Bael set the picture frame carefully on the desk, his talons lingering on the edges for a moment before he turned to face Stolas and Blitz. His crimson eyes, usually sharp and commanding, now carried the weight of an unimaginable sorrow.

"It happened fifty years ago," Bael began, his tone low and distant, as if he were pulling the memory from the depths of his soul.

The room seemed to fade as he recounted the story, drawing Stolas and Blitz into a vivid recollection of that fateful day.

___________________________________________

Bael's castle had been bustling with activity that morning. Servants rushed about, preparing for the Goetia meeting, and the atmosphere was lively. Bael, clad in his ornate robes, was preparing to leave for an important council gathering. As he stepped into the grand hall, his wife Selene appeared, her elegant feathers shimmering under the soft glow of the enchanted chandeliers. She approached him with a warm smile, her love evident in her gaze.

"Don't forget the cake for our anniversary, my love," she said, her voice gentle as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his beak. "Two hundred years is no small feat."

Bael chuckled, a rare warmth in his usually stoic demeanor. "I'll bring back the finest cake in all of Hell. I wouldn't dare forget."

Beside her stood their daughter Alara, a small and lively presence with feathers as bright as a morning star. She tugged at his robe, her eyes wide with excitement. "Papa, will you bring me back a present too?"

Bael crouched down, placing a taloned hand gently on her shoulder. "Of course, little one. What would you like?"

"A doll!" she exclaimed with a grin, her small wings fluttering. "A big one, like the ones in the market!"

"Then a doll you shall have," Bael promised, ruffling her feathers affectionately. He rose to his full height, casting a final glance at his family. "I'll be back before you know it. Take care while I'm gone."

With those words, he turned and walked to the castle entrance. In his rush, his mind focused on the upcoming meeting, he neglected to do something he always did without fail-enchant the protective runes of the castle entrance.

It was a small thing, a habit so ingrained that he rarely even thought about it. But this time, in his haste, he forgot.

__________________________________________

As Bael's voice trailed off, the flashback dissolved, and he stood once more in the present, his expression dark and pained. "I was so caught up in my duties, so confident in the castle's safety, that I made a single mistake. One I'd never made before. One I'll regret for the rest of my existence."

Blitz and Stolas exchanged a glance, the weight of Bael's words sinking in. The air in the room felt heavier now, the unspoken end of the story lingering just beyond reach.

__________________________________________

It was a calm evening as Bael exited the meeting hall, a small smile playing on his face. In one hand, he carried a beautifully decorated cake from a prestigious Hell bakery, its delicate frosting swirled into patterns of roses. In the other hand, he held a doll he had specially ordered-a hand-stitched masterpiece with golden thread embroidery for his daughter, who had been eagerly waiting for it for weeks. The sky above was tinged with hues of crimson, a typical sight in Hell, but to Bael, it felt unusually serene that day.

As he approached the towering gates of his castle, his relaxed demeanor shifted to confusion. The massive iron doors, enchanted to remain closed unless explicitly opened by Bael or his butler, were ajar. His steps quickened as a cold knot of unease formed in his chest. The air carried an unnatural stillness, and the usual presence of guards at the entrance was absent.

"Hello?" Bael called out, his voice echoing eerily in the emptiness. No response. His unease turned to dread as he dropped the cake, its box splitting open, smearing frosting on the castle's black marble steps.

Bael sprinted through the halls, calling the names of his wife and daughter. "Selene! Alara! Answer me!" His voice reverberated, but the silence was deafening. Doors that should have been closed were swung open, furniture lay toppled, and faint scorch marks marred the walls. His heart raced as his footsteps carried him up the grand staircase.

Reaching Alara's bedroom door, he noticed it was slightly ajar, a soft creak as it swayed. His hands trembled as he pushed it open fully, and his breath caught in his throat.

Inside, his worst fears were realized. His wife, Selene, was bound to a chair, her once-vibrant wings drooping lifelessly. Her face, usually full of warmth, was pale, and shallow cuts crisscrossed her arms, glowing faintly with holy magic that suppressed healing. Beside her, on the floor, was their young daughter, Alara, tied with similar ropes. Her once-bright eyes were closed, her small body marred with cuts and bruises.

"No... no, no, no," Bael whispered, dropping to his knees as the doll slipped from his grasp, landing next to his daughter's hand. The sight was surreal, the vibrant colors of the doll starkly contrasting the blood staining the floor.

Bael reached out with shaking hands, but as soon as his talons brushed the ropes, he recoiled. The ropes burned with a faint golden glow, holy magic infused within them. The blessing ropes-the very sight of them enraged Bael, for they were specifically designed to bind powerful demons like him.

Selene weakly raised her head, her eyes barely open. "B-Bael..." she whispered, her voice fragile and faint.

"Who did this?" Bael growled, his voice trembling with fury and anguish as he reached for the ropes, only for them to sear his hands.

Selene tried to speak again, but her head fell forward as her strength gave out.

"No! Selene! Alara!" Bael roared, his talons digging into the floor as he desperately looked around, searching for any clue to what had happened.

The room was in disarray, but amidst the chaos, a symbol etched into the wall caught his eye-a mark of rebellion, used by groups claiming to fight against royal tyranny.

Tears streamed down Bael's face as the weight of the scene crushed him. The love of his life and his precious daughter were slipping away before his eyes, and he was powerless to stop it.

In that moment, something inside him shattered. The calm, composed Bael was no more. Only rage and vengeance remained.

___________________________________________

"Beside them was a note," he said, his voice now trembling with barely contained rage. "It was from the 'Imp Liberation Group.' They called themselves revolutionaries, promising to destroy every piece of royalty in Hell."

Blitz's expression hardened, his fists clenching as he muttered under his breath. Stolas remained silent, his heart sinking for his cousin.

Bael's eyes burned with fury as he continued, "I was blinded by rage. I didn't think, I didn't plan-I simply acted. I abused my power, summoning death itself to wipe out every single one of those bastards. I didn't care if they were guilty or innocent; they all paid the price for what was taken from me."

He turned away, his shoulders heaving as he took a deep breath. "But Hell has its laws. I was put on trial for my actions. Satan himself presided over it."

Bael's voice turned bitter as he recounted the verdict. "Satan forgave me for the killings. Said he understood my pain. But... he couldn't ignore the fact that I had abused my power, violated the balance I was supposed to uphold. For that, I was sentenced to 50 years of house arrest."

The room fell silent again, the weight of Bael's story pressing down on everyone.

"I've spent the last fifty years in this castle," Bael said, his voice quieter now. "Alone with my suffering, my regrets, and the memories of a family I'll never see again."

He turned back to face them, his expression unreadable. "So don't talk to me about nightmares, Blitzo. I've lived mine every single day."

Stolas took a step forward, his head bowed slightly in a gesture of submission. "Bael, I understand now," he said softly. "I won't argue further. If my punishment is to remain stripped of my royal status, then so be it. I'll accept it." He hesitated for a moment, his voice faltering. "But... I am worried about Octavia. She's still underage. Without my status, she won't inherit her rightful place. What will happen to her?"

Bael regarded Stolas for a long moment, his piercing crimson eyes betraying no emotion. Finally, he exhaled deeply, crossing his arms.

"I've already made arrangements," Bael said firmly. "A year from now, I will name a temporary successor to take over your position. By that time, Octavia will be an adult, old enough to claim her inheritance without issue. She will not be left out, Stolas. That, I promise."

Stolas's shoulders sagged with relief, though his expression remained conflicted. "Thank you, Bael. That means more to me than you know."

Blitzo, standing slightly behind Stolas, muttered, "Well, at least you're finally catching a break, birdbrain."

Bael's sharp gaze snapped to Blitz. "As for you two," he said coldly, "I suggest you behave from now on. Any more reckless actions, and I won't be so forgiving."

Blitz crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. "Yeah, yeah, message received, big bird."

Ignoring Blitz's flippant tone, Bael gestured toward the door. "Now, leave. I've had enough of your nonsense for one day."

Before either of them could respond, Bael extended a wing, shooing them out of the room with a forceful motion. Blitz and Stolas exchanged uneasy glances but didn't dare protest.

As they made their way out of the castle, the doors slammed shut behind them with an echoing finality. The imposing structure loomed over them, its presence as daunting as the Goetia lord inside.

Blitzo let out a low whistle, glancing at Stolas. "Well, that went... about as well as I expected."

Stolas didn't respond, his gaze lingering on the castle, his thoughts consumed by everything Bael had said.