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Greece's air carried the same sharp knife to his lungs as those brought between holy ribs on the chambers behind him, soon to yet be fought with tooth and nail again and again.
After all, Zagreus's continuing questions burned like his steps, and one could trace his steps by the ember kissed footprints that trailed him after his fight with his father. Blood still clung to him - though he was unsure if it was his own, a shade's or someone he loved's blood anymore. It would wash away soon, anyway.
This time he lingered upon the cliff's edge to watch the sunrise, using precious moments that he could ask his mother the next question – to further his untangling of the Fates' wills.
Greece's landscape was frozen in time – Demeter's icy heart reflected upon the precious land he fought to see. With every fiber he prayed one day he'd be able to stay here, mismatched eyes blinking in the sun's golden rays. Apollo's present flight giving the mortals their dawn and dusk, handed over to his twin on the moon by the minor gods of minutiae times.
He reminded himself of how short of a time he held with Persephone, and if he were to have any longer than a few dizzy breaths before the Styx took him again – well, he should get going.
Unfortunate that his father's curse was his own, and he could not stay within her warmth – so unlike the wrath of Hades itself, not just the man but the realm he oversaw. Zagreus wished he could shed that birthright, but the fate of the Gods was just as pitiful as the fate of man – to constantly commit to strife and war with each other, to use mortals in their ploys.
Olympus would remain out of his reach, for now.