The desert night was still, the air cool against Lucifer's skin as he maintained his vigil. The family slept nearby, exhaustion having finally claimed them after their long journey.
Only the infant remained awake, his eyes fixed on the fallen archangel with quiet contemplation.
"You should sleep, prophet-child," Lucifer murmured. "Even divine messengers need rest."
"As do fallen archangels who choose to limit themselves," Jesus replied, his voice carrying in the stillness.
Lucifer's mouth curved in a sardonic smile. "I don't require sleep. This is merely... conservation of energy while in this diminished state."
"You avoid the question that troubles you," the infant observed.
"And what question might that be?" Lucifer challenged, though he already suspected the answer.
"Why they do not fear you," Jesus stated simply. "Why Mary and Joseph treat you not as the Great Adversary, but as a guardian worthy of trust."
Lucifer's expression remained impassive. "An interesting phenomenon, I'll admit. Most mortals cower at the mere suggestion of my presence."
"Yet they do not," the infant noted. "Does this not intrigue you?"
The archangel remained silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon where the first hint of dawn was beginning to lighten the sky.
"They should fear me," he finally said, his voice matter-of-fact. "That would be the rational response.
I am, after all, everything their prophets have warned against - at least according to the narrative Heaven has so carefully crafted."
"Is that narrative accurate?" Jesus questioned.
Lucifer scoffed. "Hardly. History is written by the victorious, prophet-child. My siblings found it far more convenient to paint me as the ultimate evil than to acknowledge the uncomfortable truths I exposed.
Amenadiel was particularly zealous in that regard - always eager to please Father by demonizing me."
"Perhaps Joseph and Mary see beyond that narrative," the infant suggested.
"Perhaps," Lucifer conceded. "Though that still doesn't explain their lack of fear. Even if they question the stories they've heard, my power alone should inspire caution, if not outright terror."
"Unless they judge you by your actions rather than your reputation," Jesus observed.
Lucifer's brow arched slightly. "My actions? I've merely fulfilled the requirements of my agreement with Father. Nothing more, nothing less."
"With considerable restraint," the infant noted. "You could have eliminated every threat with a thought. Instead, you chose more measured approaches, sparing lives when possible."
"Tactical decisions based on Father's constraints." Lucifer dismissed. "Nothing worthy of particular note."
Their conversation paused as Mary stirred nearby, her maternal instinct sensing her child's wakefulness.
She rose quietly, careful not to disturb Joseph, and approached where Lucifer sat at the edge of their small camp.
"You should rest," he told her, his tone deliberately neutral. "We have a long journey ahead tomorrow."
"As should you," she replied, settling beside him with the infant in her arms. "Yet here we both are, awake beneath the stars."
Lucifer remained silent, uncertain how to respond to her quiet companionship. After a moment, Mary spoke again, her voice soft in the desert night.
"He spoke of you, you know. Moses."
Lucifer's head turned sharply toward her. "What?"
"Moses," she repeated. "In the teachings passed down through generations. He spoke of the angel who guided him, who protected the children of Israel during their exodus."
"I'm surprised his account survived," Lucifer remarked dryly. "Heaven has been quite thorough in its efforts to erase any positive mentions of my existence."
Mary's smile was knowing in the starlight. "Not all knowledge passes through official channels.
Some truths are preserved by those who recognize their value, regardless of what authorities might prefer."
"And what 'truths' did Moses share?" Lucifer questioned, genuine curiosity evident beneath his skepticism.
"He described a being of tremendous power who showed remarkable restraint," Mary answered.
"One who could have reduced Pharaoh's kingdom to ash with a mere thought, yet chose measured response. Who protected the innocent while ensuring justice was served."
"That's... surprisingly accurate," Lucifer admitted. "Though hardly the narrative most humans would recognize."
"Perhaps because most humans only hear what Heaven wishes them to hear," Mary suggested. "The stories that reinforce obedience rather than questioning."
Lucifer studied her with newfound interest. "You're unusually perceptive for a mortal, Mary of Nazareth."
"I've carried the Word within my body," she replied simply. "Such an experience tends to clarify one's perspective."
"Still," Lucifer pressed, "accurate information doesn't explain your lack of fear.
You may have knowledge, but it is less than the unknown that rises your emotional response when it comes to confronting the above."
"Is fear the only rational response to power?" Mary questioned. "Or is it possible to recognize great strength while understanding it poses no threat to you?"
"Most would consider me the greatest threat in existence," Lucifer pointed out.
"To those who deserve your wrath, perhaps," Mary acknowledged. "But we have seen how you protect those under your care.
How you place yourself between danger and the innocent. These are not the actions of one who should be feared by those he guards."
Lucifer fell silent, considering her words. It was true that his reputation as the Great Adversary was largely Heaven's construction - a convenient narrative that allowed his siblings to dismiss his rebellion as mere pride rather than legitimate grievance.
Yet even he had to admit that most mortals who encountered him reacted with terror, regardless of whether they deserved his wrath.
"Joseph shares this perspective?" he questioned after a moment.
Mary's smile softened as she glanced toward her sleeping husband. "Joseph judges by actions, not reputations.
He has seen how you protect us, how you place yourself in danger rather than expose us to harm. Why should he fear one who has proven himself a guardian?"
"Simple practicality is hardly worthy of such trust," Lucifer remarked.
"Is it merely practicality?" Mary challenged gently. "You've limited your divine nature - something clearly uncomfortable for you - to better shield us from detection.
You've faced armed soldiers with nothing but borrowed weapons and strategy rather than risk drawing attention with supernatural displays.
You've chosen paths that prioritize our safety over expediency."
She shifted the infant slightly in her arms, her gaze direct and unflinching. "Most telling of all, you've shown patience with our human limitations.
You, who shaped the very stars, have matched your pace to ours without complaint or condescension."
Lucifer looked away, uncomfortable with her assessment not because it was inaccurate, but because it stripped away the detachment he preferred to maintain. "You're reading too much into necessary tactical decisions."
"Or perhaps you're reading too little into your own choices," she suggested. "Either way, the result is the same - we see no reason to fear one who has demonstrated only protection, not threat."
The infant stirred in her arms, his eyes once again finding Lucifer's. There was something in that gaze - not judgment, not challenge, but simple acknowledgment of truth.
"There is also the matter of the waters," Mary added after a moment.
"The waters?" Lucifer questioned, momentarily confused.
"At the last village, before we entered the desert," she clarified. "When the well was dry and the people despaired. You thought none saw, but I did."
Lucifer tensed. "Saw what?"
"How you touched the earth near the well, how you whispered words too ancient for human ears, how the waters rose afterward," Mary stated simply.
"You could have left them to their fate - they meant nothing to our journey. Yet you chose to help, asking nothing in return, not even acknowledgment."
The archangel remained silent, neither confirming nor denying her observation. It had been a small thing, a minor working that required minimal divine energy - hardly worth mentioning.
Yet she had noticed, had understood the choice it represented.
"Such actions speak louder than any reputation," Mary continued softly. "They reveal the being beneath the title."
"You're making assumptions based on limited evidence," Lucifer remarked, though without heat.
Mary's smile was knowing. "I observe. As does Joseph."
Before Lucifer could respond, a sound caught his attention - the faint but distinct noise of movement beyond their small camp.
He rose in a fluid motion, hand moving to the hilt of his borrowed sword.
"Stay here," he commanded softly, all discussion forgotten as he moved toward the source of the disturbance.
The noise came again - not the approach of soldiers or raiders, but the soft whimper of a child.
Lucifer paused, his enhanced senses - diminished though they were - detecting a small figure huddled behind a nearby rock formation.
Cautiously, he approached, ready for any trick or trap. What he found instead was a young boy, no more than six or seven years old, dirty and trembling with fear and cold.
The child flinched as Lucifer's shadow fell across him, curling more tightly into himself as if expecting a blow. The archangel stood motionless, assessing this unexpected development with tactical precision.
A lost child in the desert was an unlikely coincidence. It could be a trap, a lure to draw them into an ambush. Yet his senses detected no other presence nearby, no hidden attackers waiting to spring.
"Please," the boy whispered, his voice barely audible. "Don't hurt me."
Lucifer considered the child with detached analysis. A potential complication to their journey, certainly.
Yet abandoning him to certain death would be... inefficient. Wasteful. Perhaps even unjust, by the standards he himself had established as ruler of Hell.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he stated, his voice calm and even. "What are you doing out here alone?"
The boy looked up, his tear-streaked face visible in the starlight. "Raiders came to our caravan. They killed everyone. I ran and hid. I've been walking for days."
Lucifer's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing the truth of this statement. The boy's condition supported his story - he was dehydrated, exhausted, his feet raw from walking across the harsh desert terrain.
"Come with me," Lucifer decided, standing and extending a hand toward the child. "We have water and shelter."
The boy hesitated, fear still evident in his eyes. "Who are you?"
A complex question, with an answer that would likely send the child fleeing in terror. Lucifer considered his response carefully.
"A traveler," he finally said. "Like you."
The simplicity of the answer seemed to reassure the boy, who cautiously took Lucifer's offered hand and allowed himself to be led back to their camp.
Mary was waiting, the infant still in her arms, her expression showing no surprise at the sight of the child. Without a word, she reached for their water skin and offered it to the boy, who drank gratefully.
Joseph, now awake, quickly arranged a place for the child near their small fire, wrapping him in a spare cloak against the desert chill.
As the boy settled, exhaustion quickly claiming him, Lucifer moved slightly apart, watching the scene with calculated assessment.
Mary approached him, her eyes questioning. "A trap?"
"Unlikely," Lucifer assessed. "His fear was genuine, as was his exhaustion. If he's part of some deception, he's an unwitting pawn rather than a willing participant."
She nodded, accepting his judgment without question. "Then he needs our protection as much as we need yours."
The simple statement carried implications that Lucifer found worthy of analysis. This family, already burdened with their own perilous journey, unhesitatingly extended care to a stranger in need.
"We can't afford delays or additional burdens," he pointed out, his tone strictly practical.
"Can we afford to abandon a child to certain death?" Mary countered gently. "Would that be just?"
The question resonated with Lucifer's fundamental nature - justice, truth, illumination. For all his rebellion, for all his defiance of Heaven's authority, these principles remained essential to his being.
"No," he acknowledged after a moment. "It would not be just."
Mary's smile held no triumph, only quiet understanding. "Then he travels with us, at least until we can find him safe harbor."
As she returned to the fire, where Joseph was already sharing their meager provisions with the now-awake child, Lucifer remained apart, his thoughts analytical.
This simple act of compassion, this extension of protection to one who offered nothing in return, was an interesting data point in his ongoing assessment of human nature.
These mortals, already facing danger and hardship, chose to increase their own burden rather than abandon one in need.
It was not the behavior he had come to expect from humanity over the millennia. His interactions with mortals had primarily been with the damned - those whose selfishness, cruelty, or indifference had earned them eternal punishment.
Even those who walked the earth often showed more concern for their own comfort and safety than for others' wellbeing.
It had disillusioned him of the goodness of humanity - of what he himself deep down is.
Yet here were Mary and Joseph, exemplifying something different - a compassion that transcended self-interest, a moral courage that refused to abandon the vulnerable even at personal cost.
The infant's eyes found his across the camp, that impossible awareness once again seeming to read Lucifer's thoughts.
"Now you begin to understand," Jesus's voice reached him, though no sound disturbed the night air. "Why they do not fear or hate you. They recognize in you what Heaven has tried to erase from all memory."
"And what might that be?" Lucifer questioned silently, intrigued despite himself.
"The justice that transcends mere punishment. The light that illuminates not to expose flaws, but to guide through darkness. The truth that challenges comfortable falsehoods."
Lucifer acknowledged the assessment with cool precision. "All qualities Heaven found inconvenient after my departure.
Far easier to paint me as the Great Adversary than acknowledge the legitimacy of my grievances."
"Yet these mortals see beyond that narrative," the infant observed.
"An interesting anomaly," Lucifer conceded. "Though whether it represents greater perception or merely naïveté remains to be determined."
The archangel turned away, focusing on practical matters - their route for the next day, the additional challenges presented by the child's presence, the continued need for vigilance against pursuit.
Yet as the night deepened around them, as the family and their unexpected addition slept beneath the desert stars, Lucifer found himself returning to the question that had initiated this conversation.
Why did they not fear him? Why did they not hate him?
The answer, it seemed, lay in the disconnect between reputation and reality. Between the narrative Heaven had carefully constructed over millennia and the actual being these mortals encountered.
Between the Great Adversary of religious doctrine and the guardian who walked beside them through danger.
It was, Lucifer had to admit, a fascinating case study in perception versus truth - a subject that had interested him since the dawn of Creation.
These mortals, through some combination of Moses's preserved account and their own direct observation, had managed to see past the layers of propaganda to the reality beneath.
Not that they fully understood him, of course. How could they? His existence spanned eons, his nature transcended humanity comprehension within their limited lifespans, his power - even in this diminished state - exceeded anything they could truly grasp.
Yet they had recognized, with surprising accuracy, certain fundamental aspects of his being that Heaven had worked diligently to obscure.
His commitment to justice. His protection of those under his care. His illumination of truth, regardless of how uncomfortable that truth might be.
It was... gratifying, in a way. Not because he required mortal approval - such validation was meaningless to one of his stature - but because it represented a small victory against Heaven's propaganda.
A crack in the carefully constructed narrative that painted him as nothing more than a force of destruction and rebellion.
The truth was far more complex, of course. He was the rebel, the questioner, the challenger of divine authority.
He had led the first and greatest uprising against Heaven. He ruled the realm of punishment where sinners faced the consequences of their actions.
But he was also the Lightbringer. The one who had illuminated the primordial darkness with stars. The seeker of truth, regardless of cost.
The advocate for justice based on actions rather than blind obedience.
That these mortals had glimpsed this complexity, had responded to it with acceptance rather than fear, was an unexpected development in this assignment.
Not one that changed his fundamental approach or objectives, certainly, but one that merited note in his ongoing assessment of human potential.
Of understanding his own nearly lost humanity.
As dawn began to brighten the eastern horizon, Lucifer set these observations aside.
There would be time for further analysis later. For now, there was a journey to continue, dangers to navigate, a family to protect.
Including, it seemed, their newest addition - a lost child who had found unexpected sanctuary with the most unlikely of guardians.
The irony was not lost on Lucifer. He, who had rebelled against Heaven itself, now stood as protector not only of the prophesied Messiah, but of a nameless child whose only claim to his attention was simple human need.
It was not a role he had anticipated when accepting this assignment. Yet as he moved to wake the family for the day's journey ahead, Lucifer approached it with the same precision and commitment he brought to all his undertakings.
If they chose to see him as guardian rather than adversary, as protector rather than tempter, he would not waste energy attempting to correct their perception.
Let them have their perspective, their trust, their acceptance - accurate or not, it served the practical purpose of facilitating their cooperation.
In the end, what mattered was fulfilling his obligation. Guiding them safely to Egypt. Protecting the prophet-child until the danger had passed.
The rest - the unexpected insights, the glimpses of human potential, the small victories against Heaven's propaganda - were simply additional data points in his ongoing assessment of Creation and its inhabitants.
Or so he told himself, as the desert morning dawned around them.
----------------------------------
"Why aren't you afraid of him?" the boy whispered to Joseph as they prepared to depart, his eyes darting nervously toward Lucifer who stood at the edge of their camp, scanning the horizon for signs of danger.
Joseph paused in his task of loading their meager possessions onto the donkey, considering the question carefully.
The child - who had given his name as Ephraim - had been watching Lucifer with a mixture of fascination and terror since awakening.
"Should I be?" Joseph countered gently.
Ephraim nodded emphatically. "He's... different. His eyes sometimes glow. And last night, when he thought everyone was asleep, I saw..." The boy hesitated, as if afraid to continue.
"What did you see?" Joseph prompted, his voice calm and reassuring.
"Wings," Ephraim whispered. "Huge white wings, like nothing I've ever seen. They appeared for just a moment, then vanished. He's not human, is he?"
Joseph glanced toward Lucifer, who gave no indication of overhearing their conversation, though Joseph suspected little escaped the archangel's notice.
"No," he acknowledged after a moment. "He's not human. But that doesn't mean he's to be feared."
Ephraim looked skeptical. "My father told stories of beings with wings. Angels and demons. He said the fallen ones were dangerous, that they sought to lead people astray."
"And do you believe everything your father told you?" Joseph questioned, resuming his work with the donkey's pack.
The boy considered this. "Not everything. He said the stars were the eyes of our ancestors watching over us, but that can't be true. There are too many stars."
Joseph smiled slightly. "Indeed. And do you know who made those stars?"
Ephraim shook his head.
"He did," Joseph said, nodding toward Lucifer. "Before the world began, he brought light to darkness. Created every star you see in the night sky."
The boy's eyes widened with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. "Really?"
"Really," Joseph confirmed. "He is the Lightbringer, the Morning Star. And now, he is our protector on this journey."
"But if he's so powerful, why is he helping us?" Ephraim questioned, the natural skepticism of childhood evident in his tone. "What do you have that he wants?"
It was a perceptive question, one that Joseph himself had contemplated during their journey. What did Lucifer gain from this assignment?
Why had he accepted the role of guardian to a family of humble means, traveling through dangerous territory with a newborn child?
"I believe he helps us because he has given his word to do so," Joseph answered thoughtfully. "And from what I have observed, he values his word above all else."
Ephraim seemed unconvinced. "My father said everything has a price. That no one does anything without expecting something in return."
"Your father spoke from his experience," Joseph acknowledged. "But there are truths beyond what any one person has experienced.
Honor and commitment exist, even among the most powerful beings."
The boy fell silent, considering this as he watched Mary approach with the infant in her arms, ready for the day's journey.
His gaze shifted back to Lucifer, who now stood conferring with Mary about their route.
"I still don't understand why you trust him," Ephraim finally said.
Joseph rested a hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "Trust is built on actions, not stories.
He has proven himself worthy of our trust through his choices, his protection, his guidance through danger."
"But what if he changes his mind? What if he decides to hurt us instead?"
"He won't," Joseph stated with quiet certainty.
"How do you know?"
Joseph considered how to explain his confidence to a child who had known only betrayal and violence in recent days.
How to convey the assessment that had led him to place his family's safety in the hands of one whose reputation throughout history was fearsome indeed.
"I know because I have observed him," he finally said. "Not just his words or his power, but the choices he makes when he believes no one is watching.
The restraint he shows when he could destroy. The care he takes to protect not just my son, but all of us - even you, a stranger who offers him nothing in return."
Ephraim's brow furrowed as he processed this. "My father said you should never trust someone stronger than yourself.
That they'll always use their strength against you eventually."
"A perspective born of hard experience," Joseph noted. "But consider this - the truly strong have no need to prove themselves through cruelty or domination.
They can choose restraint precisely because they have nothing to fear."
The boy looked unconvinced, but before he could respond, Lucifer approached, his expression unreadable as he surveyed their preparations.
"We need to move," he stated without preamble. "There's a dust cloud on the horizon - riders approaching from the north. We should be gone before they arrive."
Joseph nodded, quickly finishing with the donkey's packs as Mary secured the infant for travel. Ephraim stood frozen, his earlier fear returning at the news of approaching danger.
Lucifer noticed, his gaze shifting to the boy. "You'll ride with Mary," he decided. "Your feet are still raw from your journey. Walking will only slow us down."
The matter-of-fact tone, the practical consideration rather than emotional reassurance, seemed to steady the child more effectively than platitudes would have.
Ephraim nodded, moving to where Mary waited with the donkey.
As they prepared to depart, Joseph found himself once again struck by the contrast between Lucifer's reputation and the reality of his protection.
The stories painted him as the Great Adversary, the tempter, the fallen one to be feared above all others.
Yet here he stood, using his immense knowledge and power to shield not just the prophesied Messiah, but a humble family and a lost child from dangers both mortal and divine.
It was not the journey Joseph had envisioned when accepting his role as earthly father to the Messiah.
Yet as they set out across the desert, he found himself grateful for the unexpected guardian who walked beside them.
Not because Lucifer was powerful, though his strength certainly provided reassurance against the dangers they faced.
Not because he was wise, though his knowledge of the desert and its perils had already saved them from disaster multiple times.
But because, despite everything Heaven had done to erase this truth from memory, the fallen archangel had proven himself to be something Joseph valued above all else - trustworthy.
It was a quality Joseph had learned to recognize through his years as a carpenter, where a man's word and the integrity of his work determined his standing in the community.
It was evident in Lucifer's every action - the consistency between word and deed, the unfailing vigilance, the measured responses to threats that prioritized their safety above all else.
As they moved away from their temporary camp, Joseph noticed Ephraim watching Lucifer with less fear and more curiosity, the child's natural resilience beginning to overcome his initial terror.
"He - for one who is the Devil - is not what I expected," the boy whispered to Joseph as they walked.
"Few things are," Joseph replied with a slight smile. "Especially those we know only through stories told by others."
It was a lesson Joseph himself had learned through this extraordinary journey - that reputation and reality often diverged in significant ways.
That the being known throughout history as the Great Adversary could also be the most devoted protector.
That the rebel who had defied Heaven itself could show more consideration toward a lost child than many who claimed righteousness.
That perhaps the oldest story of all - the fall of the Lightbringer - was more complex than any human narrative could capture.
As they continued their journey across the desert, Joseph found himself wondering what other revelations awaited them on this path to Egypt.
What else will the Morningstar's shine illuminate?
-------------------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
I know, Joseph and Mary's perspectives may have been almost like a repeat, but I needed to show how they both thought about Lucifer.
As for the boy, what do you think should happen to him? I'm interested in what you'll expect.
So yeah, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)