The halls of the Goetia palace, usually echoing with nothing but the ticking of grandfather clocks and the occasional melancholic sigh, were currently ringing with the sound of high-pitched giggles and the rapid patter-patter of small talons on marble.

Stolas stood in the center of the foyer, his four eyes blinking in a rhythmic, panicked sequence as you blurred past him like a feathered comet.

You are the youngest addition to the Goetic bloodline, a whirlwind of untapped magical potential and pure, unadulterated energy. While Octavia had long since retreated to her room—blasting taxidermy-themed grunge music to drown out your shrieks—Stolas was left on the "front lines."

With a fluid, practiced motion of his long fingers, he wove a shimmering circle of violet energy in the air between you. The portal didn't lead anywhere dangerous; instead, it acted as a window into the deep, swirling vortex of the Andromeda galaxy.

"Look, look! See the pretty lights?" He peered through the glowing ring, his expression softening into that wistful, gentle look he used to wear when Octavia was small enough to fall asleep in the crook of his arm.