When Michael opened his eyes again, he was breathing.
Strong.
Alive.
In a world that would love him endlessly—
and test whether love alone
was enough to keep him human.
Lucifer woke to warmth.
Not heat—presence.
Soft pressure surrounded him, weight resting against his sides, breath brushing his skin. For a single disoriented moment, panic flared in his chest—then memory returned.
He opened his eyes.
He was lying on a wide stone bed, runes glowing faintly along its edges. Draped over him were bodies—unashamed, unguarded, familiar.
His sisters.
One lay with her head resting on his shoulder, silver hair spilling across his chest. Another was curled near his side, fingers loosely entwined with his. At the edge of the bed sat a woman—his mother—her hand resting openly on his thigh as she watched his breathing with quiet focus.
No one moved away when his eyes opened.
No one reacted with embarrassment.
"Good," his mother said calmly. "You're awake."
Lucifer stiffened.
In his old world, this would have been unthinkable.
Here, it was ordinary.
He sat up slowly. The bodies shifted with him naturally, as if closeness required no explanation. He felt the strength of his new form immediately—well-built, chiseled, powerful beneath smooth skin. Silver hair fell into his eyes. When he looked down at himself, emerald light reflected faintly off bare muscle.
His mother studied him without hesitation.
"You've changed," she said. "Your presence feels… fuller."
One sister smiled lazily. "He was always like this. Even before he collapsed."
Lucifer searched their faces for discomfort.
Found none.
"Is this…" he began, then stopped, unsure how to finish.
His older sister answered, tone casual.
"Strange to you?"
He nodded.
She shrugged. "Then you really lost more memory than we thought."
His mother rose, smoothing her robes, and met his gaze directly.
"This is our family," she said. "We don't pretend distance means virtue. Affection isn't rationed. Comfort isn't restricted."
She placed her palm against his chest—open, deliberate.
"You are loved here. Completely."
Lucifer's throat tightened.
Love—given freely. Without rules. Without hesitation.
It terrified him.
Later, when they walked through the halls together, he understood it wasn't just his family.
People leaned into one another as they spoke. Touch was constant—hands on arms, shoulders, waists—never possessive, never hidden. Boundaries existed only when chosen.
Nothing was forbidden.
Nothing was sacred.
Except consent.
Lucifer felt it pressing in on him from every direction—not desire, but availability.
A world where nothing was withheld.
And suddenly, the goddess's words returned with cruel clarity.
You are born to be loved.
Lucifer clenched his jaw.
Because in a world where love had no limits,
the only thing that mattered
was whether he could learn to survive it
without losing himself.