Threads of Fate

Chapter 8: A Plea to the Divine

Lucifer stood on the dew-covered grass, the farmhouse still smouldering in the distance. Maya's limp form lay cradled in his arms, her pallor unnervingly close to death. Her faint breath had stopped again, and no amount of CPR seemed to bring her back. His chest felt hollow, and panic clawed at his throat.

He fell to his knees, holding her tightly, his forehead pressed to hers. Smoke curled around them like a dark omen, but for once, Lucifer didn't care about his usual bravado or control. At that moment, nothing mattered except her.

"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Whoever is out there—God, fate, the universe—I don't care who you are. Just bring her back. Please. I'll do anything." Tears blurred his vision, and his voice cracked with desperation. "You can take everything—my money, my power—just don't take her. She doesn't deserve this. Please."

The night seemed to pause. The air grew eerily still, the roaring fire behind him muffled as though the world itself held its breath. Then, suddenly, Maya's body shuddered.

Lucifer's head snapped up, his heart pounding. Her chest rose ever so slightly, her lips parted in a shallow gasp, and her eyes fluttered open, unfocused but alive.

"Maya?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

Her gaze found his, weak but searching. "Lucifer?"

A sob of relief escaped him. He pulled her closer, tears streaming freely down his face as he whispered, "You're back. You're alive."

The ambulance ride to the hospital was a blur. Lucifer sat by Maya's side, gripping her hand as if letting go would mean losing her again. The paramedics worked quickly, stabilizing her vitals and administering oxygen, but he barely noticed. All he could focus on was the faint rise and fall of her chest, proof that she was still with him.

At the hospital, doctors and nurses swarmed around her, wheeling her into the emergency room. Lucifer tried to follow, but a nurse stopped him, gently but firmly telling him to wait outside.

He paced the waiting room, his mind racing. Flashes of Maya trapped in the burning farmhouse haunted him, each memory sharper than the last. The thought of her being hurt because of him gnawed at his conscience.

Hours passed, but Lucifer refused to leave. He leaned against the wall, his head tilted back, staring at the sterile ceiling as exhaustion threatened to pull him under. But every time his eyes closed, he saw Maya's lifeless face, and the guilt jolted him awake.

By the time a doctor emerged to inform him that Maya was stable and resting, it was well past midnight. Relief washed over him, but he didn't leave. Instead, he found a nearby vending machine, bought a lukewarm coffee, and settled into a chair outside her room.

The next day, the first rays of sunlight streamed through the hospital's windows, casting a warm glow over the otherwise cold hallways. Lucifer's tired eyes fluttered open, and he realized he had dozed off in the chair.