Vael had a habit of appearing without announcing himself not abruptly, not dramatically, but in that quiet, feather-soft way only a Goetia could manage. One moment the balcony of Sin Rouge was empty, the next he was there leaning on the railing, mask tilted up just enough to let the city lights reflect in his eyes.
Malerion didn't react.
He'd learned that reacting only encouraged Vael.
"You look like you're thinking," Vael said casually.
I often do.
Vael laughed softly. "Yes, that's… kind of your thing."
He stepped closer, but not too close Vael had started respecting Malerion's personal space without ever being told. Another small sign of growth. Another proof that time polished instincts better than bloodline training.
The prince rested his arms on the railing.
Down below, the Lust Ring pulsed with neon and noise.
"Do you know what my tutors keep telling me now that I'm… technically an adult?" Vael asked.
That you have responsibilities.
"Yes, but that's always been true."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"They've started warning me not to get 'too comfortable' around lower-ring demons. They think I'll get hurt." He scoffed. "I'm not that fragile."
Malerion didn't answer immediately.
He watched a fight break out on the far end of the street two sinners arguing over stolen alcohol. A punch, a bottle, a scream. It ended fast.
Then he spoke.
"You're not fragile," Malerion said. "But you're young."
Vael blinked.
"…Is that an insult?"
"No. It's a fact."
Vael straightened slightly, curious in that earnest, unguarded way he always was around Malerion.
"Explain."
Malerion tapped the railing once, thinking.
"In Hell," he began, "power isn't only about bloodline. It's about time. Age. Experience. Understanding your own energy. Older Goetia… they've had centuries to refine their magic. Their instincts. Their reactions. They don't get surprised easily."
Vael tilted his head.
"And younger ones?"
They do.
The prince frowned.
"But I'm strong. I've trained all my life."
"You're strong," Malerion agreed calmly. "But not finished."
Vael blinked.
It was probably the first time someone had said that to him without trying to shame him or put him in his place.
Malerion continued:
Young Goetia rely too much on their inherited magic. They expect their name and their aura to keep them safe. And that is why some of them… fall.
Vael looked genuinely unsettled.
"Fall? How?"
Malerion didn't soften the truth.
"By being caught off guard. Overconfident. Disarmed at the wrong moment. Even a powerful demon can die if they don't expect danger especially someone who has never fought outside controlled lessons."
Vael was very still now.
A soft wind carried the scents of smoke and neon.
After a long moment, he whispered:
"…Is it really that easy to… lose everything?"
Yes, Malerion said. For someone unprepared, it can be.
Vael swallowed once, subtle but visible.
"…And you're telling me this because?"
Malerion met his gaze steady, level.
Because you walk down here without guards. Because you talk to people who are not afraid of you. Because the Lust Ring is unpredictable. And because one day, someone will test you simply because you are a young prince.And don't be surprised if someone stabs you with divine steel
Vael didn't speak for several seconds.
Then voice quieter:
"…You're saying I need to take this seriously."
No. I'm saying you need to understand the ground you walk on.
Another pause.
Vael leaned back against the railing, mask tilted up again.
"You know," he murmured, "my tutors never explain things like this. They just say 'stay away' or 'be careful.' They never tell me what the danger actually is."
They think you'll panic.
Vael scoffed.
"When have I ever panicked?"
Malerion didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Vael rolled his eyes.
"…Fine. Once. Maybe twice."
Silence settled between them the comfortable kind, the kind that comes after an honest conversation.
Then Vael said, more softly:
"You talk like someone older than you look."
"And you talk like someone younger than you pretend."
Vael laughed not offended, more like relieved someone finally dared to say it.
He looked out over the district again.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For… explaining. Not sugar-coating it. Not treating me like a glass ornament."
I don't handle ornaments, Malerion replied dryly.
Vael bumped his shoulder lightly against Malerion's a gesture that would have been unthinkable a year ago.
"Good. I hate ornaments."
They stayed there for a while watching the street, the light, the distant chaos. No politics. No pressure. Just two people standing on the same balcony for different reasons:
Vael, trying to understand the world.
Malerion, understanding it too well.
Neither realized it yet, but the distance between them the emotional one had shrunk again.
Not friendship.
Not alliance.
But something in between.
Vael eventually stopped talking, though not because he ran out of words.
He simply looked at Malerion that bright, earnest, curious stare that had no idea it was aimed at a storm.
"You know," the prince said quietly, "sometimes I feel like… you're holding something back. Not secrets exactly, but… weight. Something big."
Malerion didn't answer.
Couldn't answer.
Vael continued, softer now:
"I don't need to know. Not yet. I just hope it's not something that hurts you."
For a heartbeat, the room felt smaller.
Malerion forced his expression to stay neutral. Calm. Unreadable.
Inside, the truth curled like a blade against his ribs.
If Vael knew what he truly was an anomaly growing outside Hell's rules, a being whose power didn't follow any demonic bloodline it wouldn't just endanger Malerion.
It would endanger Vael more than anyone.
Old Goetia houses killed for less.
The Seven Sins crushed threats long before they bloomed.
And Hell itself rejected things it couldn't categorize.
Knowledge was dangerous.
Curiosity was lethal.
And Vael… was both.
Malerion offered him a measured smile small, distant, practiced.
Some things, he said quietly,
are safer not spoken aloud. For both of us.
Vael blinked, surprised by the seriousness, but nodded slowly.
A rare moment of maturity flickered across his face.
"I understand," he said.
He didn't.
Not really.
Not even close.
But he accepted it and for now, that was enough.
As Vael turned his attention to something else, Alastor's whisper coiled through Malerion's mind, dry and amused:
"You handled that well… but eventually, he will ask again."
Yes, Malerion answered silently, and by then I need to be strong enough that the truth won't kill him.
Or kill us both.
He looked at Vael young, powerful, untested, curious to a fault.
A friend, maybe.
A danger, certainly.
A link to the highest levels of Hell's hierarchy.
And a reminder:
Not every secret he guarded was his own.
Some protected the people he allowed close.
For now, the truth stayed buried.
And Hell was safer that way.