Loona Pov
Loona hated the quiet.
Not the peaceful kind—Hell didn't do peaceful—but the kind that followed violence, when adrenaline drained and left everything too sharp. The alley still smelled like ozone and scorched stone, ash drifting where that angelic construct had been. Too clean. Too sudden.
Too wrong.
Blitzø kept talking, because of course he did. Something about "mystery benefactors" and "creepy calm guys" and "owing favors," but Loona tuned him out. Her eyes stayed locked on the stranger standing a few steps away, posture relaxed, hands visible, gaze steady without being invasive.
He hadn't threatened them.
That was the problem.
Most demons who stepped into a fight did it to prove something. Power. Territory. Ego. This guy had done none of that. He'd ended the danger like it was an inconvenience, not a victory.
Loona didn't trust that.
"You done staring?" she snapped, breaking the silence herself. "Or are you gonna explain why Heaven's trash just turned into dust because you walked in?"
The stranger—Aurelian, she vaguely remembered someone calling him—didn't bristle. Didn't smirk. He tilted his head slightly, considering her words as if they mattered.
"I didn't turn it to dust," he said evenly. "I reminded it who it answered to."
Moxxie blinked. "Th-that's worse."
Millie nodded enthusiastically. "Way worse."
Blitzø squinted. "Okay, cool, cool. So you're either a big deal or a walking apocalypse. Which one gets us paid?"
Aurelian finally looked at Blitzø, expression neutral. "Neither. You're clear to leave. That's all."
Blitzø opened his mouth, then closed it. That almost never happened.
Loona noticed the way Aurelian's attention shifted back to her—not possessive, not challenging. Observant. Like he was reading a room instead of dominating it.
"You always show up like that?" she asked. "When things get ugly?"
"Only when they threaten to destabilize," he replied.
She scoffed. "Figures. Someone like you doesn't care unless it messes with your plans."
Aurelian didn't deny it.
"Plans keep people alive," he said. "Even the ones who don't know they're part of them."
That annoyed her more than a threat would have.
"Yeah? Well, we didn't ask for help.
"No," he agreed. "But you stood your ground anyway."
Loona stiffened.
Compliments in Hell were rarely free.
Before she could snap back, a subtle chime sounded from Aurelian's wrist. He glanced down, then back at the group.
"You should move," he said. "This district will be searched soon. Angelic residue draws attention."
Blitzø didn't need more convincing. "Okay! Team! We're gone! Creepy nice guy, if we die later, I'm haunting you!"
They left in a flurry of noise, weapons, and chaos—everyone except Loona.
She lingered.
Aurelian noticed but didn't comment. He waited.
"You didn't have to do that," she said finally.
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because you would've fought it anyway," he replied. "And because losing you would've caused more damage than it was worth."
Her ears twitched. "You don't know me."
"I know enough," he said calmly. "You protect what's yours. Even when it hurts.
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hostile.
Loona looked away first.
"Tch. Whatever," she muttered. "Don't make it a habit."
"I won't," Aurelian said. "Unless necessary."
That answer unsettled her more than a promise would have.
He stepped back, giving her space, already disengaging like the encounter had reached its natural end. No lingering. No demands.
No expectations.
"Hey," she called before she could stop herself.
He turned.
"What do I call you?"
Aurelian paused, just a fraction of a second.
"Aurelian," he said. "If you need a name."
She watched him disappear into the city without a sound, the alley swallowing him like he'd never been there at all.
Loona stood alone with the ash and the quiet, teeth clenched.
She hated that her heart was still racing.
High above Pride, in a palace that felt more like a cage the older it got, Octavia Goetia stared at the ceiling and counted cracks she'd memorized years ago.
Another argument echoed faintly down the halls—her father's voice sharp, someone else's defensive, the usual chorus of disappointment and obligation. Politics wrapped in family drama, served cold and nightly.
She rolled onto her side and pulled her headphones on, letting music drown it out.
Still, something tugged at her attention.
The city felt… different.
Octavia slipped out onto her balcony, feathers ruffling as a cool updraft rose from the streets below. Pride Ring glittered like a fractured crown, lights reflecting off spires and broken dreams.
Normally, it was overwhelming.
Tonight, it was quiet in a way that felt intentional.
She frowned.
A presence stirred behind her—not threatening, not sudden.
"Princess Octavia."
She turned sharply.
The demon standing there bowed just enough to be respectful without submission. Dark attire. Calm posture. Eyes that held weight without arrogance.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"A messenger," he replied. "For now."
She crossed her arms. "That's vague."
"Yes."
She sighed. "Of course it is.
Aurelian studied her for a moment, not as a curiosity, but as an equal. That alone was strange.
"There are shifts coming," he said. "Your family will feel them before most."
Octavia's feathers bristled. "If this is another prophecy—"
"It isn't," he interrupted gently. "It's a warning."
She searched his face, looking for manipulation, condescension, fear. She found none.
"Why tell me?" she asked.
"Because you listen," he said simply. "And because you don't want Hell to stay like this any more than I do."
Her chest tightened.
"You don't know what I want."
"I know what you're tired of," he replied.
Silence.
Wind rushed past them, carrying distant music and sirens.
Octavia finally spoke. "And what exactly are you trying to do?"
Aurelian looked out over Hell, expression unreadable.
"Build something stable enough that Heaven has no excuse to burn it down," he said. "And quiet enough that people can choose who they want to be."
She swallowed.
"That's impossible."
"Most necessary things are."
He inclined his head. "When the time comes, I'll ask for your voice. Not your loyalty."
"And if I say no?"
"Then nothing changes," he said. "That's the point."
He stepped back, already fading into shadow.
Octavia watched him go, heart racing—not with fear, but with something dangerously close to hope.