Chapter Text
The night air burned sweet and strange in the deeper rings of Hell- like rosewater and poison.
Blitzø crouched low behind a spiked iron fence, his eyes locked on the sprawling silhouette of Marquise Gremory’s estate. Unlike the other noble dens he’d broken into, this one invited you in- like a predator with silk-draped teeth. The mansion shimmered in the dim infernal moonlight, all sleek obsidian towers, serpentine garden paths, and flickering illusion wards that made it impossible to tell where the walls ended- and the shadows began.
“Classy bitch,” Blitzø muttered, pulling the crumpled blueprints from inside his coat. Stolas’s handwriting was neatly scrawled in the margins, annoyingly precise.
He studied the layout again, lips pursed.
“You’ve done this a million times,” he told himself. “In and out. No big deal.”
Except it was.
Gremory wasn’t just any duke. She was one of the oldest names in the Goetia circle. She didn’t hoard gold or weapons. No- she hoarded secrets.
And tonight, Blitzø was here to steal one of her most dangerous ones:
The Mirror of Adramelech- a cursed relic said to reflect not just appearances, but memories, desires, and every unforgiven sin beneath the skin. A little too on-the-nose, if you asked him.
He adjusted his jacket, rolled his neck, and sighed. “Alright, Blitzø. Time to violate some privacy.”
Keeping low, he slipped through a gap in the iron fence, the distortion ward Stolas gave him fizzing softly around his ankles. Every movement was precise, practiced- he stayed in the hollows between torchlight, dodging animated garden statues and whispering wind-spells that tried to report movement.
His heart thudded, but not from nerves.
I don’t want you to get caught, Stolas had said.
“Yeah, no shit, bird brain,” Blitzø whispered. “Getting caught in this place is a damn death sentence.”
He pressed forward, muscles taut. His boots barely made a sound as he slid along the black marble walls, fingers skimming carved reliefs of winged beasts and war gods, all watching him with hollow eyes.
Finally, he reached the servant’s entrance- an arched doorway behind a shifting illusion of thorny vines. He tapped the crystal device Stolas had handed him against the stone.
The ward shimmered. Hummed. Then - snap - it fizzled and fell away.
Blitzø grinned. “Still got it.”
Inside, the estate’s halls were dimly lit by floating orbs of red-gold flame. Everything gleamed, floor polished to a mirror sheen, drapes made of spider silk, portraits that watched you when you turned your back.
He tried not to look too closely. Nobles liked to enchant their memories into their homes. He didn’t need to be spied on by some disembodied past version of Gremory sipping absinthe.
The vault was in the east wing, hidden behind the gallery. He knew the route, but the closer he got, the more the walls breathed. Literally. Living stone. Stolas had warned him.
“Avoid prolonged contact,” he’d said, brushing the edge of the blueprint. “Gremory’s estate is… aware.”
Blitzø moved faster.
He found the gallery just past a corridor of obsidian columns. Dozens of masks lined the walls, ceremonial, jeweled, some made of bone. One twitched when he passed.
Blitzø tried not to flinch. “This place gives me the creeps.”
At the far end, tucked behind an emerald tapestry depicting a crowned serpent devouring its own tail, he found the vault door.
Tall. Arrogant. Sealed with a lock made of runes that shimmered like oil in blood.
Blitzø pulled out the second device and set it against the stone.
“Alright, let’s see if you’re worth the fuss.”
A long moment passed. The magic pulsed. Fought back.
Then with a low, grinding moan, the runes broke apart like cracking ice. The vault door slid open with a hiss.
Inside, the room was quiet- too quiet. Cold, but not in temperature. Cold in spirit.
The Mirror of Adramelech stood at the center on a marble pedestal, veiled in translucent fabric, pulsing faintly beneath. The frame was carved from what looked like old bone and gold. The glass shimmered darkly- like a pond right before something pulls you under.
Blitzø approached slowly.
He could feel it staring back.
Blitzø crept closer to the pedestal, every step slower than the last. The mirror’s surface rippled as if disturbed by an unseen breath. The veil that covered it shifted on its own, delicate as smoke, beckoning.
He hesitated. He didn’t believe in cursed objects. Not really. He’d stolen enchanted rings, explosive relics, one time even a singing sword that wouldn’t shut up- but this thing?
This thing felt alive.
“Don’t look into it,” Stolas had warned. “Just take it and leave. The mirror isn’t meant for reflection- it’s meant for punishment.”
Blitzø clenched his jaw, reaching out carefully. His gloved hand brushed the edge of the veil.
Something whispered.
Not aloud, not in words. Just… somewhere deep inside his head.
He froze.
The surface of the mirror stirred again- and this time, he saw something flicker across it.
Not his reflection. Not entirely.
It looked like him- same coat, same face- but older. Tired. And standing next to someone with tall, feathered shoulders.
Blitzø’s breath hitched.
“...Nope,” he said out loud, yanking the veil down and wrapping it tight around the mirror. “Not tonight. I’ve got enough trauma in my carry-on.”
The moment the fabric fully covered the glass, the pressure in the room eased, like the vault itself let out a breath. The whispering stopped.
Blitzø stuffed the mirror under one arm, turning on his heel- but that’s when he heard it.
A click behind the wall.
Wards. Shifting. Reactivating.
“Shit.”
He bolted out the vault door just as it slammed shut behind him with a blast of arcane force, sending a gust of hot wind down the corridor. One of the mask-lined walls behind him began to murmur.
“Halt.”
Blitzø spun. A sentry golem had stepped free from the shadows- six arms, blade fingers, its face a carved plate of ivory with no eyes.
“You are not welcome here,” it growled.
“Yeah, no kidding.”
Blitzø ducked under its swing, sprinting full tilt down the corridor. More defenses activated- runes lighting up along the floor, magical alarms echoing like chimes of death. The building was waking up.
Still, he moved fast. Faster than the magic. Faster than fear.
He burst out of the side entrance, heart hammering, cloak whipping behind him. As he leapt over the fence and hit the dirt, he clutched the mirror tighter, breath ragged.
From inside the estate, nothing followed.
Not yet.
Blitzø didn’t slow down until the estate was a smear on the horizon. The mirror pulsed once in his arms, quiet, as if sated for now.
“Goddamn nobles and their ghost furniture,” he muttered.
But even as he ran, that flicker of an image lingered in his mind:
Him.
And Stolas.
Side by side.
Looking like they'd survived something... or lost something.
He shook the thought away.
It was just a trick. Just a mirror.
It didn’t mean anything.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By the time Blitzø stepped through the front gates of Stolas’s palace, the pulse in his neck had finally started to calm- but only just. His coat was singed at the hem, boots caked with soot, and the mirror was still wrapped tightly in its veil, now secured under his arm like a stolen relic from a tomb. Because, honestly, that’s what it felt like.
He tossed a nod at the guards- who didn’t respond, of course- and pushed his way through the grand entrance like he belonged there.
He didn’t.
But he was getting used to pretending.
Stolas was waiting for him in the study, feathered arms behind his back, posture elegant and unreadable as ever.
“Blitzy,” he said smoothly, eyes immediately landing on the object under Blitzø’s arm. “You made it back in one piece.”
“More or less,” Blitzø muttered. “You didn’t tell me Gremory had golems that looked like porcelain centipedes. One of them nearly turned me into demon confetti.”
“I did mention her estate was aware,” Stolas replied, stepping forward. “Though I must admit, I didn’t expect you back this soon.”
Blitzø dropped the mirror, still veiled, onto the nearest chair with a thud. “Yeah, well, turns out fear’s a great motivator.”
He said it like a joke. It wasn’t.
Stolas stepped toward the mirror but didn’t touch it. His eyes narrowed. “You wrapped it.”
“Yeah,” Blitzø said quickly. “Didn’t want to get cursed or swallowed into a portal or whatever that thing does.”
Stolas didn’t answer right away. He simply stared at the object, his expression shifting- less amused now, more… cautious. His feathers bristled slightly at the edges.
“You didn’t look into it, did you?” he asked softly.
Blitzø scoffed and turned away. “Of course not. I’m reckless, not suicidal.”
Stolas moved closer to the mirror, just enough that the air in the room seemed to hum faintly around him.
“Good,” he said, but the tone was off. Quiet. Not convinced. “The Mirror of Adramelech doesn’t reflect your face. It reflects… other things.”
Blitzø didn’t respond.
Stolas glanced at him, his gaze steady. “Did it show you something?”
A pause.
Blitzø leaned back against the table, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Even if it did, it’s not like I’d tell you.”
Stolas’s feathers twitched again, but his expression didn’t shift. “I see.”
The silence between them stretched- long, taut, like a string pulled too tight.
Blitzø exhaled, sharp and tired. “Look, I got your creepy mirror. No casualties. No drama. Let’s just keep this… clean, alright?”
But even as he said it, he couldn’t quite meet Stolas’s eyes.
And Stolas, perceptive as ever, noticed.
He stepped away from the mirror, watching Blitzø quietly for a moment before speaking again.
“You used to be better at lying,” he said.
Blitzø’s gaze snapped to him. “Excuse me?”
Stolas’s voice remained gentle, but it had an edge now. “You’re shaken. You think I can’t tell when something’s gotten under your skin?”
Blitzø straightened, his defensiveness rising like a reflex. “You think you know everything, huh? Still playing the all-seeing, all-knowing prince?”
“No,” Stolas said softly. “Not everything. Just… enough to see when you’re hurting.”
That shut Blitzø up.
The silence was deafening now. The mirror, still wrapped, pulsed faintly like a second heartbeat in the room.
Blitzø finally looked away, scoffing under his breath. “Well, don’t get used to it. This is still just a job.”
Stolas smiled—tired, knowing, and a little sad. “Of course.”
Strictly business.
But the words didn’t feel right anymore. Not even to him.
Stolas stepped away from the mirror and smoothed his sleeves, regaining that polished calm he wore like armor.
“Well,” he said quietly, “you’ve done more than enough for now. You deserve a break.”
Blitzø looked up, brow raised. “Seriously?”
Stolas nodded. “I’ve arranged for your payment to be transferred immediately.” He gestured toward a black-and-gold chest now resting on the corner table. “All in gold. No strings. No tricks.”
Blitzø crossed the room, popping the lid open. The glint of coin hit his eyes- bright and real. He let out a low whistle. “Damn. Guess paranoia pays.”
Stolas gave a small smile. “When you know what’s at stake, it has to.”
Blitzø pocketed a few coins, then closed the chest with a dull thunk. “So… that’s it?”
“For now.” Stolas hesitated, his voice softer. “I thought perhaps we could reconvene next week. I’ll send word. Something less… volatile, this time.”
Blitzø nodded once, hand lingering on the chest. “Sure. Whatever keeps the money flowing.”
But neither moved to leave. Not really.
They both lingered- just a beat too long.
Stolas stood by the hearth, feathers twitching faintly, like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words. Blitzø shifted his weight, tail curling and uncurling behind him, mouth opening for half a second before he closed it again.
The silence between them wasn’t tense- it was tired. Soft around the edges. Worn in the way only old wounds could be.
Blitzø cleared his throat, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Guess I’ll see you around then, Stols.”
Stolas’s breath caught, but he offered a faint chuckle- small, brittle.
“Take care, Blitz.”
Their old nicknames slipped out too easily, brushing the air like ghosts. Neither had planned to say them. Neither dared to mention it.
So they let it hang there. Quiet. Unspoken. Like so much else between them.
Blitzø gave one last glance- not lingering, not bold. Just a flicker.
Then he turned and walked away, the soft echo of his boots trailing behind him like a closing memory.
The door clicked shut.
And Stolas didn’t move.
Not for a long time.
Blitzø walked from the door, walking fast. Too fast.
He didn’t know where he was going. Just that he needed to move- away from that room, from Stolas, from the feeling he couldn't shake off his damn ribs.
"See you around, Stols."
Why had he said it like that?
The name had crawled up his throat before he could stop it. Felt natural. Felt wrong. Felt... too close.
He tugged his coat tighter, jaw clenched, gaze locked forward.
“Don’t do this again,” he muttered to himself. “You can’t.”
But the weight in his chest argued otherwise. That stupid warmth behind Stolas’s smile. The way his voice had cracked, just a little, when he said Blitz.
He remembered, too.
Blitzø stopped in the middle of the hallway. His reflection stared back at him in a dusty mirror—worn, weathered, and just a little lost.
Then he sighed, shook the thought off like rain from his shoulders, and kept walking.
Meanwhile, with Stolas, he remained still.
The sound of the closing door echoed far longer than it should have. It filled the corners of the study, crawled up the gilded arches, and settled over his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
“Stols.”
The way Blitzø had said it- like it still belonged to him.
He turned slowly, eyes falling to the empty space where Blitzø had just stood. The scent of ash and iron still lingered faintly, clinging to the air like a memory.
"Take care, Blitz."
It had slipped from his lips like a reflex, like muscle memory. Like his heart hadn’t gotten the memo that things had changed.
His hand drifted to the veil still wrapped around the mirror.
Then, slowly, he walked to the far side of the room. A soft glow emanated from a communication crystal tucked into a velvet box atop a gilded shelf. He pressed two fingers to its surface.
A shimmer of red light pulsed, and a distorted voice answered.
“Ready for deployment?”
“Yes,” Stolas said calmly. “I’ll be sending someone else along on the next job. Two, actually. Competent. Trustworthy. Discreet.”
The voice crackled. “Affiliation?”
Stolas hesitated.
“Independent. Former freelancers. But I believe… they’ll be a good fit for him.”
There was no need to say Blitzø’s name. The implication was clear.
Stolas’s voice dropped, almost too quiet to register.
“…He won’t admit he needs help. But I’d rather he resent me than go unprotected.”
The crystal dimmed. The connection ended.
And for the first time that evening, Stolas allowed himself to sit. Shoulders sinking. Gaze distant.
Next week couldn’t come fast enough.