The door Lilith led them to was unlike any other within the fighting pits. Where the others reveled in excess and provocation, this one was restrained—ornate without being gaudy, its surface worked with filigree that curled and overlapped like frozen smoke. The metal was warm beneath Selene's fingers as Lilith pushed it open, the hinges moving without a sound.

  They stepped through.

  The world on the other side fell away.

  There was no corridor, no chamber, no visible floor—only an endless expanse of black stretching in every direction. Suspended within that void were doors. Thousands of them. No—millions. They floated at varying distances, some close enough to touch, others so far away they resembled stars scattered across a night sky. Each door was unique, crafted in different styles and materials, all glowing faintly with their own inner light. Gold, silver, obsidian, bone, crystal—an ocean of thresholds suspended in nothingness.

  Myrren stopped short, her breath catching. She adjusted her glasses with trembling fingers, eyes darting across the impossible vista.

  "This is… similar to the Clock Hand Tower," she said softly, awe bleeding into disbelief.

  Lilith turned sharply, offense flashing across her face. "Similar?" she snapped, turning back toward them. "The Clock Hand Tower is like this—not the other way around."

  She gestured broadly, indicating the vastness around them. "Morgan based her precious tower on our construction methods."

  Selene stepped forward before the argument could deepen. "She improved them."

  Lilith's eyes flicked to her. Selene continued calmly, surveying the endless doors without awe.

  "This is beautiful," Selene said, "but it's a chaotic mess. Morgan made the tower something else entirely. Ordered. Anchored. Secure."

  Lilith scoffed. "Indeed. But there is infinite beauty in chaos. And what security do demons need?"

  No one answered her.

  Darius felt his skin crawl. His jaw tightened as his eyes traced the sea of doors. The faint hum of energy here was overwhelming—layered, ancient, suffocating.

  He had known witches were dangerous. Strength on Morgan LeFaye's level was already enough to fracture the world. But this—this suggested a civilization of beings capable of creating spaces like this casually. There was just one Morgan LeFaye, but a species filled with beings comparable to her.

  "Humanity's survival," he muttered, barely aware he had spoken aloud, "is too fragile."

  Lilith chuckled softly. "Yes. And that is precisely why so many of you fall to the temptation of power."

  She walked ahead, her heels clicking softly against nothing. "You are a special kind of animal. Most species know their end is inevitable. They do not fight it. They fight only for the next day."

  She waved a hand, and one of the distant doors drifted free of the constellation, descending until it hovered before them.

  "They endure. Humans…" Her smile sharpened, "Humans bear their teeth at fate itself. You turn your tiny claws against gods, against destiny—and against one another."

  The door opened.

  "You are… fascinating."

  Beyond it, a staircase spiraled downward into darkness.

  Lilith stepped through without hesitation. The others followed.

  "It's that quirk of yours we prey on," Lilith said as they descended. "And pray for."

  Cassian followed without hesitation. "Can you blame us?" he asked. "We were meant to be extinguished during the Demon Wars. And yet—here we are."

  Lilith's smile did not falter. "Perhaps. Or perhaps that, too, was fate. Simply an intermission to your destruction, nothing more. Whether your fate was changed or delayed, you can decide." Her eyes flicked briefly toward him. "Even you dragonborn may not live long enough to see the final act."

  "Enough," Selene said sharply. "Keep that tongue of yours leashed."

  Lilith raised her hands in mock surrender and continued downward. The staircase wound impossibly deep, each step echoing faintly, as though the space itself resented their presence.

  As they descended, Selene glanced back at the others. Her lips moved silently, a glyph blooming briefly in the air before her mouth, then dissolved into nothing. Her voice echoed directly in their minds.

  "I do not expect this to end peacefully. My survival is assured. Yours is not. Stay alert."

  No one answered. They didn't need to.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Lilith pushed open another door.

  The world changed again.

  The ceiling arched impossibly high, illuminated by floating orbs of Vaylora that revolved slowly like a chandelier of living light. Along the walls, illusions shimmered—images of the fighting pits below, showing battles from every angle. The floor was polished black marble veined with silver. Music played softly from nowhere.

  At the far end of the room sat a throne.

  Upon it reclined a man who looked almost human at first glance—handsome, composed, dressed in dark finery tailored to perfection. But his nails were black and pointed. Dark markings traced elegant lines down his neck. His skin was pale, his brown hair neatly styled, and his eyes glowed an impossible shade of blue.

  Fangs flashed as he smiled.

  Around him stood hundreds of others—demons and guests alike—each dressed in elegant finery. The debauchery of the VVIP lounge was gone, replaced with something colder. Sharper.

  Every conversation died the moment Selene crossed the threshold. They all focused on her as she glared at the man upon the throne.

  "Who are you," Selene asked evenly, "and why have I never seen you before?"

  The man laughed softly. Myrren felt confused by his laughter—uncertain whether to feel aroused or terrified.

  "Because I do not bend to the whims of children," the horned demon declared. "Though I would be deeply wounded if your grandmother had never spoken of me."

  Selene's jaw tightened. "State your name, demon."

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  "Lord Azeal," he replied, inclining his head slightly. "One of the four remaining Demon Lords who survived the wars."

  "Azeal," Selene growled. "Of course. Why am I not surprised?"

  "Because you are wiser than most your age, Princess," Azeal said pleasantly.

  "Leave us," Selene commanded.

  Confusion rippled through the room—until Azeal waved a hand. "You heard her," he said. "Leave!"

  Doors bloomed across the ballroom walls, and the guests began to file out. As they did, Darius felt it—the pressure not just from Azeal, but from several others who had been present. Beings who had hidden their weight until now, and that feeling was not limited to the demons.

  "It's like standing before Falryn," Cassian murmured.

  "The Representatives of the Districts are the real authority in this place," Darius replied quietly. "The real strength... hides itself deep... truly."

  "That's not what we should be concerning ourselves with right now," Cassian retorted. He watched the way the guests responded. They hesitated at Selene's words, but were more than happy to immediately follow Azeal's command.

  "I've dealt with a few Grand Dukes like this Azeal when I first became Crown Prince. Selene needs to make an example out of this demon."

  "That's easier said than done, your highness," Myrren spoke, as she gripped her notes tight to her chest.

  Lilith approached the throne and dropped to her knees, resting her head against Azeal's leg. Selene pointed sharply at two demons lingering near the exits.

  "You two. Stay."

  Two demons halted—similar in appearance, pale purple skin, horns crowning their heads. They moved to either side of the throne, standing rigid and defiant.

  Azeal smiled as the last door closed.

  "Well," he said, stroking Lilith's hair, "since Lilith brought you here… it would seem the game is up. Took you long enough. Though I don't see why you're getting involved... unlike your grandmother."

  "I'm not my grandmother," Selene said.

  "Clearly," Azeal mocked.

  Selene stepped forward and gestured to the two demons. "Of the three Demon Hearts we own, one was forged from Demon Lord Astaroth. The father of those two. I suspected one of them, and that they would have Lilith helping. I didn't expect all three of them. Nor them being under the command of another traitorous Demon Lord." Selene scoffed.

  "Seems you didn't learn your lesson from the founding of the Hallows."

  Darius felt the tension rising and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. The others felt it as well, and instinctively prepared themselves for battle.

  Azeal laughed. "On the contrary, little princess. We learned our lessons well. Your Grandmother was quite thorough in her... teachings."

  He stroked Lilith's hair. "She defeated three Demon Lords alone. Turned them into tools to make herself more powerful. Had we stood united, this world would have been ours to play with. But she took advantage of our fracture after the war."

  "And yet you're fool enough to betray her now... with her being stronger than ever?" Cassian asked.

  "Betrayal implies that we are doing something against her wishes. We are not," Azeal smiled.

  "You're saying Morgan wants this? Then why help with the Accords?" Darius narrowed his eyes. Azeal rolled his eyes, and they landed on Selene.

  "I'm sure she knows better than anyone. Why don't you tell them... princess?"

  Selene frowned while sucking her teeth.

  "She's tired. Grandmother doesn't care what happens to humanity anymore." Selene shrugged her shoulders.

  "Humanity has drained her. She's agreeing to the Accords because it's what I want."

  The others looked surprised, but also could understand Morgan's reasoning. She had lived for thousands of years, and from her point of view, suffered constant betrayal from humanity. It would be more surprising if she hadn't become numb to their suffering.

  "Their actions will directly harm the Accords. She won't interfere?" Darius asked.

  "No," Selene and Azeal said together.

  "I want the Accord to happen. The Accords will happen. It's my responsibility to make sure it does."

  Azeal's smile sharpened. "And there lies the problem." Azeal chuckled. "Your grandmother is nigh unstoppable at this point. But you... child... You are not your grandmother. You can do nothing to stop me." Azeal gazed at Selene's group.

  "So I'd suggest you leave now. For your own sake. I'm not fool enough to kill you—but your lovers? Your pet scholar? Nothing is stopping me from killing them. Then your precious Accords will crumble to dust."

  Azeal's eyes focused on Cassian. The Crown Prince smiled in derision. Darius and Myrren moved on instinct to put themselves between Azeal and the Crown Prince. Lucen folded his arms unconcerned. If they couldn't fight, they could just run, and no one could catch them, not with him around.

  "Just point me in the right direction, Meme," Lucen smirked.

  However, the only answer that he received was her laughter.

  It was not loud, nor wild, nor born of humor. It was low and sharp, carrying an edge that scraped across the room like a blade. Even Lilith—who had borne witness to centuries of violence and indulgence—felt the fine hairs along the back of her neck rise in warning.

  "Selene, we need to leave," Darius said, his voice firm but edged with urgency. "Don't let him bait you into a fight."

  "I agree," Cassian added, stepping half a pace forward, his posture protective. "We can regroup. Come back with a plan."

  Selene did not answer.

  She stepped forward instead. The laughter faded as she moved, replaced by silence.

  "Selene," Darius tried again, sharper this time.

  Lucen growled, not sparing Darius a look. "Shut up."

  Darius turned to Lucen, teeth already set to snap back—but the words died in his throat. Because Lucen wasn't watching Azeal. He was watching Selene.

  "You've never seen her actually fight, have you?" Lucen said calmly.

  Darius hesitated.

  Images flickered through his mind unbidden—Selene standing at the center of magic circles. Selene leveling fortifications with grand, sweeping spells; Selene reshaping battlefields from afar. Strength, yes. Overwhelming force. But always distant. Controlled. Impersonal.

  He frowned.

  "No," he admitted.

  Cassian exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as the same realization struck him. Lucen's lips curled into something that was not quite a smile.

  "Meme rarely gets her own hands dirty," he said. "Not because she can't. Rather, she rarely finds a target worth it."

  Selene stopped walking.

  The space between her and Azeal was now small enough to feel intimate—dangerously so.

  "You don't know that side of her," Lucen continued, his tone almost conversational. "She's an Altheyron through and through. Battle-crazy when she finds something worth sinking her teeth into."

  Selene raised her hand.

  Her staff answered.

  It slid into her grasp as though it had always been there, the air parting to welcome it. Forged of intertwined elven wood and dwarven mithril, the materials coiled around one another like living vines. At its crown sat a carved shard of Dragon Heart, roughly the size of a grapefruit.

  She leveled the staff at Azeal.

  "It seems," Selene said evenly, "you don't understand what makes my grandmother so powerful. Especially here... in the Hallows."

  Her voice carried without effort, filling every corner of the ballroom.

  "Answer me this, demon," she continued. "Did the concept of Circles—covens—originate from demons?"

  Azeal's smile thinned, but he answered without hesitation. "No. It is an impressively human invention. Likely derived from knowledge gleaned from the dragonborn."

  Selene inclined her head slightly, as though acknowledging a student who had answered correctly.

  "Then you also don't understand Places of Power," she said. "Do you?"

  Azeal's eyes narrowed.

  He did not answer.

  The silence stretched, his expression betraying just enough to confirm his ignorance.

  Selene chuckled.

  Vaylora erupted from her.

  Not in a wave. Not in a burst.

  It poured outward, dense and crushing, a suffocating pressure that slammed into the room like a closing vice. The air distorted, bending visibly around her, as though reality itself struggled to accommodate the force she was exerting.

  Azeal stood abruptly, the throne scraping back several inches as he rose. His casual posture vanished, replaced by something sharp and alert.

  Lilith hissed under her breath and dropped into a defensive stance. The twin demons flanking the throne mirrored her movements, Vaylora flaring around them in instinctive response.

  Across the room, Darius, Cassian, Lucen, and Myrren stood frozen.

  The pressure rolled over them like deep water. Even Lucen's confidence faltered as he stared at Selene's back, eyes wide.

  None of them had seen anything like it.

  "Then allow this child," she said, her voice cutting through the oppressive hum of energy, "to educate you further."