Styak was a volatile mix of patience and rage. Decades in the world, cut off from the Demon Realm, taught it to conserve resources, wait for opportunities and get by even at the expense of pride. But each time he was reduced to killing and consuming pitiful magic beasts like mycohoppers and blaze squirrels, it tore a rent in its dignity.

This was worse, a thousand times worse. In the deep knowledge well that was its prison, Styak could only experience anything through the limited senses of the human. Food smells, banal conversations, exhaustion as the boy sparred with the menial, simplistic "lessons" from the adept, countless hours watching saws and sanding blocks, chisels and drawknives.

"Wood wood wood," the demon growled to itself. "A weak and pitiful element, but they ignore all else to study it. At this rate will they ever get to metal or stone?"

Styak had plans. Wood ill-suited it, an element almost wholly of this world (oh for the fond days of walking through the horror forests of the Demon Realm, watching the woe willows running with blood sap!). There were tricks available once they moved on. Even Fabric had potential.

The rages did Styak no good, as the boy would haul him out of his well and literally squeeze him for power. The loss of energy didn't bother the demon, he had tremendous reserves that remained untouched. But the indignity! He'd twist his kitten shape, scratch and hiss and hurl insults that would have blanched a hell-harrow, but it only amused his captor.

"I'll tie you to a pus-frog and cover it in salt until you both dissolve!"

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"There are no pus-frogs here."

"I'll drag you to them!"

"Sounds like a fun trip."

When patience was ascendant, usually while Parry was asleep or lost in thought, the demon conceived of a thousand ways to break his bond, or better yet, use it to corrupt the child.

Child? Whatever Parry was, "child" didn't describe it. This indescribably vast library of knowledge, dark and dense, high and wide enough to keep a demon imprisoned--Styak had no experience with it. It was alien to anything it knew of magic in any realm. And ignorance meant powerlessness, which bred fear. Patient planning and wild rants distracted it, but still fear gnawed away.

"Could he be some kind of Demon Lord? He knew some names, even one which should have been lost to this world aeons ago. He drew his soul into a prison for me, on the spot, including free access to all my magic. Who can do that? What can do that? If he's a god, why would he do that? What kind of god is so absurdly weak?"

Styak knew its plans would mean nothing, not here in the bottom of a knowledge well, trapped in some bizarre creature's mind. That's why it was such a surprise when rage came to its rescue.

After a particularly galling squeeze--the boy stole power to transform his nested boxes into an enchanted quiver--Styak vented his fury into a fierce scrabbling at the bottom of his well, little kitten claws digging with pent-up frustration.

It didn't seem like those ridiculous claws were having an effect, but suddenly there was a tear. Doubling the pace, the demon scraped and dug, growling with the effort, straining tiny limbs, eventually pushing through...

...into a cell of some kind? An adjacent box, a tiny space not so much at the bottom of a well, but sealed in on every side except for the breach it had made.

It howled at the injustice of merely moving from one prison to another, but this cell wasn't empty.

Styak's tail fluffed and its hackles rose, defensive, but nothing attacked. The boy didn't seem to notice, still busy with some wood.

The cell contained a memory. With a smile that could freeze fire, Styak opened his little mouth and ate it.