CHAPTER 16 —
Part I: The Truth Spoken Aloud
The moment the words left Louise's mouth, the world seemed to stop breathing.
The laughter from moments ago—children playing, plates clinking, Maya teasing Leo—collapsed into a stunned, suffocating silence. Even the wind that had been moving gently through the trees stilled, as though the land itself was listening.
Lucas stared at her.
Not with anger.
Not with fear.
With something far worse.
Disbelief.
"Louise…" he said slowly, his voice low and strained, like if he spoke too loudly the truth might shatter. "That isn't funny."
She didn't flinch.
Leo let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Okay—okay. That's… that's a joke, right? A very dark one, but—"
"It's not," Louise said calmly.
Maya's smile had already vanished. Her witch's instincts were screaming, magic stirring uneasily beneath her skin. "Louise," she said carefully, "you don't joke about things like that. Say you're lying. Please."
Louise lifted her eyes—red, steady, ancient beyond her years—and met each of theirs in turn.
"I'm not lying."
Felix swore under his breath.
The children—Leon, Mira, and Lisa—were still nearby, their laughter fading as they sensed the shift in the adults. Leon looked between his parents, confusion knitting his brow.
Lucas noticed immediately.
"Felix," Lucas said without taking his eyes off Louise. "Take the children. Now."
Maya hesitated. "Lucas—"
"Now," he repeated, firmer.
Maya swallowed, then nodded. She knelt, gathering Mira and Lisa into her arms. "Sweethearts, come on. Let's go inside and get some sweets."
"But we were playing," Lisa protested.
Leon looked up at Louise. "Mom?"
Louise forced a soft smile just for him. "Go with Aunt Maya, baby. I'll be there soon."
Reluctantly, the children were led away, Felix following close behind, his jaw tight, eyes wary. When they were out of earshot, the air snapped taut like a drawn bowstring.
Leo was the first to explode.
"You're saying your father is—what?" he demanded. "The Devil? As in the Devil? Ruler of Hell, destroyer of souls, embodiment of—"
"Lucifer Morningstar," Louise finished quietly. "Yes."
Silence crashed down again.
Lucas stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away, then back. His hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. "No. No, this is—this is impossible. You're a demon, yes, we know that, but—"
"But not that kind," Leo snapped. "Not—this."
Maya shook her head slowly, her voice trembling despite herself. "Louise… demons lie. They manipulate. That's not an accusation, it's a fact of magic. If this is some kind of—"
Louise cut her off sharply. "Stop."
The single word carried weight. Command. Authority.
"I didn't tell you to scare you," she said. "And I didn't tell you to be believed on faith alone."
Lucas froze. "What do you mean?"
Louise inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "I mean I can prove it."
A chill crawled down Maya's spine. "How?"
Louise's gaze flicked to each of them. "I can show you."
Leo stiffened. "Show us what?"
"My memories."
Lucas's heart dropped.
"No," he said instantly. "Absolutely not. Whatever you think you're about to do—"
"I'm doing it," Louise interrupted. Not cruelly. Not angrily. Simply… decided.
Maya's eyes widened. "Louise, memory sharing on that scale is dangerous. Especially if—if Hell is involved."
Louise gave a faint, humorless smile. "I grew up there. It won't hurt me."
"But it could hurt us," Leo shot back.
She looked at him then, really looked. "You asked for the truth."
Lucas stepped toward her. "Louise… please. If this is something you've carried alone for this long, you don't have to—"
"I do," she said softly.
The firmness in her voice left no room for argument.
Slowly, deliberately, Louise reached out.
Her magic unfurled—not wild, not violent, but vast. Red-black sigils shimmered briefly in the air, ancient and infernal, weaving into something deeper than sight. Maya gasped as she felt it brush against her mind—not invading, but inviting.
Louise's voice echoed, not just in their ears, but inside them.
This is my childhood.
This is the truth.
This is Hell.
And the world shattered.
Part II: The Memory of Hell
The world dissolved.
Not faded—collapsed.
Reality peeled away like skin from bone, and suddenly Lucas, Leo, and Maya were no longer standing beneath open skies and green trees.
They were falling.
Not downward—inward.
Heat slammed into them first. Not the warmth of fire, but the suffocating pressure of it, like the air itself burned. The sky above them was not a sky at all—just a vast, churning expanse of crimson and black, clouds boiling like living things.
Hell.
They stood on obsidian ground veined with glowing cracks of molten gold and blood-red fire. Screams echoed—not constant, but distant and layered, as though suffering were an accepted background noise, woven into existence itself.
And then—
A child laughed.
Lucas's breath hitched.
Louise—no, young Louise—ran past them, no more than six years old. Her hair was darker then, tied loosely, her small feet bare as she skipped across ground that should have burned her to ash.
But it didn't.
Because this place belonged to her.
She darted between towering pillars of black stone where demons moved like shadows—some twisted and monstrous, others beautiful in terrifying ways. None touched her. None stopped her.
They bowed.
At the center of it all stood a throne.
It was carved from obsidian and gold, etched with ancient runes older than language. Upon it sat a man with wings folded behind him—vast, dark, feathered like night itself.
Lucifer.
He was devastatingly beautiful.
Not kind.
Not cruel.
Focused.
His eyes burned like dying stars—red and gold swirling endlessly. His presence alone bent the air, warped reality. Demons knelt. Souls trembled. Entire legions stood in silent formation awaiting his command.
And still—
He did not look at his daughter.
Little Louise stopped near the base of the throne, craning her neck. "Father?"
Lucifer did not answer.
His gaze was fixed forward, watching armies march across infernal plains, overseeing torture chambers where screams rose and fell in rhythmic precision, studying portals that shimmered with images of mortal wars and corruption.
His mission.
Always his mission.
The memory shifted.
Louise was older now—ten, maybe. Standing beside a woman with soft eyes and silver-black hair.
Her mother.
She smelled of ash and night-blooming flowers. Her hands were gentle, always pulling Louise close, shielding her eyes from the worst sights.
"You don't have to watch," her mother whispered.
"But Father watches," Louise replied.
Her mother's smile was sad. "Yes… he does."
Then came the day everything broke.
The sky split open—not with fire, but with silence.
Louise remembered screaming as her mother fell, struck down during an uprising Lucifer barely acknowledged. Demons scattered. Blood soaked the obsidian floor.
Louise knelt beside her, shaking hands pressing against a wound that refused to heal.
"Don't cry, my little star," her mother whispered weakly. "You are stronger than this place."
Lucifer stood above them.
Looking down.
Not kneeling.
Not touching.
"Take her away," he commanded coldly.
And just like that, her mother was gone.
The memory twisted again.
Training.
Louise stood in a vast arena of black stone. Across from her loomed Lord Ilyas—tall, horned, eyes glowing with ancient intelligence. His presence was sharp, disciplined.
"She is undisciplined," Ilyas said once.
"She is my daughter," Lucifer replied. "Make her useful."
So Ilyas trained her.
Day after endless day.
Combat until her muscles screamed. Magic until her veins burned. Control until tears dried and emotions were buried beneath iron will.
"You hesitate," Ilyas barked as young Louise staggered back from a blow.
"She's a child," she cried.
"You are a demon," he corrected. "And demons do not survive by softness."
Years passed in moments.
Louise learned to fight. To heal. To endure pain without sound. She learned to disappear. To shield her mind. To lock memories away where even Seers could not reach.
And then—
She ran.
The memory showed her slipping through a collapsing portal, bloodied, determined, terrified. Running toward the mortal world.
Toward the Lunaris Pack.
Toward a family already shattered by rogue attacks and the death of Alpha Kane and Luna Martha.
The memory slowed.
Louise stood alone at the edge of Hell, turning once—just once—back toward the throne.
Lucifer watched her then.
Not with love.
Not with regret.
With interest.
"Go," he said. "The world will burn eventually. Whether you stand with me or against me… remains to be seen."
The memory shattered.them, gasping like he'd just surfaced from deep water.
Maya fell to her knees, tears streaming freely down her face.
Leo stood frozen.
Silence reigned.
Louise swayed slightly—but stayed standing.
"That," she said quietly, "is my childhood."
No one spoke.
Finally, Lucas crossed the space between them in three strides and pulled her into his arms—hard, protective, furious with a universe that had ever let her suffer alone.
"You should have told me," he whispered hoarsely.
Louise didn't cry. "I didn't think it mattered."
Leo swallowed thickly. "You were a child… gods, Louise…"
Maya wiped her tears, voice shaking. "You survived Hell."
Louise lifted her chin. "And I won't let it touch my children."
A distant thunder rolled—not from the sky above them—
But from below.
Louise's eyes darkened.
"The doorway is opening," she said.
Lucas tightened his hold. "Then we face it together."
She looked at him, at Leo, at Maya—then smiled faintly.
"Pack holiday," she said softly.
"In Hell."Part IV: The Road to the Gate
No one argued after that.
Not because they weren't afraid—but because some truths rearrange the spine of the world, and once spoken, there is no pretending the ground beneath you hasn't shifted.
Maya was the first to move.
She turned sharply toward the children, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "Alright, little stars. Go with Rebecca. Now."
Mira frowned. "But Mama—"
"Now," Maya repeated gently, kneeling to kiss both twins' foreheads. "This is grown-up business."
Leon hesitated longer, green eyes—Lucas's eyes—fixed on Louise. "Auntie… are you scared?"
Louise crouched in front of him, resting her forehead briefly against his. "No, sweetheart," she said honestly. "I've walked this road before."
That seemed to satisfy him.
The children were ushered away—confused, whispering, glancing back until distance swallowed them whole.
Only then did the adults turn back to Louise.
Felix exhaled slowly. "So… we're really doing this."
"Yes," Louise replied. Calm. Certain. "The doorway will not stay open forever."
Lucas stepped to her side immediately. No hesitation. No doubt. "Then we leave now."
Leo looked between them, jaw tight, then nodded. "I'm not letting you walk into Hell alone."
Maya swallowed hard. "Neither am I."
Others followed—some angry, some terrified, some resigned—but none turned back.
Because the choice had already been made the moment Louise spoke the truth.
Horses were brought forward first—strong, armored beasts snorting uneasily as if they sensed what lay ahead. Carriages followed, reinforced and warded, meant to carry the children safely behind the fighting line.
The sky above had darkened—not with storm clouds, but with something heavier. The air felt thick, charged, vibrating with unseen pressure.
Louise mounted her horse with practiced ease.
Lucas watched her closely. Not with fear—but with something deeper.
Understanding.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," he said quietly as he swung up beside her.
Louise smiled faintly. "I know. But I choose to be."
He leaned closer, forehead brushing hers. "Then I'll be strong with you."
Felix cleared his throat loudly. "Alright, lovers. Let's go knock on Satan's front door."
Leo huffed despite himself. "You're not funny."
"I know," Felix replied. "That's how bad this is."
They moved.
Hooves struck the road in steady rhythm. Wheels creaked. No one spoke much as the capital faded behind them—towers shrinking, lights dimming, normal life slipping away.
Ahead, far beyond the hills, the land itself seemed to warp.
The horizon bent inward.
The air shimmered like heat over stone.
And deep within Louise's chest, something ancient stirred—not fear, not dread—
Recognition.
She straightened in her saddle.
"We're close," she said.
Lucas tightened his grip on the reins. "To the gate?"
Louise's eyes glowed faintly red as she stared ahead.
"To my father's world."
The road dipped.
The earth trembled once.
And somewhere beyond sight, a door older than creation awaited it's opening.