Lucifer - Legacy

I took a deep breath, tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of my jeans, and decided I'd have a good dinner tonight. After that, I decided it was time to get down to business, because tomorrow the stranger would return for the recovered information.

"Well, well. It's already eight," I said out loud, not noticing how the time had flown by while I was working.

I needed to get to the bank quickly to exchange the currency for rubles. Most of the information had already been recovered—about seventy-five percent, to be exact. After watching the recovery process, I decided to finish the work at home. Even if I stayed here, I definitely wouldn't be able to recover any more information. Grabbing my laptop, I turned off the lights and locked the workshop behind me. Then I headed to a nearby bank branch. After exchanging two of the ten bills there, I returned to my old Citroën .

As I turned the key in the ignition, I thought of Lucifer. Thoughts followed one another, each giving birth to a new one: "He'll probably come again at exactly midnight, just like today... I need to get some paper and ink. And maybe I should buy something to eat—who knows what awaits me tonight..."

When I returned home, it was already dark. The streets were empty, only the occasional car passing by. The events of the day were still swirling in my mind: "The strange client, his old laptop, the envelope of cash. What's on that hard drive? And why was it so important to recover this information?"

The apartment was quiet. I put my keys in their usual place—on the shelf by the entrance—then undressed and headed to the kitchen. It was time to cook something to eat. After a long day of work, my stomach was making loud noises. I took the groceries out of the bag and started cooking. Forty minutes later, I was sitting at the table.

While I ate, my gaze involuntarily wandered to the laptop lying on the couch. The work was almost complete. All that remained was to perform a final check and prepare the files for delivery to the client. But the thought kept flickering in my mind: "What kind of information could be so important that it's worth paying so much for data recovery?"

After dinner, I cleared the dishes and decided to finish the job. Sitting on the couch, I turned to my laptop again. The final stage of data recovery was complete. Most of the documents were encrypted, some had strange names—random strings of characters. But there were also more understandable files: photos, text documents, emails. I didn't read them—that wasn't my job. My job was to recover data, not rummage through someone else's life.

About half an hour later, the work was finished. I turned off the laptop, carefully placed it on the table, and glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes to midnight.

“He will come,” suddenly flashed through my mind.

I started preparing for his visit. I pulled out the freshly purchased paper and ink, then laid everything out on the table. I wanted everything to look neat and serious.

At five minutes to twelve, I sat in my chair, pen in hand, waiting for Lucifer. My heart was beating faster than usual. Not from fear, but from the realization that something supernatural was truly happening to me. Something that would change me, my life. Something that would change everything.

At exactly midnight, there was a knock on the door. My heart stopped for a second. I slowly stood up and walked to the door. Taking a deep breath, I opened it.

He stood in the doorway—tall, dark-haired, with a piercing gaze. His eyes seemed to see everything. He was dressed in the same black suit. It felt as if he had never disappeared since that very evening.

“Good night, Klim,” he said, as if we had simply agreed to meet for coffee.

Lucifer walked inside, looking around the room. His gaze fell on the table where paper and ink lay.

“I see that you are ready today,” he said, not hiding the slight smile at the corners of his lips.

“Yes,” I replied, feeling my voice tremble slightly. “I’m ready.”

And then he started talking...

Chapter 3

“I thought for a long time about where to start,” Lucifer said.

After these words, silence fell in the room. Without taking my eyes off him, I listened attentively to what he had to say.

“I think we should start from the beginning,” he added, without taking his eyes off me.

“As you wish,” I agreed, sitting down on the chair.

Sitting down, I reached for the pen and paper I'd prepared earlier. But Lucifer stopped me:

- Wait, you won't need them now. I want to show you something.

He didn't even look at me at that moment, but he already knew I was about to start writing. After his words, I leaned back in my chair, awaiting his next move.

“I want you to see it with your own eyes,” he added.

After these words, I became wary—as if something was about to happen. And you know, I was right. In an instant, Lucifer and I were transported from my modest apartment into a huge white room with high ceilings. I had never seen anything like it before. I felt everything: every breath of wind, every smell. It was as if it were real. But no one saw us—we were outside of time, outside of space, like shadows, present but invisible. I will try to convey what happened in that room. Believe me, no language can accurately describe the majesty and beauty of the moment I witnessed.

As dawn broke, its first rays, piercing a translucent veil fluttering in the gentle breeze, illuminated a large, high-ceilinged white room with their majestic light. In the center of the room stood a large bed with a golden headboard shaped like an oak tree, stars twinkling in its branches. At that very moment, a baby was born, whose beauty could only be compared to starlight. His hair was curly and light, soft as clouds, and his eyes were a bright blue, like a reflection of a cloudless sky.

“I name you Lucifer, my son,” the man said with warmth and tenderness in his voice, holding the baby in his arms.

“Give him to me,” said the woman lying on the bed, stretching out her hands to the baby.

The man carefully handed the baby to her. Taking him in her arms, the woman looked at him with trepidation and love.

“You have a great future,” she said, then kissed him on the forehead.

After these words, the huge door leading into the room opened slightly. From behind it appeared the blond head of a boy of about seven or eight years old.

"Come in, Mikhail. Say hello to your brother," the man said, turning to the boy peeking out from behind the door.

The boy quietly entered the room and timidly approached the bed. Bowing his head slightly, he silently looked at his newly born younger brother.

"Will he be able to understand me if I tell him something?" Mikhail asked, turning his gaze to his father.

“Try it,” the man answered, smiling at his son.

“I will protect you,” the boy said quietly, hovering very close over the baby.

Hearing these words, the adults looked at each other and smiled, doing it in such a way that Mikhail did not notice anything.

"What's his name?" Mikhail asked, turning his gaze to his father.

“His name is Lucifer,” the father answered, looking at the baby.

After these words, everything around began to dissolve - as suddenly and elusively as it had appeared.

I felt a slight dizziness, the space rippled, as if I were looking through a surface of water. The next moment, we were standing in my room again. The silence that had reigned before now seemed especially dense, almost tangible. Only the steady ticking of the clock reminded me that time had returned to its normal boundaries.

Lucifer stood by the window, as before, but now his eyes glowed with something more than just a memory. It was the light of a distant era, reflected in the pupils of an immortal. He slowly turned to face me, and a barely perceptible smile flickered across his face—not pride, not sadness, but something warm. Something like nostalgia.

"Now you've seen," he said, almost in a whisper. "You've seen the moment when the one you call the devil was born. And no fire or birth from nothing. Just like you humans."

I remained silent. Not because I didn't want to answer, but because the words seemed stuck somewhere deep inside. I could still smell the fresh flowers on the windowsill of that white room, remember the touch of a cool breeze on my skin, the warmth of a mother's love that enveloped everything around me.

"Is this all real?" I finally asked, unsure if I believed what had happened.

“More than,” Lucifer replied.

He moved away from the window and sat down in the chair again. But now I could no longer look at him the same way. Before me was no longer just a storyteller or a character from an ancient story. He was alive, real—a man, an angel, God…

"Do you want to see more?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

I sighed. My heart still hadn't calmed down from the first journey. But I nodded approvingly. Because I realized: having seen this, I wouldn't be able to stop.

"Then prepare yourself," Lucifer said, and that same warmth I'd seen a moment ago flickered in his eyes again. "The next memory will show you not birth, but becoming."

He extended his hand. I hesitated a bit at first, but then took it. His skin was warm, not what I expected—not icy, not scorching, just human. Simply alive.

The world around us began to sway again. This time, the movement was less jarring, almost fluid, as if we were floating through the fabric of time. I felt the past enveloping me, like old paintings painted with light and memories.

When everything Things returned to normal, and we found ourselves in a different place. It was a spacious hall, filled with a soft golden light. The walls were decorated with frescoes depicting the starry sky and the passage of time. In the center of the hall stood a huge table, around which gathered beings whose appearance was impossible to describe in words—they were form, color, movement, emotion. Some of them resembled humans, while others seemed to embody the forces of nature or even music.

At the far end of the room, slightly off to the side of the table, stood a young man of about sixteen. He looked the same as he had on that birthday—blond, blue-eyed—but now his face held glimpses of the man he would become. Or had become. It was Lucifer.

"The Council of the First Ones," the real Lucifer whispered to me, standing next to me. "The place where the fate of all things is decided. Here the first laws of existence are adopted. Here the concepts of 'yes' and 'no,' 'permitted' and 'impossible' begin."

I remained silent, watching the scene unfold. Young Lucifer stood before the Council, slightly tense but proud. One of the elders spoke before him—a tall being cloaked in light, its form changing every second.

— …therefore, you must accept this knowledge: you are first among equals, but not above others. You are the light, but not the only source of light. Do you understand this?

Young Lucifer raised his head and replied:

"I understand. But if I can't rise above it, then how can I serve as an ideal? How can I show the way if I'm forbidden to go further?"

The council fell silent. Even the air seemed to stop breathing.

“Prohibitions are boundaries for those who fear them,” the young man continued. “But I’m not afraid. I want to know everything. I want to become more than just part of the whole. I want… freedom.”

The word hung in the air like a bell.

The Council began to speak among themselves, their voices merging into a single stream, filled with alarm and bewilderment. Some looked at Lucifer with curiosity, others with apprehension. One of the Council members, a woman with hair woven as if from the purest streams , said:

"Freedom without measure is chaos. Do you want to become chaos?"

“No,” Lucifer replied. “I want to be the one who asks, ‘Why? What for? What for?’”

His words again sparked a wave of whispers. And at that moment, another young man emerged from the crowd—tall, with tightly pressed lips and a look full of confidence.

It was Mikhail.

"Brother," he said to Lucifer, "you are mistaken. We are part of the order. Without it, we lose our meaning."

"What if order is simply fear of the unknown?" Lucifer asked.

- Then let fear remain, if it preserves harmony.

Silence fell between the brothers. Not hostile, but not the same as before. Something had changed.

And again, everything began to swim. Time compressed like a breath, and we found ourselves in a different place—at the top of the world, seemingly in the sky itself, where you could touch the stars with your hand.

There stood a grown Lucifer, alone. His face was focused, his eyes glowing with not just light—a fire, not hellish, but rather the fire of thought and understanding.

"That's the moment I decided to go my own way," he said, turning to me. "Not because I wanted to confront them. But because I couldn't live in a world where you couldn't ask questions."

“But you knew how this would end,” I said, finally finding my voice.

"I knew," he nodded. "But knowledge doesn't always stop. Sometimes it only fuels the flame."

- Why are you showing me this?

"Because you don't believe the stories others tell you. Because you can see—not just with your eyes, but with your heart."

He smiled, and there was something more in that smile than self-irony or sadness. It was… gratitude.

"There are still many places I can take you," he said. "There are moments that will explain why I became who I am. Where do you want to go next?"

I looked at him. For the first time, I saw not a demon, not an enemy, not a legend. I saw a man. Perhaps too bright, too daring, too ambitious. But still, a man.

The world around us began to sway again, as if we were floating through the thinnest veil of memory. The air grew thicker again, acquiring its familiar texture—the smell of old furniture, the subtle aroma of coffee from the mug on the table, the muffled noise of the city outside the window. We were back in my apartment.

Lucifer let go of my hand and walked slowly to the window. He was in no hurry to speak, simply standing, looking out at the city, which probably seemed so small and fragile to him. I sat down in the chair, still feeling the echo of what I had experienced within me—the voices of the Council of First Ones, the gaze of the young Lucifer, the sound of the word "freedom," as if suspended between worlds.

"Do you really remember all of this so clearly?" I asked, not knowing why I'd decided to break the silence.

He turned his head slightly, but did not turn around.

"Memories aren't just pictures in your head. They're a part of you. They live in every breath, every step. And if you don't forget them, they live on with you."

I thought about it. It suddenly felt strange to think of him as a being outside of time. He was here, close by, and he spoke like someone who had lost much, and perhaps found something much greater.

"Why did you choose me?" I asked, lowering my voice. "Why did you decide to tell your story now?"

Lucifer finally turned around. His eyes were bright, almost human. There was no challenge or mockery in them, only a deep, weary curiosity.

"Because once upon a time, I also wanted to hear someone's story. I wanted to know what was beyond what I knew. But no one talked to me; everyone was afraid. And only a few tried to understand. But you—you listen, you look not through, but deep inside. That's a great rarity in all times."

He paused, then added:

"And then, history is the only thing that remains after us. Even when everyone forgets, there remain a small handful of those who remember. And it lives on."

I looked down at my hands. Everything that was happening seemed unreal, but every word, every moment lived with him, left its mark—like a drop of rain on a stone. Invisible at first, but capable of changing the shape of an entire mountain over time.

"Do you want to continue?" he said, more as a statement than a question.

I looked up. He, of course, already knew the answer. But I nodded anyway.

"Okay," Lucifer said, stepping closer to me. "Then we'll continue tomorrow. Today, I think, you have a lot to think about."

After these words, he vanished like a breath of wind, as if he had melted into thin air—there was no slamming of a door, no footsteps, no last glance. Just a sudden absence.

I was left alone.

The room seemed to grow quieter. Even the clock on the wall seemed to slow down. I sat in the chair. The fingers of my right hand clenched involuntarily, a feeble attempt to hold on to something that was no longer within my grasp.

Memories swarmed in my head: a white room, the first rays of dawn, my mother’s voice, Michael’s words… And Lucifer’s eyes—not black, as people think, but glowing from within, like a reflection of distant worlds.

I stood up and walked to the window. The city lay outside the glass—noisy, indifferent, unaware. Car sirens, the flickering of advertising signs—life going on as usual.

Chapter 4

Morning arrived without warning. As always, the alarm clock tore me from the realm of sleep. I didn't immediately realize where I was—my head was heavy, my thoughts scattered like ants from a disturbed anthill.

The dream was strange: white rooms, stars in my mother's hair, the voices of the Council of First Ones... and the eyes of Lucifer.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to separate reality from memory. Did all this really happen? Or was I dreaming it? Despite the questions, I knew the truth. It was all real . Perhaps even more real than most of my life.

I stood up slowly, staggering, and headed to the bathroom. As the cold water poured over my face, the image flashed before my eyes again: a small, fair-haired boy in his mother's arms, his gaze filled with ignorance of what he would become. Who would have thought that one day this child would bear a name that people whisper, with trepidation and fear?

Breakfast was simple—as always. A few slices of cheese toast and a coffee with milk. I chewed mechanically, going over the events of the previous night in my head. What now? What will he show me next? His words haunted me: "Choose—where do you want to go next?"

My thoughts were so carried away into another dimension that I didn’t even notice how I finished my coffee and started getting ready for work.

As usual, the keys were on the shelf, the documents were in the briefcase, the phone was on the nightstand. Everything was in place. My system worked without a hitch, even if the rest of the world were turned upside down.

As I was leaving the apartment, I suddenly remembered: laptop, strange client, money, data recovery.

My heart sank. I turned back, quickly walked to the table, picked up the laptop, and put it in my bag.

As I descended the stairs, questions swirled in my head: Who is this man? Why did he need these files? Why did he pay so much? And strangest of all, why me? More and more often, I caught myself thinking that coincidences were becoming fewer and fewer, while patterns were becoming more and more common.

It was crisp outside. The autumn air was invigorating, but not joyful. Cars drove by, people hurried, advertising screens flickered with promises of happiness. And I walked to my old Citroen , knowing that today would be a day unlike any other.

When I started the engine, for a second it seemed like the car was hesitating—as if it, too, sensed the change. I smiled. It was probably stupid to talk to a car, but at that moment I wanted to believe it could hear me.

As I drove, I thought about Lucifer again. His words haunted me: "History is the only thing that remains after us."

And what will remain after me? A few books that no one needs and the work I've done, which I do more out of necessity than desire.

"Perhaps this story will change everything?" I said out loud.

Before I could finish this thought, I remembered the strange client again. He was supposed to arrive today at the same time as yesterday. In just a few hours, he'd show up at the service center, pick up the laptop, say something important... or say nothing at all.

What if he's connected to all of this too? To Lucifer? To the story I'm supposed to tell?

I looked at the laptop bag next to me. It seemed heavier than usual.

"Okay, so be it. I'm ready for anything, or almost anything," I thought.

And I turned the steering wheel towards service, towards a new day, towards something much greater than I could have imagined then.

The workday passed calmly—I went about my routine, barely distracted by thoughts of the previous night. You know, when you know something so well that you don't even have to put in much effort—everything flows naturally. If this were a cartoon, all the tools I needed would fly into my hands.

I was lost in thought about what had happened that night when the door to the workshop burst open. A moment later, she appeared—the woman who made my heart beat faster, as if I were seeing the sun after a long winter.

She was short and slender, with light brown hair flowing in soft waves over her shoulders. Her brown eyes shone with an inner warmth and some incomprehensible wisdom. Everything about her was unusual: from the confident grace of her movements to the shadow of a smile on her lips.

Time seemed to slow down. I could only stare at her, my thoughts racing, as if I were back in that white room where Lucifer had shown me his birth. But now she stood before me, and her beauty was as pure, as captivating, as the first rays of dawn breaking through the darkness.

I didn't immediately understand who she was. Perhaps it was fate? Perhaps it was a sign? But one thing was clear to me: her appearance was no accident. She was here for me.

At that moment, I realized: life isn't just a series of events. It's a story full of mysteries, characters who seem impossible, and moments that turn everything upside down. And if I'd previously thought my world was limited by the walls of my apartment and the pages of a book, now I realized: it can be endless, if only you're willing to see it.

And here she stands before me, this woman who became part of my world without even having time to say a word. I don’t know her name, I don’t know why she’s here, but I know one thing: she’s part of what’s meant to be.

"Hello," she said, smiling slightly. Her voice was warm, slightly hoarse, as if she'd just woken up or had been talking about something important.

“Good afternoon,” I replied, trying to hide my confusion. “How can I help you?”

She came closer and carefully placed the bag on the counter.

"My laptop keeps freezing. A friend recommended you. He said you're a true tech wizard."

“I hope he wasn’t exaggerating,” I chuckled, feeling my cheeks begin to burn.

She laughed—easy, sincere, and for some reason that sound calmed me.

"Can I see it?" I asked, glancing at the device she was taking out of her bag.

“Of course,” she replied with a smile, handing me the laptop.

I picked up the laptop, automatically glancing at the model and the condition of the case. But most of all, I was distracted by the laptop itself. Not because it was perfect, but because it seemed... right. As if its presence in the room added air to it, made it a living part of this moment.

"Do you often look at clients like that?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Excuse me?" I came to my senses, realizing I had been staring at her.

She smiled again.

- It's okay. It's a compliment, right?

“Perhaps,” I answered, trying to keep a straight face.

She took out her phone and started typing something, while I ran diagnostics. The processor was working fine, the drive was humming a little, but not too much. Nothing critical. It just needed cleaning. A common story.

"Well, no big deal," I said a minute later. "We'll clean the system, update the drivers, and it'll be as good as new."

“Great. I just have one request,” she said, looking up at me again. “Can I wait here? I need to do some work, and the café is too noisy.”

“Of course,” I nodded. “There’s an outlet, internet, and even a coffee machine . Make yourself at home.”

She smiled gratefully and began unpacking her things: a notebook, a pen, headphones. That's when I noticed a little angel with broken wings drawn on her notebook.