It was three years ago when he’d first met them. 

Astaroth had spent a full week searching for her. Alcor. His dearest friend, his disappeared companion.

The only things he’d found, however, were a note and a burned-down house.

It was a wreck, a mere skeleton of a house, bones black and rotted. The scent, of burnt wood and something else, something Astaroth didn’t want to think about, wound through the trees surrounding it. 

Stepping closer, he could see that the house had once had two rooms. From behind the damaged wooden doorframe, he tried to piece together what the remaining furniture had once been.

A chair. A table. A bed, he thought, and maybe the stuffing of some mattress. Some glints of metal could be pots and pans, the flashes of white could be paper from books.

Even as he studied it from afar, he refused to step into the house, into that dense cloud of lingering heat and scraps of ash stirred by the wind. It felt wrong, even being here, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. 

How could he have failed so terribly?

“What happened here?” they asked themself softly. As if asking would bring Alcor back, as if she’d suddenly appear from behind a tree, grinning. I set fire to this abandoned house by accident, of course, they imagined her saying, now, do you want to see my real house?

“Poor little wolf, what a shame.”

They hadn’t sensed anyone, but there they were, on the path directly behind Astaroth. He whirled around. 

The stranger was beautiful, in an unearthly kind of way. Their skin was a deep, rich brown, cheekbones set high and regal. Their pinkish-blue eyes and curly lavender hair lent them a deceptively soft look that immediately made Astaroth wary. 

Most surprising of all, hanging behind them were large wings of pure white feathers. A Destiny…?

Having refused for so many years to study the gods and angels and beings other than elves and demons in the universe, Astaroth didn’t know enough. Not nearly enough to be afraid of the power at their fingertips.

He knew enough to pull away quickly, though, barely managing to catch himself before he fell. His hand drifted towards his sword before it dropped. He was tired and cold and angry, at himself and at his friend and at the world and at Erebus. He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to survive long enough to save the ones who remained, and provoking one of the Destinies who supposedly controlled the fate of the universe seemed like a quick way to die. 

“Who are you?” Astaroth asked when the white-winged being looked down at him. A simple question, but perhaps one that would gain him some answers. 

The being tilted their head, light purple hair bobbing slightly with the movement. Their wings fluttered before they stilled them again, closing them against their back. “Who am I…? Thank you for reminding me, little wolf. You’re right, I need a name.”

Astaroth stared at them. They ignored this, summoning a stream of glowing violet symbols, flicking through the floating shapes of light with a careless hand. After some consideration, they plucked five symbols from the air and assembled them together, dismissing the rest in a wave.

“Here. My name.”

The being turned the letters to face Astaroth. He stared blankly; it wasn’t a language he’d ever seen.

“Oh, right. My apologies,” they said with a light laugh, then moved a hand over the symbols as if to clear them. Their shapes flickered and shuddered, then took the form of letters in Evosian.

“Galen,” Astaroth read aloud and the being nodded in approval. The shapes clicked out one by one, as if the light had been turned off, and they, too, disappeared. 

Angel, Astaroth realized, and the being nodded again, as if they’d heard his thoughts.

“Having your name doesn’t mean I know who you are, Galen,” Astaroth said flatly. Their eyes flashed briefly, annoyed at his blatant lack of disrespect.

“Oh, but I’m certain you do. You’re a clever one, aren’t you? If you insist on acting ignorant, though, then it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know, my new little puppet. The only thing you need to do is agree,” Galen said, wings rippling lightly. 

“To what?” they asked warily. It felt colder, suddenly. The air stilled, seeming to sense the gravity of what was about to happen, though Astaroth didn’t fully grasp it himself.

“It’s an easy trade, really.” Galen took a step closer to Astaroth and smiled dramatically. He forced himself not to flinch, meeting those steady eyes.

From seemingly nothing, Galen produced a shimmering white feather, gleaming in the cloudy mid-morning light. 

“I’ll give you a way to keep your little bonded Demon King safe from the wrath of the gods and dismantle his plan from the inside.”

A good deal, in Astaroth’s opinion. He narrowed his eyes, wary of the price.

The Destiny closed their hand around the feather. When they opened it again, the feather was gone.

In its place lay a thick thread of pure purple light, glowing like the flames of a new fire.

“All you have to do is be my obedient puppet. You won’t have to worry about a thing; I’ll pull the strings.”

With a wicked grin, the Destiny took a step closer. They held out the string, motioning to tie it around Astaroth’s wrist.

“Well? What do you say?”

A small price to pay.

I’ve lived my whole life as a puppet. What difference does a new puppet master make?

“It’s a deal.”