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Chaos's realm is changing.
The endless starry sea bubbles up all around, giant drops of cosmic ocean hanging suspended in the air. The ancient marble columns have given up their always-tenuous relationship with conventional architecture entirely: they emerge at strange angles all around, jutting out at strange angles from the sea below and the void above and, occasionally, in a way that makes Zagreus's eyes itch if he stares at it too long, to each other and themselves. The world is black and white and full of stars; the light that illuminates Chaos's realm seems to come from every direction at once so that even Zagreus's is more a strange squiggle in the air than anything recognizable.
"Huh," Zagreus says, focusing very firmly on not losing his lunch. His poor fleshy body, affected by things like gravity, can't seem to decide which direction it should be facing or which surface it should be oriented against. "Well, this is definitely new."
Chaos has never been an orderly realm. It takes after its master in that way, or maybe its master takes after it. But it's always been a soothing, peaceful sort of disarray: existence for existence's sake, everything exactly where it wants to be without any regard for others' thoughts on the matter. The perfect foil to his father's house, and every bit as beautiful as the being who inhabits it.
This, though... this feels unsettled somehow. Zagreus can't exactly call it wrong, because concepts like wrongness don't really apply to Chaos, but there's an almost-physical taste of something that Zagreus can only describe as unfulfilled potential in the air. He's never before imagined that as something he could taste, but Chaos's realm has given him all sorts of new experiences since the gate first brought him here.
"Chaos?" Zagreus calls out, frowning when no answer comes. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but the gate was open and I wanted to see you." He taps his foot, thinking. "Is this what Chaos is like when I'm always around? The realm, I mean, not you. Do you settle this all into something traversable just for me? Or, no, that doesn't feel right, but... hm. I'm talking to myself right now, aren't I?"
Not that that's anything new, but at least normally he can pretend he's having a proper conversation with one family member or another. This is just yelling into the void. Literally.
"All right." Zagreus stands up straight, or at least what he's pretty sure counts as straight when directions have lost all meaning. "Make sure you're, ah, decent, I suppose, because I'm coming up. Or down. Or sideways. Assuming I can find you at all."
Zagreus takes a step. The cosmic void twists around him, a shiver runs down his spine as the sensory equivalent of seeing someone else's face in the mirror slams into him like a blow from Asterius—
He stumbles. Catches himself. Squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few long, deep breaths, taking refuge in flat black darkness without any shape or depth to it.
"Well. All right. Correction: I'm coming to see you eventually."
—
It's a good thing time has no meaning inside the primordial void, because Zagreus is pretty sure it takes him a lot of it to start making any sort of progress through the void. When he does, it's less because he's learning anything new and more because his instincts have somehow caught on to the workings of Chaos. It's not that he decides which way he'll go and then goes there; Zagreus steps without thinking and finds himself somewhere else, knows without knowing that the move has taken him closer to where he wants to end up. Closer to Chaos themself.
(Or, mostly he ends up closer to Chaos. A few times he instead finds himself in front of an especially promising bubble of void, the gleam of surreal creatures' scales shining through the depths of the inky ocean of creation like lava through the underworld gloom. Zagreus knows an opportunity when he's given one. The Head Chef is going to be overjoyed whenever he finally makes it back.)
It feels oddly satisfying, too, once Zagreus gets to a point where he's not in danger of losing the contents of his stomach with every step he takes. He's never had the chance to explore the primordial void like this, to see Chaos's existence without Chaos's own careful curation making sure it's something that he can handle. As much as he cares for them, it's hard not to feel like a burden sometimes: Chaos is so much and he's so very little, and occasionally he can't help but wonder whether Chaos might grow weary, eventually, of a relationship with a being so much more limited than themself.
But he can handle this place after all. Can understand it without being overwhelmed, without needing it shaped and given order for his sake.
He just hopes he isn't intruding. That, at the end of this strange road, Chaos will be glad to see him.
"Hello?" he calls out once more into nothingness.
No reply. He keeps moving.
—
The first sign he gets of Chaos—his Chaos, the person who embodies the realm—is a hint of color. It starts out soft, almost invisible among the rest of the colors of the void: a hint of something redder-than-red in the corner of his vision, a bright sparking flash that's there and then gone.
Zagreus's feet follow it without any input from his brain. He lets them.
The more he chases the colors, the more he finds: a purple as deep as Nyx's shadow, a blue so rich it puts both his uncles' domains to shame, a green that reminds him so powerfully of his mother's eyes that for a moment it takes his breath away. More and more of them, flickering like light or twisting through the air like ribbons, in shades he's never seen and wouldn't be able to describe if he tried.
The only thing he can think to compare it to is something he saw on the surface only once, the very first time he ever made it there in search of his mother: an arc of color painted across the sky, seeming almost to touch the ground.
Rainbows are Iris's domain, technically. But looking at all of this, Zagreus has a suspicion he might know just how she found the inspiration for them.
Zagreus steps through the web of color, onto yet another white marble platform in the void, and sees—
"Chaos!" he says. "Thank the gods. Or, well"—he laughs, a little embarrassed, as Chaos turns to face him—"thank you specifically, I suppose. Did I come at a bad time?"
He's pretty sure he already knows the answer to that question. Chaos is standing, as it were, in the center of the stretch of marble, great shifting strands of color and void alike wrapped around them, and in front of Chaos is...
Well, Zagreus can't say he knows what it is. It's vaguely cylindrical and taller than Zagreus, the same color as Chaos's pale flesh, with a smooth, cold finish that suggests it might be made of marble. And it does, in a way, look like a statue—but if it is scuplture, Zagreus has no idea what it might be of. There's no form to it he can make out, just faint curved lines across it that could be chisel marks or could be ripples on the surface of a pond.
Mostly it looks important. Very, very, important. The kind of something-or-other where Chaos might not appreciate some godling interrupting them in the middle of attending to it, no matter how fond of said godling they might be.
"Zagreus," Chaos says. They shake themself as if coming out of a trance, blinking a few of their eyes. "No, make yourself welcome. I am pleased to see you here, and I regret not greeting you more appropriately."
Zagreus can't help but smile. It still feels excellent to hear his name coming out of Chaos's mouth instead of Son of Hades. It always makes him want to stand a little taller, just to bask in the warmth of the way Chaos shapes the vowels.
"It's no problem at all. It was nice, actually, getting to explore the realm at my own pace a little bit. It's beautiful here."
Chaos stares at him a long moment. A smile touches their face. "You truly mean that. Once again, you manage to surprise me."
Zagreus flushes. "Ah, well. I'm glad." Maybe someday he'll be able to keep his composure in the face of Chaos's approval; today isn't the today. "But if I might ask—what exactly is it that's got you so interested? Other than, ah..." He stares a moment, trying to find a way to describe the shapeless thing in front of Chaos. "That?"
"A sensible question." Chaos tilts their head, staring at the thing. "I myself am not yet certain."
"Wait. Did it just... appear here? Is it dangerous?" Zagreus isn't sure what he's going to do if he has to battle some mysterious summoned creature within primordial chaos. Lose, probably.
That, though, earns him a soft laugh from Chaos. "Nothing like that. Tell me, have you ever seen creation in progress? Respond."
"Creation?" Zagreus frowns. "I've seen my mother's plants grow, I suppose. But I don't think that's the kind of creation you're talking about."
"Not precisely. But it is not so dissimilar as you might think." They wave a hand over the strange white mass, causing ripples to form and then dissolve across its surface. "It has been some time since I brought new life into existence. I thought perhaps I never would again. And yet, as of late, the urge to create has returned to me."
"Oh," Zagreus breathes. He risks a step closer, than another and another. Suddenly, the thing in front of him seems much more awe-inspiring.
It's not some indescribable mass, meaningless and mysterious. Its Chaos's essence. It's waiting to be born.
It's beautiful.
Zagreus wants to run his hands over it, but he isn't sure whether or not that would be unforgivably rude. Instead, he looks to Chaos once more, his heart twisting in his chest as he takes the last few steps over to stand beside them. He should've seen it before, really, just how vibrant Chaos looks right now, how alive.
"Do you know what you want to make, then?" he asks. "I'd love to meet a new child of yours."
"That, unfortunately, is my dilemma. I have an image of what I wish to bring forth, and yet the shape of it escapes me." They frown. "Every time I try to shape a body, it becomes yours. Every time I begin to bring together the essence of a soul, I find myself wanting only to add those aspects which you possess. But creating a being as a pale imitation of you would do neither yourself nor my future child any kindness, and so I return to the slate again."
Zagreus flushes so deeply he's briefly worried he might burst a blood vessel in his cheeks. Chaos thinks... Chaos wants...
"Wait," he says. "I'm your inspiration?"
Chaos looks surprised. "Of course. Who else would it be?"
Zagreus isn't tall enough to reach Chaos's face, so he leans in and kisses the forehead of one of the many faces lining their body instead. The head makes a pleased little noise, like maybe Chaos wasn't expecting that, and Zagreus makes a note to kiss every last one of Chaos's faces that he can find and reach next time they have some time to themselves together. It's never occurred to him before that those parts of them might appreciate individual attention.
When he glances back up, Chaos is staring down at him. They're not blushing; Chaos doesn't blush. Can't blush, as far as Zagreus is aware. But the way they're looking at him—a little surprised, a little taken aback—feels like it might be a blush on any other person's face.
"And you doubt," the say, fondness heavy in their voice, "whether you might inspire me," and Zagreus gets the sudden impression of stars and swirling void as they lean over to cup his cheek and give him a proper kiss.
Chaos's lips are strangely, pleasantly cool, and their skin is the softest he's ever felt in his life. He threads his fingers through their hair to pull them closer, hold them there for a long, long moment before he finally has to break away for air.
Damn it. If he flushes any deeper red, he might actually hurt himself.
"I," Zagreus tries. He doesn't want to be presumptuous enough to assume he could improve any of Chaos's work, but he also doesn't want to leave them stuck like this. "Ah. Would it perhaps help, then, if I were to... contribute?" The look Chaos gives him then has him stumbling over his words. "Not like—not in any, uh, physical, I only—"
He lets his mouth spill nonsense for a few more seconds before finally, miserably accepting that there's no elegant way to say, I didn't mean that I want to impregnate your essence sculpture, and forces his lips shut.
"I was just saying," he tries again, much more hesitantly, "that if you wanted, I'd be willing to help try and inspire it? I could give darkness, or gems, or... uh, cheer you on?"
"I understood your intentions," Chaos says. The wide-eyed expression they're wearing hasn't changed any; they're staring at him like he just offered to steal the moon from the night sky and bring it here to them. "I have never given birth to a child who did not come from myself alone before—"
Oh. Of course. Chaos quite literally made existence, spun it out of their void and their own body, gave the world shape and life—and here Zagreus is, offering to help like he's about to give any great insight Chaos hasn't already thought of before.
Zagreus opens his mouth to say, I'm sorry right as Chaos adds, "If you truly desire this, I would be honored."
"...Um?" Zagreus says instead, swallowing the rest of his words before they can leave his mouth. He can hardly believe he's actually hearing what he's hearing.
"I ask, though, that you do not accept lightly. I once brought beings into creation frivolously, without care for how I would treat them once they had existence of their own, and it is only thanks to your intervention that I was able to heal those old wounds. No child should suffer thus."
It hits Zagreus then, hard enough that it almost bowls him over, that he's offering to become a father. It might not be in the traditional way, but... well, no, it is the traditional way, isn't it? Anything Chaos does is the oldest tradition of all; it's the rest of the gods who're trying out new, weird ideas.
For a moment he isn't sure what to say. His father isn't exactly the best role model, parenting-wise. What if he screws up just like Hades did? What if he doesn't have it in him to take care of some new existence? If he's too cold, too warm, too strict, too easygoing... there's a hundred thousand ways he could fail, disappoint himself and Chaos and a being (a child? with Chaos there's really no way of knowing what age they'll turn out) who's depending on him.
But...
But he wants this. More deeply than he can say, beyond all logical thought: he wants to give life to the not-yet-a-being in front of him now. He wants to be a part of this with Chaos. When he looks at the strange, marble-white thing in front of them, his heart does a funny little leap in his chest.
"You'll tell me if I'm doing something horribly wrong, right?" Zagreus asks, a little faintly.
"I do not think you will," Chaos says gently. "But I will inform you of any concerns I have, if you do the same for me."
"Yeah," Zagreus says. "Yeah, of course I will." He swallows, and then adds, "If you're really okay with this, then... yes, please, there's nothing I'd like more."
He's going to be a father. He can't imagine how he's going to explain this to his father, or his mother, or any of his family on Olympus, or—damn, how is Nyx going to react to it?
But, then... it hardly matters, the more he thinks about it. They'll love this being right away, no matter what. Or, if they don't, they'll come around eventually. He'll make sure of it.
"What do I do?" Zagreus asks.
"Approach it," Chaos says. "Press your hands to it, and give it whatever you wish to give it."
Okay. Okay. That's not vague or anything. Zagreus steps forward until he's level with the shapeless essence; it's at least twice as tall as he is, floating slightly above the surface of the void—and he has a sudden feeling however else this being ends up, they're going to be a lot taller than him. Story of his life.
Zagreus takes a steadying breath, then presses his hands to the essence.
It feels like marble: cold, firm, smooth to the touch. At first he's hardly sure there's anything else here at all. But when he closes his eyes and concentrates, he feels... something. Not a presence. Not exactly. It's the smell of the soil in his mother's garden after a fresh rain, the hush in the air before Orpheus plucks the first note of a song, the tension when Zagreus sized up an enemy in the instant before a battle. Potential.
Hello, he thinks to it, to the spark he feels there. Then, more from instinct than actual thought, he reaches down and clutches at the hilt of his sword.
The ornamentation there is sharp; it's easy to cut the tip of one finger, just enough to let the blood run free, and Zagreus lifts his hand once more and presses it to the smooth surface. The blood smears on the marble, and with it Zagreus relaxes, and sighs, and pours his heart out.
He holds nothing back, not even the things he's ashamed to show: his anger at his father and the way it's slowly turned to cautious hope; his desperate pursuit of his mother, the sheer joy he felt when he finally held her for the first time; his resentment and his love towards the House of Hades and all it means to him; the exultation of battle; the peace of sitting beside a river and waiting for a fish to bite, the awe and the lovestruck nerves and the excitement he feels every time he gets to visit Chaos—
"Yes," says a voice behind him, humming with a power Zagreus can feel inside his brain, "thank you, Zagreus. You have done excellently."
Chaos wraps themself around his back, pulling him into an embrace without breaking his hold on the essence. Their hands come up beside his, dwarfing his as they press into the spaces on the marble next to him; as he breathes, he can feel their own power pouring into the essence alongside his, and for a moment he can almost feel Chaos's mind—
Cold, empty space, the beauty and the despair of it; the urge to give form to it, driven first by pure idle curiosity, then by the urge to fill this universe with something beautiful, with something that can cherish existence as much as they do; watching their creations as they fight bloody wars or care for each other, creating more and more of themselves without Chaos's input, loving their creations and yet feeling further and further away from them, having no idea how to bridge that gap—
And then Zagreus—Zagreus jolts, suddenly aware of his own existence again—bright, shining Zagreus, so young and so bold, leaping fearlessly into the space they shared with none but the voidfishes, drawing them into his schemes, reuniting them with family, pulling them back into the world they'd only watched for such a very long time...
Zagreus feels like his heart might burst. He leans back into Chaos's hold, and presses his face against any part of them he can reach. He's not like Chaos. He can't show his feelings in the same way. But he tries to tell them, as best he can, everything he loves about them.
It feels like eternity passes by before he finally lets his hands slip from the marble. Maybe it does, or maybe it's only a few seconds. He feels spent, completely drained—it's only sheer willpower that keeps him collapsing straight into the void sea and waking in the river of blood back home.
The marble's not cold anymore. A soft, comforting warmth emanates from it, like a fire in the hearth on a cold morning. Chaos's hands are still on the marble, the red crystals that dot their body glowing with a light that seems somehow to match the marble's heat. As Zagreus watches, they pull the essence into strange, swooping shapes, the hesitation he'd seen in their movements when he first came here completely gone. They look like a master sculptor, engrossed in the craft, and they're as Zagreus has ever seen them.
Chaos is caught up in the work, but they break concentration long enough to look down at Zagreus.
"You should rest," they tell him. "You poured much more of yourself into this than I could have expected."
Zagreus shakes his head. "Later. I want... I want to see this. If that's all right."
"It will take a great deal of time. And even when I am done, it is unlikely anything will happen; new existences emerge in their own time. I have had children take decades or even centuries before they decide they wish to be born."
"Yeah, I kinda figured. And"—Zagreus words catch on a yawn he can't stifle—"I'll rest eventually, I promise. I just... I don't know, I want to watch a little longer. If that's okay."
"Of course." Chaos thinks a moment, and then, carefully, they sink into a sitting position, the essence flowing like water to match their new vantage point. "How is this, then?"
Here, Zagreus is close enough he can watch every small adjustment ripple across the surface of the marble as he leans his head back against Chaos's chest.
"Good," Zagreus says. "This is... this is wonderful, actually. Thank you."
Chaos hums, sounding pleased, and lets him curl up into their embrace as they work.
Zagreus doesn't know how long it takes, but he falls asleep like that eventually: his head tucked into Chaos's chest, the sound of primordial void all around him, a new life being born before his eyes.