Leo walked alone through the quiet streets of Mystic Falls. The morning was still early, the sun not yet fully risen, and the town was peaceful. He had dropped Elena at her house, watched her walk inside, seen the door close behind her. Aunt Jenna would find her there, healthy and fine, and there would be no questions, no panic, no need for lies. Everything was as it should be.
He reached his own house after a short walk. It was a large house, old and comfortable, the kind of house that had been in his family for generations. He walked through the front door, up the stairs, down the hallway to his room. His body felt normal,but his mind was a little tired from the long night but still functioning. He reached for the bathroom door, intending to wash himself, to let hot water run over his skin and wash away the memory of fire and blood.
Then he felt it.
An itching on his back. Right between his shoulder blades, deep beneath the skin. It started small, a minor irritation, something he could ignore. But it grew quickly, becoming stronger, more insistent. It felt like something was pushing from inside, trying to get out.
Leo's hand gripped the bathroom doorknob. His fingers tightened around the metal, squeezed so hard that the knob dented slightly under his strength. The itching was unbearable now, a burning pressure that demanded attention.
"What the hell is happening?" he said to himself, his voice rough with confusion.
He released the doorknob. His legs felt unsteady, weak, as if his body was rearranging itself from the inside. He put one hand on the wall for support and walked slowly, carefully, toward the mirror that hung on the opposite wall. Each step was an effort, a battle against the strange force pushing at his back.
He reached the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, pale and confused. With one motion, he grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing it aside. His upper body was bare now, exposed to the cool air of the room.He looked at himself in the mirror.
At first, he saw only his face. His white, handsome face, the kind of face that could charm anyone, male or female, without effort.But that was not what he was looking for. His eyes traveled downward, past his shoulders, to his back.
And he saw them.
Wings. Two massive wings, pure white, beautiful beyond anything he had ever seen. They were white, pure white, the white of fresh snow or clouds on a summer day.They extended from his shoulder blades, folding slightly against the wall because there was not enough space in the room for them to spread fully. Each feather was perfect, individual, glowing faintly with their own inner light.
Leo's face filled with surprise. His mouth opened. No words came out.
He had not expected this. When he transmigrated to this world,he had gained the powers of Lucifer Morningstar. Strength, speed and immortality. But the wings had not appeared. He had assumed they would come later, or that they simply did not exist in this form. But here they were. Now. Growing from his back like they had always been there.
From the plot of the Lucifer show, he remembered. Lucifer had wings. With those wings, he could travel to heaven. To hell. To places no human had ever seen. The wings were not just for show—they were a doorway, a key, a passport to realms beyond human understanding.
He looked at the open window on the side of his room. The morning air drifted through it, cool and fresh. Outside, the sky was lightening, clouds drifting lazily across the blue.
Excitement rose in his chest. It was a new feeling, a childlike joy at discovering a new power, a new ability. Who would not want to see heaven? Who would not want to see hell? Those fantasy places that everyone had heard about but no one had ever seen—they were real, and he could go there. He could see them with his own eyes.
He focused his mind. He thought about closing the wings, pulling them back inside. The muscles of his back moved, responding to his will, and the wings folded, compressed, disappeared into his skin as if they had never been there. The itching stopped completely. The wings had wanted to come out, probably for the first time, and now that they had, they were satisfied.
Leo moved to the window. He looked down at the ground below. It was a long drop, enough to kill a normal person. But he was not normal. He had wings now and could fly.
He did not hesitate. He jumped.
The air rushed past him as he fell, fast and cold against his bare skin. For a moment, gravity pulled him down, down toward the hard ground. Then he opened his wings.
They spread wide, catching the air, slowing his fall. He felt the pressure against the feathers, the lift, the power. His descent stopped, then reversed. He was rising, climbing, flying upward into the sky.
The wind rushed past his face. His upper body was naked, exposed to the air, but he did not feel cold. He felt alive. He felt free. He soared higher and higher, past the treetops, past the rooftops, past the low clouds. Soon he was above them, looking down at a sea of white, with the blue sky stretching endlessly above.
"That's the power I want," he said to himself, his voice carried away by the wind.
He thought of Elena. He imagined bringing her here, holding her in his arms, flying with her above the clouds. She would see this view, this impossible beauty, and she would smile. The thought made him happier than the flying itself.
He flew higher, pushing toward the edge of the atmosphere, toward the place where earth met sky and beyond. He did not know if he could reach heaven today, or if heaven was even a place you could reach by flying. But he wanted to try. He wanted to see.
The clouds parted beneath him. Leo climbed higher and higher, his massive white wings cutting through the thin air with powerful strokes. The world below shrank until it was nothing but a blue-green memory, hidden by the carpet of clouds that stretched to every horizon. Above him, the sky darkened from blue to deep purple to something black, shot through with the last light of the sun he had left behind.
Then he saw it.
A golden light, far above, like a doorway opening into another world. It was beautiful, warm, inviting. It called to something deep inside him, some part of his being that remembered what it meant to be angelic, to be heavenly, to be close to the source of all light.
He pushed harder. His wings strained, his muscles burned, but he did not stop. The golden light grew closer, brighter, more real with every passing second. He was going to make it. He was going to enter heaven itself and see with his own eyes the place that every human soul had wondered about since the beginning of time.
Then the burning started.
It began in his chest, a small heat that grew rapidly into an inferno. It spread through his body in waves, reaching his arms, his legs, his face, his wings. His skin turned red-orange, like metal pulled from a forge. The pain was immense, unlike anything he had felt before. It was not the pain of injury or wound. It was the pain of being rejected, of being pushed back, of being told in the most direct way possible that he did not belong here.
Leo gritted his teeth. His jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. He could not stop now. Not after coming this far. Not when heaven was right there, just beyond that golden light. He pushed forward, forcing his body through the burning, refusing to accept that he could not enter.
The burning grew stronger. His body screamed in protest. Every nerve, every cell, every part of him was on fire. It was too much. Even for him, it was too much.
He turned away.
The moment he stopped pushing toward the light, the burning began to fade. He flew back, away from the golden door, back toward the familiar blue of Earth's sky. The pain receded slowly, reluctantly, like an animal releasing its prey. By the time he reached the clouds, his body had returned to normal, though the memory of the burning lingered in every cell.
He stopped in the middle of the sky, hovering on his wings, and took a deep breath. The air here was thin but breathable, cool against his skin. He looked back at the golden light, now just a distant glow far above.
"It's because I became Lucifer," he muttered to himself. His voice was hoarse, raw from the pain. "I got his curse too. The fallen angel. And maybe that's the reason I cannot enter heaven anymore."
Disappointment washed through him. He had been so close. So close he could almost taste it, could almost see what lay beyond that golden door. It was like someone putting a delicious dish on a spoon, bringing it to your mouth, and then pulling it away at the last second. The frustration of it, the unfairness of it, sat heavy in his chest.
But he did not let the disappointment ruin his morning. He had wings. He could fly. That alone was more than most beings in existence could claim. And there were other places to explore. Hell, for example. But the thought of visiting hell did not appeal to him right now. His excited mood had been dampened, and besides, hell was not exactly a vacation destination. Who knew what was waiting for him there? What traps, what memories of the fallen angel who had once ruled that place?
Not today, he decided. Today was for flying, for enjoying his new power, for returning home and taking that shower he had wanted since coming home.
He folded his wings and dove through the clouds, descending toward his house with the speed of a falling star. The wind screamed past him, cold and exhilarating. He pulled up at the last moment, his wings spreading to catch the air, and landed softly on the grass outside his window.
Getting back inside was trickier. The window was small, and his wings were large. But he concentrated, folding them tightly against his back, and managed to squeeze through the opening without damaging anything. Once inside, he closed his wings, willing them back into whatever space they occupied when not in use. They vanished, leaving only the faint memory of their weight.
He was about to finally go to the bathroom, to wash away the sweat and exertion of the night and morning, when the doorbell rang.
The sound cut through the quiet of his house like a knife. Leo felt a flicker of annoyance. Just as he was about to have a moment of peace, just as he was about to clean himself and relax, someone had to interrupt.
Who could it be? Alistair, perhaps? No, that did not make sense. Alistair would not come this early, even knowing about the accident last night. He was too respectful of Leo's privacy, too aware of proper boundaries. Besides, if Alistair needed something, he would call first.
So who?
Leo pushed open his bedroom door and moved. His super speed carried him down the stairs in an instant, faster than any human eye could follow. He reached the front door just as the person outside was about to ring the bell a second time. His hand closed around the handle, and he pulled.
The heavy wooden door swung open slowly, revealing the figure on the other side.
She was a girl. Blonde hair, bright and carefully styled. Blue eyes, wide and surprised at suddenly finding the door open. A white inner shirt, visible beneath a blue jacket that matched her eyes. Tight jeans that hugged her legs. She stood on his doorstep, one hand still raised as if to ring the bell again, frozen in the motion.
Caroline Forbes.
Leo stared at her. She stared at him. He was standing in his doorway wearing nothing on his upper body, only jeans on his lower half. His chest was bare, still slightly damp from his flight, the muscles clearly visible. Caroline's eyes traveled down, then up, then down again. A blush crept onto her cheeks.
...
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