Three minutes later. The main entrance to the Star Keeper's estate.They arrived on time.
Of course—only if you counted that the one stepping out of the carriage was none other than the daughter of the Creator of not only Hell itself, but of the very race of Goetia…
Thus, their "carriage" was already parked before the manor's grand entrance, where the house's servants awaited them—if William had read the sigils on the demons' sleeves correctly, those who stood waiting for the doors to open…
No, the "machine" itself—Lucifer's creation—was a marvel both inside and out. That, William could admit… to himself, before quickly dismissing the thought.
…But the "entrance," the door to the machine, the part the servant-demons had tried to open the moment it "landed"—received them with quite the jolt. Whether it was a surge of current or a searing burn, William couldn't say…
It was just an ordinary car door. Meaning, lower than the height of a regular man—forcing William and Charlie to stoop, enduring the distortions of space that nearly sent William collapsing to his knees. Thankfully, one of the servants, with black-and-white striped horns, caught his shell with practiced ease, bowing faintly without a word, before glancing first at Charlie—her eyes darting nervously across the courtyard—then at William, who simply waved off the silent question regarding their belongings.
The demon bowed, signaling another servant, and they quickly moved toward the doors, only sparing a glance back at them.
William tapped his cane against the stone paving, which—for some reason—gave off a violet glow.
Charlie cast him a fleeting, uncertain look—only to replace it at once with resolve. She slipped her left arm beneath his, less to lead than to all but drag the Silence himself forward.
They ascended the ornate staircase, its rounded rails shaped like the thorned stems of flowers—or perhaps demonic sigils, echoing the "Occam" of the Pit.
On either side stretched lawns of greenery that, under the strange "light," appeared violet. A little farther out grew shrubs-trees of a kind of vegetation—whether born of demonic craft or natural flora of Hell itself, William couldn't be bothered to care…
"Is this… a Place of Power?" was all William managed to articulate as his gaze swept over the manor—the magnificent stained-glass doors that marked the entrance, flanked on both sides by demons who straightened as if to appear taller than their meager height…
William wasn't certain, but this place… It was either a source of magic, a convergence of Aether lines, or something else entirely… Something that, strangely enough, reminded him of a star.
Charlie, as the Fallen Archangel realized with a fleeting glance, either noticed the same pulsing "aura"—which made everything seem even more violet than it truly was—or gave no sign, perhaps already knowing. And the demons…
They showed no reaction at all, even when William brushed against a fragment of that surrounding energy as they passed by, climbing the steps and…
The servants pulled open the entrance, as though letting the wind rush inside—a current that curled around the two of them like the trailing veil of a comet.
Once more: crimson walls. Once more: the twin staircase pressed against them, winding upward past rich draperies cascading from the ceiling—draperies that framed the glowing ruby suspended above their heads.
The demons had vanished—no trace left, not even the clatter of hooves that had echoed during their ascent of the stairs.
…But that was not what mattered. Not the gilded railings adorned with the "Eyes of Hell." What truly mattered were the hosts of the manor, awaiting them right at the threshold—precisely at the line where the staircases began, beneath their arching span.
"This house welcomes the Princess, daughter of the King and Queen of Hell, Charlotte Lucifer Morningstar," the master intoned, measured and precise, with a breath of reverence. He bowed, placing one dark hand against his chest while the other slipped behind his back beneath the hem of his cloak. "I beg you to accept the hospitality of the House of Stars, its master, and the care of his beloved wife."
A tall, anthropomorphic bird with a warm, resonant male voice lowered two pairs of eyes: one pair upon a white-feathered face framed in down and fur, tipped with a sharp black beak; the other pair hidden within the plumage that passed for his "hair," crowned with a small golden diadem. Crimson lights burned within them as they fell upon the Princess and her companion.
He stood towering—some two and a half meters in height—dressed in a lavish dark frock coat, fastened with golden buttons, tapering down to formal shorts that revealed his long, avian legs.
A demon of Goetia. Prince Stolas, the demonic owl, cloaked in a mantle of stars—fabric so dark its lining seemed a gateway into the Cosmos itself, a sea of myriad stars, interstellar void and drifting nebulae shimmering in hues of violet and blue. The cloak was clasped by a golden "button," one that pulsed with energy, gleaming like a falling comet.
Bowing, Stolas extended his left hand in a gesture toward the figure at his side—slightly shorter than him by half a head. White plumage, an elegant dark hem that lifted in a graceful, birdlike curtsey.
Dark silks traced with fine white outlines embraced the details of her gown, its layered shades of black harmonizing with her husband's attire. Lace adorned her shoulders; dark gloves revealed refined talons, clutching the edges of her dress, while her snow-white head, crowned with a mane of feathers that served as "hair," bent low in reverence.
"This house welcomes the Princess, daughter of the King and Queen of Hell, Your Majesty," the mistress of the manor spoke—soft, yet firm; deliberate, yet never halting. "Your visage graces this estate with flawless unholiness, bringing into these halls the most exquisite and potent of Sins."
Her dark-rose beak curved in a "smile," while her eyes—white pupils rimmed with crimson sclera—looked upon them without the blazing force or magical glow that marked her husband.
"Prince Stolas Goetia. Marquess Stella Goetia." Charlie inclined her head to each in turn, a faint, plainly polite smile on her lips. Both demons raised their heads as she finished. "We are honored by your care and the warmth of your house. I ask that you…"
Charlie nodded, and William struck his cane against the costly floor, the sound ringing loud and clear.
With that gesture, as if conjured from woven ribbons of sapphire light, two bottles of wine materialized.
Each reflected the house's colors: one, a crystalline amethyst-violet, its glass gleaming like stars trapped within; the other, cold to the eye, exhaling frost even in the open air, its surface adorned with shards of tinted ice.
"Please, accept our humble gift to your household. Two vintages of the finest wines from Earth's most exquisite and hidden places," Charlie breathed, though by the end her speech quickened in pace—a slip neither of the Goetia seemed to notice. Of course, the truth was far less refined: little more than bottles William's Constructs had pilfered from the storerooms of some overpriced restaurant.
But then—what Goetia gathering would be complete without a trace of deception?
Both pairs of Stolas's eyes widened slightly. His face—his beaked visage—remained otherwise unreadable, though his glance cut sidelong toward the bottles hovering above William's cane, his attention fixed far more intently on the man himself.
"That is… most generous of you, Your Majesty," Stella allowed herself the smallest hesitation in tone before bowing once more. She then clapped her hands, and at once a familiar demon-servant appeared, leaping to snatch the bottles. His hooves struck the floor in perfect rhythm with the sharp tap of the Silence's cane.
Charlie, still holding William by the arm, smiled.
William's mask betrayed nothing but a steady line, his gaze moving methodically across the vast chamber.
The clatter of the servant's hooves faded as he departed, balancing the bottles on a tray, circling around the master of the house.
Stella stood with her hands folded upon her gown's hem, a light, near-joyful smile upon her face… a smile that faltered the instant her eyes flicked toward her husband.
"Stolas…" she hissed softly—barely audible—her voice, for the first time, edged with something like irritation.
The Prince of Goetia, still staring unmoving at William—perhaps even slightly above him—merely tilted his head in that unnervingly animal fashion, like a true owl studying its prey…
Charlie's eyes dropped to the Silence. Her smile widened, laced now with nervous tremors she tried desperately to hide. Stella's face soured in a shadow of a frown, while William simply stared back at the Prince of Goetia.
It was as if somewhere, glass had cracked.
"Ahem… M-my apologies, Your Majesty," Stolas coughed into his fist, straightening his shoulders. Stella, now that Hell's Princess's attention was back on her husband, only rolled her eyes, her beak twisting into a grimace of irritation. "But… we thought the Queen would be with you…?" His question, asked with a nearly uncertain tone, drew Stella's own expectant glance toward Charlie—an arched brow, her mask of composure still intact.
Once again, Stolas lowered his gaze to William. Stella, it seemed, only just now truly noticed him; her face wrinkled, eyes narrowing in open distaste.
"Oh, right…" Charlie's eyes darted nervously, her hand tightening on the Silence's sleeve as she scrambled for an answer—one that wouldn't lock her away at home for a month. "Mo… the Queen…"
"The Queen regrets that she could not grace your noble house, Your Grace," William inclined his head to the Prince, drawing a sigh of relief from Charlie, a lifted brow from Stolas, and a deepening scowl from Stella. "The King of Hell demanded her attention… and did not allow us a chance to negotiate details or offer an alternative," he exhaled. Both demons sighed at once.
"Lucifer wants more time with his wife again," each of them thought in near-perfect unison, albeit in their own words.
"Y-yes, that is so. The Queen sends her apologies for her absence," Charlie nodded, smile fixed upon her face—though inside she screamed, praying to God, her father, even Adam and that damned Serah, that her mother would never learn of the lie they'd spun.
"Of course," Stolas replied, glancing first at Charlie, then fixing a renewed, measuring stare upon William. "And you are…?"
"A servant? An attendant?" Stella's sharp, almost irritated voice cut her husband off. He sighed quietly but gave a small nod. The Fallen Archangel meant to answer but never had the chance…
"C-consort!" Charlie all but shouted—Princess of Hell, before the highest aristocracy of the Pit, in halls open to the Queen herself. William stifled the urge to hide his face behind a hand, watching instead as Stella's features froze in disbelief, her gaze dropping to the place where their arms entwined.
Stolas chuckled softly, masking it with another cough, before clapping his hands together—his tone shifting, lighter, more animated.
"Well then, Your Majesty, allow us to offer you a tour of our grounds." He bowed slightly, stepping aside with a sweeping arm to let the Hellborn Princess through, as she nearly dragged the Lord of Silence along with her. Stella slowly dragged a hand down her face before turning to follow, taking her place at her husband's left. "So tell me, who is the fortunate soul who has captured your attention, Your…?" He smiled faintly—until a muffled thud to his left forced another cough.
"Zephyr. A Sinner of Pentagram City. Lord of the district of Silence in that city." William raised his voice deliberately, drowning out the words Charlie had just begun to form. She nodded in confirmation, while Stolas's smile did not broaden… it sharpened, grew more intent.
William could not truly parse all the emotions of the Prince of Goetia. Perhaps it was the second pair of eyes. Or perhaps it was simply because the Prince was…
"Congratulations on your fortune, Your Majesty," Stella enunciated each word, her bow little more than ceremonial courtesy. Stolas clapped his hands again, though the sound seemed curiously muted, his eyes darting irritably to the left—toward the crack of splintering glass and his wife's smirk.
They walked through a long hall with crimson-paneled walls, heavy dark-red curtains framing the ever-present stained glass lattices. White marble spread beneath their feet, muffling the echo of shoes and avian talons alike. To their left, beside the windows, stood ornate pedestals—displaying flowers. Predatory flowers, judging by the snapping maws—blooms of every shape and size, jaws as much as petals.
"Oh, Your Majesty, might I inquire after your noble mother and father…?" Stolas folded his hands behind his back, his cloak releasing several near-tangible, glittering comets that danced across the corridor, subtly animating the house around them—making the light within grow darker, tinged with violet.
Surprisingly, the scent that spread was gentle, soft—mint touched with something… sweet. William, walking nearest the strange flowers, caught it most vividly.
They moved in a straight line down the long hall of the estate, where imps—servants—scurried here and there, doing everything in their power not to cross the path of the procession. Difficult, given that much of the hall's breadth was consumed by Stella's gown. Its train stretched so wide that William walked nearly at the maws of the "plants," while Prince Stolas and Charlie were forced close together.
The Prince of Goetia and the Princess of Hell walked side by side, conversing softly. William caught fragments—nothing of substance—as his own eyes lingered on the demons' lavish interior. Stella, to Stolas's left, maintained silence, glancing now and again at the Princess, or at William, her expression veiled yet observant.
The reception was… strangely light. Neither William nor Charlie could describe it otherwise. Inside, Charlie silently rehearsed how best to hint—ever so gently—to the Prince and his Marchioness that the news of her supposed "consort" ought never… ever… to be repeated.
Her cheeks burned, though she strove to hide it, latching onto small talk as a shield. She spoke of her mother's new blossoms in the palace gardens. In turn, Stolas boasted of a peculiar "ficus," one that aided him in reading the stars and, in consequence, opened a new stream of income for his house.
As they advanced, they passed part of the crown prince's collection—one belonging to Paimon himself.
"Our treasury," Stolas announced with a deep bow of his head, one hand to his breast, "tracing its roots to Babylon itself, and preserving relics from the age before Sin." The words were spoken as much for the Princess as for his wife, whose piercing gaze never wavered from him.
The estate seemed endless, rivaling even Charlie's home. Corridors stretched on, servant footsteps fading, leading only to larger halls and stranger domains.
"Here lies the Garden," Stolas exhaled softly, a genuine, if faint, smile gracing his face. He opened a stained-glass door upon… crimson grass? Stella scoffed faintly behind them, rolling her eyes, arms crossed. "The pride of the House of Stars—here grow ingredients for rituals most…"
He went on and on. Charlie responded with polite nods, a soft smile, her own voice a rare interruption.
William, from the first step of this "tour," had noticed: the moment Charlie appeared without her mother, the Prince's entire bearing eased. His frame, once rigid, relaxed; his shoulders loosened, his talons moved without the precision of protocol, instead with casual flourishes. Even his voice softened, nearly friendly. He did not host the daughter of the royal house of Hell—he entertained a guest.
"…and so, Princess, why don't we—ah!" Stolas cried, stumbling as something tugged sharply at his cloak, jerking him off balance. The "something" stood stiff-backed, smiling faintly, reminding her husband of his manners, and that they were hosting the damned Princess of Hell.
Stolas swallowed a lump in his throat, forcing a weak laugh.
"As my dear wife has so wisely pointed out… we have lingered." He straightened himself, forcing calm back into his frame, voice smoothed into dignity. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. Would you do us the honor of partaking in our household's meal?" He bowed deeply, left hand behind his back, right to his chest.
Stella's face softened, her eyes gentled—settling into familiar rhythms. She mirrored the bow, eyes closed, while Charlie inclined her head with measured grace.
"I would be glad to accept your hospitality, Prince Stolas," Charlie replied evenly, her voice steady as she stepped forward, William in tow.
From time to time, their eyes met—during her exchanges with Stolas, and now, walking deeper into the mansion. The decor grew ever more "violet": crimson walls adorned with increasingly complex patterns of eyes, ceilings shifting from grand chandeliers to golden star-shaped fixtures that hummed with stellar energy.
Charlie's scarlet gaze carried quiet unease, a voiceless question. William answered only with the faintest nod, continuing at her side. He had shown no reaction when declared her "consort," none to her guilty, apologetic glances, none even now.
But inside…
"Fuuuuuck…" looped endlessly in his mind. Not just at Charlie's reckless ploy to justify his voice in a Goetia estate, but at the thought of answering not to Lucifer—but to Lilith. If the King knew everything, the Queen pieced together fragments, gleaning from her daughter's evasions and from William's own slip of emotion. But now…
"Your Majesty." Both Stolas and Stella bowed in unison at the entrance to a grand hall. William barely heard their words, too distracted by the sudden shift of light and tone.
Charlie released his arm but urged him silently with her eyes to follow. She stepped first across the threshold, William close behind, and the hosts followed—doors shutting softly behind them.
And then, the dining hall revealed itself.
William's thoughts stuttered, derailed in shock.
"Wha—Where…?" was all the Lord of Silence could manage, staring at a long violet table trimmed in gold, chairs upholstered in soft lilac… and nothing. No damned tablecloth.
Above, instead of chandeliers, a model of the solar system hung in a golden ring—spheres of orbit, a dim sun at the center. Violet light spilled through the stained-glass ceiling, mimicking falling stars, scattering across indigo walls rich with demonic artistry. From the rafters hung vines and roses, leaves cascading, hellish flora weaving wonder and menace into the room.
Crystal stained glass, etched with countless celestial forms, cast fractured light across the chamber where Charlie stood, utterly composed, allowing the lords of the house to pass before her.Only William, inwardly cursing under his breath, found himself unsettled by these demonic wretche—
From Stolas's hands poured a dark energy, searing with starlight. A deep indigo-violet magic enveloped the dining table—meant for eight—shrinking it until it suited only four, perfect and precise.
Then, his wife. Stella clapped her hands, a plume of frost bursting from her palms, followed by… the sound of shattering glass?
William blinked in surprise, staring as dishes materialized across the table, flawlessly arranged. The centerpiece—a slab of infernal beast-meat, drenched in some unholy sauce—smelled so intoxicatingly rich that William, for the first time, felt a true urge to taste something born of Hell. Arrayed around it were salads of peculiar greens, their leaves the very ones he and the Princess had glimpsed earlier in the Garden of the Stars.
Each place was set with meticulous precision: plates aligned, glasses spaced in measured symmetry, smaller dishes for bread—naturally of infernal bake—crystal goblets brimming with otherworldly drinks. One glass, in particular, shimmered like a miniature nebula, stars swirling within a gas-giant's haze.
Among them, too, were the vintages William had offered as "gifts," now poured into ornate, near-translucent crystal vessels that glimmered like starlight.
"Please, Your Highness…" Stella's voice rang with ceremonial weight, her eyes narrowing into a look of haughty superiority aimed straight at William. "…And for you as well, señor." She dipped her head mockingly, gesturing to the seat opposite her own.
"Stella," Stolas sighed, shaking his head, before sinking into the head seat of the table. Opposite him, Charlie took her place, her apologetic glance toward William not escaping the notice of the Goetia hosts.
Another snap of Stella's fingers—And into the room strode a servant-imp, his sharp-sided hairstyle severe, his eyes shadowed by heavy bags, his face a mask of blankness, utterly stripped of life or feeling.
The imp stood at the door, one arm bent, a folded cloth draped over it, his back rigid, his body utterly still. Even his tail froze in place.
"Thank you, Prince Stolas. Princess Stella," Charlie nodded, lifting fork and knife in hand. She cut into the steak placed before her, quick movements betraying her effort to mask the blush warming her cheeks. Stolas chuckled softly, likewise taking up his utensils, while Stella waved a dismissive hand.
"Think nothing of it, Your Majesty," Stella replied, raising her glass—already filled with a crimson liquid the servant-imp had poured from a carafe on the table. "Enjoy your meal and…"
Her snow-white eyes shifted, narrowing like a hawk's upon William, who, with deliberate calm, took up a glass of Earthly wine.
"…I do hope," Stella pronounced each word slowly, with a wide grin fixed upon her lips, never breaking her stare, "that you've found our home… to your liking."
William answered only by sipping the wine.
Stolas let out a quiet groan, while Charlie released a nervous little laugh.
(A small challenge for the readers: for the next chapter to be released, this chapter needs to gather 10 comments with at least 5 words each.)