The growl came again—closer now. It wasn't the unhinged screech of a demon or the hollow howl of the undead. This sound was low and ancient, like the earth itself was clearing its throat. It reverberated through the rusted metal of the train station, rattling loose flakes of dust from the decaying ceiling.
Aria stepped forward, blade in hand, every muscle coiled. Her eyes scanned the dark with a sharpness that could slice steel. I stood behind her, my pulse pounding so loud it might've drowned out the growl.
The air grew thicker. Warmer. It felt like stepping into a furnace that hadn't been used in centuries, but was suddenly blazing to life.
And then…
A shadow moved just outside the broken entrance of the station. It didn't creep—it strode. Massive. Confident. The rhythm of claws clicking against concrete echoed like the thunderous heartbeat of a beast long thought dead.
I squinted through the gloom, and then—he emerged.
Not a beast. Not a man.
Something in between.
He was tall. No—huge. Seven feet if he was an inch, with a build like a walking mountain carved from iron and anger. His chest was bare, bronzed skin marked with dozens of scars, each a history of battles fought and survived. The remnants of a torn trench coat hung from his shoulders like a trophy of a war he no longer cared to explain. Muscles rippled as he moved, not like someone trying to show off—but like someone who'd fought giants and survived.
His hair was wild, shoulder-length, like a black mane touched with streaks of ash gray. His eyes—burning amber—locked onto mine like they were pulling me into a furnace.
Behind him, three ghostly canine figures formed. Not fully physical. They shimmered with smoke and flame, each one with eyes like coals and teeth like daggers. They moved as one, circling him protectively, snarling low.
"Aria," the figure said at last. His voice was like gravel under fire. Rough, but sharp. Lazy in tone, but dangerous in rhythm. "You look worse than I expected."
Aria didn't lower her blade. "Cerberus."
He gave a crooked smile, eyes glittering. "You finally stopped running."
She stayed where she was, motionless.
And I stayed behind her, unsure whether to run or burst into flames again.
Cerberus's gaze shifted to me. He sized me up like a blacksmith studying raw ore. "So this is him?" he asked. "The brat with the golden fire."
I took a breath. "Kai."
He sniffed once. "Smells like ash. And bad decisions."
"Nice to meet you too," I muttered, folding my arms.
The three smoky hounds circled us once more before merging back into his form like phantoms returning home. They weren't pets. They were pieces of him. Shadows of the original gatekeeper.
Cerberus stretched, cracking his neck and shoulders, the sound like boulders grinding together. "So," he muttered, "you drag me out of the dirt because the kid's playing with matches?"
Aria didn't flinch. "We need your help. He's awakening. But without control, he'll destroy himself."
Cerberus raised an eyebrow. "And why would I help the son of the one who left me chained to the Underworld's gates while he ran off to play king?"
A heavy silence followed.
His words hit like stone. Aria didn't respond right away. Neither did I.
So I stepped forward.
"Because if you don't…" I said, swallowing the knot in my throat, "they'll kill me. Heaven. Hell. All of them. And this world? It'll burn."
He looked at me.
Longer this time.
His expression shifted—just slightly. His amber eyes seemed to lose focus for a heartbeat, as if remembering something older than memory.
"…He called me Puppy," Cerberus muttered, barely above a whisper.
I blinked. "What?"
He chuckled, low and bitter. "Lucifer. The King of Hell. He used to call me Puppy. Made me guard every damn thing he wanted to keep safe, and he still had the nerve to scratch behind my ears when no one was looking."
I didn't know what to say.
Cerberus looked up at the ruined ceiling, as if expecting Lucifer himself to peer down and laugh.
"Lucifer was many things," he said. "A tyrant. A storm. A flame that burned the heavens. But he was mine. And I was his."
Aria's blade dipped slightly. "Then help his son. Time's running out."
Cerberus stared at her. Then at me. Something fierce flickered behind his gaze—an old loyalty refusing to die.
"…Fine," he growled. "But if the boy bites, I bite back."
He turned, walking deeper into the shadowy depths of the station like a beast returning to its den.
"Come on, Ashling," he called over his shoulder. "Time to teach you how not to incinerate yourself."
I followed.
Not just because I had to.
But because, for the first time, I wasn't running from the fire.
I was walking straight into it.