Origin HQ – Lower Levels, Personal Study Hall
The room was quiet.
Not by accident.
Lucifer had sealed it himself—every inch of the wide, stone-lined chamber bound with runes to block noise, aura, and even time-based interference. A pale red glow flickered across the dark walls, pulsing from a single source at the center:
The Crimson Grimoire.
It hovered above the obsidian pedestal, pages open and turning by themselves—slowly, like fingers dragging through ancient memory.
Lucifer stood before it in silence.
Shirtless. Hair wet from a cold shower. A half-finished glass of bloodwine sat untouched on the desk beside him. The shadows at his back shifted with his breath, reacting to his mood.
He'd been searching for hours.
Not for power.
Not for destruction.
But for a name.
A presence.
His father.
Lilith had told him days ago—casually, as if it weren't the most important thing he'd never known.
That his father… was gone.
