The snow began to fall just as Astaroth arrived. 

It was fitting timing, yet incredibly cruel. Just the way the world seemed to be.

His mission that week had been simple. A message, delivered to the head of the village, that would bring the gears into motion. A full clear-out was predicted by the end of the week. The demons would find it empty when they slipped in under the cover of darkness, returning to the palace with no magic for Erebus to seal away. 

Normally, the completed mission would have filled Astaroth with a low hum of pride deep within his chest. He was saving lives, after all, and still keeping his bond safe. He was proving to himself that he could do both. 

But today, all he felt was a dull ache for everything he’d lost. 

Gently, he set his offering by the grave, taking one flower from the bunch in his hands to tuck on the smaller stone beside it. The flowers he’d brought the year before had long since withered, turning to black dust. Gone forever, just like her. 

“Happy birthday, Alcor,” he said softly, then bowed his head to pray. 

Astaroth didn’t believe in the gods. The legends woven of their deeds, all powerful and good, seemed a little too golden to not be false. He knew many demons chose not to pray, but Alcor had been different. 

Alcor, with her quick smile and dark humor. Alcor, with her pet rat and sharp words. Alcor, with her too-large battle ax and blue headscarf and odd love for cheese and mysterious past and tired eyes. 

Alcor, who taught him the prayer to The Creator in the aftermath of death, the only prayer he knew. Alcor, who was the one Astaroth prayed for now.

In life and death, we are the same. 

“You’re selfish,” she’d said, and this is the way he remembered her voice for the rest of his life. Razor sharp, sharp enough to draw blood, with a smile twice as cruel. 

“You only care about Erebus. You think that makes you a hero, don’t you?” she’d gone on, and Astaroth had flinched. A stupid dream, a moron’s wish, an idiot’s longing, yet he’d held it so close to his chest, shielding it against the wind and weather of life. He felt it putter out, a thin tendril of smoke spiraling up towards the sky. 

In life, we pray together. 

“You think you’re being selfless by saving him, but you’re selfish.” The silence stretched and writhed between them, a living and wicked thing. Astaroth’s fingers flexed. He couldn’t find any words to say.

“I can’t believe I ever cared for you,” her voice was soft and low now, but Astaroth wouldn’t remember this.

In death, I pray for you. 

He paused then looked up. Desperately hoping his eyes could convey his apologies and his regret at his millions of mistakes, all of which had been forgiven before.

But Alcor had disappeared, and with her, his silence and his compliance.

When he found the note, a final farewell from his dearest friend, he made the decision never to stay quiet and obedient when people suffered.

A week later, an angel had found him with a message and a deal. 

In death, I remember that we will meet again.