Lucifer tapped a thoughtful finger against his teacup, eyes narrowing slightly.
"The TVA," he mused. "Does it have something to do with your deal?"
The Ancient One took a slow breath, then nodded.
"The moment Kang fell," she said, "the second this universe became visible again—it created repercussions."
Lucifer arched a brow. "Repercussions?"
She set her cup down gently, fingers poised with practiced grace.
"This world," she said, "had been cut away—hidden outside of the Multiversal web for so long. But when Kang died, his hold slipped for just a moment. And in that single second, the barrier weakened."
Lucifer hummed, swirling the tea in his cup.
"And that meant trouble," he mused.
The Ancient One inclined her head. "Yes. The balance of time faltered. It took long to stabilize—longer than I expected. And I could not afford to be absent while it remained fragile."
She let out a slow breath. "So I made a deal."
Lucifer scoffed.
"Oh, how noble," he drawled, leaning back slightly. "The selfless protector, giving up everything for the greater good." He tilted his head. "Tell me, do you actually believe that, or is that just the story you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?"
Mazikeen smirked.
The Ancient One didn't flinch, but there was something in the way she folded her hands that made Lucifer smirk slightly.
Not completely unshaken, then.
"Well," he continued, tone lighter now, mockingly casual, "since I haven't seen any destabilizing rifts, anomalies, or other fun little catastrophes since I arrived, tell me, dear sorcerer—what exactly are you still waiting for?"
The Ancient One watched him for a long moment, expression calm, but with a depth of certainty behind her gaze.
"I wait," she said, "for a worthy successor."
Lucifer stilled for just a fraction of a second, before tilting his head.
"Oh?"
The Ancient One nodded. "In a few years, they will come."
Her voice was unshaken, absolute, as if she had already seen it unfold before her.
"And then," she continued, "it will finally be time for me to rest."
Lucifer considered her carefully.
Then, with a slow smirk, he lifted his teacup and took another sip.
"Well," he murmured, licking a stray drop from his lips, "how delightfully dramatic."
Mazikeen exhaled sharply, shaking her head.
"Yeah," she muttered, giving the sorcerer a long look. "I don't buy it."
Lucifer chuckled. "Neither do I, Maze," he mused, golden eyes gleaming as he turned back to the Ancient One.
"But oh, how I love a good mystery."
And he had the distinct feeling that this one?
Was just beginning.
The Ancient One watched Lucifer carefully, her gaze measuring, thoughtful.
"There is something else you should know," she said, pouring herself another cup of tea.
Lucifer arched a brow, waiting.
"This universe," she continued, "or rather, this Multiverse—it is fractured in ways that many do not understand. Some of its parallel dimensions have been cut away, separated from the main one where you live."
Lucifer leaned forward slightly, mildly intrigued now. "Go on."
The Ancient One took a sip of her tea before setting the cup down.
"And one of those fractured realms," she said, "is Hell."
The word hung between them.
Lucifer's smirk barely faltered, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—not quite irritation, but something close.
Mazikeen, on the other hand, fully scowled.
"You mean to tell us," she muttered, "that the Hell of this Multiverse has been cut off from the rest?"
The Ancient One nodded.
"It is now ruled by High Lords, each governing their own territories," she explained. "The most prominent among them—" she glanced at Lucifer, "—is a being known as Mephisto."
Lucifer groaned.
"Oh, for Hell's sake."
Mazikeen snorted. "That guy?"
Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired at the mere mention of the name.
The Ancient One's gaze remained steady. "Did you come to unify it with your kingdom, then?" she asked. "Or—"
Lucifer didn't even let her finish.
He threw his head back and groaned louder.
"No."
He gestured wildly with one hand, exasperated.
"I came here for a vacation, dear sorcerer," he said, dramatic and suffering. "Not to get more work."
Mazikeen grinned. "Says the guy who keeps picking up pet projects."
Lucifer pointed at her. "Not. A. Word."
The Ancient One's expression remained composed, but there was a distinct glint of amusement in her eyes.
"You don't think you'll be pulled into it?" she asked lightly.
Lucifer sighed dramatically, shaking his head.
"Oh, I know I will," he muttered. "Not by choice, mind you—never by choice—but give it time."
He waved a languid hand, as if resigning himself to the inevitable.
"Eventually, my dear, self-righteous older brother will come nagging at my heels, spouting something about 'duty' and 'responsibility' and 'the natural order of things'"—he deepened his voice mockingly, impersonating Amenadiel—"Lucifer, you cannot let Hell remain divided, it is your sacred role, you must bring balance to the infernal hierarchy!"
He huffed, taking another sip of his tea.
"And then, of course, I'll be pestered, guilt-tripped, and generally harassed into doing something about it, because apparently, I can never be left in peace."
Mazikeen, fully enjoying his misery now, smirked. "You could just ignore it."
Lucifer sighed, setting his cup down.
"You know that's never how these things go, Maze," he lamented. "One moment I'm sipping cocktails, the next I'm restructuring the demonic political landscape."
The Ancient One said nothing.
She simply watched him, calm and unreadable.
Because she, too, knew—it was only a matter of time.
Lucifer sighed again, rubbing his temple.
"Bloody Mephisto."
Mazikeen shrugged. "Could be worse."
Lucifer scoffed. "Could it?"
She considered. "Actually, yeah. You could already be in charge of it."
Lucifer gave her a deeply unimpressed look.
Mazikeen just grinned.
And the Ancient One?
She simply took another sip of tea.
Because, in the end—fate had a way of catching up to even the Devil.
"There's something I would like to ask you, Morningstar," she said, measured but curious.
Lucifer tilted his head slightly, watching her with mild amusement.
"Oh?"
She folded her hands together. "I want to know about the original Multiverse," she said. "Before Kang. Before the TVA. Before time was rewritten, reshaped."
Mazikeen let out a sharp exhale, leaning back against her seat. "Ugh. More time nonsense."
Lucifer smirked but didn't take his eyes off the Ancient One.
"You want history, do you?" he mused.
She nodded. "I know Kang modified much—how much, I do not know. I know there are things he could not touch, but my knowledge of this Multiverse's true origins is… fractured."
Lucifer hummed, tapping a thoughtful finger against the rim of his cup.
"Interesting," he murmured.
"I know of the Big Bang," she continued, "and the creation of the Infinity Stones—how the One Above All set the fabric of reality into motion." She met his gaze. "But Heaven… has always been an absent subject. There is knowledge of cosmic forces, of celestial laws, but very little of the divine."
Lucifer didn't look remotely surprised.
"Of course there isn't," he said smoothly, taking another slow sip of tea.
The Ancient One raised an eyebrow. "You expected this?"
Lucifer exhaled through his nose, a quiet, knowing chuckle escaping him.
"My dear, if this universe contained true knowledge of what happened, then it would have tipped the scales too much," he explained, golden eyes flickering slightly. "It would have given too much weight to the power of Heaven."
He let that sit for a moment, then added, almost lazily—
"And yet…"
He tilted his head, glancing toward the temple walls as if studying the very air itself.
"This universe carries a divine flavor—subtle, but present."
Mazikeen frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"
Lucifer smirked but didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced back at the Ancient One.
"If true knowledge had been present," he continued, "humanity's prayers would have been louder. Their belief, stronger. And that would have made it very difficult for the angels to ignore this universe."
The Ancient One's fingers tapped lightly against the table.
"And yet, they have," she murmured.
Lucifer grinned.
"Indeed," he said. "Which means one of two things—either they never looked, or they couldn't see it."
Mazikeen huffed. "Or they just didn't care."
Lucifer sighed dramatically. "Maze, dear, don't be so cynical."
She shot him a flat look. "You hate them all."
Lucifer smiled sweetly. "That doesn't mean I can't analyze them."
The Ancient One, who had been silent for a moment, finally let out a quiet breath.
"Then the question remains," she said. "Why?"
Lucifer's grin widened.
"Now that," he murmured, "is what I intend to find out."
And something told him—whatever the answer was?
It was going to be very, very interesting.
The Ancient One nodded in understanding, but her eyes still held a searching curiosity.
"And the beginning?" she asked again, her voice calm yet insistent. "I only know what came after the creation of the Infinity Stones. But what came before?"
Lucifer sighed, rolling his eyes with great theatrical suffering.
"Oh, honestly," he muttered, "such persistence."
Mazikeen smirked. "She's got you there, boss. You do love telling stories."
Lucifer shot her a look but didn't deny it.
Instead, he exhaled, lifting his cup and taking one last, slow sip of tea before setting it down with a soft clink.
"Fine," he said, leaning back slightly, his golden eyes gleaming.
"You want the beginning?"
His voice lowered, turning silken, edged with something old—something weighty.
"Then listen closely, dear sorcerer. Because this? This is the oldest story of all."
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