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It had been seven days at that point. Seven days and no progress. Well, then again, he corrected himself, there was perhaps some progress after all, it was just too little too late for his liking. Emet-Selch considered himself a patient man-- he wouldn't be in this position if he wasn't-- but even he had his limit. Seven days, as it turned out.
He'd attempted to confront her about it already and she'd responded in the shame sharp way she always did. In time, she'd said, always in time paired with whatever burning observation she had in mind that day. As much as he hated to admit it, he and Lady really were a lot alike. He hated it even more now that she was clearly toying with him. The forces of creation ought to have been simple with that much aether, so what was taking so long? It must have been another lapse in judgement. He really was getting old, to have so many in recent years…
No matter, he'd reached his limit. There was no meaningful progress and, moreover, he'd caught her wandering around the city by herself. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't have been an issue. In fact, he would have welcomed it. But, he had a nagging feeling that there was something important he'd forgotten, and if she found it, it'd spell disaster. Frustration after frustration, disappointment after disappointment. In the end, she was nothing more than a disappointment .
He was going to put an end to this.
And so he made to track her down on that day. The Light would do the work for him, he knew, but he had to get the remaining Darkness out. He cursed himself for being foolish enough to keep inoculating her with aether, prolonging this arrangement didn't give him any benefit.
Save for the company, he thought to himself, which you have enjoyed all things considered.
He scoffed and swept the stray thought away. It didn't matter. He strode on with confidence in his duty, with naught to deter him.
Save for a voice.
"Hades? What are you doing out here all by your lonesome?"
It couldn't have been. And yet, it was. A little shorter than he remembered, yes, but she was there. And she was real , he swore she was, not a trick of the light, not a shadow in a shattered Soul, not a creation of his own making. In all his years he'd never found himself able to recreate her. Azem smiled gently at him, a certain glint in her eye even beneath her obsidian mask. She shone like a star and he forgot himself.
"Sybil…? How are you here?"
She shrugged. "How could I not be? You worry too much. I always come back home. You know that."
"No, yes, of course, but it's impossible. You should be scattered across the worlds, after all I've done to bring you back to me--"
She approached and kissed him gently. Her lips tasted of the wine she so loved. "It seems you've had a nightmare, Hades. Aren't you always going on about what is real and what is fancy?"
Relenting, he shook his head, "It's difficult to tell one from the other in these troubled times."
And, relenting to himself that it was truly her, he wrapped his arms around her and nestled his head against her shoulder. "I've missed you, Sybil. I've regretted sending you away every day for my entire life. I... I'm lost for words. I can't explain it, this pain I've felt, this great loss we've suffered...how much lighter it feels with you returned to me."
She returned the embrace, her fingers running through his hair. "What a terrible dream it must have been to have shaken you of all people, oh illustrious Emet-Selch! Oh, but it's alright…it's alright, Hades. I'm home now. No need to weep for me…"
But, he wept all the same. When was the last time? It all felt so long ago and far away, the tears spilt of their own accord. There was no better place for it than in her arms, feeling her warmth, her breath, and hearing her voice again.
Sybil sighed. “Oh, you poor, mad thing…”
In retrospect, perhaps this was when he should have known something was amiss. All the same, he didn’t care. He still didn’t. Even as the needle-points of auracite pierced his flesh. Even as the blade thrust into his heart, bright as the sun and filled with cold fire as it was, he couldn’t bring himself to feel a drop of hatred or anger. She was real and that was the only thing that mattered.
The Underworld tugged at him, pulling him gently away to scatter across the worlds. Looking up, he saw the warrior with a solemn, almost pitying expression (had she always had eight parts of a Soul?), the remaining aether of the blade of light still glimmering by her hand. And standing next to her was a boy, perhaps only a few years younger than Icarus, he supposed. The poor thing looked on in similar solemnity, yet his eyes glistened with tears. Lady stroked his hair comfortingly, and his gaze never faltered.
Hades looked to her again. Clever... he thought. Fair’s fair. Well played.
“Hero,” he said, “remember us. Remember that we once lived.”
She nodded.
And he and his beloved scattered to the eternal wind.