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“Why I let you blindfold me is beyond my comprehension,” Hades grumbled. “Furthermore, dragging me out of my quiet, calm office—“
“—was exactly what you needed, my dear friend,” Hythlodaeus beamed. “Worry not. I have you. I will not let you fall to your doom. Not today of all days, at least.”
Hades bristled. Beside him, Hythlodaeus squeezed his forearm in reassurance, guiding him along. He couldn’t tell where they were headed, only that they were moving. Tiny rocks crunched under his feet, then disappeared altogether, replaced with softness all around. A meadow, maybe. Full of wildflowers by the smell of it, then—something sweeter. Sunlight—lilacs and vanilla.
The sudden and indescribable need to create. So inspired, so completely joyful that it could only mean one thing.
“Hythlodaeus,” he hissed, stopping dead in his tracks. “What did you do?”
“Your lady love is just over yonder, most honorable Emet-Selch. Surely, you would not want to keep her waiting.”
Anxiety seized him and fought to keep him frozen in place. But Hythlodaeus, strong and insufferable, bodily dragged him closer. Lilacs and vanilla—a scent hers and hers alone—grew stronger, the urge to spontaneously create almost suffocated him. His world had been dark and mysterious since he’d been forced to leave the safety of his office. And now—it was light all around. He stood in a meadow filled with flowers. Sunlight. A spread of sandwiches and teacups on a blanket.
Her.
She smiled up at him, her white hair haloed by an abundance of light. That smile, her happiness, was everything to him, as essential and complete as breathing. The very essence of creation itself. More beautiful than anything in existence. That smile, so heavenly, only grew, and the color of her soul beamed a bright golden yellow—a color that expressed her deepest joy and happiness.
“Hello, Hades.”
He couldn’t stand it any longer. A burst of beautiful butterflies sprung forth from his fingers. Blues and purples, of greens shifting into golds—the true color of her soul. They fluttered around, landing on teacups and sandwiches, flowers and her hair. She let out a little laugh as one landed on her finger.
“If you loved me as much as you do her,” Hythlodaeus quipped aloud, tiny sandwich already in his mouth. A butterfly perched on his nose. “I wonder what you would be inspired to create for me.”
Hades glowered at him. “A cloud of stinging gnats.”
“Charming.” Hythlodaeus beamed, passing a look to her. “He is in one of his moods again today.”
“And we will do our utmost to get him out of it, will we not, dear Daeus?”
They both grinned at him, the whole of each of them peppered with colorful butterflies. Truly comical except for the fact that their mischief—the same color of soul-green—was pointed directly at him.
Hades crossed his arms over his chest. “What mischief have you two been concocting?”
“These past few days, you have been particularly moody and glum,” Hythlodaeus supplied.
“What better way to lift your spirits than to surprise you with tea and sandwiches,” she added.
“And—“ they said together, “Making flower crowns!”
Hades looked at each of them, their grins, the butterflies perched on his ear, in her hair—and simply turned around and began walking away. Fully intending to stalk back to his orderly, dark office. Hythlodaeus, quick and agile, bounded up to him first, and grabbed him gently by the shoulders.
“Think of how happy it would make her,” he whispered sing-song into his ear.
Hades didn’t argue or struggle when Hythlodaeus steered him around, and when bade, plopped unceremoniously down in front of a teacup and sandwich. He was rewarded with a squeeze of his shoulders, and her bright smile. Suddenly, the notion didn’t seem so incredibly ridiculous or foolish.
“I made you one already,” she said quietly.
In fact, it almost seemed… acceptable.
Gently, she placed the bright blue flower wreath on top of his head. The way she looked at him in that moment—it robbed his lungs of air. Often, he’d found himself waxing poetic to Hythlodaeus about the nuances of her soul. The colors, particularly when she was overcome with love. An Amaurotine sunset, of orange streaked with ribbons of crimson, he’d said. And oh, how brightly it shone now. A brilliance of orange awash with red. Stunning in its magnificence—because of him. Because of something as simple as a flower crown.
Hades pouted all the same, and she cooed at him, brushing fingers against his cheek. “How handsome.”
A second set of fingers brushed against his other cheek. Mischief abound.
“How handsome, indeed,” Hythlodaeus quipped.
Hades threw a sugar cube at him, and the three of them dissolved into laughter. For a time, they talked, ate sandwiches and drank sweetened tea in the sun. Butterflies flitted about, kissing their cheeks, hands and noses. The smell of flowers, the joy of his dear friends—the sudden flair of Hythlodaeus’ mischievous soul.
“A wager, if you will, my fine friends.” Hythlodaeus grinned. “A race to see who can make the most flower crowns—“
“Simple,” Hades boasted.
“—without creation magicks.”
She clapped beside him, caught up in Hythlodaeus’ antics. “How fun!”
“Ridiculous. I—“
“Ready?”
They all tensed, then burst into action at Hythlodaeus’ behest. Hades grabbed flowers and began weaving them together, his methods methodical and particular. Only the most perfect of flower crowns would do—and by the time he had finished one, Hythlodaeus boasted an impressive five to her two. Then, fifteen to her five.
Twenty to her seven.
“Hythlodaeus,” Hades hissed. “You said without creation magicks.”
“Ah. But only the righteous and good among us follow rules,” Hythlodaeus beamed. “I am neither of those.”
Laughing, she pushed at his shoulder. “You are cheating!”
“I am,” came the answer. “I am also winning.”
Out of nowhere, a monstrous sized pile of delicate petals fell over Hythlodaeus, completely engulfing him. A squeal of protest came out from beneath yellows and pinks. And when their dear friend emerged, spitting a petal from his mouth, he fixed them each with a glare that had no heat or malice behind it. “Which one of you did that?”
Together, they shrugged, shared a look and squeezed hands in triumph. The contact had Hades beaming, warm—and he was happy. More happy than he could remember being in a long time.
She gave him the deepest of smiles. “Are you happier?”
“It is not the quiet of my office.” Hades squeezed her hand. “But it will do.”
In that moment, it was only them. Her smile, her voice, her love. Then, they fell away from their shared world, to Hythlodaeus on his side, staring at them, eating a sandwich. He fluttered a free hand to his chest, sighed winsomely and said, “Sweet young love. How beautiful. Brings a tear to my eye.”
Another sugar cube.
“Pest,” Hades groused.
“But your favorite pest.” Hythlodaeus winked.
Laughter, love, and flower crowns. A day he’d never forget—
:::
—no matter how much time had passed.
The heaviness of the memory bore down on his shoulders and curved his spine. His lungs didn’t partake of wildflowers, beautiful and true, but strained and stretched with the stench of the Crystarium. Sugar confections. Despair. The ripe and distinctive slice of frailty. Through it, like marble, a ribbon of gold—lilies and chamomile.
Her.
“Did you hear me?”
He opened his eyes and beheld her face; scrunched up in a way that shouldn’t be charming but was. Her pale brows knit together the longer the silence lingered. Her mouth drawing upon a pout that, eons ago, he could never refuse. And in that gaze, of slate-gray and impossible goodness, shone concern. For him.
“M—maybe we should go.” A second voice. Quieter still. “Is it truly that important?”
Ryne cowered behind her Warrior of Light under the weight of his stare. The child’s soul exuded a brilliant blue suffused with a burst of pink. Excitement imprisoned in anxiety, then. Those shades of flush only blossoming more as the vaunted hero among them whispered something into the girl’s ear. Ryne smiled, then dared to look at him. Devious intent strengthened and renewed.
“We have something to ask you.”
“And lo! Did the Oracle and Warrior of Light descend upon their insufferably charming victim. Absolutely gorged with mischief. Truly, a horrifying tale for the annals of The Cabinet of Curiosity, wouldn’t you say?” He sighed. “And how expected of you. Ruining my moment of solitude and reverie with whatever has you so terribly, insufferably giddy. Come on, then. What have you two been scheming over tea and sweets?”
Emboldened, she stepped forward, allowing Ryne to linger in the dying light of day. Her smile was warm and infectious, her fingertips feather-light on his arm. Not wilting even an onze under his frown.
“It’s Little Ladies’ Day back on the Source. You’ve heard of it? Not that you’ve celebrated it, I imagine.”
“Bold of you to be so presumptive. Imagine. An Ascian, a scrupulous villain, honoring and respecting women on their special day. Why, it would unravel your every sense of what is good and evil, and we absolutely cannot have that, now can we.”
“—then, you’ll let me make you a flower crown!” Ryne blurted out.
Everything else dissolved into mindless chatter. White noise. He could almost smell wildflowers again, tickling his nose. Almost see the smile on her face, almost hear Hythlodaeus’ laughter. The taste of sweet tea and little sandwiches. The cool breeze against his skin. The warmth of family settling in between his weary bones.
All of it—gone. Lost millennia ago.
The very thought of trying to replace—
“No.” The word harsh on his tongue. “I will not suffer the indignity of your childish games. Nor am I obligated. Your little holiday does not exist here on the First.”
The expression on her face told him the depth of her disappointment. Behind her, Ryne slumped and cast her eyes downward, the radiance of hope and happiness dashed as quickly as it had been born. The Warrior of Light burrowed her slate-gray eyes into him, lips tight.
“Ryne was worried you were lonely and sad—she just wanted to make you happy. That’s all.”
He said nothing and watched as they turned and walked away from him.
:::
The tree boughs of Rak’tika shielded them from the sunlight, but not his eyes. From the shadows, he watched them thread together crowns from bright blue flowers. Fireflies danced around them, dainty teacups and sandwiches spread out on a blanket. Their souls—a muted spray of colors. Disappointment’s indigo, a midnight wash of misery. And from her, a russet starburst of anger.
A third setting of a small empty plate and its teacup presumably left out for him.
Ryne stared at it wistfully while plucking away at the flower crown in her fingers.
“That looks beautiful,” he heard her say to Ryne. “Why don’t you put it on?”
“No. It’s—” Ryne shook her head, then dropped her eyes. “It’s for Emet.”
Silence stretched between them. Soul hues growing a shade brighter—the color of old blood coursing anew with red, red life.
“I wish he had come too,” she finally said, bitter. Dangerous like a rusty blade.
“Do you think—he’s lonely and sad?” Ryne raised her eyes. “I—I don’t know how, but I can feel that he is. More than usual. I’m… I’m worried about him. I wish he had come.”
“I know.” She squeezed Ryne’s hand. “I do too.”
Another bout of silence and simpering. Agonizing in how… pathetic it all truly was. Pitiful yet somehow… touching all the same. Caring about him like they did—he hadn’t experienced that in far too long. Since—
Her. Hythlodaeus. Laughter, love, and flower crowns.
Emet-Selch let out the vicious cut of a sigh—at them, his own weakness—then appeared beside them in a burst of violet and darkness. “Oh, I do wish you two would stop all that sulking. So much drama and over me, nonetheless. I simply cannot decide whether I am flattered or appalled.”
A flare of bright yellow. Brilliant and blinding. Ryne smiled with the full force of her joy and let out a little laugh. “You came after all!”
“How could I not? Think of it: the Oracle of Light dying of a broken heart—because of what? I refused to come to her little tea party? I may be a villain, but I am not unnecessarily cruel.”
“We set a place for you in case you did,” the Warrior of Light said. “Will you sit with us?”
“There’s tea and sandwiches!” Ryne added.
“Hmph. Not even an Ascian can resist tea and sandwiches,” he admitted dryly.
At their behest, he settled down on the blanket, plucking a teacup from its silent vigil. Ryne rushed to fill it with tea, measured and careful despite her giddiness. The aroma, the taste—earthy, warm. Satisfying. Pleasant save for the predator staring over her teacup, soul beaming with pink and green; excitement and mischief.
“Oh, get on with it, will you?”
Ryne plopped down her teacup and grabbed the flower crown from its repose. She placed it atop his head, sat back—her smile so big, so radiant he couldn’t help crack a slight one of his own.
“You look so handsome!” Ryne squealed.
“Very handsome,” she whispered beside him.
When he dared look at her, the Amaurotine sunset of her soul stared back. Orange and red. Beautiful, breathtaking.
“I knew you’d come,” she beamed, fingertips flutter-light on his arm. “There’s good in you yet.”
“Please. I am only here to ensure Ryne does not wilt on the vine from her eternal sadness. Nothing more besides.” He sipped his tea. Cringed. “It is not without suffering, mind you. Drinking this ghastly tea—trial and tribulation set forth by Lord Zodiark Himself. Who in all the Underworld made this?”
“I did!” Ryne beamed.
“Then, you shall be taught how to make an adequate pot of tea. Think of it as my gift to this dying star—a necessary one at that.”
They talked about the fundamentals of tea, chattered on about Light Wardens, of plans and schemes. Shared a laugh despite himself, and ate sandwiches in the muddled sunlight between leaves and boughs. Weaving flower crowns between conversations, to fill the comfortable silence.
“You seemed so sad—well, before.” Ryne fussed with the hem of her dress. “Are you happier?”
Her voice rushed in from the past. Her smile, her laugh. The color of her soul.
He couldn’t help but look at his Warrior of Light, her smile, the way hushed hues of orange and red overtook all of her. The very beginning of her love for him. In that moment, he was—
“Because you’re family!” Ryne blurted out, then flushed, looking at her. “I mean—isn’t that right?”
“He is family,” The Warrior of Light declared. “Whether he likes it or not.”
“So, then—are you happier?”
He smiled, and it was genuine.
“It is not the Rejoining, but it will do.”