Chapter Text
Stolas had learned how to endure everything.
He had endured other people’s looks until he barely noticed them anymore: the contempt in the eyes of his new neighbors, the pointed glances from the owner of the laundromat, even the heavy expressions of pity at the corner market when he didn’t have enough to pay for his groceries.
By now, he had accepted the frustration of no longer being able to afford all the plants he wanted, of losing access to his library, of no longer being able to see the stars.
And even though it had been the hardest loss, he had eventually come to terms with the absence of his powers. He tried to hold on to the precious memories of when his body used to sing with magic, when a simple gesture of his hand could let him slip into the vault of the sky and watch the stars be born and die.
After all, Blitzø’s love had been enough to stand in for everything he had once had in his past life. No, he corrected himself. What he had with Blitzø was not a replacement for anything, just a new phase of his life. And yet there was something not even Blitzø could give him. An absence so painful it made everything he had once had and everything he still had pale in comparison.
His daughter Octavia.
Nearly two months had passed since the last time he had spoken to her, and the memory of her turned back, the wall of ice standing between them and keeping him from reaching his Starfire, still broke his heart. The days slipped by as that life slowly began to fit him, at first with some resistance, then like a glove he might have been born into.
But that day was a special. That day, Octavia turned eighteen, the most important milestone in the life of a member of Goetian society, and he would not be at her side. The only small comfort he allowed himself was the thought that, at last, Andrealphus would have to give up everything he had stolen.
He refreshed his phone once again, a gesture that had become automatic and he repeated countless times throughout his days, and yet he kept hoping a different outcome. By now he had a new phone; he had sent Via countless messages to give her his new number, but she had never called him back, never even texted him, not once.
And yet, on that very day, Via chose to call him.
He was at the office, in one of those rare moments of calm when the other I.M.P. employees were out on a mission. There was an unreal, yet comforting silence in the room. The only sound was his pen moving swiftly across the page of his notebook. He was so absorbed in searching for the right word that he didn’t even notice when his phone started ringing. Writing had become his favorite distraction.
He only realized it by the third ring, and when he saw his daughter’s name flashing brightly on the screen, all the black blood in his veins froze at once. He answered immediately.
“Dad?” she whispered, and Octavia’s voice melted his heart, even as it filled him with worry. Was that a sob his daughter was trying to hold back?
“Yes, Starfire, it’s me. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Dad, can I come to you? Where are you?”
“I’m at the office. I’ll be here.”
In the distance, he could hear a jumble of cheerful voices, as though his daughter were standing in the middle of a crowd. He called her name again, but the conversation was abruptly cut off. He hadn’t had time to ask her all the questions already crowding his mind, and now there was nothing left for him to do but wait.
The silence that had once cradled and comforted him had become unbearable, and the novella he had been writing with such care and dedication now felt like a collection of meaningless sentimentalities.
What seemed to Stolas like an eternity spent waiting was actually less than an hour. Then Octavia appeared in the doorway of his office, looking around warily, as though she needed to make sure there were no prying eyes watching her.
For a moment, Stolas did not recognize her. She was no longer wearing the clothes that suited her so well, but a light, airy dress in a soft shade of pink, one that could only have come from Stella’s trusted tailor. She wasn’t wearing her beanie anymore either; instead, her black feathers were woven into an elaborate hairstyle, adorned with a small golden circlet. That must have been her celebration dress.
Those observations lasted only a heartbeat, because Stolas didn’t hesitate for another second before rushing toward her and pulling her into his arms.
“Oh, my little owlette! You have no idea how much I’ve missed you!”
She didn’t return the hug, but didn’t pull away from it either. She waited until he was the one to let go before holding out a book he had never thought he would see again: his grimoire.
“Dad, I tried,” she said, her intense magenta eyes searching his face. “I really believed they only wanted what was best for me. I realized too late that all they wanted was my power, and your legions. I couldn’t believe my own mother could do something like this to me…”
He took her hands. The grimoire fell to the floor, like an object without any importance.
And once the surprise and overwhelming joy of being able to hold his daughter in his arms again had faded, he took a moment to look at his Starfire more closely. Then he realized that something in her was different, hollowed out. And even though they no longer spoke that shared language, he still understood. He understood why, for a second, he hadn’t recognized his own daughter, and it had never been the dress.
Octavia had lost her magic too.
“What did they do to you?” he whispered.
Octavia could hear her father crying behind her, beyond the wall of ice that stood between them. For an endless moment, she was tempted to turn around, to run back to him. All the anger that had filled her to the brim over the past month was beginning to recede like the pull of a tide, replaced by every happy memory of her childhood.
But when she turned, ready to go back, she found that imp in front of her, draping his jacket over her father’s shoulders, surrounded by the two others like him and the hellhound. They stood close around him like a family she would never be allowed to be part of.
She clenched her fists. Fine. Her father had made his choice. He had chosen to defend that imp before the Infernal Court, and even now he was choosing to stand by his side. And if that was his decision, then she would show him just how final could be.
Inside the house, she found Andrealphus waiting for her. He had already recovered from the earlier skirmish, pulling his fur stole closer around himself, and despite the blow he had taken, his little smile had never been so mocking.
“So he chose them, Octavia?” he said, with that look that somehow managed to be both mocking and concerned at the same time.
“There’s no need for you to look so pleased,” she snapped. “And don’t you ever hurt him again.”
He raised his hands, as if to defend himself from a slanderous accusation.
“But I would never do such a thing, my precious Octavia! It was just a foolish misunderstanding, a trivial little matter that won’t trouble us anymore. There’s no need for your mother to find out about it, don’t you agree?”
The girl’s silence spoke for itself. Her uncle and her mother were certainly not the family she would have chosen, but they were the only one she had left.
“You know your eighteenth birthday is just around the corner, don’t you? We have so many things to talk about. Let’s go get that depraved father of yours’ grimoire and practice the most difficult spells.”
No matter how hard she tried, Via couldn’t suppress a small, excited smile.
“Really?” she exclaimed, looking at him hopefully.
“Of course! Your father never really made you practice, did he? He never taught you much. But when would he have had the time? He spent all his days with that disgusting imp, or in front of the television! You need someone who will devote all of their time to you, someone you can trust, someone who won’t turn their back on you to run into the arms of a stranger! Someone who doesn’t neglect their duties while tearing their own family apart in the process.”
She lowered her gaze. She didn’t want to listen to him. And yet his words seemed to feed the fire of anger that had been eating away at her over the past month, speaking a secret language that reached straight into her darkest parts.
“Fine. Fuck it.”