Chapter Text
Once she’s made sure and double checked that there are no major fires burning throughout the House or the Underworld—or at the very least, none that cannot wait until she returns from her little jaunt, Nyx decides to check them again.
She isn’t sure why she does this, not after all this time, not when there is no longer anything to be afraid of when she visits her parent, no risk of a rejection. She will merely appear within Chaos’ realm, and they will come, and the two of them will speak for a while. Catch up on what has been happening in their time apart—or rather, Nyx will give Chaos a report of everything that has been happening in her long existence and Chaos will most likely mention how many fish they have observed since their last meeting. It is—not exactly an equivalent exchange, but it is the only means by which they know how to speak to each other now, and so Nyx takes it because she does not want to live with the silence again.
She’s in the midst of her third sweep when the Queen Persephone clicks her tongue as she’s passing by. “I’m not leaving for Olympus again for some time yet, Nyx,'' she says, flashing her a bright, blooming smile. “I can keep an eye on the House in your absence—not that it particularly needs it.” She knocks her knuckles against a nearby pillar. “Say what you will about this place, but the construction’s as good as, if not better, than Olympus.”
Nyx dares to give her a small smile in return. “I am glad to hear it, my Queen. It would not do for us to be outdone, after all.”
“Absolutely not. Now, go. Go be with your parent. I’m sure they’re missing you.”
Nyx isn’t quite sure she’d use the same terms, doesn’t know if she’d call it a missing on Chaos’ part or even her own, but she sees no reason to delay her visit any longer.
Travelling to Chaos’ realm is a quaint experience. Nyx can traverse ten thousand leagues in an instant in the Underworld—and even on the mortal plane as long as she’s under cover of darkness, without even breaking a swear, but there’s a difference in shifting between what essentially pares down to the same different facets of the same plane, and trying to get to somewhere else entirely. It is the reason she was barred from Chaos’ realm for so long—there is a gate that divides the worlds, almost imperceptible if one isn’t specifically looking, but near impossible to traverse if one does not have the proper dispensation.
She feels it again now, a certain tingling, shimmering, as if every star dotting her flowing silks gathers inside her and fizzles until she almost feels like she’s shining—which might not be such an inaccurate representation for the flash of light that ensues when she shifts away. It is not her usual style—in fact, such a display is far more linked to Thanatos, her son, whilst Nyx prefers to move in the shadows, but she supposes that some exceptions must be accepted on occasion.
But then the light fades, and a familiar marble and darkness appears, and Nyx almost feels like she’s home.
This, of course, was where she was born—long years ago, when few other beings existed upon any tangible plane, and she did not have yet the responsibilities she does now. Here, she walked with steady feet, picking her steps carefully amidst the rubble and ruins that Chaos allowed their realm to fall into. They were—never much one for order, needless to say, the concept of it contrary to their very core and being. She had once tried to fix it. She had not gotten very far.
But that is not her role, now. There is no need for repair, or upkeep, or overseeing. There is only a need to find the purple glowing orb in the centre of this weary platform, and to place her hand into it to tell her parent she is ready for them to meet.
And so, they appear.
“Chaos,” she greets them. She has never known quite how else to— parent always seemed too obtrusive, too clumsy on her delicate and elegant tongue, but she knows far better than to use a gendered term with them. She knows that other members of the House refer to them as Master Chaos; Zagreus, and the Queen, and even Thanatos, their grandson, on the rare occasion he mentions them. But Nyx has too much of a long and frayed history with Chaos to refer to them as Master, so she does not. And they do not seem to mind being addressed so. She knows they would make their displeasure known if they harboured it.
“Daughter of mine,” they respond in kind. “You have returned.”
“My apologies for the delay, Chaos. The Underworld is calmer, as of late—by relative standards, at least—but I was occupied with an issue that cropped up at the last moment. I did not mean to be late.”
“Yes, I am aware how much you detest it when others do not keep to agreed time,” Chaos replies. There’s a certain carefree nature to their voice that makes Nyx bow her head to hide the shame that crosses across her face at their words. They do not sound insulted, do not sound malicious, and somehow that is worse.
They have always been this way, always this strand of laissez-faire, and Nyx has never quite known how to deal with it. She has tried to cover it up, tried to mimic them in the hopes it would make something satisfactory for them both, and she has failed. They simply do not interlock well, she and Chaos, no matter how much they remain a part of one another and joined by a pound of flesh. It is one of the reasons their schism has lasted for as long as it has.
But she pulls up her head, because the fissure is closing, and even though they still lie on opposite sides of the crack that marks their great divide, she can also look right at them and choose to cross it.
So she does.
“Well, unlike you I cannot change what has already transpired. All I can do is to move forward with our brief meeting.”
Chaos pauses for just a moment longer than Nyx is comfortable with, and her body straightens up, bracing for the inevitable rejection.
But then they smile—actually smile. Nyx can count on one hand the number of occasions she has seen them do such a thing. She is still trying not to be surprised by it. “Indeed, daughter of mine. Is it not true that we have waited countless centuries to meet once again?”
“Yes, Chaos.”
“Well, then. I suppose a far briefer spell of time would never hurt anybody. At least, not to those of us with a fair surplus of it. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Chaos. I would.”
And just like that, any potential misgivings are forgiven. Nyx’s shoulders, and not for the first time does she stand at full height, head upright, facing her parent on something more like equal terms. There was once a time where she would not have dared, but those moments are long past. They do not deserve to be remembered.
Chaos spreads their many arms wide, and whilst Nyx does not go towards them for an embrace—she rarely does such a thing with anyone, even her own children—she recognises the gesture for what it is.
Amicability. Openness. Perhaps even— love.
They have a very pleasant meeting, and that’s everything that Nyx could ever ask for.