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poisonedace · 9 days ago

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Inferna Academy

9922 words | Mature | Part 5/12 Author's AO3: PoisonedAce Story Link: Inferna Academy Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Summary: Blitzo refuses to fade into the background, even as his father demands he play shadow to his childhood friend Fizzarolli at Hell’s elite university. “Fizzarolli’s our ticket to the big time.” “Don’t screw up.” “You’ll never make it on your own." Everything changes when he reunites with Stolas, a Goetia prince shackled by suffocating expectations. What begins as a quiet connection blossoms into a love neither anticipated, built on stolen glances, whispered conversations, and study sessions full of laughter. But, their happiness is short-lived. Stella’s schemes threaten to tear them apart, straining their love and fracturing Blitzo’s friendship with Fizzarolli. A story of star-crossed lovers, broken trust, and fragile hope. Can Blitzo and Stolas find their way back to each other, or are they destined to remain distant souls, yearning for what could have been?

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Chapter Five: Beneath the Spotlight

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Blitzo plopped his tray onto the table across from Fizzarolli, the sound muffled by the constant hum of activity. He dropped into his seat with a grin, already enthusiastically digging into his meal.

Fizzarolli barely touched his food, absently prodding a lump of charred meat with his fork. His fingers tapped an uneven rhythm on the edge of his tray, causing Blitzo to groan inwardly. His expression was tight, his usual humor replaced with something distant.

Blitzo frowned, watching him for a moment before speaking around a mouthful of food. “Alright, what’s with the mopey face? You look like someone stepped on your tail.”

Fizz glanced up sharply, his fingers halting mid-tap. “Oh, I dunno,” he said, his tone biting. “Maybe I’m just marveling at how someone thinks they’re too good for the rest of us these days.”

Blitzo blinked, caught off guard. “Too good? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Fizz rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “You’re always off with him now. You can’t seem to stop talking about how great he is—Stolas this, Stolas that. It’s like you’re fucking him.” Fizz looked up, eyes narrowing. “You aren’t fucking him, are you?”

Blitzo raised an eyebrow, a grin slowly creeping onto his face. “Ohhh, I get it. You’re jealous,” he teased, his tail flicking behind him.

Fizz stiffened, his jaw tightening as a spark of frustration flared in his eyes. “Jealous? Of what? Your noble groupie?” he fired back, his voice sharper than usual. “Please.”

Blitzo laughed, brushing off the tension with ease. “If you’ve got a crush on him, just say so. I’ll put in a good word. He’s into charity cases.”

Fizzarolli scoffed, his fork clattering against his tray as he set it down with more force than necessary. “Yeah, right. Like I’d waste my time on someone who probably irons his socks.” His voice carried its usual snark, but the edge wasn’t playful—it was pointed. “Get real, Blitzo.”

Blitzo tilted his head, catching the flicker of something uneasy in Fizz’s expression. His tail flicked behind him as he leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting to something more casual. “You know,” he said, “it’s okay for you to have friends, right? I mean, I don’t throw a fit when you’re off tinkering with one of your gearhead buddies. But apparently, I’m supposed to stay lonely?”

Fizz’s fingers twitched as he avoided Blitzo’s gaze. “Stop being ridiculous,” he muttered.

Blitzo frowned, setting his fork down with exaggerated care. “Am I, though? Because it sure feels like every time I talk to Stolas, you get all weird about it.” He leaned back, his arms crossing as he watched Fizz closely. “What’s the deal? You scared I’m gonna trade you in for a new best friend?”

Fizz snorted, but his smirk was fleeting, a shadow of its usual self. “Like anyone could replace me,” he muttered, shoving his tray aside with a dismissive wave. “I’m just saying—don’t let your noble buddy fill your head with crap.”

Blitzo laughed, but the sound was harsh even to his own ears, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Fizz. “Relax, Feathers isn’t brainwashing me or anything. And even if he tried, it wouldn’t stick. My skull’s way too thick for that.”

Fizz didn’t reply immediately, his fingers tapping idly on the table. “Yeah, well...” he muttered, more to himself than to Blitzo, “nobles like him don’t just help people for nothing.”

Blitzo raised an eyebrow at the remark but chose not to press further. Instead, he brushed it off with a shrug, picking his fork back up. “Whatever you say, Fizz.”

The tension between them lingered, unspoken but heavy, like the faint hum of a storm on the horizon.

Lunch ended with an uncomfortable silence lingering between them. As they left the dining hall, the noise faded and was replaced by the quieter hum of distant chatter and footsteps echoing off stone walls. The contrast was stark—just the two of them now, walking side by side through the academy's corridors.

Blitzo glanced at Fizz, who had been unusually quiet since their exchange. “So... you gonna keep sulking, or do I have to start singing to cheer you up?” he teased, his grin light but probing.

Fizz didn’t take the bait; his shoulders tense as his fingers twitched at his sides. Finally, he stopped in his tracks, forcing Blitzo to turn back.

“You’ve been off, Blitzo.”

Blitzo raised an eyebrow, his tail flicking behind him. “Off? What are you talking about?”

Fizz crossed his arms, his fingers gripping his elbows tightly. “Ever since you started buddying up to Stolas, it’s like you’re not even here anymore.”

Blitzo blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in Fizz’s tone. “You’re acting like I’m ditching you for some noble study, buddy. Chill out.”

Fizz’s voice rose, his usual humor replaced by something rawer. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so busy trying to impress him!”

Blitzo flinched at the accusation, his tail lashing sharply. “Impress him? I’m not trying to impress anyone! He’s helping me with stuff I actually need to learn, okay? Not everything’s about you, Fizz.”

Fizz stepped closer, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Yeah, well, it sure feels like it! You’re supposed to be here to help me, not flirt with royals.”

Blitzo’s fists tightened, and for a moment, he was too stunned to reply. “Flirt with—are you serious? That’s what you think I’m doing?”

Fizz threw his hands up, his joints clicking. “What else am I supposed to think? You light up every time he talks to you!” He faltered, his smirk fading. “Hell, Blitzo, I don’t even care if you wanna cozy up to him or whatever, but don’t act like it’s not screwing with us.”

Blitzo’s tail lashed again, his claws twitching at his sides. “That’s not fair, Fizz! I’m allowed to have other people in my life.”

Fizz’s expression was twisted, and there was a mix of anger and something more vulnerable. “It’s not about that, Blitzo. It’s about—” He stopped, his fingers curling into fists as he looked away. “Forget it. Just forget I said anything.”

“No, say it!” Blitzo snapped, his voice louder than he intended. “You clearly have something to get off your chest, so go ahead!”

Fizz glared at him, his voice shaking with emotion. “Fine. You wanna know? I don’t like feeling like I’m losing you, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Blitzo stared at Fizz, the rawness in his voice cutting deeper than he’d expected. “Fizz, you’re not—”

“Save it,” Fizz interrupted, his voice quiet now. “Go ahead, Blitzo. Do your thing with Stolas. Just... don’t forget who’s always had your back.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as Fizz turned and walked away, the soft sound of his feet on the stone echoing in the empty corridor.

Blitzo leaned against the wall, his horns lightly tapping the cold stone. The dull thunk echoed faintly, mirroring the turmoil in his mind. The argument replayed in his head, each word cutting deeper than the last.

Fizz had always been there, no matter how much Blitzo messed up. Losing him wasn’t an option. But then there was Stolas—the noble who shouldn’t have given him a second glance but did, who saw him not as a tagalong but as someone worth teaching. How could he balance both without tipping everything over?

Blitzo shook his head, shoving the thought aside. “What the hell am I doing?” he muttered to himself.

He pushed off the wall and started walking, but the weight of Fizz’s words lingered, pressing down on him like a storm cloud he couldn’t outrun.

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The library was a haven of calm amidst the academy's chaos. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched to the arched ceiling, and the soft glow of Hellfire lanterns cast warm light over the aged spines of countless tomes. The hum of activity from the dining hall was a distant memory here, replaced by the faint rustle of pages and the occasional creak of a chair.

Blitzo sat hunched over a table near the back, his tail flicking in irritation as he stared down at a dense text filled with diagrams and runes he barely understood. Stolas sat across from him, poised and serene, his glowing eyes scanning the page with ease. Between them lay an assortment of books, parchment, and pens, the cluttered arrangement mirroring Blitzo’s scattered thoughts.

“Blitzo,” Stolas said gently, not looking up from the book he was flipping through. “You’ve been staring at that same page for the past five minutes. Something on your mind?”

Blitzo’s mouth twitched, and he straightened slightly, his tail curling defensively around his chair. “What? No, I’m just... uh... processing. Yeah, that’s it.”

Stolas raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his beak. “Processing? Or avoiding?”

Blitzo sighed, leaning back in his chair with a dramatic groan. “Fine, you caught me. I’m distracted. Happy now, Feathers?”

“I’m content when you are,” Stolas replied smoothly. “Now, do you care to share what’s on your mind? Or shall I continue to guess?”

Blitzo hesitated, tapping his claws against the edge of the table. “It’s nothing. Just... y’know, stuff.” His tail flicked sharply, betraying his discomfort.

Stolas’s gaze softened as he set the book aside, folding his hands neatly on the table. “You don’t strike me as someone who gets distracted by ‘nothing,’ Blitzo.”

Blitzo snorted, deflecting with a crooked grin. “Maybe I’m just bored outta my mind with all this fancy noble jargon. Seriously, who writes this stuff? It’s like they want us to hate it.”

Stolas chuckled, though his eyes remained steady on Blitzo. “A valiant effort at misdirection,” he said lightly, “but I suspect there’s more to it than that.”

Blitzo avoided his gaze, focusing on the book in front of him. “Look, I didn’t sign up for a therapy session, alright? Let’s just stick to the snooze-fest text.”

They lapsed into a brief silence, but Stolas’s curiosity lingered. He tilted his head slightly, studying Blitzo as he tapped a pen against his notebook. For all his brashness and humor, there was a guardedness to the imp that intrigued Stolas. How fascinating, he thought, that someone so openly defiant could still be so careful with the parts of himself he let others see.

“You know,” Stolas said after a pause, his tone quieter now, “the way you simplify things—even in this mess of a text—there’s a kind of honesty to it. You never try to be anyone but yourself. It’s... freeing.”

Blitzo looked up, startled by the sincerity in Stolas’s voice. “Uh... thanks, I guess? Not a lot of people would call me refreshing.”

“That’s their loss,” Stolas replied with a faint smile.

Blitzo chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Man, you’ve got a way of making things sound all fancy. If I tried that, people would just think I hit my head.”

Stolas laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded. “You don’t need to do anything with it. Simply take it as it is.”

Blitzo shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he returned to the book in front of him. Stolas watched him for a moment longer before picking up his text again, his expression pensive.

As the evening wore on, the library grew quieter, the flickering lanterns casting elongated shadows across the tables. Blitzo yawned, stretching his arms over his head and leaning back in his chair.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” he announced, slamming his book shut. “If I try to cram one more word into my brain, it’s gonna explode.”

Stolas chuckled, marking his page with a slip of parchment. “Very well. Perhaps it’s time for a break.”

Blitzo stood, stretching again. “How do you read this crap for fun? I’d rather stick my head in a hornet’s nest—it’d be faster and less painful.”

“It’s not so bad once you’re used to it,” Stolas replied, gathering the books into a neat stack. His tone softened as he added, “Besides, it’s a distraction from other matters.”

Blitzo tilted his head, catching the shift in Stolas’s demeanor. “Other matters? Like what?”

Stolas hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table. “It’s family,” he admitted, his voice soft. “Not something I usually talk about, but... it’s far from harmonious.”

Blitzo studied him for a moment, his tail flicking. “Yeah, well, guess everyone’s got something, huh?” He shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. “Family drama’s more my speed—at least that crap’s explosive.”

Stolas smiled faintly but tilted his head, his glowing eyes softening with curiosity. “Speaking of family... I’ve noticed you’ve been practicing with Fizzaroli more than usual lately. Is there a particular reason?”

Blitzo paused, his tail flicking sharply before curling loosely around his leg. “Oh. Uh...” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Stolas’s gaze. “My family’s circus is coming for the Harvest Festival. We’re putting on a show.”

Stolas’s eyes lit up, and he straightened with excitement. “A performance? That’s wonderful! I’ll make sure to attend.”

Blitzo’s tail wrapped around his calf, and he waved his hands quickly. “No, no, you don’t have to do that. It’s just... y’know, some lame circus act. Nothing fancy.”

“Nonsense,” Stolas said with a wide smile, his tone firm. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’m sure you’ll be spectacular.”

Blitzo sighed, muttering under his breath, “Yeah, spectacular. Me and Fizz can’t get our shit together, but sure.” He glanced at Stolas, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “Seriously, you don’t need to come. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is to me,” Stolas replied, his voice earnest. “I want to see what you’ve been working so hard on. Besides, I haven’t been to the circus since we met. I’d love to get a chance to go again.”

Blitzo snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked out of the library. “Yeah, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you if it’s a mess.” His tone was flippant, but the faint flicker of a blush on his face hadn’t escaped Stolas’s notice.

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The library’s calm had been a reprieve, but as Stolas stepped into his dorm room, the air grew heavy. The dim glow of a solitary lantern cast flickering shadows that twisted along the pristine walls. His side of the room was immaculate—every object meticulously placed—but its order felt hollow, like a script he’d memorized too well—a reflection of duty, not of him.

He set down his books with a quiet sigh, the weight of the day settling over him. His gaze landed on the envelope waiting on his desk, and his chest tightened. It didn’t belong here, in the sanctuary he’d carved within the academy walls. And yet, here it was, waiting like an uninvited guest.

The wax crest of the Goetia family gleamed under the lantern’s light, its intricate design sharp and unyielding.

Stolas approached slowly, his claws brushing over the seal before carefully breaking it. The words inside greeted him with their usual precision—elegant, calculated, and suffocating.

Stolas, It has come to my attention that your focus has been misplaced lately. While I understand the distractions of your studies, it is imperative that you remember your responsibilities as a Goetian heir. Your actions have consequences—not just for yourself, but for our family’s reputation. Your current associations are unseemly and reflect poorly on the legacy we are duty-bound to uphold. Do not forget your place. As always, I expect you to correct this behavior swiftly. With our impending union, I trust you will make the appropriate choices to honor our family’s name and future. After all, protecting the Goetian legacy is not just a responsibility—it is an obligation. Sincerely, Stella

The letter trembled slightly in Stolas’s hands as he read and reread the words. Every line was crafted to remind him of his place, to suffocate any hint of individuality beneath the crushing weight of duty. Accusations of neglect. Thinly veiled threats. Expectations that stretched far beyond his reach. Each word clawed at him until the paper felt heavier than it should have.

His talons scraped against the paper, their faint rasp breaking the suffocating silence. For a moment, he considered tearing it apart, the thought sparking a flicker of rebellion. But then his eyes caught the Goetian crest stamped at the top—a stark reminder of the ever-watchful legacy looming over him—and the idea crumbled, just like his resolve.

With a sharp exhale, he folded the letter slowly, pressing each crease down with precision as though taming his frustration. He placed it on the desk with deliberate care, staring at it for a moment longer before turning away.

His steps were restless as he paced the room, the flickering lantern throwing fractured shadows across the walls. The perfect order surrounding him began to feel distorted, like a prison too pristine to escape. His shoulders tensed, breath shallow and uneven.

“Unseemly associations,” he muttered bitterly, the venom in his voice unfamiliar yet cutting. “For the family name. Of course.”

The words clung to him like chains, dragging him back to every lesson drilled into him since childhood. Duty. Honor. Legacy. Concepts carved into him like grooves in stone, shaping a mold he’d never chosen. He stopped near the window, his palm pressing against the cold glass. The chill bit at his skin, grounding him briefly as he stared into the endless red-black of the night sky. The vastness beyond the glass mocked him, freedom tantalizingly out of reach.

Stolas sank into the chair by the window, resting his forehead against his palm. His glowing eyes dimmed with exhaustion as his reflection stared back at him in the glass. For all her control, Stella couldn’t take everything—not yet, in any case.

His mind drifted to Blitzo—the imp’s raw honesty, unpolished humor, and the way he seemed utterly free of the shackles Stolas felt with every breath. Blitzo didn’t demand perfection or suffocate him with expectations. He just… was. Reckless and defiant, Blitzo challenged everything Stolas had been taught to value. There was something about him, something unrestrained and real, that drew Stolas in like a moth to a flame.

But that freedom felt impossibly far away.

And yet, Stella’s words loomed like a specter. Do not forget your place. The engagement was a chain pulling him back to a life he’d never chosen. The letter was a reminder of the inevitable—a future he couldn’t escape.

“What do you want from me, Stella?” he whispered, his voice low and raw. “Haven’t I given enough?”

Stolas’s talons clenched against his knees as his thoughts swirled—a storm of guilt, anger, and longing. The choice before him felt impossible: to follow the path carved for him or to risk everything for the briefest taste of something else. Of something that felt like his.

For now, all he could do was stare into the darkness and wonder which path would break him first.

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

The stage creaked faintly beneath their feet as Blitzo and Fizzarolli moved through the motions of their routine. The festival crowd bustled in the distance, their distant laughter and chatter a low hum that barely reached the center of the stage, the area closed down for practice. The lights above cast harsh shadows, but the usual magic of their performance was missing. Each step felt heavier, and each move was less precise than it should have been.

Blitzo stumbled over his footing during one of their flips, and Fizzarolli’s timing was just a fraction off. They landed unevenly, their breathing labored, and their synchronization nowhere near the perfection they usually achieved.

Blitzo sighed, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “This fight’s screwing everything up, Fizz,” he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “I can’t even focus.”

Fizz avoided his gaze, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “Yeah, well... maybe if you weren’t so busy cozying up to royalty, this wouldn’t have happened,” he shot back, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

Blitzo’s tail lashed behind him, but before he could respond, Cash’s voice boomed from the side of the stage, cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Blitzo! What the hell was that?!” Cash bellowed, his fists clenched as he stormed toward them. “You call that a routine? You’re ruining the act with your half-assed bullshit!”

Blitzo flinched but quickly straightened, his own frustration bubbling to the surface. “I’m not the only one messing up!” he snapped, gesturing toward Fizz. “Maybe yell at him for once instead of always blaming me!”

Fizz stiffened, his gaze darting nervously between Cash and Blitzo.

Cash’s eyes narrowed as he marched closer. “Don’t you dare talk back to me, boy,” he growled, his voice low and menacing.

Blitzo held his ground, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Why not? You’re always on my case! Maybe if you actually paid attention, you’d see I’m not the only one screwing things up!”

The crack of the slap echoed across the stage. Blitzo’s head snapped to the side, his cheek already reddening as he staggered back. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The faint creak of the stage beneath his bare feet was the only sound heard, filling the space where words failed. Blitzo didn’t wait for anyone to say more. He turned sharply and stormed off the stage, his hooves thudding heavily against the wooden planks.

"Blitzo!" Fizz called, his voice laced with panic. He took a step toward his friend, his hand twitching uncertainly as he made to chase him. But Barbie appeared at his side, grabbing his arm and stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay here," she said firmly, her eyes locked on Blitzo’s retreating form. Her tone left no room for argument. "I’ll handle it."

Fizz hesitated, torn between listening and following, his gaze darting between Barbie and Blitzo. Barbie didn’t wait for further protests. She took off after Blitzo, her pace quick but deliberate as she followed the faint trail of his hooves he’d left behind.

She found him slumped behind a large tree near the edge of the forest surrounding the festival grounds. His breathing was ragged, and his arms were crossed tightly against his chest. His nails dug deeply into the skin of his forearms, blood trailing down his arms and onto the legs of his costume.

Barbie’s heart twisted as she crouched in front of her brother. “Blitzo,” Barbie murmured, crouching in front of him. He didn’t respond, his crimson eyes fixed on the ground. Seeing him like this—so small, so broken—was a punch to the gut. She pried his claws from his arms, her touch gentle but insistent. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep this up,” she said softly, struggling to talk over the tightening of her throat.

Blitzo finally looked up at her, his crimson eyes rimmed with tears, makeup smeared into streaks of black and red. His lips trembled as he muttered bitterly, “Who cares.” His voice cracked, and his claws dug into his arms again. “I’m just a fuck-up. What’s the difference if I hurt myself? Doesn’t matter.”

The words hung in the air, raw and cutting, and Barbie’s chest ached at the pain in his voice. She didn’t reply immediately, her hands gently prying his claws away from his arms once more. Then she pulled him into her embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Her hand cradled the back of his head, holding him close to her chest.

“You didn’t ruin anything. It was just practice,” she whispered, her voice steady but soft, her lips brushing against his forehead. “You’re not a fuck-up, Blitzo. You’re just tired. And hurt. And that’s okay. It’s okay to feel like this.”

Blitzo’s breath hitched as the dam broke, and quiet, shuddering sobs spilled out of him. His tears soaked into her costume, his body trembling as months of frustration, guilt, and pain poured out. Barbie didn’t say anything else, didn’t shush him or try to force him to calm down. She just held him, her grip firm and unwavering.

Minutes passed until his cries slowly subsided into hiccups and heavy breathing. Barbie stroked his horns gently, her nails scratching lightly against them in a soothing rhythm. “That’s it,” she murmured. “Let it out.”

When Blitzo finally pulled back, his cheeks were blotchy, streaked with dried tears and smudged makeup. His crimson eyes were bloodshot, glistening under the faint light filtering through the trees.

Barbie reached into her pocket and pulled out a wet wipe, dabbing at his face with surprising care. “You look like hell, kiddo,” she teased lightly, though her voice was still warm and comforting.

Blitzo sniffled, his tail flicking weakly behind him. “Gee, thanks,” he muttered, though a faint, shaky smile tugged at his lips.

Barbie grinned, brushing stray tears off his face. “That’s more like it.” She folded the tissue, tucking it into her pocket before tilting his face up with a gentle hand. Her expression sobered as she saw the dark bruise spreading across his cheek. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes darkened with anger. “That bastard,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers ghosting over the bruise without touching it.

Blitzo winced, trying to pull his face away, but Barbie held him still. “Stay put,” she said firmly, though her tone was laced with concern. She took a deep breath, her voice softening again. “You didn’t deserve that, Blitzo. None of it.”

Blitzo’s gaze dropped, his tail curling around his leg. “Maybe I did,” he mumbled. “I keep screwing everything up. Fizz, the routine, everything.”

Barbie’s grip on his chin tightened, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t you dare,” she said, her tone fierce now. “You’re not the reason for any of this, Blitzo. You’ve got so much on your plate, and you’re still here, still trying. That’s more than most people can say.”

Her words hit something deep within him, and Blitzo blinked, his lips parting slightly as if to argue, but nothing came out.

Barbie smiled faintly, reaching into her bag to pull out her compact mirror and foundation. “Now, let’s fix you up. You can’t go back looking like this, or they’ll think you’ve been wrestling with a bear.”

Blitzo frowned, trying to lean away. “Barb, I’m not going back. I’ll just mess up again.”

Barbie stilled, her hands hovering over her makeup. “The point, dumbass,” she said, though her tone held no bite, “is that you keep going, no matter what. You’re not doing this for Dad or Fizz or anyone else. You’re doing this for you. And maybe that cute noble you keep talking about.”

Blitzo groaned, covering his face with his hands as he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “Barb, come on,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

Barbie laughed softly, patting his hands away so she could dab the foundation over his bruise. “Mama would freak if she saw this,” she said after a moment, her tone softening. “You know she misses her baby, right?”

Blitzo’s expression faltered, his voice quieter. “Yeah, everyone misses Fizz.”

Barbie rolled her eyes and gave him a light shove. “I meant you, idiot.”

She took out an eyeshadow palette, tilting his chin up to fix his makeup. “You’ve always been the pretty one,” she said with a smirk.

Blitzo snorted. “Don’t be stupid. I just got the incubus gene. Makes me look prettier than I actually am.”

Barbie laughed. “I got it too, loser. That’s not it.” She added a touch of shimmer to his cheeks and nose, then leaned back to inspect her work. “There. Almost good as new.”

Blitzo glanced at her, his tail flicking nervously. “Thanks, Barb. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Barbie smoothed down his costume and fixed the collar, her smile softening. “You’d manage,” she teased, but her voice wavered. “But you don’t have to. I’ll always be here, Blitzo.”

Blitzo nodded shakily, and for a moment, they sat in silence. The distant hum of the festival reminded them of the world waiting beyond the trees. But for now, in this small bubble of safety, Blitzo let himself breathe.

The wooden bleachers creaked as Stolas adjusted his seat, settling closer to the edge of his spot near the front. The air buzzed with energy—children’s laughter mixing with the whir and clatter of the nearby rollercoaster. Its rickety wooden tracks groaned faintly, blending with distant cries of joy and occasional screams of thrill-seekers.

Stolas’s glowing eyes scanned the stage eagerly, his talons tapping lightly against his thighs. The chatter of the crowd rose as the lights dimmed, and he gasped audibly when the stage lights burst to life, illuminating the platform in a golden glow. Clapping enthusiastically, his tall frame stood out even among the cheering crowd, and his gaze darted around, searching for one face.

And then, there he was.

Blitzo stepped into the spotlight, his wiry frame commanding attention as he moved with confidence. The shimmer of stage powder highlighted the sharp lines on his face, and his eyes gleamed brighter under the lights. Each movement radiated charisma, and Stolas felt his breath hitch.

He looks incredible, Stolas thought, his chest tightening. His energy, his focus—it’s magnetic.

Beside him, Fizzarolli moved with equal precision, their chemistry on stage undeniable. They began with a seamless series of flips and synchronized cartwheels, their movements fluid and captivating. The trapeze ropes descended from the ceiling, and Blitzo leaped onto one with daring ease, his tail curling for balance as he twisted mid-air. The crowd erupted into cheers, and Stolas leaned forward, wide-eyed with awe.

Each leap and twist carried an undercurrent of defiance, as though Blitzo was determined to prove someone wrong. The spotlight followed him, and his form was a perfect balance of grace and raw determination. Every twist and turn was sharp and precise—except for the moments when it wasn’t, which only made the performance feel more human and real.

“He’s amazing, isn’t he, Your Highness?” a cheerful voice said suddenly, breaking Stolas’s trance.

He startled, turning sharply to find Millie grinning at him. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “I hadn’t realized—well, yes, he’s absolutely breathtaking,” he said, his voice filled with wonder as he turned back to the stage.

“MOVE,” a sharp, imperious voice snapped behind him.

Stolas sighed heavily, his shoulders stiffening as Stella loomed over them. Millie didn’t flinch, leaning closer to Stolas, her hand on his thigh for balance so she could look around Stella.

“No, thank you,” Millie said pleasantly, tilting her head to peer around Stella. “This seat’s perfect. Oh! You see that girl?” She pointed toward the backstage area where Barbie could be seen watching from the wings. “That’s his twin sister.”

“His twin sister?” Stolas’s interest was piqued, but when he tried to follow Millie’s finger, Stella’s imposing figure blocked his view. He reached out a hand and grabbed Millie’s hip to steady her. Her hand had slipped when Stella moved closer, and she’d leaned too far forward. “Stella, do get out of the way,” he said, irritation creeping into his tone. “I’m trying to watch the show, and you’ve nearly made Millie fall.”

“She’s in my seat,” Stella replied coldly.

Stolas waved dismissively behind him. “She was here first, and there are plenty of other seats. Besides, we were having a conversation before you so rudely interrupted.”

“Stolas—” Stella began, her tone sharp.

“Enough, Stella,” he cut her off firmly. “Go find another seat or go away.”

After a tense beat, Stella huffed and turned sharply, climbing a few rows up to sit behind them. Stolas exhaled quietly and turned back to Millie. “They do look alike, don’t they?” he mused. “Both are very beautiful. I wonder—do you think it’s luck, or does their family choose partners for their looks?”

Millie shrugged, her eyes glued to the stage. “I dunno.” She winced as Blitzo reached for the trapeze, only for his grip to falter. He plummeted to the stage with a sickening thud, blood spurting from his nose as gasps rippled through the crowd. “Shit,” Millie winced, her hands gripping the edge of her seat while Stolas’s glowing eyes widened with alarm. The crowd’s reaction was mixed—a murmur of gasps and uneasy applause rippling through the festival grounds as Fizzarolli hesitated mid-act, his movements faltering.

Barbie burst onto the stage in a flash of determination, her feet slapping sharply against the wooden planks. Her posture was commanding, exuding a confidence that cut through the stunned silence. Without missing a beat, she gave Fizzarolli a quick signal—a subtle hand motion that told him to carry on. He hesitated for only a moment before resuming the routine, his arms twirling in exaggerated gestures to recapture the crowd’s attention.

She crouched next to Blitzo, who was struggling to sit up. Blood dripped steadily from his nose, smearing against his pale makeup and staining his costume and the stage. She placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, her voice low but firm as she muttered something only he could hear. Ignoring the audience, she looped an arm around his back and carefully hauled him to his feet.

The crowd’s applause grew louder, more confused than enthusiastic, as Barbie steered Blitzo offstage. Her sharp glare toward Cash, who loomed near the wings, was enough to keep him momentarily silent. Her expression was one of barely contained fury as she disappeared into the shadows with her brother.

Stolas’s heart clenched as he watched, his feet already moving before he realized it. “Excuse me,” he murmured to Millie, stepping past her and making his way toward the backstage area. The applause from the audience felt distant, muffled by the roaring in his ears.

He rounded the corner just as Cash’s booming voice broke through the tense quiet like a thunderclap. “YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE DISGRACE TO THIS FAMILY! CAN YOU DO NOTHING RIGHT? PRINCE STOLAS AND HIS FIANCEE ARE IN THE CROWD, AND YOU MADE A COMPLETE EMBARRASSMENT OF US!”

Blitzo flinched under the weight of the words, his shoulders hunched and his tail curling defensively around his waist. His head hung low, and the ice pack Barbie had shoved into his hands trembled as he gripped it tightly.

Barbie’s face twisted with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. “He wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t swollen half his cheek and messed up his view!” she snapped, stepping in front of her brother, shielding him from their father’s wrath.

Cash snarled. “Get back on stage, Barbie.”

Stolas paused, lingering just out of sight for a moment as he took in the scene. Blitzo looked smaller somehow, his usual bravado stripped away under Cash’s tirade. Barbie stood firm, defiant, and protective, her eyes blazing as she faced down their father.

This wasn’t just an argument—it was a battlefield, and Stolas knew he couldn’t stand by and watch. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped into the room, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the tense standoff.

A large shadow loomed over Barbie, and she turned, her eyes widening slightly before recognition set in. She straightened her posture, her expression hardening as she faced her father once more. “I’m telling Mama when we get home,” Barbie retorted, her voice icy and unwavering. “You’re why he avoids going back.”

Cash’s face reddened, his fists clenching at her defiance, but before he could respond, Barbie turned sharply, pivoting to Stolas. She dipped into a quick, polite bow, her voice softening slightly. “Your Majesty,” she said with restrained respect, then spun on her heel and strode back onto the stage. Her expression transformed into a bright, radiant smile as she waved to the crowd, seamlessly picking up the act where Fizzarolli had left off.

Cash shifted his weight, his jaw tightening as he turned toward Stolas. “Y-your Highness, I apologize for my son’s—”

“Leave us.” Stolas’s voice was cold, cutting through Cash’s attempt at justification. His glowing eyes narrowed, radiating an authority that left no room for argument.

Cash opened his mouth as if to protest, but the fire in Stolas’s gaze froze him in place. With a sharp huff, Cash stormed off, his heavy footsteps echoing backstage as he disappeared.

The tension in the air lingered, thick and suffocating. Stolas exhaled softly and turned his full attention to Blitzo, who sat slumped against a wooden crate, his hands pressed tightly to his bloodied face. Stolas knelt beside him, his movements deliberate and gentle, and reached out to pull Blitzo’s hands away. “Blitzo,” he said softly, his tone warm with concern, “let me see.”

Blitzo flinched at the touch, his crimson eyes darting to the side. “Stolas, you don’t need to—”

“Shh,” Stolas interrupted, dabbing at the blood on Blitzo’s face with a handkerchief retrieved from his pocket. His movements were careful, almost reverent, as though Blitzo might shatter under too much pressure. “You’ve got a black eye, but I don’t think your nose is broken.”

Blitzo gave a weak, bitter laugh. “Great. I can still screw up my next performance without looking too ugly.”

Stolas tilted his head, his glowing eyes scanning Blitzo’s bruised face. “You didn’t screw up,” he said firmly, his voice low but resolute. “The strength and courage it takes to perform—especially in circumstances like these where the entire student body and their families are watching—is more than most could ever hope to achieve. I think you were remarkable.”

Blitzo blinked at the unexpected words, his tail flicking behind him nervously. “Yeah, well, tell my bruised ego that when I’m not flat on my ass in front of royalty,” he quipped, though his voice wavered slightly, the humor not fully masking the emotion beneath.

Stolas’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I’m telling you now, bruises and all,” he said, his tone unwavering. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to people who can’t see what’s right in front of them.”

Blitzo’s eyes softened, and for a moment, his usual bravado faltered. “It doesn’t matter what you think. It’s never enough for him.”

Stolas’s expression darkened briefly, but he quickly softened his tone. “What matters is what you think of yourself, Blitzo. Don’t let anyone take that from you—not him, not anyone.”

Blitzo looked away, his claws fidgeting with the edges of the ice pack Stolas had gently placed on his cheek. “I don’t know what to think,” he muttered. “Feels like everything I do just... isn’t enough.”

Stolas reached out again, placing a steadying hand on Blitzo’s shoulder. “It’s enough,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “You are enough.”

Blitzo let out a shaky exhale, his head tilting slightly as he processed the words. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice rough but genuine. He looked at Stolas then, his expression a mix of uncertainty and something softer. “I mean it. Thanks.”

Stolas smiled faintly, withdrawing his hand but remaining close. “I’ll stay here for a while,” he said softly, settling beside Blitzo on the floor. “Just until you’re ready.”

Blitzo didn’t respond, but he didn’t push Stolas away either. Instead, he leaned back slightly, letting himself breathe as the distant murmur of the crowd and the faint music from the stage drifted through the air.

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

After the performance, Stolas and Blitzo found themselves at the festival that was sprawled across the campus like a patchwork carnival, vibrant and chaotic. Stalls lined the pathways, their makeshift signs painted in gaudy colors and adorned with tattered streamers. The air carried a mix of tantalizing smells—roasted nuts, caramel apples, and sizzling meat skewers—blended with the sharp tang of cheap fireworks. Amid the laughter and chatter, bursts of frustration punctuated the night; voices rose in arguments over rigged games and overpriced prizes. Somewhere near a dart booth, a customer’s shout echoed, “This is a scam!” followed by the clatter of darts hitting the ground.

Blitzo ducked beneath a swaying banner advertising a ring-toss game, his tail flicking as he navigated the uneven cobblestone path. Lanterns strung between trees cast a dim, flickering glow, their light failing to mask the scuffs and cracks in the festival’s cobbled-together attractions. A stuffed bear dangled lopsidedly from one of the prize hooks, its missing eye and frayed fur a stark testament to how long it had been put up as a prize. Above it, a demonic bat-like creature perched on the stall’s awning, letting out a low, unsettling chitter that blended with the murmurs of the crowd.

“Man, this place is a madhouse,” Blitzo muttered, glancing over his shoulder. Stolas followed at a more measured pace, his tall, regal frame out of place amidst the disheveled booths and rickety attractions.

“Festivals like these are meant to be lively,” Stolas remarked, his glowing eyes scanning the scene with a sense of excitement. A burst of laughter from a nearby stall was interrupted by a child’s wail of disappointment as their parent argued with the booth operator. Stolas tilted his head, observing the chaos with mild amusement. “It’s a celebration, after all.”

“Yeah, well, my kind of celebration involves way more booze,” Blitzo quipped, though his gaze lingered on a nearby stall. A faded sign above the booth read Win Big! while a tired attendant handed a cheaply sewn stuffed animal to a disappointed customer. Blitzo scoffed, quickly looking away. “What’s the point of winning? You pay ten bucks for a five-cent prize. That’s capitalism at its finest.”

“Don’t you work at a circus?” Stolas’s smile curved slightly as he noticed the fleeting glance. “Perhaps there’s more to enjoy here than you’re willing to admit.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes but didn’t reply, tugging at the hem of his jacket as they continued walking. Around them, voices rose and fell—a mix of excitement, frustration, and occasional bursts of sarcastic laughter. A juggler near the fountain fumbled his act, the dropped pins met with groans and a smattering of halfhearted applause. Lanterns swayed in the slight breeze, their golden light mingling with the faint glow of sparklers clutched by some of the younger students. Just above the sound of it all was an eerie hum that pulsed faintly from somewhere beyond the crowd, the sound low and resonant, like a massive unseen insect lurking just out of sight.

The festival's din softened as they wandered further from the main square, following a winding path to a small hill overlooking the event. The laughter and arguments grew distant, replaced by a faint, rhythmic chirping—like crickets but with a sharper, more metallic edge. The occasional rustling of leaves carried an unsettling undertone as though something unseen was watching. Lanterns gave way to the reddish sheen of moonlight as they climbed to the hilltop, where the view stretched over the carnival’s scattered glow.

Blitzo flopped onto the grass with a dramatic groan, his arms spread wide as he stared up at the night sky. “Finally, some peace and quiet. Thought I was gonna lose my damn mind back there.”

Stolas lowered himself more gracefully, sitting beside Blitzo with his legs folded. He glanced down at the imp, who was tapping his fingers absently against the grass. “You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys large crowds.”

Blitzo shrugged, his tail flicking in agitation. “Crowds are fine. It’s the festival noise. Sounds like Hell’s karaoke night, and I’m the idiot without earplugs. Reminds me of...” He trailed off, his tone shifting. For a moment, his fingers stilled. Then, with a scoff, he brushed it off with a quick, “Forget it.”

Stolas didn’t press him, though his curiosity was piqued. Instead, he turned his gaze upward as the first fireworks streaked across the sky. It burst into a cascade of blue and green, illuminating their faces with fleeting light. The sound of the explosion echoed across the hilltop, and Blitzo flinched, his tail curling tightly around his ankle. His ears flattened instinctively, and for a split second, his breathing hitched.

Stolas noticed immediately. “Are you alright?”

Blitzo sat up abruptly, waving a dismissive hand. “What? Yeah, I’m fine. Just—fireworks are loud as hell. Who even needs ‘em?” His voice was sharper than intended, the crack in his usual bravado slipping through.

Stolas hesitated before placing a gentle hand on Blitzo’s arm, his tone softening. “They’re just sounds and lights. They can’t hurt you.”

Blitzo glanced at the hand briefly before exhaling, the tension in his tail loosening slightly. “Yeah, I know. It’s just... whatever. They’re loud.”

Blitzo’s breath hitched as he felt Stolas lean in closer, the space between them narrowing until only the faint warmth of the owl demon’s presence remained. His tail flicked sharply against the grass, a telltale sign of his nerves, but he didn’t pull away. It wasn’t like him to freeze—Blitzo always had a quip or a jab ready to deflect when things got too real. But now, for some reason, his words failed him.

Stolas hesitated, his glowing eyes searching Blitzo’s face for the smallest sign of resistance. When none came, he leaned in further, his movements slow and deliberate, as though afraid the moment might shatter under its weight.

Their mouths met softly, a brush of warmth that felt like stepping into the unknown. The fireworks above crackled, their colors washing over the hilltop in fleeting waves of light. For Blitzo, the kiss felt startlingly real—no pretense, no bravado—just a quiet, unspoken connection he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle.

When they finally pulled back, it was slow, reluctant, as if both were afraid to break the spell. Stolas’s hand lingered on Blitzo’s arm, his fingers brushing against the rough fabric of his jacket in a grounding gesture. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed impossibly still.

Blitzo cleared his throat, his usual swagger returning in fits and starts. “Well, uh... you’ve got good timing, Feathers. Fireworks and all,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Stolas chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on Blitzo’s profile. “Perhaps they’re not so pointless after all?”

Blitzo leaned back against the grass, his tail loosening its tight coil as he exhaled slowly. “You’re a real sap,” he said finally, his tone teasing but devoid of malice.

Stolas’s lips quirked upward in a faint smile. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Blitzo leaned back, folding his arms behind his head as he let out a slow exhale. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, his tone softer than usual. “I’m a sucker for a good view.” His gaze flicked toward Stolas briefly before returning to the dark sky, where the last of the fireworks painted faint trails against the stars.

The moment lingered between them, fragile yet powerful—entirely theirs.

But like glass under too much pressure, it shattered with a sudden, sharp crack.

“So this is what you’ve been doing?” Stella’s voice pierced the air like a dagger, cold and cutting. She stood a few feet away, her posture rigid, her eyes blazing with fury. “Frolicking with the lower class while tarnishing your family’s name?” Disgraceful!”

Blitzo shot up, his tail flicking sharply as he turned to face her. His crimson eyes narrowed, and his usual bravado flared to life despite the tension. “Hey, maybe you should mind your own business, Lady Snooty. The guy’s just trying to have a life.”

Stella’s attention snapped to him, her lips curling into a sneer. “And you think you’re the one to give it to him? How quaint.” She took a step closer, her disdain palpable. “Do you even understand who you’re speaking to? You’re nothing more than a temporary distraction—a joke.”

“Stella, enough!” Stolas’s voice rose, sharp and commanding, as he stood, his tall frame imposing as he positioned himself between Blitzo and her. His usual composed demeanor cracked, replaced by a rare and deliberate show of authority. “This isn’t the time or place.”

“Oh, but I think it’s exactly the time,” Stella retorted, her tone dripping with mockery. “You’ve humiliated yourself—and me—for the last time, Stolas. Frolicking on a hilltop like some commoner? Do you have any idea what your little escapades could cost us? Cost me?”

Blitzo stepped forward, ignoring Stolas’s held-up hand that was silently urging him to stay quiet, his fists clenched, but this time his voice carried a sharper edge. “Maybe you should lay off. You’re acting like this is some royal scandal when all he’s doing is taking five damn minutes for himself.”

Stella’s eyes widened in mock surprise before narrowing with icy disdain. “And who are you to speak to me like that? A filthy little imp with no place and no purpose? Spare me your self-righteous drivel.”

Blitzo opened his mouth for a retort, but Stolas raised a hand, stopping him. “Blitzo, don’t,” he said softly, his tone heavy with exhaustion. He turned, his height casting a long shadow over the hilltop as he turned to face Stella fully. “I suggest we discuss this in private,” he said evenly, though his voice carried a warning edge.

Stella laughed coldly, her gaze flicking to Blitzo with open disdain. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. I’m sure your friend would love to hear all about how your little rendezvous could ruin everything our families have built. Or perhaps you’ve already shared that little detail?”

Blitzo’s jaw tightened at Stella’s words, a familiar sting rising in his chest. He’d heard it before—variations of “you’re nothing” dressed up in different accents. It didn’t bother him. Not anymore, he told himself, though his tail flicked sharply behind him.

“I won’t do this here,” Stolas said, his voice low but steady. “You can berate me all you like later, Stella, but not tonight.”

“Not tonight?” Stella’s laugh was sharp and bitter, slicing through the tension like a blade. “You think you get to decide when and where I hold you accountable? You’ve embarrassed yourself—and me—for the last time, Stolas.” Her eyes shifted to Blitzo, her lip curling in disdain. “And as for you—”

“Stella, enough!” Stolas’s sharp and commanding voice cut through her venomous tirade. He stepped forward with deliberate force, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. His usual composed demeanor fractured, replaced by a rare and deliberate display of authority. His glowing eyes burned brighter, locking onto Stella with an intensity that made her pause, even if only briefly. “Leave him out of this.”

Stella’s gaze snapped back to Stolas, her expression twisting into a mix of fury and cold calculation. Her tone dropped, low and biting, as she hissed, “You may think you’ve found something real with him, but this world won’t allow it. And when it tears him apart, remember—it was your hand that led him there.”

“Stella,” Stolas said, his voice tight but unwavering, “I understand your concerns.” His glowing eyes softened, just slightly, as his gaze flicked toward Blitzo for the briefest of moments. “But what I do—what I choose—is my decision, not yours.” He straightened, his tone regaining its steel. “And I’ll ask you again—leave. Now.”

Her lips curled into a thin, brittle smile, fury tempered but no less cutting. Straightening, she brushed imaginary dust from her gown, her voice dropping to a low, venomous purr. “Keep testing me, Stolas, and perhaps your imp’s little circus won’t see next year’s festival. It would be a shame if his family paid for your rebellion.”

Blitzo froze for a moment, his tail snapping sharply behind him before coiling tightly around his leg. His crimson eyes narrowed, and he took a deliberate step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. “Oh, I get it now,” he said, his voice low and cold, with a biting edge. “You’re not just a royal pain; you’re a full-blown psycho. What, you gonna send your little goons to torch some tents and step on my family’s dreams? Real classy move for a lady of your station.”

His voice rose, dripping with defiant sarcasm. “Don’t hold back, Princess. Let’s hear the whole villain monologue while you’re at it. Or are you too chicken to say what you really mean?”

“Blitzo, don’t,” Stolas interjected, his voice taut but calm, though a flicker of desperation glimmered in his glowing eyes. He moved deliberately, stepping fully in front of Blitzo and placing a hand on his shoulder to still him. His broad frame cast a protective shadow over the imp, his presence firm yet grounding. “She’s said enough.”

Blitzo’s jaw tightened, his gaze darting to Stolas briefly before locking back on Stella. “Yeah? Well, maybe she hasn’t heard enough from me,” he muttered, though he didn’t step forward again. His fists trembled at his sides before he reluctantly unclenched them, his tail twitching in barely restrained fury. “I’d love to see her try,” he added under his breath, the venom in his tone failing to mask the flicker of unease Stella’s words had stirred.

Stella’s smirk returned, sharp and satisfied, her gaze shifting between the two. “Oh, I’m far from done,” she said smoothly, her words dripping with menace. Then, with a cold, calculated glance, she turned and strode away, her steps echoing ominously into the night.

Blitzo stood in silence for a moment, his fingers flexing at his sides as if trying to release tension. His gaze flicked to Stolas, who remained standing, his shoulders tense and his glowing eyes fixed on the horizon.

What am I even doing here? The thought crept in, uninvited, wrapping around his chest like a vice. He could still feel the weight of Stella’s venomous words, her disdain lingering like smoke. Blitzo had always known he didn’t belong in places like this—he didn’t belong with people like Stolas. He was a sideshow act at best, a temporary distraction, just like she’d said.

And yet...

His tail flicked sharply behind him, betraying the war raging in his mind. A part of him—stupid, reckless, and way too loud—wanted to stay, to fight, to prove Stella and everyone else wrong. But the other part, the part that had always known better, screamed at him to go. It's better to leave now before the cracks spread too far to fix.

He forced a smirk onto his face, though it felt brittle, hollow. “It’s fine,” he said abruptly, his voice tight. “I get it. Nobles and imps don’t mix, right? No harm, no foul.” The words tasted bitter, but they were safe. It's safer than admitting how much this moment hurt.

“Blitzo, that’s not—” Stolas began, but Blitzo waved him off, his movements sharp and dismissive.

Blitzo smirked, the cracks in it barely hidden. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. You’ve got... y’know, all that legacy crap to deal with. And I, uh...” He hesitated, his crimson eyes darting to the festival lights below. “I should go check on Fizz anyway. He’s probably gotten trampled by his adoring crowd by now.” His laugh was weak, forced, and his tail flicked nervously behind him.

Stolas reached out instinctively, his hand lingering uselessly in the air as Blitzo turned away. The imp’s steps were quick, his head held high, but there was a stiffness to his stride—a deflection so practiced it was almost convincing. Almost.

Don’t look back. Don’t even think about it. The thought echoed in Blitzo’s mind as he descended the hill, his tail curling tightly around his leg. The memory of Stolas’s hand, so close yet so far, burned in his mind, warm and disarming in a way that felt dangerously close to breaking him. You let your guard down—again.

By the time he reached the festival’s edge, he’d plastered on his usual smirk, the cracks hidden well enough to fool anyone who wasn’t looking too closely. The noise and lights below swallowed him whole, his crimson eyes vanishing into the throng like a fleeting ember—brief, unnoticed, and lost to the chaos.

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

Stolas’s hand lingered in the air, suspended between reaching forward and letting go. He wanted to call out, to stop him, but the words caught in his throat. What could he say? That he was sorry? That it wasn’t what it looked like? That he wished things were different? None of it would change the truth Stella had thrown in his face: You may think you’ve found something real with him, but this world won’t allow it. And when it tears him apart, remember—it was your hand that led him there.

Her words hung over him, dragging him back to the gilded halls of his family estate—a prison he feared would now trap them both. His father’s cold voice echoed in his mind: 'You are a Goetia. Your life isn’t your own.' He resented how his family reduced people to pawns, yet here he stood, his choices threatening to hurt the one person who made him feel like more.

Am I any better? The thought struck him like a dagger, churning his stomach.

And then, there was Blitzo.

Even now, the cracks were beginning to show. How long before the weight of his world crushed Blitzo as well? The thought lingered, sharp and unrelenting. Letting him go could spare him the fallout. It would be the right thing to do. But you won’t, will you?

For a long moment, Stolas stood motionless, staring at the path where Blitzo had vanished. His limp and useless hand dropped to his side as reality reasserted itself. The faint laughter and distant music of the festival felt like an insult now, mocking the ache rooted deep in his chest. He exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible over the faint chirping of hell crickets and the distant echoes of the festival.

He took a few steps forward as if following Blitzo might change something, but his feet stopped short at the edge of the hill. Below, the festival glimmered, its lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. The bursts of fireworks had ended, leaving the world painted in muted tones of red and shadow. The silence felt oppressive now, a stark contrast to the warmth they’d shared just moments ago.

The last burst of fireworks replayed in his mind—not the brilliant colors, but the way their fleeting light had illuminated Blitzo’s face. For a rare moment, the imp’s walls had been down, exposing something raw and unguarded. And then, just as quickly, those walls had rebuilt themselves, higher and thicker than before.

Stolas lowered himself to the ground, his long legs folding beneath him as he sat on the cool grass. He leaned back slightly, letting his gaze drift upward. The distant and indifferent stars shimmered faintly against the vast darkness. They were beautiful, but their beauty felt hollow, unreachable. The hill, once alive with possibility, now felt unbearably empty.

Blitzo’s sharp and irreverent laugh softened in their quiet moments, fading now like the echoes of the festival.

Stolas’s title and status felt hollow against Stella’s venom, but it was the sight of Blitzo walking away that left him rooted in place. He’d wanted to call out, to stop him—but what could he even say? Could he genuinely claim this connection was worth more than his legacy?

The festival’s distant laughter drifted upward, mocking Stolas’s grip on the grass as if the earth could ground him in this moment. He’d reached for something real, something fleeting, and now he was left holding nothing but the empty echo of what could have been.

Blitzo’s defiance, his raw honesty, had shaken something loose in Stolas. But freedom came at a cost, and the chains of duty clinked louder than ever. The stars above offered no answers, only a reflection of the distance between who he was and who he wished to be.

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