Work Text:
When the names of Olympians and Cthonics are whispered among mortals, it is never done without awe, never spoken about without at least an inkling of fear.
Among the endlessly changing realm of worldly beings, some may sing praises for the holy golden palace of Zeus, or recoil in fear at Hade’s trenches, where the good go for rebirthing and the sinful go to rot.
Some may have heard of the lovely Persephone’s garden, boundless with ripened fruit and blossoms in abundant glory across green fields of crops, life laying just beyond the creeping vines of the Underworld’s seeping darkness.
However, these are not places you’ve been acquainted with.
Somewhere beyond that fertile land, there is a cold, solitary mountain embedded between eternal night and day.
Among the boundary of the living and the deceased, there is a reigning world in which an everlasting twilight meets the dying breath of a raging snowstorm.
Beyond the cliff lies a vast sea, stretching beyond the naked eye and further still. It swallows the horizon with lulls of ebbing tides, rippling gleams of yellow, orange, and red painting the snowy landscape a deceivingly warm shade of pink.
It is here that time lies nearly stagnant, wedged between the frozen pines, shadows falling stiflingly still.
It is here that you’ve made your home for the time being, whether it be a day, an hour, or a few seconds; peering out over the stirring sea.
Coming upon you, Zagreus recognizes your situation immediately.
Although your body held the iridescent glow of a shade, you retained the shape of what was once your mortal shell.
Just like these mountains, you were a product of time at a standstill. Not quite alive, not quite dead, not quite in purgatory, though some may consider it so.
You hear his footsteps crunching in the soft snow long before he stops behind you.
“Zagreus.” You greet, but do not look to him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He pauses, though the rushing sound of the water easily fills that silence.
How did you know him? Well, he supposed that was a silly question. Nearly all the shades in the Underworld understood the identities and purposes of the Cthonics, demigod or not, because of trepidation, because of veneration, because of pious upbringings.
“I may ask the same. What business does a wayward traveler such as yourself have, settling so close to the mouth of the Underworld?”
After his mother had returned to the House of Hades, his many trips to the surface had been mostly to tend to her garden.
Although the task had become ritual to him, he hadn’t ever the chance to garner company, especially company as peculiar as yourself.
Your eyes do not stray from the push and pull of the waters far below, trails of spiraling seafoam hypnotic.
“I have lost much, Zagreus, but I have not lost hope.”
Though it is hardly the time to laugh, he finds himself chuckling anyways. “How very morbid of you.”
Turning away from the scene, you meet his eyes for the first time. True to word of legends, the beauty of both gods and demigods are unparalleled, but you dare not reveal this.
Godlings, with the empathy of the mundane and the instincts of the divine, need no such verbal cues.
And surely, Zagreus does not need words to understand.
He thinks to himself, on this peculiar day, shrouded by a light flurry, perhaps his mother’s garden can wait a bit longer.
Perhaps the pain in his body will slow on this infernal mountain, and perhaps the River Styx will claim him later rather than sooner.
He ventures to ask, “May I take a seat?”
And you oblige.
You scoot your bottom along snow that would’ve undoubtedly melted under your supple human flesh, leaving it frostbitten with cold. Now it simply shifts under you as if you’d never been there at all, strangely temperate and bearable to rest upon.
As Zagreus takes his seat beside you, slates of ice slide off the side of the cliff and cascade into the rocky shores below, breaking apart into crystals, consumed by lapping waters. Where the ice had fallen loose, a flourishing olive turf was revealed below.
He rests his weight on the arms outstretched behind him. You are almost jealous of the way he lets the sun warm his pale skin.
“What could The Prince of the Underworld gain by seeking audience with a mere mortal?” You jest, but your voice falters. “…Well, what is left of one, regardless.”
Zagreus shakes his head, low chortle reverberating in his broad chest, “Mortal beings, I’ve found, are at many times more sensible than any of the Gods.”
You do not have the means to deny it, so you don’t.
Instead, you continue to stare out into the cloudless sky, then to the rising and swelling of the ocean.
You find it strange that despite the current below, there is not as much as a breeze where you sit. Almost eerily, the snowfall drifts at a perfect angle downwards, accelerated by gravity and not much else. Even the trees do not whistle as they used to.
As if sensing your somber mood, Zagreus presents a question.
“How long have you been here?”
You close your eyes and try to count the seconds, but time passes differently for beings like you.
“Not too long. Most shades like me cannot remain in one place for too long.”
You look down to the shrubs beside you, freckling with purple buds, most likely hyacinths, among the icy tundra. Their roots, knotted and woody, press into the earth. Harbored eternally, at home.
You’re not sure what prompts it, the throbbing sensation in your chest. It is a dull sadness, a rare intrigue. It’s been years since you’ve come across another entity in your travels—let alone one who could see you. Speak to you.
So you say more, unsure of when you will get another chance.
“Isn’t this strange? The curse to wander and never belong. Nowhere is my home, yet everywhere is my prison.”
Zagreus takes a moment to think, as if reflecting on a memory long gone. “This place was once a prison for me also. I’ve lived countless lives and died countless deaths to bring my mother, Persephone, back home to us.”
Yes, that tale of a godling sacrificing his life innumerable times to be reunited with his blood mother. It was moving to many, and for a time, to yourself as well. But those memories seem so long ago and belonged to a more naïve you.
Since then, how many deserts have you seen? How many waterfalls, how many forests, how many sunsets just like the one before you?
How many of your living hours were squandered in revering gods, desperate for salvation in death after life? How was it now, that you were without salvation, without death, without life?
Now, reflecting on Zagreus’s tumultuous oscillation between life and death, you found yourself unfeasibly green with envy.
“I find myself jealous of your chaotic lifestyle, Prince Zagreus.”
Your fingers shift below the snow to feel the grass underneath, the damp soil, the soft earth.
“Although some may find it tragic to live and die so many times, I was allowed life merely once, and death never at all. To me, that is the utmost tragedy.”
You peer at him shyly, feeling all but silly and woeful for sharing your thoughts so easily, and to a demigod, no less.
You’re surprised to find that he’s already staring at you, no indication of how long, lashes casting a shadow across his pallid cheeks, eyes glimmering like ruby and emerald jewels in the suspended sun. So full of life, so full of death, so full of everything you have ever yearned for.
“A fate worse than life.” He mutters, voice hushed, tone solemn.
He’s contemplating, turning the concept in his head over and left and right.
“…And a fate worse than death.”
It is remarkable that he seems to understand. It sparks a sensation in your chest that feels like a heart skipping a beat, similar to cheeks flushing pink, similar to something so alive and extraordinary you have to tear your gaze away, lest your eyes give away too much.
“…It feels like years that I’ve been skimming the outskirts of the realm of both the living and the dead.” You say. “I belong neither among mortals nor among gods, I am at home with neither the living nor the deceased. You must understand, I feel bitter.”
A thin layer of snow has collected on your lap, now. It is the only indication that any time at all has passed here, and you begin to wonder where you will wander next.
You sneak a glance at Zagreus and witness him clutching at his side, dark brows furrowed.
Ah yes, the son of Hades, Prince of the Underworld. This was no place for someone like him, in eternal twilight.
He catches your gaze and smiles demurely. “Aha, time ticks even for gods, you know.”
The thought of him being cast back into the Styx, leaving you alone once again makes your chest ache, but you return his smile.
“I understand, my Prince.”
Zagreus places a comforting hand on yours, though the touch is so gentle and hesitant it could’ve been the breeze, if any existed on this mountaintop.
He ponders the soul of mortals stuck in the coil between existences, cursed to wander the Earth, never belonging in one place nor another, until their physical bodies are either revitalized or perish at last.
“Come with me.” He says, so much more boldly than he feels. “I will amend your problem with my father.”
You know it is not possible to grant such wishes to a shade, even at the request of Zagreus himself.
“Shall we?” You laugh. The sound echoes and comes back, sounding as empty as the chasm that encapsulates you.
Zagreus remains silent, pain ebbing between his ribs, wriggling into his torso like maggots upon rotting flesh.
He thinks back to his mother and the pain he endured, the sacrifices and the fights and the treacherous struggle to crawl up to the surface and speak to her, if only for a moment.
Though it seemed long ago, he could recall the blood of Styx pooling around his ankles, ready to reclaim him for the Underworld.
Zagreus knew he had grown lucky to have the Fates by his side. Just as easily as he had completed his task, he could have been doomed to an eternity of anguish.
His eyes fall downcast, recalling the punishment of Sissyphus prior to his unbinding.
“It’s funny you should mention this.” He speaks up. “For all those reasons, I once longed to be in your position as well. I was a child born into death. A good portion of my life was spent trying to escape it, and yet when I had, I found that joining my mother was sure to doom me.”
He swallows thickly.
“I wished that I could exist in a world between living and dying, where I did not have to succumb to either.”
Zagreus grips his side, a weak smile quirking at his lips, aching growing into a burning now.
He found it ironic how it seared him, scorching him hot, just as painful and unbearable as he remembered—the same thoughts flaying his mind regardless of the whereabouts of Persephone now,
Just a few more moments. Just a few more moments, just a few more—
“Never in my life did I think a godling would envy my suffering.” You teased.
Zagreus angles his head towards you. The golden pieces of his headdress and robes catches the light, glinting amber in the sun. You can’t help but think he looks beautiful, even in his withering.
“Nor did I ever expect to teach a mortal how to live.”
The snow has collected in his hair, white flurry contrasting with ebony locks.
You raise a hand and brush it off, finding yourself unable to pull away, unable to stop the palm that slides past the laurel wreath, down his temple, settling on the dipping panes of his cheeks.
There is something intimate about this moment, something so ludicrous and laughably infernal about this moment, about the flickering flame lit between two predestined souls set on different paths that should’ve never crossed.
But when he presses his face into your hand, weighing a pressure into it, you simply cannot care less.
“Nothing lasts an eternity.” He says, warns, comforts.
You smile.
“I know.”
There’s a coldness in Zagreus’s body, soul stuttering with every beat of his heart, with every shaky breath he takes.
“Perhaps we will see each other again?” He asks.
There’s an edge in his voice you do not allow yourself to dwell on.
You look skyward, think you see the sun sink further into the horizon, even just a bit.
“Perhaps it will be as such, Zagreus.”
When you blink, it is standing as stark and still as you remembered.
“And perhaps, it will not.”