partners share the burden."

The chain on my wrist pulsed. Warm. Alive. Connected to him.

For the first time since signing the contract, I didn't feel like property.

I felt like something else.

Something dangerous.

Something that could burn even the Devil.

And Zayn? He looked at me like he knew it too.

Hell wanted interest. But maybe... just maybe... we could make hell pay instead.

The war wasn't over. The debts weren't paid. The contract still burned.

But Aria Mercenary was no longer just Zayn Blaze's Hellfire Rider.

She was his equal.

And hell had no idea what was coming.

Because when a stubborn girl made a deal with the Devil...

Hell was the one that should be afraid.

The morning after I killed the rogue demon, I woke up to find Zayn sitting at the end of my bed. No coffee this time. No words. Just watching.

"You didn't sleep," he said. It wasn't a question.

I sat up, the chain on my wrist glowing faintly in the dark. "Sleep is for the weak."

Zayn's lips twitched. Almost a smile. "Then you and I are both weak, Rider."

He stood and walked to my window. Dawn was breaking over Dhaka. The city looked peaceful. Innocent. It had no idea what lived in its shadows.

"There's a war coming, Aria," Zayn said quietly. "Not just with demons. With heaven too."

I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. The hellfire inside me didn't like the cold. "What kind of war?"

"The kind where angels fall and Devils rise," he turned to face me. "The kind where Hellfire Riders choose sides."

My brother's face flashed in my mind again. Safe. Healing. Because of this deal. Because of Zayn.

"I'm not choosing sides," I said stubbornly. "I'm choosing my brother."

Zayn crossed the room in two steps. He knelt in front of me, his ice-gray eyes level with mine. "Then choose me, Aria. Choose the fire. Choose hell."

The chain on my wrist pulsed. Hot. Demanding.

I reached out and grabbed his coat. Pulled him closer until our faces were inches apart. "I don't choose hell, Zayn Blaze. I make hell choose me."

For a second, something broke in his expression. Something raw. Something real.

Then he stood abruptly and walked to the door. "Get dressed, Rider. We have a soul to collect."

But before he left, he paused. Without turning, he said, "And Aria... for what it's worth... I'm glad it was you who signed."

The door closed behind him. The room felt colder without him.

I looked at the mark on my wrist. The chain. Zayn's mark.

But chains could be broken. Or... they could be reforged.

I stood up. Fire danced across my knuckles.

Let heaven come. Let hell come.

I was Aria Mercenary. And I had a Devil to tame.

Three months passed. Three months of blood and fire and contracts signed in blood. Three months of watching Zayn Blaze become something more than my master. More than my partner.

He became my weakness.

And I became his.

We collected souls across Dhaka. Burned traitors in Chittagong. Fought fallen angels in Sylhet. Each mission brought us closer. Each night we returned to the penthouse, exhausted and burning.

But something was changing between us.

The chain on my wrist no longer felt like a leash. It felt like a tether. Connecting me to him.

One night, after we barely survived an ambush by heaven's soldiers, Zayn broke the rules.

He didn't leave after training. He stayed.

We sat on my balcony, watching the city lights. No words. Just silence. Just the crackle of hellfire between us.

"You know what happens if you fall, right?" Zayn asked finally. His voice was rough. "If you choose me over hell?"

I took his hand. The fire didn't burn him. The ice didn't freeze me. "I know."

"They'll hunt you," he said. "Heaven and hell both."

"Let them," I replied. "I sold my soul once to save my brother. I'd do it again to save you."

Zayn turned to me slowly. His eyes weren't cold anymore. They were fire.

"Aria," he whispered, and my name sounded like a prayer on his lips.

He leaned in. I didn't pull away.

The kiss tasted like winter and smoke and something sweeter. Something dangerous. His lips were cold against mine, but the fire between us burned hotter than hell itself.

The chain on my wrist blazed white-hot. Not with pain. With power.

When we pulled apart, both of us were breathing hard. Both of us were marked.

"You shouldn't have done that," Zayn said, but he didn't let go of my hand.

"Neither should you," I whispered back.

We both knew the truth then. The contract bound me to him. But something else bound him to me.

Something neither heaven nor hell had planned for.

Love.

Devils weren't supposed to love. Hellfire Riders weren't supposed to feel.

But we did.

And that made us the most dangerous things in both worlds.

The next day, heaven sent their messengers. Angels with swords of light and wings of fire. They came to collect what hell owned.

They didn't know what they were walking into.

I stood beside Zayn on the rooftop, hellfire coiling around my arms like living serpents. His ice-gray eyes met mine.

"Together?" he asked.

"Together," I answered.

We jumped.

The battle lasted hours. Angels fell. Demons burned. But we stood. Back to back. Fire and ice. Rider and Devil.

When it was over, the rooftop was scorched black. Bodies of angels littered the ground. And in the center stood two figures, hands clasped, marked by both hell and something more.

Zayn looked at me. Really looked at me. "What have we done?"

I smiled. Stubborn. Willful. Feral. "We started a war, Zayn Blaze. And we're going to win it."

He pulled me into his arms then, holding me like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to this world.

Maybe I was.

Maybe he was mine.

The contract said I belonged to hell.

But my heart?

My heart belonged to the Devil who saved my brother and damned himself for me.

Six months later, we ruled from the shadows of Dhaka. Me, Aria Mercenary, Hellfire Rider. And him, Zayn Blaze, the Devil who fell.

Heaven called us abomination. Hell called us traitors.

We called ourselves free.

The chain on my wrist had changed. It was no longer just black. Gold threads wove through it now. Our bond. Our choice.

Zayn taught me how to rule. I taught him how to hope.

Together, we rewrote the rules of hell.

No more collecting souls without mercy. No more deals that destroyed families. No more interest that bled people dry.

We made hell fair.

And heaven? Heaven was terrified.

Because a Devil who could love was more dangerous than a Devil who could hate.

A rider who chose her master was more powerful than a rider who was owned.

I looked at Zayn across the throne room we had built from fire and ice. He looked back at me with those gray eyes that had once been empty.

Now they were full. Full of me.

"The contract is fulfilled," he said quietly. "Your brother's debt is paid."

I stood and walked to him. Took his face in my hands. "Then what am I to you now, Zayn?"

He kissed my forehead. Gentle. Reverent. "You're not my rider anymore, Aria."

"Then what?" I whispered.

"You're my queen," he said. "My equal. My fire. My forever."

The hellfire inside me roared in approval. The chain on my wrist settled, no longer burning. No longer binding.

Choosing.

I chose him.

And he chose me.

Hell wanted interest.

We gave them revolution instead.

The contract between us was no longer written in blood and fire. It was written in trust and choice. In love that burned hotter than hell itself.

Zayn took my hand and led me to the balcony. Below us, Dhaka stretched out like a kingdom of light. But we knew the truth now. The real kingdom was the one we built together, in the spaces between heaven and hell.

"Do you regret it?" he asked me. His voice was soft. Vulnerable. The Devil asking a question without knowing the answer.

I leaned my head against his shoulder. The hellfire in my veins matched the ice in his. "I regret nothing," I whispered. "Not the contract. Not the pain. Not the fall."

"Because of me?" he asked.

"Because of us," I answered. "We saved each other, Zayn. You saved my brother. I saved you from being alone."

He pulled me closer. His lips found mine in the darkness. This kiss wasn't fire and desperation like before. This was home. This was peace. This was two broken souls making each other whole.

When we parted, he rested his forehead against mine. "Hell will never forgive us for this."

"Let them try," I smiled, stubborn as always. "We are Hellfire Riders. We don't beg for forgiveness. We take what we deserve."

Zayn laughed. A real laugh. Not the cold, cruel sound he used on his enemies. A warm sound that made my heart stop.

"You changed me, Aria Mercenary," he whispered against my lips. "The Devil who couldn't feel... now feels everything. Because of you."

I traced the chain on my wrist. Gold and black intertwined. "And you changed me too. The girl who had nothing left to lose... now has everything to fight for."

Outside, the first light of dawn touched the city. But in our kingdom, it was always night and always fire. Always winter and always burning.

The contract was fulfilled. The debt was paid. But our story?

Our story was just beginning.

Because when a girl sells her soul to save her brother...

And a Devil falls in love with his rider...

Hell doesn't stand a chance.

We stood together, watching the city wake up. Unaware that their world had changed forever. Unaware that hell now had new rulers.

Not cruel ones. Not merciless ones.

Ones who understood that every soul deserved a choice. Every debt deserved mercy. Every fire deserved a rider who could control it.

I was Aria Mercenary. Once a mercenary. Now a queen.

Zayn Blaze was no longer just the Devil. He was my partner. My equal. My forever.

And together?

Together we would burn down the old rules and write new ones.

Rules written in fire and ice. In blood and gold. In love and revolution.

Hell wanted interest.

We gave them a new beginning.

The end of Chapter 1.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2 - The Devil's Training Begins. night before the contract was fulfilled, Zayn took me to the edge of hell itself. A place where fire met ice and the sky burned black with stars that weren't stars.

"Do you know why I chose you, Aria?" he asked. His voice was barely a whisper against the howling wind.

I shook my head. The hellfire in my veins burned low. Tired. But alive.

"Because you didn't kneel," he said. "Everyone kneels to the Devil. Kings. Queens. Angels. But you... you stood. Even when your brother was dying. Even when I offered you hell on a silver platter."

I looked at him then. Really looked at him. Beyond the ice-gray eyes. Beyond the Devil's mask. "I didn't kneel because I had nothing left to lose," I whispered. "Except him."

Zayn reached out and touched my face. His fingers were cold, but the hellfire in me warmed them. "And now you have everything to gain," he said. "Including me."

The wind carried ashes from a thousand burning contracts. Souls that had been paid. Debts that had been collected. But ours was different.

Our contract wasn't written in ink. It was written in survival. In choice. In the moment I decided that being owned was better than being powerless.

"Tomorrow," Zayn said, "when the debt is paid, you can walk away. The mark will fade. The fire will die. You'll be human again."

I grabbed his hand. Pulled it to my chest where the hellfire burned brightest. "And what happens to you if I walk away?"

For the first time since I met him, Zayn Blaze looked... scared. "Hell goes back to how it was. Cold. Empty. Without you."

I stood on my toes and kissed him. Not the desperate kiss of partners in battle. Not the claiming kiss of master and rider.

This was a promise.

"I don't want to be human again," I whispered against his lips. "I want to be yours. But not as property. As partner. As equal. As queen."

The hellfire in my veins roared. The chain on my wrist blazed gold and black. Zayn's eyes burned with something that wasn't hellfire.

It was hope.

The next morning, the contract burned away. Literally. The words dissolved from my skin like smoke in rain. But the mark remained. Changed. Transformed.

Gold threadsThe mark settled into my skin like it had always belonged there. Gold and black. Fire and ice. Zayn's ice-gray eyes met mine and for the first time, I didn't see the Devil.

I saw a man. Tired. Wounded. Hopeful.

"They'll never accept this," Zayn said quietly. "Heaven will call it blasphemy. Hell will call it betrayal."

I stepped closer to him. The hellfire in my veins matched the cold in his. Perfect balance. Perfect opposition. "Let them call it whatever they want," I whispered. "We know the truth."

"And what's the truth, Aria?" he asked. His voice was rough. Like he was afraid of the answer.

I took his face in both hands. The chain on my wrist pulsed with warmth, not chains anymore but connection. "The truth is that love isn't heaven's propertyLove isn't heaven's property. Love isn't hell's weapon. Love is rebellion. And we are rebels, Zayn.

He pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine. The hellfire between us didn't burn. It healed. It promised. It stayed.

"I spent centuries collecting souls," he whispered. "Never thought I'd find one that could save mine."

I traced my fingers along his jaw. Cold skin. Burning eyes. The Devil who learned to hope. "You were never meant to be alone, Zayn Blaze. Not even in hell."

The mark on my wrist pulsed once more, then went quiet. Gold and black intertwined forever. No more chains. No more ownership. Just choice.

Outside the palace walls, hell was changing. Demons were learning mercy. Traitors were getting second chances. Debts were being paid with service instead of blood.

We had rewritten the rules. And hell, for the first time in eternity, was listening.

My brother sent me a message that evening. Just three words: "Thank youLove isn't heaven's property. Love isn't hell's weapon. Love is rebellion. And we are rebels, Zayn.

He pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine. The hellfire between us didn't burn. It healed. It promised. It stayed.

"I spent centuries collecting souls," he whispered. "Never thought I'd find one that could save mine."

I traced my fingers along his jaw. Cold skin. Burning eyes. The Devil who learned to hope. "You were never meant to be alone, Zayn Blaze. Not even in hell."

The mark on my wrist pulsed once more, then went quiet. Gold

We had rewritten the rules. And hell, for the first time in eternity, was listening.

My brother sent me a message that evening. Just three words: "Thank you, sis."

He didn't know what I had done. He didn't need to know. He just needed to live.

And I needed to ruleLove isn't heaven's property. Love isn't hell's weapon. Love is rebellion. And we are rebels, Zayn.

He pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine. The hellfire between us didn't burn. It healed. It promised. It stayed.

"I spent centuries collecting souls," he whispered. "Never thought I'd find one that could save mine."

I traced my fingers along his jaw. Cold skin. Burning eyes. The Devil who learned to hope. "You were never meant to be alone, Zayn Blaze. Not even in hell."

The mark on my wrist pulsed once more, then went quiet. Gold and black intertwined forever. No more chains. No more ownership. Just choice.

Outside the palace walls, hell was changing. Demons were learning mercy. Traitors were getting second chances. Debts were being paid with service instead of blood.

We had rewritten the rules. And hell, for the first time in eternity, was listening.

My brother sent me a message that evening. Just three words: "Thank you, sis."

He didn't know what I had done. He didn't need to know. He just needed to live.

And I needed to rule beside the man who gave me that chance.

Zayn and I stood on the highest tower of our kingdom. Below us, millions of souls moved through streets of fire and shadow. But now there was light too. Hope too. Choice too

Next Chapter: Chapter 2 - The Devil's Training Begins.