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Chapter Text

The echo of Blitzø’s boots against the cold marble floor of Stolas’s mansion was quieter than a whisper, but to the thief’s trained ears, it might as well have been a drumbeat. He moved with practiced precision, a shadow slipping through the grand halls adorned with paintings of the Goetia linage and sculptures that seemed to watch his every move. Blitzø moved like a shadow through the lavish halls in the grand mansion, his every step silent as the darkness that clung to the high ceilings. He knew this place all too well – the layout, the security, the was the cold marble seemed to hum with old, powerful magic. He hated that he knew it so well, also surprised that he even remembered after so many years. But tonight, the familiarity was the only thing keeping him ahead of the traps and sensors designed to stop lesser thieves. Unlike other thieves, he wasn’t here for some petty statue or antique vase. No, he was after something far more valuable – something that could set him up for life.

Ahead of him, encased in glass and surrounded by complete wards, was his prize; the Feather of Noctris, shimmering faintly in the low light. It was rumored to have once belonged to an ancient avian demon, and it supposedly held untold power over the night and shadows. Only Satan knows how Paimon got possession of this relic and not use its power but it sure would make a very heavy profit on other aristocrats, something Blitzø was counting on.

He smirked beneath his mask as he finally reached the display. There it was, the relic – it’s feathers shimmering with an eerie glow, even in the light of the room. The security systems around it were advanced, but Blitzø had cracked tougher jobs. With a few flicks of his wrist and his hands moving with automatic precision, wires were cut, signals scrambled, and the glass casing slid open without a sound.

“Too easy,” he whispered to himself, reaching out to take the feather.

“Was it?”

Blitzø froze, the blood draining from his face. He spun around, daggers drawn, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw Stolas standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with amusement. He didn’t think he would ever see him again but there he was. The bird man himself, in all his regal, towering glory, leaned casually against the frame, watching Blitzø like he had caught him in a simple game rather than an act of grand theft. His eyes gleamed with the same mix of amusement and something… darker. Something Blitzø had seen before – many times before.

“Stolas…” Blitzø whispered, his muscles tensing. He had not expected to be caught – not by the owner's son of the mansion himself. His spikes drew up, as a reflex. He’d hadn’t seen him in a couple of years, and he… looks better than before…

Stolas chuckled softly, his feathers ruffling slightly as he pushed off the doorframe and took a step into his room. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Very few have the audacity to try to steal from me, let alone succeed in breaking into my private collection.” He glanced down at the relic next to Blitzø, case wide open. “It seems you’ve gotten quite far.” Stolas stepped further into the room, his gaze never leaving Blitzø. There was no anger or shock – just that ever-present, maddening look of control.

Blitzø’s jaw clenched, hands still having the daggers out. His mind was racing, panicking that he was done for. His mansion? That means he's the new owner and everything that was Paimon's is now his. He wasn't counting on that. He could take Stolas out – maybe. But the demon prince was powerful, he’s seen what he can do in the past and figured he’s only gotten stronger since. Even if he managed to escape with the relic, he would be hunted for the rest of his days. Stolas was not someone you could simply cross and walk away from. Besides, he doesn’t think he could hurt him, not because of skill issue. “What do you want, Stolas? If you’re here to play games, I’m not in the mood.”

Stolas tilted his head, feathers ruffling slightly. “Games? No, no, Blitzy. I’m here to offer you… an opportunity.” He moved closer, slowly, as though testing just how much distance Blitzø would allow between them.

Blitzø flinched at the name Stolas called him, but he didn’t move. He hadn’t heard that nickname in so long, he tried to convince himself that he recoiled at the name. Why else would his body react? What’s with this opportunity? Was there a catch with this? His mind was thinking of a response to give him but before he could say anything, Stolas raised his hand, as if he knew what he was already thinking. “I’m not going to call the authorities.”

Blitzø blinked. “You’re not?”

“No,” Stolas purred, stepping closer. His gaze was intense, predatory, but there was something else in his eyes – Something curious, almost intrigued. “I want to offer you an opportunity like I said before that will surely benefit the both of us.”

Blitzø narrowed his eyes, putting his daggers away but still in a defense position, “What kind of opportunity are we talking about here?”

Stolas smiles, his beak gleaming in the low light. “I can see you’ve gotten better at what you do, you’re obviously very skilled if you were able to break into my own palace without any problem. I could use someone with your talents.” His voice lowered, almost seductively. “I want you to work for me, with me even, like old times Blitzy.”

Blitzø’s brows furrowed, his face still in a observant, yet confused look. “Work for you? Doing what?”
“Simple,” Stolas said while clapping his hands together. His tone was casual but his eyes burning with excitement. “I want you to steal for me – rare, magical artifacts from rival demons. I’ll supply the resources, the targets, and in return, you’ll be richly rewarded. Far more than you’d get selling that single feather, it’s a lot less valuable than you think.”

Blitzø glanced at the artifact, then back at Stolas. “And what if I don’t feel like running your errands?”

Stolas’s smiles widened, dark and dangerous. “Then I alert every authority in Hell about the notorious thief who broke into my mansion. Imagine what would happen when they hear that you were trying to steal from me after I've inherited all of my father's possessions? I’m sure you know what consequences you can face.”

Blitzø clenched his jaw. He hated being cornered, but he wasn’t stupid. Stolas had him in a chokehold with no clean way out. He could fight, sure, but it would be a losing battle. And working for Stolas… well, it wasn’t the worst option. Besides, he has worked with him in the past when they were friends and he knew Stolas was a fair man, if he hasn’t changed too much from before besides looks wise. He also now has connections, wealth, and power – things Blitzø could use to his advantage.

“…Fine,” Blitzø said after a long, tense pause. “Ill work for you. I’ll play along but if you screw me over, I swear- “

Stolas’s eyes gleamed, clearly pleased but with some tension in his voice, he coos, “Oh Blitzy, when have I ever screwed you over? If memory serves me right, it was you who screwed me over all those years ago…”

Blitzø flinches at the emphasis of the “you” that Stolas said. He glares daggers at him in defense but his voice lowers. “Hey, that was just because- “

Stolas clapped his hands in interruption, illuminating the room with light, removing the dark atmosphere. “The past is in the past, nothing to dwell on anymore. As a sign of good faith on my end, I’ll let you keep the artifact to make your very first profit. It’s only fair since you did “steal” it fair and square. So, do we have a deal?” He extends his hand to Blitzø to shake it, confirming their deal together.

‘Is it ok to work with him again?’ Blitzø thinks to himself. If nothing repeated from before, things should be ok. In a weird way, he believed he could trust him. He stepped forward to shake the prince’s hand, “Deal.” He spoke.

When their hands met, Stolas pulled Blitzø closer, his beak hovering near the imp’s ear.

“Good to see you again Blitz, can’t wait to work with you…” His voice gentle and soft, like he meant this as a reassurance. Blitzø pulled away, a flicker of unease running down his spine and his face formed a light blush on his face. He was thrown off completely, only few demons have been able to do so.

As Stolas returned to his controlled demeanor, he stood and turned, his robes whispering across the floor as he made his way toward the door. Blitzø stood frozen for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the prince leave. ‘ah fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- “he thought. ‘No fucking way- ‘

“Tomorrow night,” Stolas called over his shoulder, interrupting Blitzø’s thoughts. “I’ll have the details of your first job. Come to my palace first thing at dusk. You can use the front door this time. See you then, Blitzy.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Blitzø alone in the dimly lit room. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He should have seen this coming. He did see this coming, yet he thought it wouldn’t have happened. What has him riled up wasn’t the job, the deal, or even Stolas’s irritating newfound confidence. It was worse.

“Fuck,” He mumbled to himself, his face growing more brighter than before.

“I still love him, don’t I?”

Chapter Text

Blitzø paced back and forth in his small, cluttered apartment, glancing at the clock every few seconds. The dim glow of neon lights from the streets below cast flickering shadows on the peeling wallpaper, doing little to calm his nerves. Tomorrow night. He couldn’t get Stola’s words out of his head, nor the way the prince had lingered a little too close, his voice soft and dangerously familiar-

“Shit,” Blitzø muttered under his breath, running his hand at his horns. “Why the hell did I agree to this?”

Still, as Blitzø flopped down on the worn couch, staring up at the cracked ceiling, one thought kept gnawing at him, refusing to leave him alone.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

The words echoed louder than they should’ve. Too warm. Too real.

Blitzø scoffed, closing his eyes and throwing an arm over his face. “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Because the last time he let himself believe something like that-

The last time Stolas looked at him like he mattered-

He ended up alone. Running. Bleeding.

And with the look on Stolas’s face like he’d been the one betrayed.

Blitzø’s jaw clenched.

He still remembered the way Stolas had stared at him through the smoke and alarms, eyes full of disbelief, like he’d just watched the imp he trusted throw it all away for a payout.

Like Blitzø had chosen the gem over him.
But he didn’t.

He never did.

And it didn’t matter. Because he never got the chance to explain.

He never told Stolas what the deal really cost. What it was really for. What he gave up to make sure Stolas got out alive.

“Doesn’t matter,” Blitzø muttered, voice thick with something between anger and ache. “He made up his mind that night.”

His claws dug into the edge of the couch.

"Just business," he told himself.

Even if it still felt like a lie.

A sudden knock shattered his train of thought. Blitzø snapped to attention, already reaching for the dagger under his coat. Instinct.

He hesitated. The knock came again—sharper, annoyed.

He cracked the door open.

“Loona?”

The tall, sharp-eyed hellhound stood in the hallway, arms crossed and wearing that usual I-had-to-deal-with-idiots-all-night glare. “Who else would it be, dumbass? You expecting someone?”

Blitzø stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I just-never mind. What’re you doin’ here? Ain’t you supposed to be neck-deep in… I dunno, soul donuts or something?”

Loona gave him a dry look and walked past him into the room. “If by soul donuts you mean raiding a demon food cartel with Beelzebub and Tex, then yeah. That wrapped up hours ago. Tex puked up a whole vat of enchanted pudding- so, y’know, typical Tuesday.”

Blitzø flinched. “Gross.”

“Yep. Also, it’s 4AM, genius. Early isn’t exactly the word I’d use.” She paused, then narrowed her eyes. “You’re jumpier than usual. Something happen?”

Blitzø tried to wave her off with a shrug, but his body was too stiff, too tired. “It’s nothin’. Just got a new job.”

Loona leaned against the wall, tail flicking. “New job, huh? With who?”

His mouth opened before he could stop it. “Stolas.”

The room went quiet. Not dramatic thunderstrike quiet- just… heavier.

Loona’s brows rose, her voice dropping a notch. “Seriously?”

Blitzø didn’t answer.

Loona stared. “I thought you said you were done with that birdbrain.”

“I was,” Blitzø snapped, instantly regretting the way it sounded. He ran a hand through his head, “I mean- I am. It’s just… he offered me something I couldn’t pass up. Power. Access. Coin. Connections.”

Loona folded her arms, expression unreadable. “And none of that’s got anything to do with the fact that you used to make puppy eyes at him when you thought no one was looking?”

Blitzø scowled. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah?” Her gaze didn’t soften. “Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Blitzø turned his back to her, pacing a few steps before letting out a sharp breath. “It’s just a job. He reached out. I took it. End of story.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Couldn’t. She doesn’t know everything after all.

Behind him, Loona’s tone shifted. Lower, quieter. “Did he ever find out what really happened?”

Blitzø froze.

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

Loona let the silence stretch, “Y’know, you don’t talk about it- but I remember how wrecked you were after that job. You vanished for a week, came back bleeding and acting like everything was fine. It wasn’t.”

Blitzø gritted his teeth. “It’s not about that anymore.”

“Maybe not for you,” she said, softer now. “But it is for him.”

He turned then, tired and defensive. “It’s not like I planned to work with him again, okay? He just- he caught me off guard. That’s all. I can handle it.”

Loona looked at him, eyes steady and frustratingly knowing. “Can you?”

Blitzø didn’t answer.

She pushed off the wall, brushing past him toward the kitchen. “You’re not fooling me, old man. You’re barely fooling yourself.”

She reached for a bottle of something strong and dark from the counter and cracked it open. “Anyway. Tell bird boy if he pulls anything sketchy, I’ll eat his feathers. Slowly.”

Blitzø snorted, letting the tension bleed out with the laugh. “That’s… mildly comforting.”

Loona smirked as she took a swig. “Glad I could help.”

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The next evening came faster than Blitzø expected. The sky was a dark, deep red as he stood outside Stola’s palace, staring up at its towering silhouette. The place hadn’t change much since the last time he’d been here – still as grand, still as intimating. Blitzø adjusted the collar of his jacket, swallowing down the nerves that crawled up his throat.

“Front door this time…” he muttered under his breath, remembering Stolas’s instructions. It felt weird, walking through the front door like a guest, instead of sneaking around like before. Every step he took echoed in the empty courtyard, and for a moment, he considered just turning around and leaving.

But no. He couldn’t do that. Not now.

The massive doors creaked open as he approached, a small familial imp greeted him. “Greetings Sir Blitzø, I was told to expect you from the young master.”

Blitzø looks at the servant with a weird look, “Oh hey, Prongles, was it? It’s been a while. I didn’t know you still worked here, good to see you.” He then takes off his jacket, tossing it to his head and walks inside, leaving a confused and lightly irritated imp behind. “It’s Pringles…” the servant mutters under his breath.

As Blitzø walks deeper into the palace in the corridor, a familiar voice greeted him before he even turned the corner.

“Blitzy! Right on time, as expected.”

Blitzo’s stomach twisted as he looked up and saw Stolas descending the grand staircase, his royal regalia trailing behind him like a shadow. The prince’s eyes sparkled with a strange mix of amusement and warmth, and for a split second, Blitzø felt like he was right back in the past– back when things were less… complicated.

Stolas reached the bottom of the stairs and smiled, that same infuriatingly calm expression on his face. “I’m so pleased you could make it.”

Blitzø crossed his arms and looking away from him, trying to keep his cool. “Yeah, well, I’m not here for pleasantries, bird-brain. You said you had a job for me, so let’s get to it.”

Stolas chuckled softly, his feathers ruffing. “Of course, straight to business as always. Very well, follow me.

He turned and began to walk through the long, ornate hallways, and Blitzø couldn’t help but feel a strange pull. There was something about Stolas’s presence that made it hard to keep his guard up – something almost comforting, though he hated to admit it.

As they walked, Stolas spoke in that smooth, velvety tone of his. “The target is a rival demon who’s been amassing quite the collection of magical artifacts. One in particular, has caught my interest- the Mirror of Adramelech - a cursed relic said to reflect appearances,memories, and desires. I would love to add it to my collection.”

Blitzø raised an eyebrow. “Sounds fun. What’s the catch?”

Stolas’s eyes gleamed as he glanced back over his shoulder. “The catch, dear Blitzy, is that this rival is exceptionally well-protected. She’s paranoid, as demons of her kind tend to be. You’ll need to be careful- and quick.”

Blitzø smirked. “Careful and quick? Please, that’s what I do best.”

Stolas’s smile widened, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely impressed. “I have no doubt of that. But remember, I don’t want you to get caught. This is a delicate situation, and I’d hate to lose such a valuable asset so soon after our… reunion.”

Blitzø shot him a glare. “Yeah, well, don’t get too cozy with me. This is just business, got it?”

Stolas’s feathers fluffed slightly, and his expression softened. “Of course, Blitzy. Strictly business.”

But there was something in Stolas’s voice that made Blitzo’s skin tingle. Something that made him feel like this wasn’t just about the job - and that maybe, just maybe, Stolas was hoping for more.

They reached a large study, where a table was laid out with maps and blueprints. Stolas gestured for Blitzø to take a seat, and with a sigh, he did.

“So,” Blitzø said, leaning forward, “where’s this mirror and what’s the plan?”

Stolas leaned over the table, his eyes flicking to Blitzø as he pointed to the map. “Here. The mirror is kept in a vault beneath the demon’s estate, heavily warded. But I know you can handle that.”

Blitzø studied the map, his mind already working through the details. It looked like a challenge, but not impossible. Something he could definitely pull off.

“And once I get the mirror?” Blitzø asked, glancing up at Stolas. “What’s in it for me?”

Stolas’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before he smiled. “Besides the payment I promised? Let’s just say… I’ll owe you one.”

Blitzø snorted. “Owe me one, huh? That’s rich, coming from you.”

Stolas chuckled, his voice low. “Oh, Blitzy, I’m a demon of my word. You know that better than anyone.”

Blitzø felt a familiar warmth creep up his neck, and he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the map. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll get the job done. You can count on that.”

Stolas’s smile softened. “I never doubted it.”

Blitzø leaned over the table—not pretending this time. His eyes darted across the blueprints Stolas had laid out, fingers trailing the inked corridors and boundary marks. He paused at every junction, mentally calculating the guards’ patterns, the weak spots, the likelihood of traps buried under glamour spells.

It was good work. Too good.

“Whoever drew this up knows their shit,” Blitzø muttered without looking up. “Almost like they’ve cased the place themselves.”

Stolas stood on the opposite side of the table, arms folded loosely behind his back, feathers relaxed—but watching. “I had someone trace it during a gala last year. He was nearly turned to stone by a mirrored ward. Quite unpleasant.”

Blitzø snorted. “Guess that’s one way to earn a paycheck.”

Still, the precision mattered. Blitzø could work with this.

But no matter how clean the plan looked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

“You sure this is all of it?” he asked, finally glancing up. His tone was flat, but his eyes were sharp. “No last-minute surprises you forgot to mention?”

Stolas tilted his head slightly, that familiar amused curl at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve told you everything I know. But let’s be honest, Blitzy- jobs like this always have surprises. That’s what makes them… exhilarating.”

Blitzø leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. “Exhilarating, huh? Then maybe you should tag along. You know—relive your glory days. Have a little fun.”

Stolas chuckled, the sound warm but edged with something else. He stepped closer, slowly, like he was approaching a bird he didn’t want to scare off.

“I don’t steal anymore,” he said quietly. “Not since... a long time ago.”

Blitzø raised an eyebrow. “What, you got bored of the thrill?”

Stolas’s smile faded, his gaze flicking down to the table for a beat. “No. I learned what it costs to take something that isn’t yours. Especially when you don’t know if it was ever meant to be yours in the first place.”

Blitzø blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. There was no mocking, no flirtation. Just... honesty.

Stolas lifted his eyes again, the glint returning, but quieter now. “Besides, you’re much better at slipping into places you don’t belong.”

A beat passed.

Blitzø’s tail flicked. “Yeah, well, don’t romanticize it. I’m not here to play partners.”

Stolas tilted his head. “No, of course not. Strictly business, after all.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Blitzø’s jaw clenched. He hated the way Stolas said it—soft, understanding, like he didn’t believe it for a second.

He looked back down at the map, trying to refocus, but all he could see was that flicker in Stolas’s eyes—the one that reminded him of before. Before the smoke. Before the vanishing. Before the distance became routine.

The air between them thickened, heavy with things neither of them was ready to name. Not yet.

Stolas stepped back, giving Blitzø space. “You’ll have what you need. I’ve made sure of it.”

Blitzø didn’t look up. “You always do.”

But his voice betrayed something—worn, not quite bitter. And Stolas heard it.

They said nothing more.

The silence sat between them like a held breath—waiting.

Finally, Stolas cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’ve arranged for transportation to take you to the estate tomorrow evening. You’ll find everything you need waiting for you when you arrive.”

Blitzø stood up, pushing his chair back with a scrape. “Fine. I’ll handle it.”

As he turned to leave, Stolas’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Blitz?”

Blitzø paused, his hand on the doorframe, but he didn’t turn around. “What?”

There was a brief silence before Stolas spoke again, his voice quieter, almost… hesitant. “I just want you to know… I’m glad you’re here.”

Blitzø’s grip tightened on the doorframe. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to snap back with some snarky remark, to brush it off like it didn’t matter. But something in Stolas’s tone- the sincerity, the softness- stopped him.

Without turning around, Blitzø muttered, “Don’t make me regret this.”

And with that, he stepped out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.

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Back at his apartment later that night, Blitzø paced restlessly, his mind racing with thoughts of the job- and of Stolas. He hated how easy it was for the prince to get under his skin, how just being around him made everything more complicated. But damn it, he needed this. The money, the connections… he could use it all. To give himself a better life not just for him, but for Loona as well.

Still, as Blitzø flopped down on the worn couch, staring up at the cracked ceiling, one thought kept gnawing at him, refusing to leave him alone.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Blitzø scoffed, closing his eyes, and throwing an arm over his face. “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

He had a job to focus on- a dangerous one at that. And there was no room for old feelings or unresolved tension. Not if he wanted to come out of this in one piece.

Tomorrow night would be the real test.

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Somewhere else in the palace, long after Blitzø had gone, Stolas stood alone in his study. The quiet pressed in around him, heavy and familiar. The candles had burned low. The window glass shimmered with the blood-red hues of Hell’s sky.

He hadn’t moved from his place by the table- maps untouched, blueprints half-curled under his hand.

But his eyes stayed fixed on the door Blitzø had walked through.

He brought a hand to his chest, fingers brushing the soft line of his robe. “Still so guarded…” he murmured, a sad smile playing across his face. “Even after all these years.”

He should’ve expected it. The distance. The sharp words.

But it still struck something deep. Something tender.

Blitzø still looked at him like a stranger wearing a familiar face.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he’d said.

He already had. Not for taking the risk- but for never being brave enough to speak the truth.

And now? Blitzø was back in his world. Just close enough to see- but not close enough to reach.

That night still haunted him.

The smoke. The shouting.

The way Blitzø had vanished behind stone and flame- and the image he could never shake.

Blitzø handing over the Heartglass to their enemies.

Without hesitation. Without a word.

The betrayal had carved into him, deeper than anything else.

He remembered waiting. Hoping it was a trick. That Blitzø would come back and explain, with that dumb grin and some ridiculous excuse.

But he never did.

And so, Stolas had built a wall. A new version of himself. One that didn’t chase ghosts.

One that never stole again.

Because that night had been the last time he ever set foot inside someone else’s vault.

Not because he lacked the power.

But because the price of touching something forbidden had proven far too great.

Once, he had found exhilaration in it. Rebellion. Intimacy.

But now? Even being near an artifact during a job made his feathers twitch.

He still collected, yes- through auctions, intermediaries, hired thieves. But he never took it by hand again. Never stood on the edge of danger. Not since Blitzø.

Something about that night had split him in two. He still wasn’t sure what version of himself had survived.

He drew in a quiet breath, finally turning from the door.

“He chose the gem over me,” he had told himself for years.

And yet… part of him still wondered.

Now, Blitzø was here. In his palace. Working for him.

A second chance- or another wound waiting to reopen.

Stolas smiled faintly to himself, the weight in his chest refusing to lift.

“Strictly business,” he had said.

But it had never been just business. Not then.

Not now.

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.

Chapter Text

A new week, a new map, and the same damned tension simmering beneath the surface.

Blitzø leaned over the sprawling table in Stolas’s study, staring at the blueprint like it owed him money. The estate layout was elegant, circular- like a spiral swallowing itself. Typical of Decarabia, from what little Blitzø knew. Eccentric. Flashy. Batshit.

“Tell me again why we’re robbing a bird with a star chart addiction,” he muttered, drumming his fingers against the edge of the parchment.

Stolas stood a few paces behind him, hands folded neatly in front of his royal regalia. “Decarabia is more than a stargazer. She’s one of the last noble occultists who dabbles in fate manipulation. She’s been collecting relics tied to cosmic prophecy- things that aren’t meant to be seen. Including-”

He reached for a leather-bound dossier and flipped it open, revealing a painted illustration inside. A deck of black and silver cards shimmered across the page, each marked with a different celestial symbol.

“The Star-Eater’s Deck,” Stolas said. “Hand-bound with bones carved from a dying comet. Inks drawn from forgotten eclipses. It doesn’t just show the future- it alters it.”

Blitzø let out a low whistle. “Okay, I admit- that sounds metal as hell.”

Stolas gave a soft laugh. “It is, which is precisely why it’s dangerous in the wrong hands. She claims she isn’t using it for malicious intent, but as most nobles in the family, they are never honest enough.”

Blitzø squinted at the estate sketch. “What’s the catch?”

“Decarabia’s estate is built like a labyrinth,” Stolas said. “Illusions layered over illusions. Rooms that shift. Staircases that fold. She doesn’t just protect her collection- she hides it inside possibility itself.”

Blitzø blinked. “Great. So, it’s like stealing from a glittery Rubik’s cube that screams at you.”

Stolas offered a calm nod. “Roughly.”

Blitzø turned away from the table, pacing slightly. “Alright, fine. What’s the plan? You want me to play hide-and-seek with a cosmic deck and hope I don’t fall through a dream floor?”

“Not quite,” Stolas said, stepping toward the door. “This time, you’ll have help.”

Blitzø stopped mid-stride. “Help?”

The door creaked open.

Two figures stood in the hall, shadowed by the soft crimson light of the palace corridor. One was shorter, trim, and well-dressed, standing with a straight-backed, military-like posture. The other was taller, broader, arms crossed, gaze sharp and quietly amused.

They didn’t speak. Stolas gestured for them to step inside.

“They’re not here to get in your way,” he said gently, voice careful. “They’re here to keep you from getting killed. Let them brief you on the vault mechanics and the artifact’s binding properties. They’ve done similar work before.”

Blitzø stared at them, then back at Stolas.

“You really think I can’t handle this on my own?”

“I think you shouldn’t have to,” Stolas replied.

The two stepped forward into the light.

Blitzø's eyes narrowed, eyeing them and trying to read them. He opened his mouth to say something.

But Stolas was already turning back to the blueprint, smooth as ever. “You’ll work well together. I’ve arranged for transport and a temporary base near Decarabia’s outer wards. The deck is most likely hidden in her observatory tower- vaulted beneath the planetary lens.”

Blitzø turned to the pair of imps now quietly inspecting the map.

One of them looked up at him, his tone professional. “We’ve been briefed. We’ll keep it clean.”

The other grinned. “And if it gets messy, well… that’s the fun part.”

Blitzø stared for a long moment, trying to decide whether to be annoyed or impressed.

He settled on both.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride to Decarabia’s district was long, winding, and full of awkward silence.

Blitzø sat across from the two imps in the back of the armored transport carriage, arms folded, one boot propped on the seat beside him like he owned the place. He watched them with the careful irritation of someone trying to decide whether to pick a fight or take a nap.

The smaller imp finally broke the silence.

“Ahem, I’m Moxxie. And this is my wife, Millie,” he said, adjusting his neatly buttoned vest. “We were told you’d be leading point, so we’re here to follow your lead- within reason.”

Millie gave a quick salute with a crooked smile. “Nice to meet ya. I’ve read a bit about your work. Stolas said you’re efficient, if… unpredictable.”

Blitzø raised an eyebrow. “Unpredictable? Gee, thanks. What else did the bird say- ‘pain in the ass but hard to kill’?”

Millie shrugged with a smirk. “More or less.”

Moxxie leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing behind his spectacles. “We’re not here to step on your claws. Just don’t get us killed playing cowboy.”

“Don’t worry,” Blitzø said flatly. “If anyone dies, it’ll be me. I like to keep the drama centered.”

Millie chuckled; Moxxie didn’t.

Outside the window, the landscape shifted. The scenery grew strange the closer they got to Decarabia’s territory. Hills folded into each other. The sky shimmered with pale pink stars that pulsed like heartbeat monitors. Trees stretched sideways. Roads led into fog and didn’t come back out.

“Great,” Blitzø muttered, peering through the glass. “Optical nightmare territory.”

Millie leaned in to get a better look. “It’s kinda pretty in a ‘this might eat your soul’ kind of way.”

“Decarabia specializes in dream-warping and metaphysical architecture,” Moxxie said. “Her entire estate is layered in shifting illusions. The vault with the deck is hidden in the observatory tower, beneath the main star lens.”

“I read the file,” Blitzø snapped.

Moxxie held up his hands. “Just making sure. You didn’t look like the homework type.”

Millie gave Moxxie a light smack on the shoulder. “Play nice, Mox.”

Blitzø rolled his eyes. “Relax, nerd. I’ve broken into scarier places with less prep and a lot more explosives.”

Moxxie muttered something under his breath that Blitzø chose to ignore.

The carriage hit a soft jolt as it passed through the illusionary gate surrounding Decarabia’s estate. The ground flickered beneath them like static. For a moment, the world looked upside down- and then it settled again.

“End of the line,” Millie said, standing and stretching. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the carriage slowed to a halt, Blitzø finally looked at the two of them properly.

“You’ve really done this kind of work before?”

Millie nodded. “A few noble collections. Nothing this… surreal. But yeah.”

Moxxie added, “We’ve handled magical traps, spectral decoys, teleporting vaults-”

“Great,” Blitzø interrupted. “Then try not to trip over anything important while I do the hard part.”

Millie opened her mouth to respond, but the door creaked open and cold, spiced wind rushed in, carrying the scent of jasmine and ozone.

The estate loomed ahead- spires like glass knives, observatories floating slightly off the ground, staircases coiled around open voids. Stars hung impossibly low, flickering inside the windows like candle flames. And somewhere beneath all of that, the Star-Eater’s Deck was waiting.

Blitzø grinned to himself.

“Alright, let’s rob a freakin’ oracle.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The moment Blitzø stepped past the threshold of Decarabia’s estate, the world… shifted.

The path beneath his boots rippled like a mirage. The gravel turned soft, then brittle, then smooth again in a blink. The trees around them bent in slow spirals toward the mansion, their leaves shimmering like scales. A low chime rang in the distance- melodic and wrong, like a music box trying to remember a tune it had never been taught.

“This place sucks,” Blitzø muttered, checking the map again even though he knew it was useless now. “Nothing’s where it’s supposed to be.”

“That’s the point,” Moxxie said, squinting at his compass as the needle spun in lazy, mocking circles. “Decarabia uses illusion loops- if we take the wrong turn, we’ll end up in the same place again. Or worse.”

“Worse?” Millie asked, already unsheathing a blade.

“Like getting stuck in a mirrored memory trap,” Moxxie replied. “Or hallucinating your own fears until your brain melts.”

Blitzø turned sharply. “Okay, wow, thank you for the reassurance, Mox.”

“I’m just saying,” Moxxie huffed, “we need to be smart about this. Stick to the original route: side garden, up the east tower, through the observatory access stairwell.”

Millie pointed ahead. “There. Between the warped hedges- see that shimmer? That’s an active illusion boundary.”

Blitzø narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess- if I step through it, I either get turned inside-out or relive my worst memory in 4K?”

Millie grinned. “Or you just fall through the floor. Pick your poison.”

Blitzø pulled out one of the amulets Stolas had provided: small, silver, etched with shifting runes. It flickered faintly as he brought it close to the illusion wall. A soft pulse lit up the edges.

“Right. Distortion ward’s thin here,” he said. “We’ve got maybe thirty seconds once it’s down. Ready?”

Moxxie and Millie both nodded.

Blitzø pressed the amulet to the invisible barrier. A sound like static in water filled the air as the illusion peeled away like paper.

He darted through first, the world lurching around him as his boots hit solid ground again- barely.

Moxxie and Millie followed close behind.

The new corridor they landed in was… wrong.

The ceiling arched like the inside of a ribcage. Candles floated upside-down, dripping wax into the air. Dozens of empty picture frames lined the walls- and in each one, their own reflections blinked back at them.

Not mirrors. Just frames.

Blitzø stepped forward, carefully avoiding eye contact with himself. “Alright, we’re in. Observatory tower’s got to be-”

He stopped. A hallway opened in three directions, each identical. Same flickering candles. Same warped flooring.

“Three paths,” he muttered. “Cute.”

Millie knelt and touched the floor, sniffed the air. “Middle one smells too clean. Could be a loop.”

“I vote left,” Moxxie said, adjusting his gear. “Slight temperature drop. Could lead to the observatory’s climate-controlled vault.”

Blitzø tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Fine. We’ll split. You two take left. I’ll check the middle. We meet back here in ten minutes.”

Millie frowned. “Splitting up in an illusion maze? That’s horror movie 101.”

“Yeah, well, the slasher always gets bored of the mouthy one first,” Blitzø said, flashing a toothy grin.

“Good luck, asshole,” Moxxie muttered as he and Millie took the left path.

Blitzø headed for the center.

As soon as he stepped into the corridor, the air changed- thicker, warmer. Whisper-quiet.

His footsteps echoed. Too many times.

He glanced at the walls- blank now. No frames. No reflections.

And then-

A sound behind him.

He spun.

No one there.

“You should’ve left him,” a voice whispered in his ear.

He froze.

“You chose the job.”

Blitzø's breath hitched. His tail flicked with agitation. “Not real. Just tricks. I’ve seen worse.”

But the voice didn’t stop.

“You gave him the mirror. You vanished. What did you think he’d believe?”

The walls pulsed once. Just once. Then stilled.

Blitzø gritted his teeth and kept walking. He didn’t look back.

Blitzø kept moving through the corridor, ignoring the voice.

But the corridor wouldn’t let him.

The floor shimmered beneath his boots, rippling like water. With each step, the stone grew softer, warmer. And then suddenly- he wasn’t walking on stone at all.

He was standing on marble.

Polished. Familiar. Lit by cold starlight.

Stolas’s palace.

No.

He stopped cold.

Around him, the corridor had transformed. The air carried the faint scent of ink and fire. Papers rustled in phantom wind. Behind him, a door opened that shouldn’t be there.

He turned.

Beyond the threshold: a memory.

The vault room.

The Heartglass.

The alarms blaring.

And Stolas- eyes wide, betrayed, standing in the smoke.

Blitzø's breath caught. He hadn’t seen this version of the memory in years. The illusion pulled it from deep down. Too deep.

“I told you to run,” Blitzø whispered.

But the illusion didn’t care what he remembered.

“You left him,” the voice said.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he snapped.

The smoke in the vision grew heavier. The image of Stolas stared back at him- not angry, just… hurt.

“He trusted you.” His own voice whispered in his ear.

“I was trying to protect him!” he snapped back.

The hallway around him warped again. The smoke became feathers. The feathers, ink. Words etched themselves into the walls- liar, thief, traitor.

“No!” Blitzø shouted, punching the nearest wall. “You don’t know what I gave up! I-”

He stopped himself.

His fist trembled against the wall. The room had quieted again.

His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “…I never wanted to leave him like that.”

A pause. A breath.

Then-

A faint tug.

Reality snapped back into place like a rubber band.

The corridor was stone again. Empty. Quiet.

From up ahead, a voice echoed: “Blitzø?! You still breathing in there?”

Millie.

Blitzø blinked hard, breathing ragged.

“Yeah,” he shouted back. “Just give me minute.”

He jogged forward, rounding a bend and nearly crashing into Moxxie and Millie as they emerged from their own corridor.

“Where the hell did you go?” Millie asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Blitzø grinned, all teeth. “Nah. Just an old mistake.”

Moxxie eyed him warily but said nothing.

Up ahead, the corridor opened into a large circular chamber- the base of the observatory tower. It stretched upward like the inside of a telescope, a high glass ceiling revealing the false stars above.

At the center was a pedestal, spinning slowly beneath a web of floating lenses and magical prisms. Hovering just above it-

A deck of cards. Black. Shimmering. Radiating quiet power.

The Star-Eater’s Deck.

They’d found it.

But the moment they stepped into the room, a low hum began to rise from the floor.

Millie’s eyes scanned the runes beneath their feet. “It’s a trigger.”

“Probably tuned to weight or movement,” Moxxie said. “If we rush the pedestal, we’ll trip the vault’s defense net.”

Blitzø squinted at the web of floating glass. “And I’m guessing that includes being stabbed, disintegrated, or memory-wiped?”

“Possibly all three,” Moxxie said.

Blitzø cracked his knuckles. “Alright, then. Let’s steal a deck from the stars.”

The moment Blitzø took another step toward the deck, the room shifted.

Not physically- not at first. But perceptually. The starlight above fractured across the glass ceiling, casting spinning patterns of constellations across the floor. The shadows they cast began to move out of sync with their bodies.

Moxxie cursed under his breath. “The vault just activated.”

Blitzø drew a blade from his belt. “Yeah, no shit Sherlock-.”

The pedestal began to rise slowly into the air, carried upward by a spiraling column of light. The Star-Eater’s Deck hovered inches above it, cards fanned just enough to show their glittering, unknowable faces. One flipped of its own accord.

The Tower.

“Separation,” Moxxie said. “It's trying to split us up.”

As if on cue, the floor beneath them rippled- and suddenly Blitzø, Millie, and Moxxie were no longer standing side by side.

Blitzø's head whipped around. “What the-?”

The walls had stretched. The tower now felt miles wide. The pedestal was impossibly far away. Blitzø could barely make out Millie’s voice, warped and distant like it was coming through water.

“Don’t believe what you see!” she shouted.

Too late.

The mirrors descended- tall, floating panes of glass that reflected not their faces, but versions of them. Shadows. Regrets. False futures.

Blitzø's own reflection stepped out of its frame, smiling at him with teeth too white and eyes too empty.

“You left him. You always leave.”

“Not now,” Blitzø growled.

The mirror version lunged. Blitzø rolled, blade flashing through the illusion’s midsection- but it only rippled, reforming like water. It swung back, a perfect echo of his own movements.

Meanwhile, Millie was fending off three reflections- one of herself, one of a bleeding Moxxie, and one of her younger self, holding a cracked wedding photo. She didn’t hesitate- just let out a snarl and drove her knives into the illusionary Moxxie’s chest. It screamed in a voice that wasn’t his.

Across the chamber, Moxxie faced a looping memory- his father standing in judgment, arms crossed, while a crowd of silent criminals pointed and laughed. The moment froze. Rewound. Played again.

“You’re not fit to take over as head of the family,” the echo boomed.

Moxxie’s hands trembled- but he forced himself to look away. “Not real,” he muttered. “You’re not real.”

He pulled out a disruptor flare from his belt and smashed it against the ground. A shockwave pulsed outward, shattering his illusions and flaring across the chamber like lightning across a stormy sea.

The ripple reached Blitzø's side- and shattered his mirror clone, just in time.

He breathed hard, sweat dampening his brow. “Okay, that sucked.”

The tower’s heartbeat-like hum was growing louder. The deck was still rising, drifting toward the ceiling now- its cards glowing brighter with each passing second.

“WE HAVE TO GRAB IT!” Millie shouted.

But from the far end of the chamber, something else began to emerge-

Guards.

Not flesh and blood. Not quite.

Tall, eyeless sentinels made of swirling starlight and armor, crowned in celestial antlers. They moved with graceful, bone-silent steps, weapons forged from moonlight and memory.

“Oh come on,” Blitzø groaned. “Magic deer knights?!”

One charged.

Blitzø ducked low and rolled, grabbing a vial from his coat and hurling it at the base of the pedestal. A burst of smoke erupted, momentarily obscuring their positions.

“Moxxie!” he shouted. “You’re the fastest- go!”

Moxxie didn’t argue.

He sprinted through the chaos, weaving between projections and sentries. One raised a blade, Millie intercepted, hurling a dagger straight into its throat of light. It staggered but didn’t fall.

Blitzø leapt off a chunk of broken stone, slamming into a second sentry mid-air and dragging it down in a flurry of stabbing claws and profanity.

Moxxie reached the deck just as the last card turned.

The Lovers.

He didn’t have time to think about it.

He grabbed the deck.

Everything stopped.

Light collapsed inward like a dying star- and then exploded.

When the smoke cleared, the three of them were lying in the center of the room. The illusions were gone. The sentries had vanished. The deck now rested quietly in Moxxie’s hands, inert.

Blitzø groaned and sat up. “If I see one more magic metaphor tonight, I’m burning this place to the ground.”

Millie stood and dusted herself off. “Vault’s quiet. I think we broke it.”

Moxxie was still staring at the deck, its weight more than physical. “We need to go. Now.”

Blitzø nodded, rubbing at the back of his head. “Yeah. Before the starlight spawns a second round of emotional trauma.”

He turned toward the exit.

And just before they left the chamber, he glanced back at the now-empty pedestal.

The Lovers card still lay there- face up, glowing faintly.

He didn’t say anything.

He just kept walking.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stolas sat alone in his observatory, the vast chamber lit only by the eerie glow of drifting stars outside the dome. He hadn’t moved in for over an hour. The tea in his cup had long gone cold, untouched. The celestial mirror hovering before him pulsed softly with magic—its surface hazy, uncooperative, reacting not with vision, but with feeling.

And he could feel it now. A ripple of chaos, faint but rising.

The heist had begun.

He exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the edge of the marble table.

They’re in the vault.

The moment he sensed the shift in magic—sharpened tension, illusion wards activating—his breath caught in his throat. He had prepared Blitzø as best he could. Sent him with artifacts, blueprints, a team. Still, he couldn’t shake the creeping worry clawing at his chest.

His eyes flicked to the crystal compass lying nearby, the one faintly tuned to Blitzo’s amulet. It glowed, but erratically. The vault’s interference was already scrambling the connection.

Still, he stayed.

Waiting.

Watching.

Just like before.

Stolas looked down at his hands. They were trembling. Not from fear of the vault, but from something older. Something heavier.

He left. No explanation. No goodbye. Just vanished into the smoke and shadows.

He had spent years convincing himself not to wonder why. That it didn’t matter. That someone like Blitzø didn’t owe him the decency of closure.

But now that Blitzø was back—alive, reckless, infuriating, familiar—he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

What if it wasn’t what it looked like?

What if there was something I didn’t see?

Would it matter now?

He told himself he only accepted Blitzø back into his life that night because the imp was good at what he did. The old memories of them stealing together was evidence that he was good at what he did. He needed someone capable. He has hired people in the past to do what he couldn't anymore and they were ok, but not as skilled as him. That's it. It was strictly professional.

But none of those excuses explained why he watched the door long after Blitzø left. Why he would catch himself listening for his laugh. Why every awkward silence between them hummed with things unsaid.

“I missed you,” Stolas admitted aloud, voice barely a whisper.

The mirror flared suddenly— just for a moment.

Pain. Illusion. Guilt.

The vault was reacting. The deck must have turned.

Stolas stepped closer, eyes wide. That was no ordinary shift. That was personal magic— Blitzø's mind being turned against itself.

His heart twisted.

He knew what Decarabia’s vault did to intruders. What it dredged up. What it forced you to relive. He had no doubt Blitzø could fight through it— physically. But emotionally?

Will you see me the same way you did that night?

Or will you finally tell me what I never got to ask?

The mirror dimmed again. The energy in the leyline began to stabilize.

They were getting out. He could feel it.

Stolas let out a slow, shuddering breath and stepped away from the mirror.

He reached for the cold cup of tea, then paused. Instead, he walked to the tall window overlooking the horizon.

There was no starlight in Hell. Not really.

Just illusions.

But tonight, for a moment, it almost looked real.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The front doors of Stolas’s estate creaked open with a quiet groan, the soft candlelight of the entry hall spilling across the bruised and dust-coated trio.

Blitzø was the first to enter, shoulders tense, coat torn at the sleeve and smeared with soot. Moxxie followed, his grip firm on the satchel that now held the Star-Eater’s Deck. Millie trailed behind, wiping a streak of dried blood from her cheek with the back of her glove.

Stolas was already waiting.

He rose from the velvet chaise in the corner of the room, robe swaying like shadowed wings around him. His expression—so carefully composed—cracked the instant his eyes landed on Blitzø.

No words. Just a quick, almost imperceptible once-over.

He’s alive.

“Looks like you three survived,” Stolas said lightly, though his voice betrayed the weight behind it.

Blitzø tossed the satchel onto the nearby table. “Survived, yeah. Barely. That place was like a fever dream mated with a funhouse mirror and gave birth to hell.”

Millie gave a low laugh. “Vault tried to kill us with memories. Would’ve worked, too, if we weren’t stubborn as hell.”

Moxxie, ever the diplomat, simply nodded and passed the satchel forward. “The deck, as promised. No damage. Still humming.”

Stolas took it gently. For a moment, he said nothing—just stared down at the shimmering cards. The Lovers card was on top again.

His fingers hovered over it before he closed the satchel and set it aside.

He turned to Blitzø.

“I trust the defenses were… illuminating?”

Blitzø snorted. “Is that what you rich types call psychological warfare now?”

A silence settled between them. Not hostile- just heavy. It stretched a beat too long.

Moxxie noticed first. “We’ll… wait outside. Give you two a minute.”

Millie nodded, tugging gently at Blitzo’s arm before slipping out with her husband.

Now it was just them.

Stolas stepped closer, his voice softer. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Blitzø said quickly. “You’ve seen me worse.”

Stolas nodded. “I know.”

He reached into his sleeve and retrieved a small velvet pouch. With a graceful flick of his wrist, he handed it to Blitzø.

Gold coins clinked inside, payment for the job. Clean. Professional.

Blitzø stared at it for a second too long before taking it.

“Thanks.”

Another pause. The tension between them buzzed- like a string pulled too tight.

They both opened their mouths at the same time.

“I—”

“Did you—”

They stopped. Locked eyes.

Neither continued.

Stolas shifted, brushing a loose feather from his shoulder. “You should rest. I’ll contact you about the next job soon. Something… smaller.”

Blitzø nodded, voice quieter now. “Yeah. Sure. Whenever.”

They didn’t move.

Didn’t step closer.

Didn’t step away.

They just stood there, surrounded by a silence that carried years of hurt and everything left unsaid.

Eventually, Blitzø turned.

“I’ll see you around then, Stols-.”

And then he was gone.

Stolas remained still long after the door closed, heart hammering too loud in his chest.

He never asked.

Blitzø never told.

But something had changed.

And Stolas wasn’t sure if it scared him… or gave him hope.

Chapter Text

For once, there wasn’t a deadline. No vaults to crack. No illusions to survive. Just a cool, hazy morning in a tucked-away corner of the Goetia gardens - far enough from the rest of Hell to pretend, for a little while, that things weren’t so complicated.

Blitzø sat on a stone bench beneath a gnarled obsidian tree, legs kicked up over the side, chewing lazily on a piece of dried infernal fruit Stolas’s kitchen had left out for the team.

Millie was lounging in the grass, stretched out like a sunbathing cat. Moxxie sat beside her, polishing one of his sidearms more for comfort than necessity.

It was all Stolas’s idea.

“You’ve been working well together,” he’d said earlier that day, voice soft and almost hopeful.
“You deserve a moment to rest.”

So he had handed over keys to one of his private gardens - not the grand royal ones, but something quieter. A personal retreat.

Moxxie finally spoke, his voice casual but edged with curiosity. “So… this is nice.”

Millie snorted. “Bit weird being pampered by a Goetia, but I’m not complainin’. These cushions are softer than anything we’ve ever sat on.”

Blitzø made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

Millie sat up, looking at him. “You’ve been quiet.”

Blitzø shrugged, still chewing. “Not used to… downtime, I guess.”

Moxxie gave him a side glance. “Is that what this is? Downtime? Or is it guilt-fueled damage control from a certain bird?”

Blitzø’s jaw tensed - barely noticeable, but Millie caught it.

She nudged Moxxie gently. “Let him breathe.”

But Blitzø waved it off. “Nah. He’s right. This has ‘trying too hard’ written all over it.”

There was a long pause.

And then Millie said what they were both thinking.

“So what’s the deal with you two?”

Blitzø blinked. “Me and…?”

Moxxie didn’t let him deflect. “You and Stolas. You’re not just some hired thief to him. Not the way he looks at you. Not the way you flinch every time he says your name like it’s got history behind it.”

Blitzø looked down at the fruit in his hand. It had gone soft.

He tossed it aside.

“I used to work with him,” he said slowly. “Years ago, we… we made a good team.”

Millie waited.

Blitzø didn’t look at them when he spoke next.

“It wasn’t supposed to get personal.”

Moxxie’s voice lowered. “But it did.”

Blitzø nodded, eyes distant. “Yeah. It did.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers loosely interlaced. “We were never official, or anything. It was always… blurry. But that didn’t stop it from feeling real. Or from falling apart like it was.”

Another pause.

Millie leaned in gently. “What happened?”

Blitzø’s mouth twisted into something between a grin and a grimace. “We were on a job. One minute, everything was fine, next… things went to shit. I got separated. He thinks I bailed. Left him.”

Moxxie frowned. “Did you?”

Blitzø looked up at him. There was a flicker of something raw and tired behind his eyes.

“No.”

He stood up then, brushing imaginary dust from his coat.

“But it doesn’t matter what really happened. Not to him. He made up his mind. I just…” He hesitated. “I didn’t get a chance to fix it.”

The breeze shifted through the garden. Soft. Cool. Quiet.

Millie got up and walked over, resting a hand on Blitzø’s arm.

“You think he still cares?”

Blitzø didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked, like he was chewing on something sharp and bitter.

“Sometimes I do,” he finally said. “Other times I think it’d be easier if he didn’t.”

Moxxie gave a small, thoughtful nod. “Maybe it’s not about it being easy. Maybe it’s about being brave enough to talk about it.”

Blitzø snorted. “Right. ‘Cause I’m real great at talking about my feelings.”

Millie grinned. “You’re doing it right now.”

Blitzø looked away, but a small smile tugged at his lips.

The tension eased.

For now.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From the shadowed edge of the garden terrace, hidden behind the curve of a flowering obsidian tree, Stolas watched them.

He hadn’t meant to linger.

At least, that’s what he told himself when he drifted by the garden path hours after handing them the key.

He could have left. Could have gone back inside, occupied himself with books or star maps or politics. But instead, he stayed rooted here - silent, still, watching Blitzø with a gaze too heavy to call casual.

They were laughing now. Not loudly, but freely.

Millie and Moxxie sprawled in the grass, loose and warm in each other’s company. Blitzø was leaning back on his elbows, the sun catching the red in his eyes as he grinned at something Millie said.

Gods, that smile.
Stolas hadn’t seen it in so long.

And now he only saw it from afar.

He had given them this garden as a gesture of gratitude - or so he claimed. Deep down, he knew better.

He wanted to know who Blitzø was now. Who he’d become in the years they’d spent apart. Whether the sharp edges had dulled or grown deadlier. Whether there was still any part of the Blitzø he remembered buried under all that pain and armor.

He leaned one hand against the bark of the tree, feathers twitching.

You left.

You left without a word.

And I still wonder if it was because of me.

He hated how that thought burrowed into him like rot - quiet, corrosive. He had spent years convincing himself that Blitzø didn’t care, that the feelings had been one-sided, fleeting.

But now?

Now he wasn't so sure.

Some glances they gave to each other lingered too long. A softness beneath the snark. A hesitance in Blitzø’s eyes that didn’t match the bold swagger of his words.

Maybe it wasn’t betrayal.

Maybe it was fear.

Or maybe… it was something else entirely.

But Stolas couldn’t ask.

He couldn’t bear the answer.

So instead, he stood just out of sight. Always just out of sight.

Because being near Blitzø again - close but not close enough - was somehow both a blessing and a curse.

The laughter died down. Millie said something and got up. Moxxie followed. The moment ended.

Blitzø stayed seated for a while longer, staring out into the garden.

Stolas took one step back.

And another.

And then he vanished into the estate, cloak trailing behind him like the silence he wore too well.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, after the sun dipped beneath the smog-heavy horizon of the Goetia district, the trio returned to the modest suite Stolas had provided them for the week. It was elegant, too elegant for Blitzø’s tastes, but he hadn’t complained.

Not out loud, anyway.

Now, curled up on one of the velvet couches with a stolen bottle of wine between them, the team sat in a rare kind of quiet.

Millie was braiding her hair absentmindedly, her eyes flicking to Blitzø now and then. Moxxie sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with a cracked rune stone he’d swiped from the last vault’s rubble. Blitzø lay half-sprawled across the couch, sipping from the bottle, legs draped over the armrest.

He wasn’t drunk.

But he was looser than usual.

The silence broke with a sigh.

“You think he’s watching me?” Blitzø asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Moxxie looked up. “You mean Stolas?”

Blitzø grunted. “Yeah. Probably lurking around a corner or hovering over some scrying mirror with his feathers all puffed up.”

Millie chuckled. “He does seem the type.”

There was a pause. Not awkward - just cautious.

Then Moxxie said, gently, “You know… if you wanted to talk to him, really talk, I don’t think he’d stop you.”

Blitzø snorted. “Yeah, and if I wanted a dagger in the ribs, I’d just open up and bleed all over him.”

Millie raised an eyebrow. “That dramatic act’s getting a little dusty, boss.”

He sat up, expression bristling with mock offense. “Excuse you, I’ve perfected this act over years of emotional repression and bad choices. Don’t you dare disrespect my craft.”

Moxxie cracked a smile. “It’s a good mask. But it’s still a mask.”

Blitzø was quiet for a moment, fingers tapping the neck of the wine bottle.

“I just… I don’t know what I’d even say,” he muttered. “'Sorry I ruined the best thing I never got to have’? That I didn’t mean to leave, even if it looked like I did? That I’ve been stuck with that night in my head for years, wondering if I’d ever see him again - just so I could screw it up a second time?”

His voice had dropped. The sarcasm had leaked out somewhere around the second sentence.

Millie reached over and gently punched his leg. “You don’t have to say all of that. Not yet. But maybe… start with something real. Something small.”

Moxxie nodded. “You don’t owe him everything, Blitzø. But maybe you owe yourself the chance to be heard.”

Blitzø looked at them both - really looked.

He hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone talked to him like this. No barbs. No jokes. Just concern. Just kindness.

It made him feel… exposed.

But not in a bad way.

He leaned his head back against the couch cushion and exhaled.

“I’ll think about it.”

Millie smiled. “That’s all we’re asking.”

Blitzø closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that might have been gratitude - if only briefly.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he had to carry the weight alone.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stolas stood before his astrolabe, fingers gliding across the rim of the massive sphere as star-marked projections shimmered to life in the air around him.

The constellations were shifting. Magic was on the move.

And so was Orobas.

Stolas’s beak clenched slightly as he adjusted one of the gears, dragging a thread of golden light from one corner of the map to another. The vault’s position had changed again—now tucked deep beneath the Marrow Spire, an obsidian tower riddled with binding spells and celestial warding.

“He’s hiding it. He knows someone is coming.”

The artifact in question - The Seal of Solas - was more than a relic. It was a raw magical conduit, rumored to amplify a demon’s dominion over memory and foresight. Dangerous in any hands, catastrophic in Orobas’s.

“And yet he keeps it as a trophy. As if no one would dare take it from him.”

Stolas’s feathers bristled.

He had clashed with Orobas before. A public debate in the High Chamber. Quiet sabotage in council elections. Rumors whispered behind fans and goblets of wine.

But it had been years since their rivalry felt this… personal.

Maybe it was because Orobas never let him forget what he’d “fallen to.” The whispers of scandal. The open disdain for Stolas’s fading grip on noble formality. The cold mockery in his eyes when the Goetia court discovered Stolas’s name tied to an imp thief.

And now?

Now he was sending that imp into Orobas’s vault.

He ran a hand over his face, a rare crack in composure breaking through. He didn’t know what scared him more - that Blitzø might fail… or that he might succeed.

And what will Orobas do when he finds out who sent him?

Stolas turned to the desk nearby, the next file already laid out - maps, ward schematics, magical readings, and reinforcement diagrams. He’d doubled the enchantments on the illusion amulets. Upgraded the vault-cracker rune stones. Even included a temporal anchor in case Orobas’s defenses played tricks with time.

“This one’s dangerous,” he murmured to himself.

Which was why he’d been pampering them. The suite. The food. The garden.

It wasn’t guilt.

It was precaution.

"I’ve sent them into nightmares before... but this time, I’m sending them into his."

He reached for the last item: a sleek black envelope. Inside, the final seal - the key to the vault, created from a blend of Stolas’s own blood magic and ancient prophecy text.

He hesitated.

Then slipped it into the satchel.

“I hope you’re ready for this, Blitzø.”

Because once they crossed into Orobas’s domain, nothing would be easy.

Not even survival.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The briefing room was unusually quiet.

Not that it was ever loud - Stolas preferred a composed, ceremonial sort of atmosphere for strategy - but today, there was a tension in the air that even Millie noticed.

The walls were lined with velvet scrollwork, charmed to flicker through illusion maps and blueprints like turning pages. A projection hovered above the central table - an intricate 3D rendering of a tower that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky.

The Marrow Spire.

Blitzø whistled low. “Subtle name.”

“Nothing about Orobas is subtle,” Stolas replied, voice clipped but clear. “He prefers intimidation over elegance.”

Moxxie leaned in to examine the floating schematic. “And we’re stealing what, exactly?”

Stolas lifted a finger and flicked through the magical slideshow. A shimmering disk appeared: a circular sigil etched with starlit runes and sealed behind six separate wards.

The Seal of Solas.

“It’s a binding artifact,” Stolas said. “Centuries old. Extremely dangerous. It amplifies memory-based foresight and temporal tethering. With it, Orobas could rewrite the rules of magical surveillance - bend futures to his will.”

Millie blinked. “And he’s just keepin’ that thing in his house?”

“Beneath it,” Stolas corrected. “The lowest level of the Spire. Guarded. Cursed. Protected by magical constructs and personal wards keyed to Orobas’s lineage.”

Blitzø raised an eyebrow. “So basically a deathtrap.”

Stolas didn’t flinch. “Which is why I’ve reinforced your gear. You’ll have full access to illusion counter-charms, upgraded cloaking runes, and an emergency anchor in case of—”

He paused. Just a beat too long.

Blitzø’s eyes narrowed.

“In case of what?”

Stolas met his gaze, steady. “In case the vault’s defenses target your memory. There is... a chance the Seal’s energy may stir repressed visions. Hallucinations. Past events. It’s drawn to unresolved truth.”

A silence fell.

Moxxie coughed. “Charming.”

Stolas continued, tone professional but thinner around the edges now. “This mission will require precision. If any of you hesitate, the vault will use it against you. There is no room for mistakes.”

He held out the satchel with the briefing file and magical keys. “You’ll leave at dusk tomorrow.”

Blitzø stepped forward and took it.

Their fingers brushed.

Neither pulled away immediately.

Then - just like always - one of them broke the moment before it could become something more.

Blitzø turned away first.

Millie and Moxxie followed him out of the chamber, muttering quietly between themselves.

Stolas remained alone in the silence, staring at the space Blitzø had just left.

“No room for mistakes,” he repeated softly.

Not this time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room Stolas had given him was too quiet.

Too big, too soft, too filled with air that smelled faintly of lavender and guilt.

Blitzø sat cross-legged on the floor anyway, the plush carpet muffling every movement as he dumped the satchel of briefing materials in front of him. The folder opened with a quiet snap, and soon the floor was scattered with maps, rune grids, sigil tracings, and magical readouts - each one annoyingly perfect, neat, and precise.

Half-spells, ward diagrams, directional notes. All written like they’d never spent years not speaking. Like there was no damage. Like they could just... do this again. The blueprints shimmered under enchanted ink, annotated with Stolas’s handwriting—elegant, swooping script that Blitzo had once traced with his fingers just to make the prince laugh.

He pushed the thought away.

“Focus, dumbass,” he muttered to himself.

He grabbed the vault manifest. That was usually where the meat of the job lived—target location, estimated defenses, item description. He skimmed past the list of illusions, wards, and spatial traps.

Then he stopped.

Item Name: The Aether Ring
Category: Decorative magical relic
Enchantment Strength: Minimal – ambient energy binding
Origin: Unspecified artisan, recovered from Stolas’s former estate holdings
Current Holder: Orobas, Prince of the Marrow Spire
Vault Layer: Deep Reserve, Memory-Sealed

Blitzø’s blood turned cold.

He reached for the attached sketch - Stolas’s hand-drawn visual of the ring.

Silver band. Subtle runes around the edges. A stone set in the center that shimmered with light like a distant nebula, always changing.

Blitzø knew it like he knew the lines of his own palm.

“No way,” he whispered.

He lifted the page closer to the firelight, hoping – hoping - that he was wrong.

He wasn’t.

“I made this. I gave this to him.”

The memory surfaced whether he wanted it to or not. A drunken night in Greed. A stolen commission from a no-name craftsman. Blitzø had bargained with a smuggler for the charmwork - barely magical, mostly pretty. He’d planned to throw it away until he saw how the colors matched Stolas’s eyes.

He had given it to him without ceremony. Without even a note.

Just slipped it into the prince’s cloak one night and acted like it meant nothing.

But Stolas had kept it.

“You still have this,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “You fucking kept it…”

The pages in his lap rustled under his shaking fingers. Every note in this folder - every spell, every failsafe - was tailored. Not for Moxxie. Not for Millie. Just for him.

Even the blood anchor crystal.

Tuned to his signature.

Blitzø sat back against the bedpost, his hands falling to his lap.

He felt dizzy.

“This ain’t about Orobas…”

This was personal.

Stolas had sent him to retrieve a memory - to break into a vault and steal back something that had nothing to do with power or politics or money.

And everything to do with them.

Blitzø tilted his head back against the bed, staring at the gilded ceiling above.

“You don’t want a thief,” he said aloud. “You want me.”

He wasn’t sure if the realization made him angry or just… relieved.

But something had shifted.

And for the first time in years, Blitzø didn’t just want to run from it.

He wanted to understand.

Chapter Text

It hadn’t been a special occasion.

No birthday. No celebration. No momentous achievement in either of their chaotic, cursed lives.

Just one of those nights.

The kind where time slowed down, and silence filled in the gaps they were too afraid to speak into.

Blitzø stood outside Stolas’s palace balcony, cigarette dangling from his lips, the cool air of the Lust Ring cutting through his jacket. Behind him, the faint sound of a harp drifted in from another wing of the estate—Stolas always left music on when Blitzø was around, like he was trying to make things feel… elegant.

“You’re brooding again.”

Stolas’s voice was soft as he stepped onto the balcony, robe barely tied, hair tousled from running his fingers through it a hundred times too many. He joined Blitzø at the railing, the sky above them bleeding violet and crimson under the late-night stars.

Blitzø didn’t answer at first. He just flicked ash into the wind.

Then, with a sigh, he pulled something from his coat pocket. Small. Wrapped in a scrap of velvet that looked embarrassingly last-minute.

“Here.”

Stolas blinked, then gently took the bundle. “What’s this?”

“Don’t make it weird. It’s not, like, anything special or anything like that. I just… found it. Figured it’d look nice on you.”

He said it with his usual half-sarcastic shrug, like he didn’t care.

But he watched, side-eyed, as Stolas unwrapped it.

A ring.

Silver. Simple. The stone in the center shimmered like a galaxy in motion.

Stolas’s mouth parted slightly. “Blitzy…”

“It’s not enchanted or anything fancy,” he muttered. “Just some low-level junk from a guy in Greed. I paid with stolen credits. You can toss it if you—”

“I won’t,” Stolas said, almost too fast.

He turned it over in his fingers, the dim light catching on the tiny runes carved around the band. “It’s beautiful.”

There was something raw in his voice.

Blitzø felt it like a hook under his ribs. He looked away. “Yeah, well. Figured it matched your ridiculous eyes or whatever.”

A pause.

“May I…?” Stolas asked, holding the ring up.

Blitzø glanced back. “You want me to—?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated—then took the ring, swallowing hard as he slid it onto one of Stolas’s slender fingers.

It fit.

Not perfectly. But enough.

The silence after was different than usual.

Stolas was smiling. Not that noble smirk he wore in court. A real one. Quiet. Almost shy.

“Thank you, Blitz.”

And Blitzø - who usually had a comeback for everything - just nodded.

He didn’t say how long he’d held onto the ring before giving it.

Didn’t say how many times he told himself not to care.

Didn’t say how he’d stolen something just to have one thing to give him.

He just looked up at the stars with Stolas beside him and wondered what the hell he was doing.

And if it was already too late.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The velvet scrap still sat beside the briefing folder, though Blitzø couldn’t remember taking it out. He must’ve kept it all this time - somewhere deep in his pack, buried under emergency gear and denial.

He let the flashback roll off him like fog. Didn’t shake. Didn’t cry. Just… sat for a minute.

Then he stood.

Time to get moving.

By the time he made it to the transport chamber, Millie was already tightening her gauntlets, and Moxxie had that look on his face - the one that meant he’d triple-checked every rune trigger and still didn’t trust any of them.

“Well hey, sleepyhead,” Millie said, grinning as she spotted him. “Thought you were gonna leave us hangin’.”

“Had to study,” Blitzø muttered. “Pretty sure this vault’s got more personality than most demons I’ve slept with.”

“Comforting,” Moxxie deadpanned.

Stolas arrived moments later, regal as always but with the edges of his royal regalia still slightly wrinkled - Blitzø tried not to think about why that made his chest ache.

“Is everyone prepared?” the prince asked, gaze lingering on Blitzø just a second too long.

“Locked and loaded,” Millie chimed, nudging Moxxie’s shoulder.

Blitzø gave a half-hearted thumbs-up. “Yeah. Just another robbery in the skies of Hell, right?”

Stolas stepped forward and summoned a hovering map between them - Marrow Spire, again, the shimmering tower encased in layers of illusion and cursed defense.

“The Ring,” Stolas said quietly, “is stored here.”

He pointed to the deepest floor, where an unstable magical aura pulsed with slow light.

Blitzø kept his face neutral. “And security?”

“A mix of arcane wards and memory-sensitive illusions. Moxxie and Millie will handle mechanical systems and internal trip charms. You’ll take point on the approach and infiltration.”

Millie gave Blitzø a friendly bump. “We got your back, boss.”

Moxxie nodded, then looked between the two of them - Stolas and Blitzø - and tilted his head. “So, what’s the story with this ring anyway?”

Stolas looked away, feathers ruffling ever so slightly.

Blitzø answered too quickly. “Does it matter?”

Millie raised an eyebrow. “Well, it ain’t a demon-dissolving soul stone or somethin’. Not with that magical reading.”

Moxxie folded his arms. “Kinda seems like it means something.”

“It’s complicated,” Blitzø muttered.

A beat.

Stolas didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

The portal began to glow.
Their window was opening.

Blitzø adjusted the strap on his gear and rolled his neck. Whatever this job turned into - whatever the ring stirred up in him - he’d deal with it inside.

He always did.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Marrow Spire loomed ahead like a dagger aimed at the bleeding sky.

Twisted obsidian stone spiraled upward, wrapped in layers of ghost-light and arcane shimmer. Cracked windows flickered with ancient runes, and fog clung to the ground in coils thick as breath.

Blitzø crouched behind a warped gargoyle at the outer wall, peering through his monocle lens at the warding system ahead. A shimmer of illusion cloaked the entrance, pulsing faintly with detection magic.

“We’re in position,” he whispered through the comm rune Stolas had activated earlier. “Perimeter’s a mess - guard patrols are light, but these seals are tuned tighter than a Lust demon’s bodice.”

“Lovely visual,” Moxxie muttered on the other end. “I’m patching through your map overlay. Stand by forward disruption.”

Millie’s voice chimed in. “Got my traps prepped and cloaking set. You’ll have a ten-second window once the illusion drops.”

Blitzø clicked his tongue. “That’s all I need, sugarplum.”

From the safety of a high ledge above, Stolas monitored their descent, his eyes tracking Blitzø’s every move with silent calculation. A piece of him wanted to be down there beside him - not out of doubt, but out of something far worse: hope.

He crushed the feeling down.

“All teams,” he said into the spell-line, his voice calm and clear, “begin infiltration.”

The shimmer at the door dropped like a curtain.

Blitzø was already moving.

He darted forward, slipping past a guard’s shadow just as it passed. The outer corridor reeked of sulfur and bone-polished tile - everything about Orobas’s domain was cold, sterile, and sharp.

He reached the threshold and jammed the small crystal charge Moxxie had handed him into the first magical lock. A hiss of static, a crack of purple light, and the runes fizzled out.

“Door’s open,” he whispered.

Millie followed in next, nimble and nearly silent, with Moxxie on her tail. Together, they fanned out into the main entryway - an antechamber of mirrors and half-forgotten names. Carvings of long-dead ancestors stared down at them, their mouths sewn shut in grim warning.

Blitzø exhaled slowly, his nerves firing on all fronts.

This wasn’t just a job anymore.

He could feel it. In his gut. In the silence between him and Stolas.

“Everything alright?” the prince’s voice crackled softly through the comm.

Blitzø paused.

“…Peachy,” he lied.

The group pressed forward, each step taking them deeper into the Spire’s spine.

Blitzø took point, disarming memory-triggered glyphs and weaving past noise-sensitive charm fields. Millie dismantled a spiked kinetic trap with the grace of someone who’d done it in her sleep, while Moxxie quietly wiped out surveillance wards one by one.

They were a well-oiled machine.

And yet Blitzø’s chest felt heavier with every hallway.

As they rounded the corner toward the final checkpoint before the vault, a faint echo of a lullaby drifted through the corridor - soft, haunting, and entirely out of place.

The vault was ahead.

And something inside was calling to him. The air changed as they crossed the final threshold.

It wasn’t just colder - it was thicker, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Magical static prickled at Blitzø’s arms, crawling under his coat like ghost fingers.

He held up a fist. The group froze.

“Illusions,” he said lowly. “We’re in ‘em.”

The walls shimmered faintly under arcane strain. Stolas’s briefing had warned them: emotionally reactive wards, personalized to each intruder. Orobas’s favorite defense. The kind that didn’t just fool the eye - they fooled the heart.

Blitzø narrowed his gaze and whispered, “Alright, you bastard. Let’s dance.”

Millie pulled out a charm disc, activating a shared mental tether Stolas had provided. Their minds synced just enough to keep track of one another - anchoring their senses in reality.

But even that wasn’t enough to stop the visions from creeping in.

A distant laugh echoed through the hall. Familiar. Mocking.

Blitzø clenched his jaw. He turned the corner and - stopped.

A room.

Not on the blueprints.

Lit with violet light and glass stars suspended from the ceiling.

At its center: a table. A feast laid out. Goblets. Candles. Two chairs.

One of them - occupied.

“You’re late, darling.”

Stolas.

Not the real one. Younger. Softer. Wearing the same look he had that night on the balcony. The night Blitzø gave him the ring.

Blitzø didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

The illusion Stolas looked up with those gleaming eyes.

“You left.”

“This isn’t real,” Blitzø muttered, fists curling.

“Does that make it hurt less?”

Blitzø snarled and stepped through the vision. It dissolved in silver dust. Behind him, he could hear Millie shouting - something about roots in the floor, grabbing her - and Moxxie’s voice panicking through a hymn stuck in his head.

They were all fighting ghosts.

But the vault was just ahead now.

Blitzø pushed open the towering door, its wood old and grumbling, and stepped inside the chamber that pulsed with a low, steady heartbeat.

The vault wasn’t filled with gold.

Not this time.

Just one pedestal in the center of the room, surrounded by floating runes and glowing chains of warded light.

And on it, resting like it had never moved, was the Ring.

The moment he saw it, everything else dropped away.

He walked toward it slowly, his footsteps echoing too loudly in the cavernous chamber.

His hand hovered over the artifact.

He didn’t touch it.

Not yet.

“Why would you keep this?” he whispered. “Why would you let him take it?”

He could feel it humming under his skin. Not power - memory. Warmth. Hurt. Longing.

“You’re not just holding onto the ring,” he murmured. “You’re holding onto me.”

Behind him, the others broke through the ward line.

“Boss?” Millie’s voice cut in. “We’re clear - whatever was messin’ with our heads stopped the second we stepped through- whoa…”

She spotted the ring.

Blitzø stood still for one more beat.

Then, with trembling fingers, he picked it up.

It was warm.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

But his voice didn’t sound as certain as it had earlier. Blitzø slipped the ring into his jacket pocket.

That should’ve been the moment they vanished.

Grab the prize, cast the escape rune, and go.

But the air in the vault shifted - sharp, electric. Wrong.

Moxxie’s voice broke first.

“Uh… guys? We’ve got company.”

The vault doors groaned back open - and this time, they didn’t creak from age.

They screeched.

A dozen armored guards spilled in, silver masks glinting under spelllight, armed with blades and enchanted spears already glowing with kill-runes. The lead one growled something in Abyssal, and the room ignited in red alert glyphs.

“Well, so much for the quiet exit,” Millie muttered, drawing her twin daggers.

Blitzø was already moving. “Fall back! Break through - portals on the far hall!”

Moxxie dropped a flash rune and fired two suppression rounds, knocking back the nearest guard. Millie rolled through their staggered line, slicing through a ward charm before it could launch. Blitzø ducked a spell blast and threw a gravity charm that inverted the nearest two attackers to the ceiling with a satisfying thud.

They pushed as a unit - tight, fast, coordinated.

Then the chamber’s heat changed.

The spellfire stilled. Even the guards hesitated.

And he walked in.

Orobas.

Tall, regal, eerily calm.

His horns curled like blades of carved obsidian. His eyes – a fiery red - swept over the chaos without flinching. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet but carried like thunder.

“Hold.”

All guards stopped instantly. Mid-strike. Mid-spell.

Orobas’s gaze landed directly on Blitzø.

He didn’t look angry. Didn’t look surprised.

He looked like he knew him.

Blitzø froze.

Their eyes locked for just a second too long.

Then Orobas smiled.

“Let them go.”

Moxxie blinked. “Wait, what?”

Even the guards hesitated.

“I said let them go,” Orobas repeated, a glint in his eye. “No pursuit.”

Millie didn’t need to be told twice. “Come on!” she barked.

They bolted.

As the guards parted, Blitzø was the last to pass. He kept his head low, body moving - but he could feel Orobas watching him.

Not like prey, but like a memory, Which is crazy since he doesn’t recall ever interacting with him in his life.

Right?

He brushed that thought for now, just followed the two out. They didn’t stop until the teleportation crystal flared to life beneath their feet and the spire vanished behind them in a blur of smoke and spellfire.

They stumbled into the clearing, breathless and wide-eyed.

Millie was the first to laugh. “Holy shit, that was close!”

“Too close,” Moxxie wheezed, checking his bag for scorch marks.

But Blitzø said nothing.

He sat down on a broken pillar, staring at the ground.

The ring still pulsed faintly in his coat pocket.

Moxxie clapped him on the back. “Hey, cheer up, boss. We pulled it off!”

Blitzø’s gaze flicked up toward the crimson skyline.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We got away.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking:

That Orobas let them.

That look he gave him - it wasn’t curiosity. It was recognition.

And whatever it meant, it wasn’t over.

Not yet.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The rendezvous point was tucked beneath a broken cathedral in the desolate Ash Ring. Wind howled through shattered stained glass as the team arrived - Moxxie panting, Millie still giddy, and Blitzø… silent.

Stolas was already there, waiting.

He stood beneath the fractured rose window, his form haloed by flickering blue magic. His robes fluttered slightly in the gusts, but his expression was unreadable.

“You’re late.”

Millie raised a hand. “Yeah, we ran into some company - nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“Barely,” Moxxie muttered, tugging a piece of molten armor from his boot. “That vault was no joke. Some serious wards in there. But we got it.” He gestured toward Blitzø. “Boss grabbed the artifact just before—”

“Moxxie.”

Blitzø’s voice cut in sharply. Controlled. Too fast.

Moxxie blinked. “Uh. Just before we got out,” he finished, adjusting his posture.

Stolas tilted his head slightly. “Was there… an issue?”

Blitzø tossed the artifact - wrapped loosely in a charm-proof cloth - into Stolas’s waiting hands. “Nope. Clean job.”

Millie glanced at Moxxie. Both of them clocked the lie.

They weren’t sure what part of it was false - but they could feel it hanging in the air like leftover smoke.

Still, neither said anything.

Millie nudged Moxxie. “Come on, babe. Let’s give them a minute.”

He hesitated. “Right. Decompress. Debrief.”

As they walked off, Moxxie cast one last glance over his shoulder - then shook his head and kept moving.

Now it was just the two of them.

Stolas unwrapped the cloth.

The ring shimmered in his palm.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Blitzø leaned against a crumbling column, arms crossed too tight. “You got what you wanted.”

Stolas didn’t look up from the artifact. “This wasn’t about want.”

Blitzø’s jaw clenched. “Yeah? Then what was it about?”

A long pause.

Then Stolas murmured, almost to himself, “You remembered it.”

Blitzø didn’t respond.

Stolas traced the edges of the silver band with one finger, his voice quieter now. “When Orobas took it… I thought that was the end of things.”

“I didn’t know,” Blitzø said quickly. Too quickly. “I didn’t know he had it.”

Another beat of silence passed between them - long, tight, uncomfortable.

“So,” Blitzø finally said, “another job, or is this your idea of closure?”

Stolas looked up then. Really looked at him.

Eyes soft. Guarded. Hurt.

“Do you want it to be?”

That hung in the air like a spell no one dared cast.

Blitzø’s breath caught for just a second.

He pushed off the wall, gesturing vaguely toward where Millie and Moxxie had disappeared. “I should go check on the others. Make sure they’re patched up.”

“Of course.”

Stolas’s tone was distant again. Dismissive.

But he didn’t move.

And neither did Blitzø.

For a moment, it felt like one of them might say something real.

But instead, they stood there - two silhouettes beneath a broken cathedral window, words unspoken, hearts half-bared, and silence stretching between them like a bridge no one dared cross.

The wind carried dust through the broken cathedral, catching strands of Stolas’s feathers as he stood alone beneath the fractured rose window.

He held the ring in his palm like it might vanish if he gripped it too tightly.

The weight of it was unbearable.

It had been years since he’d touched it. Years since Blitzø had slipped it into his palm with a crooked smile and a half-joking, half-earnest “don’t lose it.”

And he had.

Not just the ring.

Him.

The prince turned the artifact over once more. Magic still hummed through its center, but that wasn’t why he’d wanted it back.

It was about seeing if Blitzø remembered what they had before it all went to ash.

And he had.

Stolas could see it - feel it - in the way Blitzø looked at him. Avoided him. Guarded every word like it might crack something inside.

But something inside him whispered that there was more. That maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been thrown away as easily as he’d convinced himself.

He closed his fingers slowly around the ring.

“Maybe next time,” he whispered to the empty air.

“One of us will be brave enough to say it.”

Moxxie and Millie were perched on the steps just outside the cathedral ruin, a field kit spread out between them. Millie was tending to a scrape on Moxxie’s arm while he grumbled dramatically about “arcane splinters.”

They both looked up as Blitzø approached.

Millie smiled softly. “Everything good?”

Blitzø shrugged. “Ring’s delivered. We’re rich. Life’s fine.”

Moxxie raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not gonna talk about how Stolas looked at you like you just handed him his entire heart back?”

Blitzø flinched. “I didn’t. It’s a damn ring.”

Millie leaned in, folding her arms. “And the story behind it?”

“None of your business,” he snapped.

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile - it was gentle. Knowing. The kind that friends gave you when they saw more than you wanted them to.

Moxxie broke it first. “You ever gonna tell us what really happened between you two?”

Blitzø looked off into the shadows, jaw tight.

“…Not today.”

Millie stood, brushing off her pants. “Then we’ll wait ‘til you’re ready.”

And that meant more than Blitzø could say.

As they packed up and headed out, Blitzø lagged behind just a little.

Not because he was tired.

But because for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t walking alone.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Marrow Spire was quiet again.

Orobas stood in the wreckage, the vault still weeping faint curls of smoke from its broken runes. Dust swirled in the stagnant air, but he seemed untouched, almost serene, as if destruction itself was an old companion.

His gaze lingered on the pedestal, the empty scar where the ring had once rested. Absence was louder than presence - it always was.

“So, you came back,” he murmured, voice low and knowing.

He stepped through the vault with measured calm. A flick of his hand summoned a pale-blue flame, a sigil etching itself into the darkness. It pulsed once. Twice. Then a voice slithered through.

“What is it?”

Silken. Arrogant. Dismissive.

Andrealphus.

Orobas’s lips curved into something thin and sharp.

“He was here.”

The silence on the other end sharpened. “…He?”

“Blitzø. With Stolas. Standing at his side.”

A pause. A crackle.

“Impossible,” Andrealphus spat. “He disappeared, I made sure of it.”

“Not forever,” Orobas said smoothly. “He’s back. Louder. Bolder. He even reclaimed the artifact I once stole from your prince.”

There was a long, rattling inhale. Then, tight with disbelief.

“…So Stolas and that retched Imp are in contact again.”

“Obviously,” Orobas replied, almost bored. Then, with a flicker of amusement: “But what happens when the prince learns why Blitzø abandoned him that night? Who whispered the poison that sent him running?”

The line bristled with silence, then Andrealphus’s voice struck low and sharp.

“You don’t know everything.”

Orobas let out a quiet laugh. “I know enough. You lied. You cut the thread between them. And now it’s unraveling.”

The magic flame sputtered as tension pressed against it.

Andrealphus hissed, “Whose side are you on, Orobas?”

Orobas’s laugh was soft, curling with cruel delight.

“Side? Oh, Andrealphus, don’t flatter yourself. I’m not here to fight for or against you. I’m here because watching you scramble to keep your lies intact is far more entertaining than choosing a side.”

Andrealphus seethed on the other end, but Orobas didn’t wait for a reply. With a snap of his fingers, the flame guttered out.

He brushed his hand over the scorched stone, lingering as though savoring the chaos he’d stirred, then stepped back into the shadows.

“Let’s see how long your second chance lasts, little thief.”

The vault went still again, but the echo of his mocking tone lingered like smoke - a reminder that Orobas wasn’t playing the game.

He was enjoying the show.