The vast hall of the infernal palace was lit by the golden, artificial glow of a single lamp suspended above the throne. The black marble floor reflected the light like a dark mirror, interrupted only by a chaotic army of rubber ducks scattered in no apparent order.

Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell, sat on his throne.

But he did not rule.

His sleeves were rolled up, his vest slightly unbuttoned, and his brow furrowed with almost absurd concentration as he molded another tiny duckling between his gloved hands. His movements were delicate, precise, as if he were creating a sacred relic rather than a ridiculous toy.

“Perfect... absolutely perfect,” he murmured, refining the tiny beak with his fingernail.

The echo of his voice bounced off the gigantic columns. No one answered. No one did anymore.

He let out a sigh that was not theatrical, but genuine. The hall was immense, imposing, designed to inspire fear and respect. And yet it was empty. Lilith was gone. Charlie was busy trying to redeem the irredeemable. And he... well.

“An absent king, eh?” he said to himself, smiling ironically. “But an exceptional craftsman.”

He placed the new duckling on the central table, next to dozens of others. He looked at them as a director examines his cast. Each one different, each one perfect in its uselessness. They did not rule, they did not argue, they did not stray.

At the back of the hall, the enormous window revealed Hell in all its splendor: chaos, fire, distant screams, life in perpetual disorder. Lucifer barely glanced at it. For centuries, that landscape had been his kingdom. Now it was more like background noise.

He squeezed one of the ducklings. The sharp squeak broke the silence.

He smiled.

“Well, my little ones,” he whispered tenderly. “Another day... another rubber duck.”

He sank back into his throne, not as a sovereign, but as someone who needed to keep his hands busy so his mind wouldn't start remembering too much. The King of Hell feared neither demons, nor rebellions, nor Judgment.

He feared emptiness.

So he took another piece of rubber, twirled it between his fingers, and began to mold again.

Because as long as there was one more duckling to perfect, silence did not win.