Adam, now older with longer hair and a full beard, sat before a few of his children.
"...It was such a beautiful place, with all the animals and plants you could think of! In fact, I named them all," said Adam, entertaining his children with tales of Eden and all its wonders.
"Father, why did we leave Eden if it was such a wonderful place?" asked a young child of about seven.
Adam frowned at the question. Seeing this, another child, slightly older—around eight—smacked the seven-year-old on the back of the head.
"Abel, you fool! Why would you ask such a thing? You've made Father upset!" the older boy snapped.
Abel sniffled.
"I hadn't meant to..." he murmured tearfully.
"Well, that's what you did!" the older boy snarled.
"Cain, enough!" Adam interjected. "Leave Abel alone. He clearly didn't mean anything malicious. It was just an innocent question."
He paused.
"And the answer is... well…"
Adam's eyes flicked toward the fields where Eve was returning, several children following behind her. He frowned.
"We lost our paradise. Someone couldn't keep their hands to themselves."
Eve heard him.
"Because someone thought it would be best to do what we weren't supposed to," Adam added, voice laced with venom.
Eve didn't spare him a glance as she passed.
"And I remember a certain someone was the one who took the first step," she replied calmly.
Adam looked like he was about to argue, but he stopped when he saw the worried faces of his children. He sighed and fell silent.
+ + +
This tension never truly faded. One day, long after the death of Abel, and even longer since the Fall of Man, Adam and Eve were old—gray and weathered by time. They were around 800 years old. That day, the couple and a few of their children were working in the fields a few miles from home when the clouds darkened without warning.
Adam looked skyward and frowned.
"We stop here for today. There is a storm coming. Let us pack our things and leave."
The family gathered their supplies. But just as they were about to leave, the storm struck—hard. The wind howled. Rain lashed their skin. Visibility dropped.
With no nearby shelter, they had no choice but to push on through the chaos. The storm grew worse. Eve, worried for her children, glanced around, counting heads. That's when she spotted a small cluster of trees ahead.
Her eyes brightened.
"Adam! There are trees up ahead! Let us take shelter there!" she urged.
"No!" Adam barked. "We forge on! We are close to the shelter we built! If we delay any further, the storm might worsen!"
"But Adam—"
"Eve!" he snapped, cutting her off. "For once, do NOT question my authority! We forge on!"
Surprised by his outburst, Eve clenched her jaw. She had a bellyful of complaints but chose to bite them back. Getting to shelter was more important than bickering.
They moved forward, heads low, braving the raging storm. But fate was unkind. Just as they neared the shelter, one of the children slipped in the mud, crying out in pain.
Eve turned instantly. She ran back to the child, scooping him up in her arms. But the ground beneath her feet shifted. Mud gave way. Earth crumbled.
"Here!" she shouted to one of the older children. "Take him!"
She tossed the injured child up. The older one caught him—barely.
And then the earth beneath Eve collapsed.
She plummeted into a wide pit.
"ADAM! MY CHILDREN! HELP ME!" she screamed.
She tried to stand, but her leg throbbed with sharp pain. She collapsed again with a groan.
Above her, her family looked back. Some children tried to approach the pit, but bolts of lightning struck the edges, driving them back.
"Leave her!" Adam shouted. "We have no time! The storm is getting worse! If we don't leave now, we might end up like her!"
"But Father—"
"I said LEAVE HER! She's a lost cause! Don't question me, or I'll abandon you as well!"
His children stared at him, horrified. Some disobeyed, trying to get closer to the pit. But each time, lightning forced them back.
"You see?" Adam said. "The lightning only strikes when we try to save her. This must be the will of the Almighty! Now let's go!"
Tears streamed down their faces as they followed him away.
In the pit, Eve couldn't hear their words clearly—but she could hear the voices fading.
'No,' she thought. 'They wouldn't...'
"ADAM! ADAM! MY CHILDREN! DO NOT FORSAKE ME! ADAM!"
No reply.
The realization struck her like the lightning above.
'They abandoned me. He abandoned me.'
She curled into herself and wept until no more tears came. Yet inside her, emotions churned—betrayal, sorrow, and a fury stronger than the storm itself.
Then something changed.
The rain stopped. Yet Eve still heard the storm's roar.
Looking up, she saw a black, translucent... something covering the pit's opening. Eve had never seen anything like it.
She gasped.
"It's a barrier. Convenient, isn't it?" came a strange voice.
"Who's there? Whoever you are—please, help me!" Eve pleaded.
"What do I gain from doing that?" the voice replied, amused.
Eve nearly said 'My gratitude,' but paused.
"Show yourself," she demanded.
"As you wish."
Shadows stirred. They swirled together into a dark figure—formless except for two glowing white eyes and a grin.
Eve immediately grabbed a rock and threw it at him. It passed harmlessly through.
"YOU! I'd recognize that voice anywhere! You're the one who tricked me! The serpent! You caused all of this!"
"Did I?" the shadow said playfully. "All I did was tell you what the fruit could do."
"Don't play coy! You wanted me to eat it!"
"True," the shadow admitted. "But you didn't. You were clever. You planned to use the fruit to scare Adam—make him treat you as an equal. You never meant to eat it. That was brilliant."
Eve frowned.
"But you didn't expect Adam to eat it first. So, to keep your plan going, you joined him."
The shadow chuckled.
"Oh, your plan backfired, sure—but the effort counts. Not many outsmart me. I can't possibly take the glory for that brilliance. That was all you."
Eve sat down again, bitter.
"What does it matter? I failed. And now I'm right back where I was—trapped."
"Actually," the shadow said, "I came to offer you something."
"Let me guess—you want me to join you?" she said dryly.
"Indeed. A mind like yours is rare."
Eve narrowed her eyes.
"You caused this storm. This pit. Even that fake grove of trees. None of it was natural."
"Ah, yes," the shadow said with a grin. "Guilty. Even the trees were mine. A little nudge to get you here."
Eve laughed coldly.
"If I go with you," she said, "I'll be rejected by the Almighty."
"He already has," the shadow replied.
Eve was silent for a while.
"Fine," she said softly. "But first—show me your real face."
"Fair enough."
The shadows peeled away. A radiant figure stood before her—terrifying, yet beautiful. Eve tried to slap him, but he caught her wrist and pulled her closer.
"You're feisty for a frail 800-year-old mortal," he laughed.
"Let's just get this over with," Eve muttered.
The figure smirked and kissed her forehead. A surge of dark energy flowed into her. Her gray hair turned honey-gold. Wrinkled skin smoothed. Strength filled her veins.
"Your transformation isn't complete yet," the figure said, "but this will do for now. How do you feel?"
"I feel... reborn."
"Then it's time for a new name," he said.
"First, give me yours," Eve replied.
"Lucifer. Lucifer MorningStar. And you—are now Lilith."
"Lilith MorningStar. That sounds... wonderful," she said.
"It sounds splendid," Lucifer echoed.
X X X
"You were so different back then, so—"
"Say one more word about my past, Leviathan," Lilith said, her gaze sharp as knives, "and the next to enter the Planes of Damnation won't be a human—it'll be you."
She paused, letting the silence stretch.
"Or maybe I'll just take away your precious mimicry. Force you to stay in that hideous form you loathe."
Leviathan immediately bowed.
"Forgive my insolence, my Queen."
Lilith sneered.
"Get out of my sight. And prepare. The others will be here shortly."
Leviathan vanished without another word.
Lilith sighed and reclined back into her throne. A glowing feather appeared in her hand. She held it close, smiling faintly.
"Soon. Very soon," she whispered.