The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss - Chapter 346 - 335: Their Beconing

The night was alive with smoke and stars.

From the rooftop of the southern towers, Aurora watched the ruins of the demon kingdom stretch into the distance like an ocean of black stone. The winds carried the metallic scent of burnt steel and sulfur from the forges below, mingling with the faint sweetness of demonfire still burning in the horizon.

The stars above were pale embers—cold and ancient—casting no warmth, only reminder.

The Heir stood beside her, silent, her horns reflecting faint starlight. The southern winds tangled her dark hair, and the faint shimmer of power traced along her skin, faint as breath.

She was small against the vastness of the night, but Aurora could feel the weight of destiny pressing on her shoulders.

They had said little since the pact below. Now, words came slowly, as if the air itself demanded reverence.

“You’ve seen the southern plains?” Aurora asked, her gaze fixed beyond the horizon. “They used to burn brighter than any kingdom in the lower circles. Armies trained in fire. Cities built of obsidian and bloodstone. Now…” She gestured toward the endless wasteland. “Now even the fires sleep.”

The Heir’s voice was quiet, but clear. “They will wake again. When we unify the Circles, the fires will rise.”

Aurora studied her for a moment—the way her eyes did not flicker, the way her voice did not tremble. The child believes it. “Unification,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Do you know what that means?”

“I know what it demands,” the Heir said. “Loyalty. Power. Fear.”

Aurora’s lips tightened. “And ruin, if it’s done wrong.” She turned toward her, cloak sweeping in the wind. “That’s why I came, Heir of Ash. To make certain you understand what it is you command.”

The Heir lifted her chin, violet eyes glowing faintly. “You doubt me.”

“I doubt everyone who thinks they can unify Hell.” Aurora’s voice carried no anger, only weary conviction. “You think the fallen legions will kneel? The remnants of Wrath’s armies? The cults of Lust, the wandering fires of Greed? They will not kneel, child. They will devour you if you come to them with steel and demand their crowns.”

The Heir’s gaze hardened. “Then we crush them. My father—”

“Your father built an Kingdom on obedience and fear,” Aurora interrupted softly. “And it burned him alive.”

Silence. The wind howled across the rooftop, tugging at their cloaks.

Aurora took a slow breath, her voice softening. “The Guide seeks a different path. He will make the impossible possible. Not by force—but by faith. He means to unite, not conquer. You must understand that difference before it’s too late.”

The Heir frowned. “Faith,” she echoed, as if tasting the word for the first time. “Demons do not follow faith…..”

“They will,” Aurora said. “If you lead them to it. The Guide believes even Hell can be redeemed—not purified, but given purpose again. You must not attack the Fallens when they come.”

The girl turned sharply toward her. “You would have me welcome them? The zubinials? The cunts who stay here as hell was their own?”

“Yes,” Aurora said, steady. “Welcome them—or only death will await you.”

The Heir’s wings—small, still unfledged—fluttered once in instinctive anger. “They murdered my father’s guard. They looted the southern sanctum. They swore no allegiance but chaos. And you tell me to open my gates to them?”

Aurora’s expression did not change. “Because they, too, are pieces of Hell’s heart. They are what remains. The Guide believes that to build the new kingdom, every shard of the old must be gathered. Even the broken ones.”

The Heir looked away, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. The torchlight below flickered on the tears of molten glass embedded in the rooftop stone—memories of the last battle.

“You speak as though the Guide is a god,” the Heir said finally.

Aurora’s tone grew quiet, almost reverent. “He’s not a god. He’s a choice. The last one we have, the last one you have…”

For a long moment, the Heir said nothing. Then her voice dropped low, almost a whisper. “You should not speak his name so freely. My father warned me about the Prophet who calls himself Guide.”

Aurora turned her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Warned you?”

The Heir nodded, her voice brittle. “Before he vanished, he was summoned by Asmodeus. He said Asmodeus had seen a future—a vision in the Deep Vein—that would end the reign of the Demon Kings.”

Aurora’s breath caught. “Asmodeus…” The name was a crack of thunder in her mind. “What did he say?”

“That my father must prepare,” the Heir whispered. “That the Circles would burn from within. That a new power was rising—not a king, not a god, but something worse.”

Aurora felt her pulse quicken. “And he believed it?”

“He saw it himself.” The Heir’s voice faltered slightly, though her expression stayed hard. “He said the Guide’s voice would echo across every Circle. That his followers would come from every sin, every ruin, every whisper. That even the angels would hear him, and not know whether to tremble or to bow.”

Aurora stared out at the dark horizon. The night felt closer suddenly, the stars dimmer. “Your father told you this?”

The Heir nodded. “He said I must keep it secret. Because I was never meant to rule. I was meant to bait.”

Aurora turned sharply, eyes widening. “Bait?”

The Heir’s lips parted, her tone a trembling mix of defiance and sorrow. “For the Prophet who calls himself Guide.”

The words struck like a bell through the air.

Aurora felt it in her bones—cold, electric. The Guide, the voice of renewal, the herald of unity… and the Demon King had laid a trap for him.

“Your father knew of him,” Aurora whispered. “He meant to use you as a lure.”

The Heir’s eyes glistened, but her face stayed composed. “He said the Prophet would come for me. That he would offer peace, and in doing so, seal his own destruction. Asmodeus promised him that if the Prophet fell, the Kings would rise again, and Hell would remain ours forever.”

Aurora’s throat felt dry. “And your father went to Asmodeus willingly?”

“He had no choice. The future Asmodeus showed him was worse than death.”

Aurora’s mind raced. A trap for the Guide. A prophecy of fire and renewal. And this child—this heir—is the key.

She stepped closer, her voice suddenly sharp. “Do you understand what that means, child? If you tell this to anyone, the Guide will be hunted before his work even begins. Everything we’ve built—every hope—will turn to ash.”

The Heir didn’t move. “Then tell me, Aurora—why do you serve him? You were my father’s pupil once. You learned his fire, his strength. Why kneel to a Prophet instead of reclaiming what was ours?”

Aurora’s jaw clenched. The memories came unbidden—the screaming halls, the circles of flame, the endless drills of cruelty that masqueraded as mastery. “Because your father taught me power,” she said quietly. “But the Guide taught me purpose.”

The Heir studied her for a long time. The wind shifted again, carrying the distant sound of thunder from the north. The Gate was stirring.

“Purpose doesn’t keep armies loyal,” the girl murmured.

“No,” Aurora said. “But faith does. And faith… can make Hell itself move.”

The Heir turned away, gazing toward the horizon where lightning traced the curve of the lower plains. “Then tell your Guide this: If he comes to me, I will listen. But if he lies…”

Aurora smiled faintly, though her eyes were weary. “He won’t.”

The Heir looked back at her, voice quiet but edged. “You sound as if you know him well.”

Aurora hesitated. The truth ached in her throat. “Perhaps I did. Once.”

The girl caught the flicker in her tone, the shadow of memory. “You care about him.”

Aurora didn’t deny it. “care isn’t the right word,” she said. “But it’s close enough to hurt.”

Silence again, broken only by the sigh of wind over the broken parapets.

The Heir spoke first. “If Asmodeus saw this future… can we stop it?”

Aurora shook her head slowly. “No prophecy can be stopped. But they can be changed.”

The Heir turned to her, almost desperate. “How?”

“By making a different choice than the one written for you,” Aurora said. “You are not your father’s trap. You are his undoing.”

The girl blinked, her eyes shining faintly with something between anger and wonder. “And if the Prophet comes for me?”

“Then listen before you strike,” Aurora lied. “Because if he falls, Hell will fall with him.”

Thunder rolled again, closer now. The horizon shimmered faintly with violet light—the pulse of the Gate awakening far away.

Aurora turned to leave, but the Heir’s voice stopped her. “Aurora… if the Prophet is what Asmodeus claims—if he brings ruin instead of unity—will you still follow him?”

Aurora’s steps faltered. Her wings shifted, catching the starlight like shards of glass.

“I will follow him,” she said at last, “until I see the ruin with my own eyes. And if it comes to that—” she glanced back, eyes fierce, “—then I’ll be the one to end it.”