Rising from the Ashes

Inner Core

As we left the training grounds, a strange thickness settled over the air, heavy with silence.

Razor seemed just as unsettled as I was. We walked home without speaking.

Home was a massive, castle-like structure—draped in darkness and stitched together from nightmares. If you were into gothiccore, you’d probably call it beautiful.

Raze, being an official’s son, lived in the right wing. Lower-ranked demons were sent to the left, forced below ground into the tunnels.

My quarters were different. I lived straight ahead, in the center—alone and above the surface. I never understood why I’d been given such accommodations. My only guess was that Raze had pulled strings on my behalf.

The hallways whistled as sharp winds cut through the open windows. The air reeked of desperation and sorrow. Normally, after a day of training, I welcomed the coolness. But tonight my body remained on high alert, and every brush of air against my skin felt like ice.

“I should go clean up,” I murmured.

My voice came out so small I didn’t think he heard me.

Raze stopped. He stared at me for a long moment, concern stretching across his face.

“You don’t have to face everything alone,” he said under his breath.

I wasn’t sure if he meant the training… or something else.

Then he gave a tight nod and turned toward the right wing, his footsteps fading into the shadows.

I stood there for a moment longer than I meant to.

His words clung to me, looping in my head. My chest felt tight, like something unseen had wrapped around my ribs and refused to let go. I didn’t understand what he’d seen in me—or why his concern unsettled me more than the silence had.

With a shaky breath, I turned and walked straight ahead toward my quarters.

The castle swallowed me whole.

Hell’s halls were vast and cathedral-like, carved from black stone that glistened as if it were always wet. Iron chandeliers hung from impossibly high ceilings, their flames burning in deep shades of crimson and violet. Shadows stretched endlessly across the walls, twisting into shapes that looked almost alive.

Every step echoed too loudly.

Windows lined the corridors, tall and narrow, veiled with torn velvet curtains. Outside, a blood-red sky churned with clouds of ash and distant lightning. The wind howled through broken panes, carrying with it the scent of smoke, sorrow, and something bitter I could never quite name.

My skin prickled as I walked. I felt watched— it happened often but I couldn’t explain by who or what.

By the time I reached the center wing, my heart was racing for reasons I couldn’t explain.

My door stood apart from the others, framed with silver runes instead of iron. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

My room was nothing like the rest of the castle.

Dark walls still wrapped around it, but soft light bloomed from pale crystal lamps along the corners. Gauzy curtains in shades of black and ash-white drifted around my bed, catching the air like ghostly wings.

A narrow window let in the glow of Hell’s distant sky, tinting everything faintly rose and gold instead of red.

Shelves lined one wall, cluttered with books and small trinkets I’d collected—broken feathers from the snatchers, bits of glass that caught the light like stars and any thing else that didn’t seem it belonged in Hell. My bed was draped in black velvet, but layered with blankets of soft gray and cream. Getting those would have been impossible if I didn’t offer to go on scouting missions.

It was Gothic… but not cruel.

It was the only place in the castle that helped to quiet the noise in my head. The one place that didn’t full shrouded in darkness completely.

I leaned against the door once it closed behind me, sliding down until I was sitting on the cold floor. Raze’s voice echoed again in my mind.

You don’t have to face everything alone.

My hands trembled as I pressed them to my chest, trying to steady my breathing.

Maybe he was wrong.

Or maybe that was what scared me most—that he wasn’t.

Eventually, I peeled myself off the floor and made my way to the bathroom, tucked behind a stone archway. I washed up, letting the water run over my skin, and could feel the call of my bed beckoning me.

Even after standing beneath the stream for what felt like an eternity, my pulse still buzzed with strange electricity, as if something inside me refused to settle.

I looked in the mirror. My jet black hair was trailing along my new bruises from today. My eyes shine brighter today. The amber color was fused with some specks of gold. Another change to add to the day, great.

When I finally returned to my room, I crawled into bed and curled in on myself, pulling the blankets close, making myself as small as possible.

I don’t tend to dream much—but the moment my eyes closed, I was pulled into a dream that I had never had before and it was even more terrifying than what happened to me in the training grounds.

I dreamed of my mom.

The resemblance was uncanny.

While her hair was a darker brown, we had the same facial structure. Her skin held the same light olive tone as mine. Her eyes, bore even more golden flecks than mine and burned with an energy that I can’t explain. I knew instantly, it had to be her.

She stood surrounded by the same blinding light that lived inside me. The air around her shimmered, humming with power. I wanted to call out to her, but no sound left my throat.

Then I felt it.

Another presence.

Something darker pressed against the edges of the light, curling around it like smoke around flame.

I could feel someone from Hell was there too.

A tall figure stepped forward from the shadows, his voice smooth and dangerous as it filled the space between them.

He was tall, broad shoulder and his jet black hair was slicked back. I wanted to move to look at his face but I felt glued to my spot.

“You should not have hidden her from us,” he said calmly.

My mother turned toward him, fear and defiance warring in her eyes.

And only then did I see his face.

Asmodeus the prince of hell was standing in my dream—

speaking to my mother as if they had always known each other.