Chapter Text
Clotho, the Spinner
It began in the earliest of the morning, by the largest flame.
Lio was beside the central cauldron in the heart of the temple. The dances were over hours ago, when the moon was high. Now there were only people on their knees, heads down and hands lifted in prayers. They began the moment the dances ended, a solemn vigil to show their devotion.
The fire flickered quietly. The people prayed.
It filled him with power, this crowd of worshippers. Flames danced merrily in his veins, fire burning his soul fueled by faith and belief. For once every decade, Lio felt like himself again—a God.
A spark popped among the fire. Somewhere in the crowd, a woman cried out.
The air tensed, but there was barely a ripple of reaction from the crowd. No one dared to break their silence or their stance; it was their one chance to secure a plentiful harvest for themselves. To break their vigils was to lose the chance of a plentiful harvest.
But Lio was not bound by the same fear.
He moved towards the cry, his dragon-like tail brushing the clothes of his followers like the mere touch of a breeze. It was a woman lying on her side, breathing heavily, sweat rolling down her forehead.
She was going through labour, Lio realized. He could feel the burst of life, the essence of a soul fighting the fingers of the Fates. Whispers of Death’s helpers murmured within the walls—watching, waiting to see if their presence were needed.
And on the cold, marble floor of the temple, the woman screamed. Her hand reached out to the air, for someone, pain laced in her voice, crying out—
“D-don’t break the vigil-!”
Lio blinked.
Then, that was when he felt it—the trembling of the man just behind him. His shoulders shook imperceptibly, hands shivering like he was Atlas holding the sky on his shoulders. This, Lio realized, was the father, body locked in worship, mind screaming in anguish.
To break the vigil was to lose the chance of a plentiful harvest—
The man’s emotions warred. Lio was not the God of War—that was reserved for someone else—but he could appreciate the lightning shot of energy, the determination to hold on for the blessing juxtaposed against the blazing care for his wife, struggling on her own.
Lio’s eyes narrowed.
A choice.
Choices—the very thing that made humanity so unique, the ability to turn and twist their given destiny to make their own. It was their choices that gave power to their belief; the unwavering, burning passion of their short lives.
The man—shoulders quaking and fingers trembling—was on the edge of a choice, the crossroad of one’s life. Lio could sense the Fates’ presence in the atmosphere of this room, eager to weave the threads and watch another story unravel.
The temple fire burned, red against the rising sky.
No matter what the man chose, his passion was split evenly; in his belief of Lio’s divinity, in his love for his wife. They were both within his domain, the bubbling of a blessing manifesting within Lio’s grasp. What came of it will depend wholly on the man, the fire of faith, or the fire of his love—
The man let out a yell, scrambling to his feet, clambering over to his wife’s side. His worship was cast aside. He held her hand and murmured a different prayer, to every God or Goddess that could assist in childbirth, to every merciful deity in Parnassus.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry but a plentiful harvest, we don’t need it! We’ll make do, my dear, we’ll make do, I can’t just leave you—!”
The blessing within Lio soothed from the steady flame of faith into one of intense tenderness, sweet with oaths of fidelity and promises to tackle their whole lives together. It was warmer than it was hot, the steady glow of a hearth than the great heat of a volcano.
A burst of murmurs around him; two women and a man stumbling away from their prayers as well, reaching to help the couple through their hardship. They had gotten clothes, water, things to help with the labour.
Lio’s heart burst into multiple emotions at once—a sort of anger at being placed second, tempered by the overwhelming appreciation, cooled at the edges by his last aspect.
At the assumed cost of their fortunes, these people had chosen to step in, to be human.
(To Lio—the God of Fire, of Passion…of Humanity)
Lio stepped closer to the couple, sparks in his palms flickering and laughing in delight. He took away the pain of labour and gave the strength to hold on.
‘For the people who cared.’
When Dawn swept through the lands of Promepolis, it was greeted with a baby’s wail. The sunrays broke the vigils of the worshippers; more people began standing up and rushing to the couple’s aid.
And inside, Lio burned.
The rays from the sunrise lifted his spirits, his worshippers’ praise kissing his skin. His soul glowed at the fire lit by the people, in their hearts and their minds, joyful laughter and brilliant smiles. Sparks flicked beneath his fingertips as Lio felt more alive than he had in ages, tangled in between faith and being human.
He didn’t realize it until it hit the ground, like the twinkle of a newborn baby bird. An uncut diamond—bloomed from his tears— sparkled quietly, its shell too cloudy to see its radiance just yet.
Reverently, Lio held a hand up to his cheek.
He had cried. It had been centuries.
“You’re quite something else,” the God murmured to the child in their mother’s arms. His three aspects have been invoked tonight, yet this child was born of his near-forgotten one—one that Lio guarded jealously, a wound still wide open.
There was some faith in humanity just yet.
Galo’s first laugh was with an uncut diamond over his tiny heart, as radiant as the morning stars.
( It began, when Clotho pulled—distaff to spindle—his thread of life )
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Lachesis, the Allotter
It happened on the night of a full moon, beneath the clearest sky.
The weight of the mask on Lio’s face was a welcomed one. Made from a thin sheet of gold, small triangles scattered on its surface, beautifully etched.
Tonight, a god would walk among mortals.
Lio couldn’t deny it, he was excited.
It had been a while since he had enough energy to attend a festival dedicated to himself, so tonight was incredibly welcomed. Around him, the celebratory mood was already in full swing. People laughed and danced, mingled and got drunk. Every bit of it stoked the fire inside him, brighter and hotter.
Lio felt alive.
All around the festival ground torches burned bright. The biggest flame rested in a cauldron at the centre square. Its presence called out to Lio so of course, he was drawn to it without much thought.
And the fire was—
“Beautiful,” the man beside him said, suddenly.
Lio jumped. He whipped his head towards the man with a scowl.
The man seemed to realize this, turning to face Lio and laughing softly, apologetically. "I’m sorry,” he said. “Just thinking out loud. My friend always said I never think before I speak.”
He was a loud person, Lio realized, not in voice but in mere existence. Every part of him screamed presence, from his ridiculous blue hair to the burning soul lighting up within his chest. The lines of the man’s jaw were solid, and beneath his mask, his eyes were passionate and kind.
He was handsome, yet—
Lio gestured to the huge flame that was burning merrily. “You think the fire is beautiful?”
“Don’t you?” spilt out of him before the man’s eyes lit up in realization, hands coming up hastily. “I mean! I know they are destructive and they should be put out—”
Oh, Lio recognized him now. He was the guy from a few days before, putting out fires. Lio crossed his arms, a scowl twisting upon his lips.
“And I know fires hurt people and wreak havoc, but”— For a moment, the man’s eyes shone in the moonlight—“they are also really helpful and warm! They are amazing.”
Lio felt his breath knocked out of him.
Every word dripped in sincerity, awe weaved within syllables. Lio might not be the God of Truth but it was hard to accuse the other man of lying, not when his eyes lit up like the sun despite the shadows of the night, wonder pulling the corners of his lips into a smile.
Something bloomed in Lio’s chest. “What’s your name?”
“Galo!” The man chirped cheerfully, before realization washed over his face. “Oh gods, I wasn’t supposed to reveal my name, was I?”
Chuckles burst out of Lio unbidden, delighted in Galo’s simplicity. This was the man who had seen fire as more. Lio was intrigued. “Dance with me.”
“Yeah, okay?” but Lio didn’t give him a chance to refuse, pulling Galo into a dance by the fountain. A misstep or two but eventually their feet were guided by the music from the harps, the flutes, the lyres.
And they danced.
Hips swaying gently, bodies moving to the rhythm. Lio kept his eyes locked with Galo’s, thrilled when Galo kept up with him, eyes changing from hesitant to burning.
This mortal man...he was Lio’s tonight, for sure.
Carefully, Galo placed his hand on Lio’s waist, his touch just light enough to pull back quickly if his partner didn’t want it. Lio let him—a prize for plucking up the courage.
His fingers found its way between Galo’s, another hand clutching onto the man’s toga. Flames sparked beneath his veins, heat kissing his skin beneath Galo’s gaze. It was like Lio had forgotten how to burn and was rediscovering his fire, intensely simmering in his chest.
One round became two rounds and suddenly, the crowd was leaving, the festival touching its end. Joyful chatter became quiet murmurs, drunken laughter disappearing completely as Sleep took its claim. Around them torches began to fade away, lights giving way to the darkness.
Lio looked up to Galo. His eyes were brighter than the moon.
“That was cool,” Galo murmured, in this quiet space they have made for themselves.
“What a choice of words,” Lio said, and kissed him.
In the curtains of the Night, Lio shifted from the other’s arms, ready to leave.
“Do I get to know your name?” Galo asked, quietly. “So I can find you again?”
“...You may never find me again.”
A look of dismay. “Never?”
“Never.” Lio’s heart tightened. That was the fate of a mortal. It was better to end things now.
“I shall remember you as Fotia, because we met by the great flame,” Galo said. He placed a hand over his heart. “And I will find you again.”
( It happened, when Lachesis weaved—thread to cloth—his destiny within time )
🧵
Atropos, the Inevitable
It ended when the sun rose, breaking the horizon with rose-pink and lazy-purples.
“You’re the most nervous God I’ve ever met.”
Lio turned around, scowling. Sitting on the bench, in all her newly divine glory, Aina gave Lio the flattest stare in existence.
He crossed his arms, petulantly. “...I’m not nervous.”
Aina blinked once, twice, then burst out laughing. “Oh my gods!” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eyes. “Do you realize the irony? You’re about to marry the God of Truth, but you’re lying right now?”
Lio just scowled harder, pointedly ignoring her. Here, he thought they were starting to become friends, especially after the last battle. Maybe it would take a decade or two more. Maybe a century. Lio was a very fearsome God, thank you very much.
“I’m just teasing,” Aina said, like she had heard his thoughts. She hadn’t; Lio was sure of that, which made it even more unnerving. Her voice took a turn for gentle. “He loves you, you know.”
There was something sad in her voice that made Lio’s scowl falter. Of course.
“He cares a lot about you too, Aina.”
“I know,” Aina shrugged, bravely. Her voice was steady. “And thus, you should know that he wouldn’t run out on you on this beautiful morning.”
Instantly his nerves were back on fire. Literally. A few flames hopped off him with happy shrieks, running around the room, hiding beneath couches. One had the nerve to snuggle with Aina, the traitor.
Lio groaned, trying to calm himself down. It had been forever since he was at the height of his power and it showed. His powers sparked and flickered off him like he was a newly born God. The shame.
“Galo wants to spend the rest of his life with you,” Aina continued. The flame on her palms burbled happily. “He would have stayed, God or not.”
Aina’s words were so accurate, Lio wondered if he should vote for her to be the Goddess of Insight as well. He swallowed, his heart hammering.
(Mortals bled blood. Gods bled ichor. There was so much red in his hands.)
Lio didn’t blame Aina for tipping the ambrosia down Galo’s throat. It was either Godhood or the Underworld. Lio would choose the former every time.
Yet.
The other gods were more than happy to name Galo the God of Truth and Sincerity, two traits he had more than earned. Galo found the Truth behind the myth and had wielded it like a weapon against Kray, tearing down history and rebuilding it from the ashes. And the whole time he did it with nothing but the best intentions.
Lio loved him.
“He’s immortal now,” Lio mumbled. Behind him, his tail drooped. “He doesn’t have to get married to me to stay.”
Aina snorted. “And that’s not very Galo-like, wouldn’t you say?”
“I—”
“Where’s your passion, oh God of Fire?” Aina’s eyes gleamed. She and Galo shared that; the shine of a burning soul. “Are you going to meet him with a dim flame?”
(“Give me,” Lio urged Aina, taking the ambrosia from her hands. Galo wasn’t drinking, so he had to do this. There was no time.
Lio took a sip, leaned down, and kissed)
“No.” Lio straightened his back. Aina was right. Galo would stay. Lio would believe in that, the same way Galo had believed him when Lio told his side of the story. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” Aina’s eyes softened. “Because look at how beautiful the dawn is.”
Lio turned towards the entrance of his temple, where Galo was.
( It ended, when Atropos took their scissors—sharp edge to cloth—and did not snip, pushing it aside to a golden future )
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