Caelan lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his forgotten room.
Fifteen years old.
Silver-blue hair spread across the pillow.
Body temperature at zero.
A primordial entity of winter living in his blood.
He'd grown.
Physically.
Mentally.
Magically.
The family situation? Somehow, impossibly, it had gotten *worse*.
Not in treatment—you couldn't neglect someone more than complete erasure.
But in...
finality.
As though even the potential for acknowledgment had died.
Last month, he'd passed Sirzechs in a corridor.
His father had looked directly at him—through him—and kept walking.
Not avoidance.
Not dismissal.
*Genuine non-recognition.*
Like looking at a wall.
Caelan pulled out his phone.
A human-world device he'd modified extensively.
Devils didn't typically use such technology—magic was more convenient—but Caelan had discovered certain advantages to mundane tech.
He scrolled through financial feeds.
**The Portfolio**
Yes, he had money.
Not Gremory money.
Not devil nobility fortune.
But his own, earned through careful investment in the human world.
Five years ago, he'd started studying finance out of pure boredom.
Economics.
Market theory.
Cryptocurrency.
Investment strategies.
The library had human-world texts, and what it didn't have, he acquired through... creative means.
He'd taken a small amount—pocket change, really, meant for "incidentals" that no one tracked—and invested it.
Bitcoin when it was worthless.
Tech stocks before their boom.
Gold futures.
Currency exchanges.
The returns had been... significant.
His virtual accounts now held approximately €47 million in various assets.
By human standards, he was wealthy.
By devil nobility standards, he couldn't afford a minor estate's monthly wine budget.
The Phenex clan probably spent more on bath oils.
Still.
It was *his*.
Earned through his intellect, not bloodline or magical power.
He checked the latest returns.
Up 3.2% this week.
Good.
Then he switched apps.
**The Surveillance System**
The CCTV network had taken two years to implement.
Devils were paranoid about magical surveillance—wards against scrying, detection spells, privacy enchantments.
The Gremory estate had defences that would make spying magically impossible for anyone below Satan-class.
But machines? Mundane technology operating on electromagnetic principles rather than demonic energy?
That slipped right through.
Caelan had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate.
Servant corridors.
Common areas.
Even some... private spaces.
All feeding to a central server hidden in the walls of his room, encrypted with human-world protocols that devil magic didn't recognize as threats.
He pulled up the feeds.
Kitchen—servants preparing dinner.
Boring.
Main hall—empty.
Decorative.
Gardens—some low-class devil doing maintenance work.
His finger hesitated, then clicked on a feed labeled simply:
*Family*.
The family sitting room came into view.
Warm lighting.
Expensive furniture.
The kind of comfortable wealth that didn't need to show off.
Sirzechs sat in an armchair, reading official documents.
Still in his Satan regalia even at home—he'd become more formal over the years, more distant.
The playful mask he wore publicly had solidified into something harder.
Grayfia stood nearby, supervising Rias's homework.
His mother looked unchanged—perfect silver hair, immaculate posture, that professional neutrality that never cracked.
Rias—now ten—struggled with a magical theory problem, her face scrunched in concentration.
"I don't understand why the formula needs three variables," she complained.
"Because magical circuits operate in three-dimensional space," Grayfia explained patiently.
"You must account for depth, not just surface area." Sirzechs glanced up, smiled at his sister.
"You'll get it. You're brilliant."
Warm.
Encouraging.
Brotherly.
Caelan's expression didn't change.
He switched feeds.
**Lucien's Room**
The camera was hidden in a ventilation grate.
Installed three months ago when Lucien had complained about airflow, and a servant had opened the duct for cleaning.
Easy access.
Caelan hadn't expected to *use* it.
But morbid curiosity was a terrible thing.
The feed showed—
Oh.
His brother—seventeen now, tall and handsome with that Gremory crimson hair—was indeed having an orgy.
Four maids.
Various stages of undress.
The room's heating enchantments working overtime.
Lucien had inherited Sirzechs' Power of Destruction and apparently his *other* appetites.
The kind whispered about in devil nobility circles—Gremory men and their legendary libidos.
One of the maids—blonde, pretty, maybe twenty in devil years—was particularly enthusiastic.
She'd been working at the estate for two years.
Never once acknowledged Caelan's existence, even when delivering his meals.
Now she was—
Caelan closed that feed.
He didn't care about the sex.
Devils were sexual beings, and Lucien was of age.
Whatever.
But the casual ease of it. The way Lucien could snap his fingers and have willing partners.
The way he commanded attention, affection, *desire* without effort.
While Caelan could walk through the servant quarters and they'd step aside without seeing him.
Different worlds.
He switched feeds again.
Training room.
Private.
Lucien's Queen was sparring with one of his Rooks.
Lady Seekvaira Agares.
Engaged to Lucien two years ago—a political arrangement that had evolved into genuine affection.
She was beautiful in that refined noble way: tall, elegant, with long hair and sharp intelligence in her eyes.
A strategic choice—she was a tactical genius, specialized in support magic and battlefield coordination.
She was also kind.
Genuinely so.
Caelan had observed her enough to know she wasn't performing kindness for social benefit.
She treated servants well, donated to devil charities, advocated for Evil Piece system reforms.
She would have been easy to hate if she weren't so... decent.
Right now, she was working with Lucien's Rook—a reincarnated devil named Tannin, a former dragon who'd been on the verge of death when Lucien found him during a training expedition.
The dragon had pledged service out of genuine gratitude.
"Your left side is exposed," Seekvaira noted, her tone instructive rather than critical.
"A Knight-class opponent would exploit that."
"Got it," Tannin rumbled, adjusting his stance.
They continued drilling.
Professional.
Competent.
Lucien had been building his peerage for three years now.
Currently he had: -
**Queen:** Seekvaira Agares (his fiancée) –
**Bishop:** A talented magician named Mira, rescued from a stray devil attack –
**Rook:** Tannin (former dragon) –
**Knight:** Still searching for the right candidate –
**Pawns:** Two used on a pair of twins, skilled in synchronized combat Not a full peerage yet, but impressive for someone not yet eighteen.
They were loyal.
Genuinely.
Lucien inspired that—charisma, power, kindness to those he considered "his."
He was a good King.
Everything Caelan's broken piece would never let him be.
Caelan looked at his desk.
The broken King piece sat there.
He'd tried to use it once, two years ago.
Trying to use the piece on himself.
The piece had activated—barely.
The ritual started—then collapsed.
And the piece cracked further.
It was useless.
He had no Queen.
No Bishops, no Rooks, no Knights, no Pawns.
Just a broken King and the cold.
The smoke—Khione's Shadow—stirred in his chest, almost sympathetic.
***"Pieces are for the weak. You don't need servants. You have me."***
"That's not the point."
***"Then what is?"***
Good question.
Caelan stared at the feeds.
At his family's warmth.
At Lucien's success.
At a world he'd never be part of.
Then he closed them all and opened a different app.
Financial projections.
Market analysis.
Cold, pure mathematics.
Numbers didn't care about bloodlines.
Numbers didn't care about power.
Numbers were *his*.
And maybe that would have to be enough.