Cold ash covered the plain. Ahead, a narrow track crossed the black ground beneath a red sky without a sun.
Simon still held the One-Horned Demon's hand.
"Where am I?"
The answer arrived before he could call Lilith. Not a voice. Recognition rose from the bloodline beside him, carrying a certainty that had never belonged to his memories.
"The Path of Origin."
He looked down the track.
This was not the history of one demon. It was what his blood remembered of the creatures that had existed before it became something so weak.
And the path led backward.
These were not ancestors returning to life. They were shapes preserved within his blood, each older form containing something its descendants had lost.
The One-Horned Demon took a hesitant step.
Simon followed.
Ash stirred beneath their feet, exposing countless overlapping footprints. Some were larger than his body. Others had claws, divided heels, or shapes he could not identify.
The nearer prints were small.
