Chapter 32: Unworthy

The path back to the settlement centre cut between two cultivated plots, and the smell changed: something sweet and wrong, like overripe fruit left in heat.

I heard the group before I saw them. A short line of mortals moving along the dirt track, their wrists bound together with a single rope. Six of them. The demons on either flank were laughing about something, and one punctuated the punchline by driving an elbow into the nearest man's ribs. The man stumbled. The rope yanked the others. The demon thought this was funnier.

I watched them pass and kept walking.

Somewhere in the first week I would have felt that differently. I was almost certain. There would have been something physical—a clench in the stomach, a pull toward intervention. Now I just noted the scene, filed it, moved on. When exactly had the transition happened? I couldn't locate it. There was no specific moment I could point to where the discomfort had finished.

Though it occurred to me that discomfort and correctness were separate questions.

These people were here because of something. A pact, a life lived badly enough that the accounting landed them in Asphodel rather than somewhere preferable. The mechanisms of damnation were real and documented; I'd read enough of the library's texts to know the broad strokes. You made a contract and died owing, or you died having done enough that higher powers decided you belonged to Hell.

But I hadn't read anything about the criteria. What constituted enough. Someone who stole to eat—did the scale weigh that the same as someone who stole because they could? I genuinely didn't know. The library had the answer somewhere. I added it to the list.

The settlement centre opened up ahead, the Transport Gate's obsidian arch cutting a vertical line against the perpetual twilight. A handful of students stood in loose clusters near the square's edge, samples already sealed and labelled. Early finishers, or groups who'd taken the shortest path through their lists.

Professor Auriel stood apart from them, her braid falling over one shoulder as she reviewed something in her hand. She looked up when I came within twenty feet.

"Miss Morningstar." She tucked the paper away. "Is your group finished?"

"Almost. Isabella and Aria are handling the final item." I stopped a few feet from her. "I left them to it."

She read something in my face. Her golden eyes were attentive without being intrusive.

"Something on your mind?"

I considered deflecting. It would have been easy. But something about the way she asked it—no performance in it, no angle—made me reconsider.

"Can I ask you something first? Unrelated."

She tilted her head, waiting.

"How did you end up here? In Hell." I kept my tone neutral. "You don't have to answer."

Auriel was quiet for a moment. Not the quiet of someone deciding how much to reveal, but the quiet of someone who'd made peace with a long answer and was choosing where to start.

"I served a certain god," she said. "For a very long time."

She looked toward the forest edge, where the purple canopy pressed close against the clearing's boundary.

"There came a point where I was asked to do something I believed was wrong. Not wrong by his law—wrong by my own judgment. The distinction mattered to me more than it apparently should have."

She paused.

"My god disagreed with my reasoning."

*

"I ended up here," she said, and the simplicity of the statement landed with weight. "Hell welcomed me when no one else would. I had knowledge, skills—practical value. The Academy needed an alchemist who understood both theory and application."

She looked back at me.

"I won't bore you with the details of how exactly it happened. The short version is I fled, and Hell was the only place that didn't care about my past allegiances."

The gate hummed softly behind us, a low vibration that carried through the stone.

"So," Auriel said. "What were you thinking about?"

I watched the forest edge for a moment, where the purple leaves shifted without wind.

"How do mortals end up here? In Hell." I turned back to her. "Besides dealing with us directly."

"That's typically second-year material," Auriel said. "But I can give you the short version."

She folded her hands in front of her.

"Most of the Damned arrive through the Soul Crucible in Pandemonium. You probably already know that much."

I kept my expression neutral. I'd heard the term, but only in passing.

"What you probably don't know," Auriel continued, "is how they get there. They arrive because the god or pantheon they believed in deemed them unworthy."

"Unworthy?"

"Each deity maintains their own standards. Rules their believers must follow if they want entrance to that god's realm after death." She said it matter-of-factly. "If you don't meet the criteria, you're rejected. Your soul goes to the Crucible."

I processed that.

"So if someone believed in a god of war but lived as a pacifist, they'd end up here?"

"Yes."

The implications unfolded in my mind, one after another. The man I'd watched stumble earlier could have been there not because he'd done something monstrous, but because he'd simply placed his faith in the wrong deity. Or been an atheist. Or failed to perform the correct rituals. The criteria were arbitrary—defined by beings who had no obligation to be fair about it.

Hell not only created its own supply. It also claimed the unwanted.

"Though the scenario you describe is unlikely," Auriel added. "People's beliefs usually align with their chosen pantheons. Most devotees of war gods don't struggle with violence."

She paused.

"And there's also The Creator to consider."

I looked at her.

"The Creator claims any soul that lived a good life, regardless of faith. As long as no other pantheon has a prior claim."

"What does it mean to live a good life?"

"Demons and The Creator have quite different definitions," Auriel said. "But generally it means behaving with righteousness and compassion. Being a selfless person, by mortal standards. And while that might not sound appealing to most demons, such behaviour is quite common among mortals."

There was something in the way she said it—a subtle emphasis, like she was making a point I was supposed to catch but she couldn't state directly.

Across the square, two figures emerged from the track between the plots. Aria held a jar of opalescent fluid above her head, the motion triumphant. Isabella walked beside her with her usual measured stride.

"I should let you go," Auriel said.

"Thank you for answering my questions."

"I'm always happy to guide my students." She inclined her head slightly. "Safe travels back to Gehenna."

I turned toward Aria and Isabella.

The distance between us closed quickly. Aria was grinning, the jar still raised like a trophy.

"Got it!" she announced. "Bella did most of the work but I helped hold the jar steady while she—" She mimed something I couldn't quite parse, then laughed. "It was gross. You would've hated it."

Isabella's expression remained neutral, but there was satisfaction in the set of her shoulders.

"The sample is viable," she said. "We have everything on the list."

I glanced at the jar. The contents shifted, catching the light in ways that suggested unusual viscosity.

"Good," I said. "Let's turn it in and get out of here."

*

The gate deposited us back into the Academy district with a sound like a closing book. The volcanic heat hit first—that familiar dry pressure that I'd stopped noticing weeks ago.

Aria threw her arms wide and tilted her face up toward the red sky.

"Oh, that is so good." She rolled her shoulders back, twice, like shaking off Asphodel's damp air. "And we made it back with time to spare. See? We totally kept the schedule."

"Largely because Isabella pulled you out of that processing station," I said.

"She would have stayed another half day," Isabella said.

Aria pointed at her. "True. I won't argue with that." She turned to me, falling into step as we moved away from the gate. "Okay, so what were you and Auriel actually talking about? I saw you two over there looking very serious."

"How mortals end up in Hell."

Aria stopped walking long enough to stare at me.

"Only you," she said. "Only you could be standing in Asphodel with a fallen angel and make it boring. You should've asked about seducing angels. How their halos work. Whether the wings are as sensitive as ours." She waved a hand. "Not that Auriel would've told you anything useful—she's a bit weird. But all fallen angels are, it's like a condition they have."

"I'll keep that in mind."

She linked her arm through mine and steered us toward the main road. "Forget trees and dead mortals. Tomorrow we deal with Valentina, and today we do absolutely nothing that requires effort. I'm thinking baths, food, and lying completely flat on something soft. Maybe in that order, maybe not."

"That has my approval," Isabella said, on my other side.

Aria brightened. "Okay, so—bath first, obviously, because Asphodel smells like something died and decided to keep going. Then food. I want the flatbread thing from the hall with the—" she made a vague enthusiastic gesture, "—the sauce. And then we just exist for a while."

The street widened ahead, familiar obsidian storefronts catching the red light.

"I can work with that," I said.

"Of course," Aria said. "It's a perfect plan."

*

The bath had helped. Food too. Now I lay flat on my bed staring at the ceiling while heat from the pipes made the air shimmer against stone.

Aria hummed something tuneless from her own bed, flipping through a journal.

They arrive because the god or pantheon they believed in deemed them unworthy.

Auriel's words circled back. How many people ended up here not because they were particularly wicked, but because they'd failed some arbitrary test? Believed the wrong way. Worshipped with insufficient fervour. Died at the wrong moment.

I'd asked Auriel specifically to understand the criteria. To know what separated the damned from the saved.

Now I wished I hadn't.

"Okay, what's got you thinking again?"

I turned my head. Aria had set her journal aside and propped herself on one elbow.

"Just processing."

"That's not an answer." She shifted to face me fully. "Come on. Share."

I measured whether she'd understand. She was a demon, even if she'd been human once. Whatever mortal perspective she'd once held had faded with her old memories.

"Why is everything in Hell designed this way?"

Aria blinked. "You need to be more specific, Lily."

I sat up, crossing my legs. "Why use the damned as currency? Or slaves? Why not just let them exist?"

She stared at me for three seconds.

"Lily, you ask the strangest questions sometimes." Her mouth curved. "Are you sure you're really a succubus?"

The question landed harder than she knew.

I thought about my life before. How everything had made sense. Clear systems, predictable outcomes, logical cause and effect.

Then how easily I'd accepted everything here. How quickly I'd learned to ignore the suffering. How I never truly felt bad about it.

Even with Bellas—I still used him almost every day. Told myself it was the best outcome he could have. But I wasn't sure that wasn't just another hollow justification.

"I wonder that myself sometimes."

Aria erupted laughing, flopping backward on her bed. "Oh gods. Well, you're certainly unusual, I'll give you that. But honey, as far as I can tell you're succubus to the bone. A bit weird, sure, but that's common among royalty. There's no doubt about who you are."

She propped herself up again, grinning. "Wait, are you for real?"

"Just a thought."

"Lily." She leaned forward. "I've seen you in bed. There is no denying what you are."

Her expression shifted, playful. "Want me to demonstrate again?"

Heat touched my face. I coughed, memories surfacing—the club in London, our nights here, how completely I'd lost myself in those moments.

"Can you just answer the original question?"

Aria's grin faded into something more thoughtful. She sat up properly, drawing one knee to her chest.

"Why wouldn't we?" She said it simply. "It's natural law. Mortals do the same thing—they farm animals, keep pets. We do the same to them. Isn't it normal to do that to lesser beings?"

The logic held. Mortals didn't agonize over livestock. They used what they needed and moved on.

But it didn't explain the cruelty. The deliberate suffering beyond utility. The pleasure some demons took in breaking what they owned.

I didn't ask that question. Didn't want to hear the answer.

"Right." I stood, stretching. "We should prepare for Magic Theory tomorrow."

Aria groaned and threw an arm over her eyes. "You're the worst. We just got back."

"Professor Tenebris won't care."

"She never cares." But Aria was already rolling off her bed, reaching for her bag. "Fine. But if I fall asleep during your explanation of mana circulation, that's on you."

I sat up and retrieved my own materials, grateful for the distraction of familiar work.

The questions could wait. They'd been waiting since her first day in here.

What was one more night?

*

I settled into my seat, Aria to my left and Isabella to my right. The lecture hall filled around us, voices bouncing off stone as students claimed their usual spots.

Aria leaned into my space. "So, tentacles. You're really going to keep avoiding them?"

"I'm comfortable with my choices."

"But you don't even know what you're missing." She spread her hands. "The way they move, how they can get into every—"

"I'll stick to what I already know works."

Isabella's mouth twitched. "A reasonable position."

"Thank you."

"You're both boring." Aria flopped back against the bench. "I'm just saying, broaden your horizons a little. Live a little."

"I live plenty."

The hall doors opened. Professor Morrigan swept through, yellow eyes scanning the tiers as conversation died in ripples. She reached the front platform and turned to face us.

"Today's session will deviate from standard format."

Aria went still beside me.

Morrigan continued without pause. "Before the lecture begins, I will assign you into pairs. Each pair will collaborate on a mini-lecture to be delivered next session."

"Oh no," Aria breathed.

"The pairings are randomized," Morrigan said. "Topics will be distributed alongside assignments."

A hand shot up three rows down. "What if we get paired with someone we don't like?"

"Then you will resolve the interpersonal difficulty or you will fail the assignment together." Morrigan's expression didn't shift. "Collaboration under adverse conditions is a necessary skill. Consider this practical application."

Murmurs spread through the hall, dissatisfied but contained. Nobody wanted to draw Morrigan's attention by complaining too loudly.

"Fuck," someone muttered behind us.

Isabella sat perfectly still, fingers resting on her notebook.

Aria slumped lower. "This is going to be a disaster."

"It might be fine."

"When is random pairing ever fine?" She turned to me. "Watch, I'm going to get stuck with Valentina or one of her lackeys, and then we're both going to murder each other before we present anything."

"Then don't murder each other."

"Helpful advice, Lily. Really."

Morrigan cleared her throat. The hall went silent.

"I will now distribute assignments." She lifted a scroll. "When I call your names, note your partner and collect your topic slip from the front desk after class."

My stomach tightened. Random meant anything. Could be someone competent. Could be someone impossible.

Could be interesting either way.

*

Morrigan worked through the list steadily, no ceremony. Names fell in pairs. Students around the hall reacted with suppressed groans or quiet relief, and Morrigan acknowledged none of it.

I had my quill out, not writing anything. Just waiting.

"Lily Nightstar."

I straightened.

"Valentina Morgenstern."

Aria turned to me with the expression of someone delivering news about a death in the family. She gripped my arm with both hands. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"I'll manage."

"You'll manage." She said it like I'd announced I was walking into a fire. "Lily—"

"She will be fine." Isabella's voice was dry. "Unlike you, she doesn't require a compatible personality to function."

Aria let go of my arm and sat up straight. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like."

"I function great with incompatible people."

"You started an argument with a wall sconce."

"It was in a stupid place."

I stopped listening and looked across the hall. Valentina sat four rows down and two sections over, her posture flawless, her attention fixed somewhere toward the front. Not at Morrigan. Just away from me.

Deliberate. I'd have done the same.

Great. Of all the people in this hall, she got me and I got her, and neither of us could afford to fail the assignment. Whatever topic Morrigan assigned would need to be actually presentable, which meant at some point we'd have to occupy the same space and cooperate.

I could already map the friction points.

"Ariasielle Nova," Morrigan called.

Aria went rigid.

"Isabella Lilitu."

The silence lasted one second before Aria made a sound that wasn't quite a word. Her whole face rearranged into something incandescent.

Isabella's expression didn't move. "Don't read into it."

"We're partners," Aria said. "We're partners."

"We share courses. This is not more significant than that."

But she was already uncapping her ink, and I caught the slight upward curve at the corner of her mouth before she looked back at her parchment.

Morrigan continued down the list. I noted the topic slip I'd need to collect after class and turned my attention inward.

Working with Valentina was a constraint, not an obstacle. Find the overlap between what she wanted from the assignment and what I needed. Keep contact minimal and purposeful. Present something competent enough that neither of us absorbed the fallout.

And the weekend. I needed to review the circle geometry before Friday evening and decide whether to bring the other two or go alone this time.

"Now." Morrigan set the scroll down. "That is everyone. We will proceed with today's lecture."

*

Morrigan's closing remarks dissolved into the scrape of benches and the rustle of parchment being rolled. I pressed two fingers to my ring and felt the familiar give of the pocket dimension opening. Quill, ink, scroll—gone before the student beside me had finished capping her bottle.

"I'm so sorry," Aria said. She had one hand over her heart.

"You already said that."

"I know. I'm saying it again."

I stood and smoothed my skirt. "I'll manage."

"I know you'll manage." She fell into step beside me, matching my pace down the aisle. "I'm not worried about you managing. I'm worried about Valentina."

"You're not worried about Valentina," Isabella said, appearing on my other side.

A pause. "...I'm kind of curious how Lily puts her in her place."

"There it is."

I left them to it and angled toward Morrigan's desk at the front of the hall. The crowd thinned in that direction—most students were heading for the exits, not toward the topic assignments—which meant I covered the distance quickly enough to have a clear view of who was already there.

Valentina stood at the desk's corner, one hand resting lightly on the basalt edge, her posture the kind that required years of maintenance. She hadn't taken the assignment slip yet. She was waiting, which meant she'd clocked my approach.

I had the idle thought that somewhere, something was watching this unfold and finding it very satisfying. Some higher-dimensional entity with a particular taste for irony, arranging pairings with Morrigan as an unwitting instrument. Or witting. I still hadn't decided about Morrigan.

Valentina's eyes met mine as I reached the desk.

We didn't speak for a moment. The noise of the hall moved around us.

"It seems," she said, "we'll be working together." A brief pause, measured and deliberate. "Don't let it go to your head."

There was something almost careful under the delivery. Like she'd practiced the line and decided it was the safest one available.

I reached past her and picked up the topic slip from Morrigan's desk. "Wasn't planning to."

Morrigan looked up from the stack of parchments she was sorting. The smile that crossed her face was small and precise, the expression of someone reviewing a wager that was going exactly as expected.

"Happy collaboration," she said.

"Tell Valentina I said hi!" Aria's voice carried from halfway up the aisle, cheerful and entirely too loud.

I did not look back.

*

The library platform drifted to a stop at a reading table tucked against the outer wall, crystals overhead giving off enough light to work by. I settled my parchment and pulled the topic slip from my ring.

Mana: Structure and Nature. First-year foundational framework. Semester one, week three.

Not complex material. The split between ambient and internal, the biological filtration process, the cultivation cycle. Two students who'd done the reading could divide it in an hour.

Valentina took the seat across from me and arranged her own materials with the deliberate care of someone who needed the task to look beneath her.

"Right." I set the slip between us. "You take ambient mana and the taint. I'll cover internal generation and the cultivation cycle. We outline separately, combine on Woesday, present Thirstday."

Valentina looked at the slip. Then at me. The look had a specific quality, the kind that preceded a sentence beginning with do you have any idea.

"I won't be taking direction from a commoner."

I held the breath for a count of two. Outside, something heavy crossed a platform above us, and the whole structure gave a slow sway.

"Valentina. Do you want to fail this?"

A silence. Her jaw shifted.

"Obviously not."

"Then what would you suggest?"

She pulled the slip toward her side of the table. Studied it with the expression of someone doing a favour for the universe. "You cover ambient mana and the taint. I'll handle internal generation and the cultivation cycle. We outline separately, compile mid-week, present Thirstday."

I stared at her.

She held the slip out, waiting.

I pressed two fingers to my temple. The words that is exactly what I said formed and dissolved without making it to my mouth, because saying them would cost ten minutes and gain nothing. The platform swayed again. Somewhere above us a book drifted loose from its shelf and bumped softly against the wall.

"Fine," I said. "We'll do that."

Valentina set the slip down and smoothed it flat against the table, a small, precise motion. The corner of her mouth moved.

Not a smirk, quite. Something she put away before it finished forming.

I pulled the nearest parchment toward me and set quill to page. This was going to be a very long project.