As the heavy gates of Bael's grand castle creaked shut behind Stolas and Blitzo, Bael remained seated in his study, staring blankly at the flames flickering in the hearth. Despite his composed demeanor during their visit, his mind churned with disbelief.

A Goetia prince in a relationship with an imp. The absurdity of it was almost too much to fathom. Bael ran a taloned hand over his face, leaning back in his chair as memories of Stolas as a child bubbled to the surface.

He had always been an odd one, even among the eccentricities of the Goetia family. Bael remembered the little owl demon trailing after him during formal gatherings, his wide crimson eyes brimming with excitement and curiosity. Stolas had been talkative, often to the point of exhaustion, but Bael had indulged him, seeing the spark of intelligence and wonder in the young prince.

One memory, in particular, stood out. It was a quieter afternoon in Bael’s garden, a rare reprieve from the chaos of Hell’s politics. Stolas, no more than twelve, had perched on the edge of Bael’s desk, his small claws gripping the edge as he recounted a tale that had him practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

“I saw him again today, Uncle Bael!” Stolas had chirped, his voice light and melodic.

Bael had paused, glancing up from his parchment. “Him?”

“Yes! The imp I told you about! The one from the circus!” Stolas’s feathers had puffed out with excitement as he leaned closer. “He was so… different! Bold, unafraid, and he smiled at me like I was just another person, not a prince. It was… it was wonderful.”

Bael had chuckled, shaking his head. “An imp, Stolas? Surely you’re not serious.”

Stolas had puffed up indignantly. “I am serious! He’s… he’s amazing. I think—I think it’s love at first sight!”

The memory brought a bitter smile to Bael’s face as he sat in the present, his talons drumming against the armrest. Back then, he had dismissed the boy’s fascination as childish fancy, something he would grow out of as he matured and took on the responsibilities of his station. But here they were, decades later, and it seemed that childish fancy had only deepened.

“Love at first sight,” Bael muttered under his breath, his voice heavy with disbelief. He leaned forward, staring into the flames as though they held answers to the questions gnawing at him.

Stolas’s willingness to sacrifice everything—his power, status, and even his family—for that imp was something Bael could neither comprehend nor ignore. It wasn’t just foolish; it was dangerous. Yet there was a stubborn consistency in Stolas’s actions, a thread connecting the starry-eyed child who had marveled at a carnival imp and the disgraced prince who now stood before him, stripped of everything but his resolve.

Bael sighed deeply, his wings folding tightly against his back. “Stolas… you always were different,” he murmured to the empty room. Whether that difference would be his salvation or his undoing, Bael wasn’t sure. But one thing was certain: the boy who had once spoken so fondly of love had now turned it into his greatest gamble.

Bael then sighed and took out a gadget. It was a glass sphere. He broadcast the sphere towards the screen in his theatre.
It then showcase the hall room of Stolas's castle.

"Let me see what are you plotting, Andreaphlus." Bael watch as the screen shows Andreaphlus talking to Stella his sister with Octavia on the couch.

The camera cuts to the palace. Octavia's phone is ringing, and she smiles as she attempts to answer it until Stella snatches it away from her.

Stella: Sorry, sweetie. No talking to that deadbeat. Andrealphus, look who's finally calling!

[Andrealphus, sitting nearby with a book in hand and reading glasses on his face looks up.]

Andrealphus: Oooh! Took him this long? That's hilarious.

[Octavia's phone continues to ring but Stella doesn't even bother to answer it. She, instead continues to gloat with her brother. Octavia sits on the couch, clutching a pillow and frowning.]

Stella: He thinks he's going to talk to his daughter! Hilarious! *laughs*

Andrealphus: Hilarious! *laughs*

Stella: Hilarious!

Bael just stared at them deadpanned. "Seriously though, why do I think that it is necessary to spy on them. They are predictable." He then covered his face with his talons.

"Did you see his face, dear sister?" Andreaphlus sneered, sipping from a goblet of dark wine. “The pathetic, broken look in his eyes when they announced his punishment? Oh, it was exquisite.”

Stella giggled, elegantly swirling her own drink. "Finally, that disgraceful fool is out of the way. And to think, he threw everything away for some imp. Absolutely revolting."

Bael was about to turn it off where he heard a soft chime in the projection- a notification. Andreaphlus picked up a sleek tablet from the table, his eyes scanning the message. The smirk on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a flicker of irritation.

Stella noticed the shift. "What is it?"

Andreaphlus’s grip on the tablet tightened as he read aloud:

"After further deliberation, the final decision regarding the rightful heir to Stolas’s former station will be postponed. A true successor shall be chosen one year from now."

Stella scowled. "Postponed?! But you were supposed to take his place!"

Andreaphlus exhaled sharply, setting the tablet down with a sharp clack. His jaw clenched as realization dawned. "Bael."

Stella blinked. "What?"

Andreaphlus stood abruptly, pacing as his cold blue eyes flickered with restrained fury. "It’s him. He’s the reason they’re delaying the decision. That old eagle never trusted me, and now he’s making sure I don’t get Stolas’s title without a fight."

Stella huffed, crossing her arms. "Then why don’t we just kill him? I could hire Striker like how he did to Stolas."

Andreaphlus let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh shut up, you stupid cow." He turned, glaring at her with an exasperated look. "Bael isn’t Stolas. He’s stronger, far more intelligent, and he has influence with Satan himself. Killing him isn’t an option unless you want to be executed before sunrise."

Stella rolled her eyes, sipping from her glass. "Fine. Then what do you suggest?"

Andreaphlus’s fury melted into calculated thoughtfulness as he ran a hand through his silver-white feathers. His usual arrogance returned as he smirked. "If Bael is blocking my ascension, then I’ll simply have to outmaneuver him. The elders of the Goetia still hold sway over the final decision. If I can manipulate them—make them believe that I am the only rightful heir—then even Bael won’t be able to stop me."

Bael watched in silence, his golden eyes narrowing. Andreaphlus had always been skilled in the art of deception, using persuasion and subtle coercion to shift opinions in his favor. It was what made him dangerous. Bael had spent decades cleaning up the messes left by incompetent Goetia nobles, and he could already see the disaster Andreaphlus would bring if left unchecked.

Andreaphlus continued, his voice smooth and measured. "It won’t be difficult. Many of the elders already doubt Bael’s ability to lead, considering his... disappearance these past fifty years. And with Stolas disgraced, I need only remind them how unfit he was—and how much worse Bael would be if given the chance. The Goetia need strong leadership, not someone who lets sentiment cloud their judgment."

Stella smirked. "You really do love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?"

Andreaphlus chuckled. "Perhaps. But that doesn’t make me wrong."

Bael finally powered down the projector, his talons curling slightly against the armrest. He had seen enough.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. Andreaphlus was a fool, but a cunning one. He knew how to play the long game, how to manipulate those desperate for stability. Bael could already predict how the next few months would unfold—whispers in the dark, alliances formed in secret, all pointing to the same goal: making Andreaphlus appear as the only logical choice for the throne.

Bael’s gaze drifted toward the fireplace, watching the flames flicker and shift. Andreaphlus thought he could outmaneuver him?

Let him try.

Bael had not spent three centuries navigating Hell’s ruthless politics to be undone by a power-hungry brat. If Andreaphlus wanted to play this game, then Bael would make sure he understood exactly who he was challenging.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Bael reached for a quill and parchment. There were moves to be made, allies to secure. The game had begun—and Bael had no intention of losing.