Chapter Text
I thought I would finally be reunited with him once Thetis wrote my name – P A T R O C L U S on the tomb next to A C H I L L E S.
In the darkness, I expected our hands to meet, I expected his warmth to flood my soul like warm sunlight.
Warmth never came, nor the brightness that I always associate with him. I simply saw his dark silhouette, struggling as he was pulled further and further from me.
“Achilles!” I shouted, yet I could not move, nor could he free himself from the ominous constraints. In the end, he was gone and I was again left with tears and grief.
“It is the fault of the gods.” A resounding voice spoke. “Even Hades helps in punishing those who damn the gods’ favourite.”
Even in death the gods seek to part us.
I was never a vengeful nor wrathful person, but at that moment, a deep and dark gorge of emotion engulfed me and the dark voice hummed in pleasure.
‘Curse the gods, it is because of them that this suffering is within you.’
It rang true. To the gods, Achilles and I were merely things for them to entertain themselves with. Achilles was simply a tool for them to use for their glory and enjoyment. They prophecy, the destinies heroes were to fulfill, it seemed to me they were simply a ploy from the gods to trick us.
In the darkness I cursed the gods with resentment I never knew I have, cursing them for taking away the only one that mattered, and in the abyss of the darkness a dark voice laughed in triumph.
‘My chosen, my shard, my pride, my son, my Patroclus.’ I heard the voice rumbled then there was only darkness.
I was five and at the games in Opus.
Achilles face was smiles and happiness from victory whilst mine was desperation and envy.
“That is what a son should be.” My father said but I couldn’t care less. All I wanted to do then was embrace Achilles, embrace my warm sun to scatter away the cold. Yet my body did not move as I willed. My small body was like a puppet moving without strings and I was like a spectator without any power nor control.
Again, I killed the boy, and again I was exiled to Phthia.
Everything was as I remembered. From Priam, to Thetis, to Chiron, to Odysseus, Achilles was always with me.
I watched myself became his friend, watched that friendship become love and watched as the two of us sailed to Troy – to where our death lies.
Something changed.
I should be at the camp on the day when Ares entered the war, causing Athena retaliate with boulders. But somehow, I was out in the battlefield.
Achilles was in front of me, killing all enemy whose eyes even turned the wrong way towards me.
The boulder Athena sent struck Ares and golden ichor flowed and A godly scream resonated the field before everything froze.
Everything but the gigantic murky hand, gripping a black scythe that spurted out of my body and slashed at Ares pouring our more river of Ichor from the god.
The golden ichor glistened on the scythe for a moment before disappearing, as if sucked in.
Time continued and Ares screamed at the cut before he escaped from the battlefield.
Again, Agamemnon slighted Achilles and took Briseis.
Again, Achilles pride caused him to withdraw from the fight and again, I wore his armor, killed Sarpedon and was killed by Hector.
I watched Achilles held my body, unable to do anything but weep at his pain.
I watched Achilles overcome by grief and madness as he killed Hector then desecrated his corpse.
I watched as Paris’ arrow flew and struck Achilles. His features calm, free and hoping that we would be reunited – but I know even in the afterlife we had to part.
I watched it all as I cursed the gods.
“It is the cruelty of the gods.” The voice from the abyss said and I agreed.
“You are Kronos.” I said, the dark scythe that slashed Ares told me that much. The voice rumbled in laughter, but somehow satisfied.
“Intelligence is to be expected of my chosen. But it does not matter who am, what matters is what we are going to do.” The voice – Kronos rumbled back.
“And that is?”
“To overthrow the pantheon of the gods.” The Titan proclaimed and I could only gasp. Gods were powerful, to even hurt one was a thing of legend, to overthrow the pantheon was in the realm of impossible. But this was Kronos I was talking to.
“So you could return to your position of supremacy?” I asked, daring as I was dead and so was Achilles, I had nothing to lose.
A laugh rumbled as response.
“My body isn’t something I could return to, after all. But you, a shard of that destroyed body is enough for exacting revenge on the gods.” There were stories that when Zeus casted down the titan king, he’d severed Kronos’ body so many times it became like dust before he cast his father into Tartarus.
Revenge. I yearned for it every time I cursed at the gods. I yearned for it every time I saw Achilles’ suffering because of their games.
“You wish revenge upon them? You wish to make them pay? You wish to strike them down?”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I did not answer but Kronos seemed to know my answer all the same and I was certain that somehow, in the darkest of the abyss, his formless body smiled.
“It will be a labour longer than Heracles’ and more painful than Perseus’. A labour no man has ever taken. But at the end of it all, immortality will be the reward.” The voice whispered again.
Immortality. It was what Thetis always craved for Achilles. If only he had immortality, if only we were immortals.
“For him too?”
“Certainly.”
“I will do it.” I said, firm. There was nothing to choose.
“Then a deal is struck.” Kronos whispered, but it boomed in my ears and darkness engulfed my entire being.
Perhaps the underworld was simply beyond human understanding and when I got hold of myself. I was in front of a large onyx palace. Hades’ Palace.
Fear struck me. This was the territory of the gods, how could I ever accept a proposal so ridiculous, I proposal to strike them down.
My feet were paralyzed but Kronos nudged me then memories of Achilles appeared and I found the bravery to enter.
Hades sat and Persephone stood next to him, negligent of me. Their great size was a thing to see, and it further showed that to gods, we were simply insects and playthings and perhaps that was why I was able to walk to so close to him.
The dark hand holding a scythe sprouted from my back, then ichor dripped from Hades’ and Persephone who were slashed.
The gods turned to me in rage and Hades’ hand were reaching towards me and I could only scream as Kronos’ laugh resonated the room and I was gone.
I was five and at the game in Opus.
Achilles face was smiles and happiness from victory whilst mine was desperation and longing.
He turned and saw me, his eyes grew wide and I was overcome with shame but he smiled and I couldn’t help but smile back.
Things played out much the same way.
Though I didn’t kill the boy, as I never was one for senseless slaughtering, my father still sent me to Phthia.
I kissed Achilles on the beach, his eyes were wide then as he ran away and I was still deep in longing is despair for the loss of warmth, Kronos said it was time.
“I have seen,” Thetis hissed as she appeared on in the garden path, the usual dress still clung to her seemingly damp skin.
Her hands moved towards my through before the black shroud erupted around me, and Kronos’ shadow hand was suffocating her instead.
I did not want to harm her, she was Achilles’ mother she he loved her and at the end of it all, even with her hatred of my mortality, she still tried to help us reunite. I willed my thoughts and the grasp on her neck seemingly lessened.
It was a strange sight. She was not a major goddess, but she nevertheless was still one. Fear shouldn’t be in those dark eyes, and yet it was with fear that she was looking at me.
“Take me to Poseidon.”
She did not reply nor move, she only continued to stare. In the silence the dark shroud manifested into a scythe and when the tip licked her neck, she moved away in a startled way.
“As you wish, great lord of time.” She said in the raspy I was so used to hearing.
We moved towards the beach before she held out her hand for me to grasp and an instant later, I was standing in front of a palace similar to the one in the underworld, only decorated in pearls and shades of blue rather than black onyx.
“What do you want with my Achilles?” She asked, stepping away as if still fearing the threat I posed.
“Only to save him.” I replied, trying to look strong in front of her suspicious stare.
“What are you.”
“Only a mere mortal.” I said, turning from her any entering the grand building.
Like Hades, Poseidon was in his throne, uncaring and unassuming of the mere mortal that entered his palace – and like Hades, it was his downfall.
In an instant, the scythe manifested and gold ichor flowed after it sliced before disappearing completely.
The god of the seas screamed in pain, his titanic hand reaching for me and I could not escape its strong grasp.
“Patroclus son of Menoetius” Poseidon said, his grasp tightened and pain sparked through my body.
I wanted to have Kronos’ shroud slice off the hand hurting me, but Kronos had said everything must be done without the major gods’ notice and if they did notice, the plan would crumple.
Kronos had said he could only rewind time once my soul left my body. I imagined pain but pain inflicted by the gods was greater that my imagination. Thinking of Achilles’ smile, Achilles’ music, I tried to endure the agony.
“Philtatos of Aristos Achaion. The punishment for hurting a got is severe.” There were rumours that gods always know the fates of mortals, they simply choose how the fates of mortals play out.
Poseidon words confirmed its truth and that only made something deep inside me burn with greater hatred.
He was imprisoned and when it was time, he was given to Troy.
It was a public sacrifice in honor of Apollo. I stood upon the walls of Troy as Hector held me. Looked down and saw Achilles rage and grief stricken face being held down by Ajax and Odysseus before I drew my last breath as Hector slit my throat.
Achilles killed Hector and desecrate his corpse with vengeance.
Paris arrow flew.
I was five and at the game in Opus.
Achilles face was smiles and happiness from victory whilst mine was on the verge of crying.
I pretended to fall from my chair, a move that I might have missed as I believed I’d started crying before the impact.
My father huffed in disappointment but Achilles ran to me, held out his hand and asked “Are you alright?”
The wreath was still held tightly in my left hand, but my right hand reached out to take his’, desperate to hold him again.
His smile was the usual sunshine, and I couldn’t help but smile even with all the tears stained on my face.
“Congratulations.” I said, holding out the wreath. He smiled a little wider as he bowed down and I crowned him champion.
He stayed on Opus longer than I remembered. During that time, it felt as if we were never apart. He followed me to my lessons, protected me from the children of my father’s vassal and in my room, he played my mother’s lyre with his warm music I dearly missed.
When he had to leave, I hid within his room on Peleus’ ship. We played games and music in his room, my mother’s lyre in the corner, continuously reminding me that I left her. Achilles brought food to share and by the time Peleus noticed, we had already arrived in Phthia.
This time I was still Prince of a rather large country, Peleus could not simply have forced me home and Achilles demanding that I stay seemed to have a large impact.
Peleus still wrote a letter to my father, a letter that would soon be forgotten like the son his father would also soon be forgetting.
Again, I became his Therapon, and I cherished all the precious seconds I had with him.
The attraction was there, but I remembered his grief-stricken face and I though without the kiss, perhaps his grief would not be as severe. In the end, I did not kiss him on the beach, though as we return home, his hand was clutching mine.
When he had to leave for training with Chiron, Kronos whispered “it’s time,” and I stayed in Phthia, crying as we said our farewells.
A year without him and Kronos told me it’s time to leave for Mount Ida.
In the middle of the night with the cold winds pushing me, I left Phthia.
I enjoyed the sceneries as I journeyed, though I always hoped that Achilles would be there next to me to enjoy it all.
When we arrived, Paris looked as petty as I remembered as the three goddess stood in front of him, waiting for his decision.
Perhaps, it was the power that Kronos’ dark shroud gave me or perhaps that three goddesses were like the two gods before and could not be bothered to notice that they did not see me approached.
Time seemed to stop and the shadow sickle made a wide slice and ichor poured from the three goddesses along with their screams.
Again, I was caught and again the worlds “Philtatos of Aristos Achaion” was said.
Again, I was sacrificed as Achilles watched, grief still overwhelming even without our kiss as Hector’s blade took my life.
Achilles killed Hector and desecrate his corpse with vengeance.
Paris arrow flew.
The first few times, I was happy being with Achilles. But the more I considered, it was always because of me that he was in pain.
I asked Kronos why always this moment, why not one faster, one which I would not meet him, one which I could pass on without hurting him.
“It is the moment your soul became whole.” Was his only answer.
Sometimes, when the pressure and stress of it all became too much, I Ignored Kronos suggestion entirely and ran away with Achilles. We travelled to places we’ve never seen, wondering through all the fascinating sights. Sometimes our path led us to deities I sympathized and did not wish pain upon but Kronos said it was to be all or nothing and despite my sympathies to their plight, my feeling towards Achilles always won out.
Though one way or another, Odysseus or someone else would appear bringing information of Troy and we would always be winded up in it.
One way or another, I died and Achilles followed soon after.
Perhaps it was true that our souls are one. Despite the many timelines and many changes. Achilles attraction to me and my attraction to him remained the same, it was always there and unchanging ever since the moment we met. Somehow, no matter the changes, I was always his philtatos and because of it, no matter the pain and torture, I kept on harvesting the blood of gods, one after another.
“One last time.” I heard Kronos said before familiar darkness flooded my vision.
I was five and at the game in Opus.