Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lying flat on their back, the future Azem wanted to scream. Instead, they settled for stomping their feet into the ground like a toddler, sending up puffs of dust from the dirt ground of the training yard. It had been a vigorous afternoon of sparring that had ended in their loss. Bruised in body and ego, they pouted up at the smiling face framed in a cloud of white hair. Though she had emerged the victor, Venat was almost as battered as her protégé, but not quite. Her student was a very sore loser. She offered her hand to help them to their feet but expected it to remain empty.

"Why did I have to train with a polearm and a reverse grip?” they groused, finding the strength to flick themselves up from the ground, ignoring the proffered hand.
They hated the spear. They were already taller than they needed to be and had more than enough reach in their comfort zone with a sword. A lance was nothing more than an unwieldy, long stick to throw them off balance.
“While you got to use chakrams!” they whined, meandering over to their discarded weapon. Venat had danced around them in the yard. No amount of reach could pin her down that day. The student had been so incensed at the last they’d hurled their weapon at their teacher, their recklessness rewarded with the blow that had swept their feet from under them and ended the match. 

“Because strength of skill and character both flourish from adversity.”
The current Azem ruffled her charge's hair as she walked past.
“So how about we balm your wounded pride, dear student, with some adversi-“
“TEA!” finished the younger Ancient jubilantly, the pain of defeat already fading.

It was Venat’s turn to huff, but it was filtered through a smile. 

“Race you!”
The challenge was not heralded by any form of countdown as her student set off sprinting across the grass. Not one to go easy, she, too, broke out into a run, calling their name in consternation. 

It was one win apiece as the duo barrelled into the kitchen.

The younger ancient flopped into a chair with an audible ‘whump’. They sprawled backwards with a loud sigh and turned a brilliant grin towards their teacher, wiggling their eyebrows. Venat shook her head but took the loss with grace, making to prepare the promised tea. Dutifully she collected the teapot and cups, well-worn but clean. She’d sourced a special brew for this scheduled catch-up and was excited to put her pupil’s nose to the test.

In a matter of minutes, a steaming cup sat in front of each of them.

The youth’s eyes were bright as they leaned over the tea, staring into it like a seer might a divining pool. Letting their eyes close, they took in a noseful of the aromatic vapor coiling up from the cup. 
"Oolong, definitely.” Another conspicuous sniff, “And….hm...a peach blend? Oh! No! Osmanthus!”

Venat clapped her hands, her laughter ringing through the room.
"Very good!"

Dual beams of pride from master and student lit up the kitchen. The latter broke the silence first, vaulting over to their satchel.

"I have just the thing!"
As they produced a number of colourful bags and boxes they corrected themself. “Well, things.”

Venat shook her head. Trust her sweet student with an equally sweet tooth to carry around a veritable confectioner’s shop on their back.
“Oh, you brought more of those apricot jam gems. And candied ginger from Anura?”
She picked up one of the ginger sweetmeats. Its crystalline coating glittered as she devoured it with her eyes first. Some of the grains caught the light a little differently, and she smiled at her student's attempted trick.
“But the salt is your own addition, yes?”

Their deflation as their ruse was routed answered her question. She’d guessed before even tasting! Sullen, they picked up their own slightly-salty but still very sweet treat.
“Hades doesn’t like things that are oversweet so I tried something new.”

“I see.” The Azem raised an eyebrow, filing away the name before pressing on.
"Taste the tea."

"Oh no.” The falling timbre of her pupil’s voice dragged their shoulders down further, “I missed something, didn't I?"
Venat canted her head to the side in a wordless reiteration.
Sighing at their own pre-emptive defeat, the student took a sip and cried out.
"Ah - it’s only scented, not blended!"
Their face fell first, before the rest of their body followed suit and their forehead clunked on the table. They knocked their head a few times before falling still.
“One day I’ll win,” their voice muffled before they bounced back up with a smile. 
“Thank-you for the lesson, teacher. It’s delicious.”

“As is yours,” replied Venat with a wink, tossing a piece of ginger in her mouth.

“So, my dear student, out with it. Who is this ‘Hades’ for whom you’d adulterate your precious sweets.”

They grinned, thoroughly more pleased with themselves than usual.
“I’ve made a friend.”

The Azem’s lips popped into an ‘o’ of surprise before they settled into a fond look. It was incorrect to say that she worried for her protégé. They were strong, and compassion flowed as easily from them as a spring bubbling forth from a mountainside. Their enthusiasm was, in comparison, a geyser, sweeping up anyone that had the chance to be in their radius when it was let loose. But while such tumultuous forces could gather awed onlookers, they could oft as not keep others at a safe distance. In short, it could be lonely. For all their strength in combat, their heart was too soft for that burden.

“I think…he’s like me.”
Initially their smile was subdued. However, as they imagined how their ‘friend’ would be appalled at the comparison, it stretched to a toothy grin.

“I mean. He’s totally different. But. Not where it matters.”

“Oh? Quite the contradiction,” replied Venat.

Her student’s nose crinkled and her heart melted a little. Forget the confection, this capricious child made her teeth ache. 
“You know what I mean, Venat.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” was her return challenge, azure gaze expectant.
They huffed and shrugged.

“I was on the outskirts of Amaurot. I’d been trailing a bear - one of the gigantic ones with too many legs and the ice breath and the spikes - as it was wandering too close to the city. I wanted to divert its course if I could. But…”
They grimaced. Venat grimaced, too, because what had been described was most definitely not any variety of bear, new concept or no.
“My methods may not have been the most…” their hands circled in the air, “considered.”

“I see we’ll have to brush up on some zoology.”
Venat hid a smile behind her teacup as her student’s ears burned red.

“I can assure you I’ve already had a most practical lesson!”

The Azem made a small sound of assent that assured more lessons to come.
“Well then, continue.”

The youth cleared their throat.
“I was trying to fix my mistake when I ran into someone out there with the self-same purpose as me! Well. Not quite. Apparently he’d been napping?! ”
They laughed. “Like a cat in some warm sunspot. And the ruckus had woken him and- oh! He has soul sight, so he came and stuck his nose directly into my business. Which is exactly what I mean when I say he’s like me. He has a nose for trouble and a will to fix it.”
They pointed at Venat, triumphant to have made their parallel at last. 

“But he…” they broke off, unable to suppress their chuckles at the memory.
“He…” another attempt, thwarted by fresh peals of laughter.
"He gets this little notch between his brows and it's just…"
They trailed off into a jubilant noise.
"It's so cute and he is so easy to irritate." 

Venat rose her brows as she sipped her tea.
"Oh. So you've seen him without his mask?"

They nodded vigorously as they flopped back in their chair. "It got knocked off in the fight."

"With no additional encouragement?" Venat’s bright blue eyes glinted as her mouth quirked up in one corner. Her student scratched their nose, averting their gaze.

"Maybe a little."
They shot their mentor a sidelong look before returning to their story.
"Anyway,-"

They painted a picture of the battle in aether, animating the blobs of colour as they spoke.
"He raised his staff and-" they made an explosion sound in the back of their mouth, gesticulating for effect.
"And I rushed in with my sword with a schwing."  They sliced across the table, dispelling the illusion and rattling their teacup.
"And he just raised up one arm and-"
They broke off their words to demonstrate, springing to their feet. Their features set to stone, mouth chiselled into a hard line, brows knitted with intense focus. One hand raised and they snapped their fingers. 

"Mine is the aether!"

The youth fell over themselves in a fit of giggles. When their shoulders stopped shuddering, they covered their face with both hands. Peeking through the gaps in their fingers, their cheeks glowed pink. Straightening up, they wiped a tear from their eye as they caught their breath.
“As soon as the battle was over he made a new mask - as though it actually mattered! And he got so mad when I stole it right off his face.”

A practiced active listener, the Azem nodded in all the appropriate places, eyes widening or mouth opening with each development.

“And while he is a very good mage, he’s a terrible runner.”
“I see.”
“I did let him catch me, though.”
Only after he was thoroughly winded and sufficiently red in the face. He’d looked like a strawberry dusted in icing sugar. 

"And then he said if he ever saw me again it would be too soon. So, naturally, I summoned him that same moon."
Again, they flashed their teeth, relishing the memory as it played out in their mind.
"When he heard why he folded his arms and did this little-"
They broke off. Doing their best to mimic the disgruntled scoff.

"Well I certainly can't leave such a matter in such a reckless pair of hands."

A companion with some sense, then. Good.

"Well glad am I to hear you've made a friend."
“And,” they continued, “he says he has another friend. Although he seems resolute not to introduce me.”
“Well I’m sure you’ll think of some way to change that.” 
“Oh, definitely.” 

 Watching the bright light dance in her student’s eyes as they continued to gush about their recent adventures, Venat knew they were going to be just fine. 

Chapter Text

Far away in the City State of Amaurot, Hades sneezed. It was not from the pollen of the flowers in the branches above him. It may have been the fact that half a star away someone was talking about him. Hades blamed a certain vagabond for dragging him through a snowdrift a few days prior.
Just how many times was he going to let them get away with such egregious breaches of conduct in the name of ‘adventure’?

"Please, Hades, there’s no way I could possibly help them without you!”
Such a banal appeal! If he’d had the sense to shove their mask back on, he would have been immune. But bright eyes brimming with tentative optimism had glittered at him. When he’d agreed their joy was genuine, but he could not shake the feeling he’d been had.

Never again would he grant unsolicited help to obvious troublemakers. The consequences were too far reaching:

One of his favourite retreats: thoroughly ruined! 
His hobby: completely spoiled for constant fear of interruption! 
Even now, he was sitting and thinking about it instead of dozing. Today, with its perfect conditions! He’d finished all his real tasks and those overdue thanks to the constant interruption to his schedule by a certain menace. There was the lightest of breezes blowing the scent of the blossoms through the park. It had rained the day before, so the ground had since dried but retained some softness. The spot on the tree without knot or root was in the perfect combination of sun and shade at that very moment! So why was he thinking about them when he was exhausted and could be sleeping? The more he thought about it, the darker his countenance became.

"Hades, you really mustn't frown so."

Golden eyes that had been screwed shut in defiance cracked open. Hades would know the speaker even without the lavender frond peeking out from its swaddle of black.
"Hythlodaeus," he greeted, tone curt. Too overfamiliar by half, this one. For a moment the frown lines chiselled deeper.
"I shall frown as much as I see fit, thank you"   
Though his expression was strong, his resolve was weak. The lavender haired man's chuckle smoothed the creases on his face. 

"What has you so deeply troubled, my friend?"

Apparently deciding that bothering him more interesting than whatever he was supposed to be doing, Hythlodaeus veritably floated to the ground. Uncanny, how quiet his approach and seat. Hades spared a glance to check if the blades of grass bent under the ephemeral man's form. 

They did. Obviously.

Hythlodaeus was very much corporeal, sitting so close their shoulders were brushing.  
Overfamiliar by much more than half.

With a heavy sigh, Hades shook his head.
“I have attracted the attentions of a serial abductor.”

Hythlodaeus leaned away, hand covering his open mouth before shifting to his cheek.
“Someone who can whisk away one of the most powerful mages of our time when he doesn’t wish it so? A fearsome individual indeed.”

“Fearsome?” scoffed Hades. Hythlodaeus’ lips closed to a smile. Of course that was what the mage took issue with.
“How about: Insufferable. Reckless. Incorrigible.”
‘Effervescent. Brilliant. Captivating.’

Without prompting he regaled Hythlodaeus with his tale of woe.

“I was observing some abnormal aetheric flow on the outskirts of Amaurot.”
More to say, he had finished investigating the aberrant flow and was enjoying what had remained of the morning sun.
“When I was rudely interrupted by someone with no concept of…”
Too many things. Reason. Comportment. He sighed, venom staid on his tongue.
“Zoology.”
When there was no comment from his peanut gallery, Hades pressed on.
“They were chasing an arkturush that had originated from somewhere I do not want to know of and have no intention of finding out about.”
Hades clucked his tongue and folded his arms. When next he spoke his voice was, if Hythlodaeus had to guess, an uncharitable impersonation.
“Oh, I was trying to corral it back to the forest,” Hades broke character and shook his head with a scoff.
“A bear, they called it! As if it hadn’t obviously been a slavering beast from the first."

Hythlodaeus couldn’t help himself.
“Well, it did arise from the same base concept,” he said, and grinned rather than withered under Hades’ gaze.

“Many, many iterations ago.”

The lavender haired man shrugged. Technically he was right, as was the nameless subject of Hades’ ire.

“Regardless of the origins of ill-conceived monstrosities of dubious benefit to the star, it needed to be dealt with. And the individual in question was ill-equipped to do it while they were running for their life.”
Hades leaned back against the tree, taking time to regret his life choices.
“I should have just let them be eaten.”

Hythlodaeus gasped, fingers spread across his chest, earning him a sidelong look from his friend.

“Oh, spare me the tassel-clutching act. Believe me when I say they are not worthy of an onze of your pity. Nor do they need it! Because of course the person with a penchant for trouble and the socialisation of a wild animal is a savant of summoning magic.”

Hythlodaeus bit back a smile and steeled himself to control the laughter that Hades’ fresh tirade would undoubtedly draw forth.

“Six times, I have been summoned! Six! In a single moon!”

Failure. A small snort squeaked out his nose. Thankfully, swept up in his incensed rant, Hades hadn’t seemed to have noticed. Time to add more fuel to the fire.
“I think it all sounds very exciting.”

The disgust was palpable in Hades’ aether.
“It sounds like harassment, because that is what it is.”

Giving up on any hope of snoozing, Hades pushed himself away from the tree and the grounding warmth of Hythlodaeus’ body. He did not wish to accidentally touch the other as he gesticulated to emphasise his points.
“They pluck me from whatever I’m doing, with nary a warning, and drop me into mortal peril.”
Hythlodaeus drew his knees up to his chest, listening intently. His solar plexus burned from the effort of containing his amusement.
“And then afterwards they insist on a ‘debrief’ which is more accurately described as a mummer’s re-enactment of what we have just been through. Complete with tea and sweets!”
Anger withered to limp frustration.
“And they do not relent until I eat them.”

The thought of someone force feeding a reluctant Hades sweetmeats broke Hythlodaeus. His suppressed laughter overtook his form, starting with shuddering shoulders. Exasperation vented like air out of a balloon, Hades watched him with a flat look as the conniption ran its course.
“Sounds like quite the trial,” Hythlodaeus finally managed, wiping a tear from his eye.
“I have to ask, what is the name of this troublesome someone?”

Again, Hades felt his irritation building.
“They have not yet deigned to tell me,” he said, arms crossed. Every time he had asked, the traveller had devised some contrivance to dodge the question.
“The mystery deepens.”

The two friends took a moment to savour the lull in the conversation. Hythlodaeus revisited his favourite moments of Hades’ consternation, while the latter puzzled over just how little he knew about his tormentor. No name, no background. Just more than he cared to know about the average person by way of their hair, and face, and how they fought. The fact they favoured fruit over chocolate and had been doggedly trying to find a not-too-sweet treat to suit his tastes.

Fool.

“I should quite like to meet them,” resolved Hythlodaeus.

“No,” came Hades’ instant reply, only to be reiterated when he felt a familiar tingle of aether beneath his feet.
"No.”

Hythlodaeus’ face lit up like the circle now glowing where Hades stood.
“Oh!”

“No, no, NO. Not again."

And definitely not with Hythlodaeus in tow. The moment those two met was the moment his life as he knew it ended.

"Oh no you don't, I am definitely coming, too."

Gold eyes popped wide as his arm was grabbed by spindly fingers with surprising strength.
"Hythlodaeus, no, do you have any idea how dange-" 
The building spell adjusted, column splitting in two in magical mitosis. 

“Well, then-”
Hythlodaeus’ smug response was lost to the aether as they dissipated into the teleportation magic


When they rematerialized, it was about two yalms in the air. Disoriented by the journey, both men fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and a loud thud. Head spinning, Hythlodaeus distantly heard two things: someone scrambling to their side followed by a melodic voice.

"Sorry, still working on the landing!" 

As Hades opened his eyes, the familiar summoner loomed over them, features obscured behind mask and hood both.

That was something, at least, thank goodness. Though not even the mask could hide the youth’s jubilance. Surveying their haul they did a little skip on the spot, clapping their hands together.

"Oh! I was right! There are two of you!"

The realisation hit Hades harder than the landing.
Heaven forefend. 

Now there were two of them.  

Chapter Text

Seven: a lucky number for some if you believed in that kind of thing. With each subsequent teleportation dragging him across the star, however, Hades’ little faith in providence waned. Seven was a great many titrations – by now his expectation for anything but ill fortune was homeopathic. This being the seventh summoning in as many weeks foretold disaster. It didn’t matter that the sun was shining brightly in a clear sky, or that the grass under his cheek was soft. Wherever those feet of his summoner trod, trouble followed.

“I am not getting up,” he announced, rolling onto his back. As he lay there like a starfish, he swore he could feel the earth vibrating beneath him.

“Aw, Hades, don’t be like that,” entreated the voice he had come to loathe. Unflaggingly optimistic, it wiggled through the cracks in the wall around his heart and flooded it with uncomfortable warmth.
“I really need your help this time.”

This time. Hades scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. They said that every time.

Frowning at being ignored, the adventurer changed tack.
“Is this the friend you always try not to talk about?” they asked, hopping over to where Hythlodaeus had landed. They offered a hand which the other graciously accepted.

“I like to think of myself as such,” he replied, straightening his mask and hood as he took to his feet.

“That makes one of us,” sniped Hades, sitting up with a scowl. He placed a flat palm to the ground.

It was definitely shaking.
And it was getting stronger.

“You feel it too?” asked Hythlodaeus, canny as ever. Hades nodded as he pushed himself to his feet. He shuddered to think of what the traveller had pulled him into this time. Volcanic eruption? Another avalanche would be too repetitive for the flighty adventurer. Landslide? No, there’d be no time for the small talk they seemed intent on wringing out of him.

The actual answer was much worse.

“Oh, that’s the stampede.”

Hades' head turned towards them first, followed by his whole body.
“The stampede?”

They nodded. Ah yes, how did he not know! Just the usual morning traffic in this godsforsaken backwater of the Star!
“Yes, the reason why I called you here. Something has set off a herd of…uh… bovine creatures, I think? They’re currently trampling their way towards a town. At speed. We need to stop them.”
Obviously.

“I’m sorry, bovine creatures? Do you mean cows?”
Hades knew much better by now than to trust the youth’s classification of animals.

“Maybe? Four legs. Big horns. Make a sound like a moo?”

“If we are going to come up with an effective plan I am going to need more detail than that.”

While the two bickered, Hythlodaeus turned his aetherial sight to the horizon. It was not haze in the distance, but a dust cloud being kicked up by a great many hooves. While the creatures’ actual form was obscured, he was surprised to find himself familiar with the aetheric composition. He was no biologist, but the creation in question had been a talking point at the Bureau but a few moons ago. Quiet though his voice was, it cut through the sniping.
“They’re catoblepas.”

Gazes of dawn and dusk suns turned to Hythlodaeus. Any other would have shrivelled to dust in their intensity.  
“It’s a creature with the body of a buffalo, but with scales. And a single eye, which is capable of storing aether.”

“And discharging it, I suppose?” snarked Hades with a sigh of resignation. 

Hythlodaeus nodded.
“Usually with the effect of petrification on its target.”

Hades threw up his hands. 
“Wonderful. An entire herd of them.”

“There was some debate over the species’ fecundity. I’ll have to feed it back to the creator,” replied Hythlodaeus with a shrug, as though it would make a difference to their current situation!

“Well, now we don’t want for information!” started the traveller, clasping their hands together.
“So let’s think about what we have to work with.”
They tapped a finger to their chin, eyes settling on Hades first.
“Tonz and tonz of aether. And limitless salt besides.”

“Would that it were a stampede of slugs.”
Hythlodaeus and the youth exchanged a smirk, but Hades merely rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, very funny. And what manner of martial mastery will you bring to bear on these rampaging cows today? An oversized axe? A ridiculously proportioned sword?”

They shrugged.
“I haven’t decided yet. As my teacher says, I am to adapt and rise to the occasion as I’m called.”

A sneer curled Hades’ upper lip. Ah yes, the mysterious mentor. Hades shuddered to think what sort of monster could leash chaos incarnate. Nothing short of a force of nature.

"I'm unlike to be much use, I'm afraid." 

“Come now—” “Now Hythlodaeus!”
The admonishments were a chorus who hadn't rehearsed their lines. Adjusting, the pair split into a call and respond. 

“This is not the time for your over-indulgent self-deprecation.”

“Indeed! Everyone has something they can contribute to an adventure.”

Hades made note to bring up that this was not, as they called it, an 'adventure'. Right after expounding the lack of virtue in false modesty to Hythlodaeus.

“I can stand on the sidelines and cheer?”

Hades pulled that idea up by the roots with a scoff.
“I will allow you to do no such thing. Or have you already forgotten how it ‘all sounds so very exciting’ and ‘I’m definitely coming, too’? You have not invited yourself just to be a spectator, I can assure you.”

Projecting an unexpectedly united front, the adventurer beside Hades nodded.
“Yes, while encouragement can be incredibly useful in dire times, I think that it would be too dangerous. So. Tell me your skills.”

Hythlodaeus thought for a beat but was conscious of the ever-present vibrations beneath his feet gaining strength.
“My aethereal vision,” he answered, with a shrug. Again Hades rolled his eyes with such force it turned his head. The light behind the youth’s mask dimmed as they narrowed their eyes.

"Hmmmm," they rubbed their chin and looked his lithe form up and down with a languid nod.
"HMMMM."

After stepping closer they circled around him. One arm was pulled out, then the other. Hythlodaeus played his role of mannequin with a bemused smile as his biceps and deltoids were touched in turn. Hades averted his gaze, muttering something including the word ‘unseemly’. Unperturbed, the stranger continued. Moving behind Hythlodaeus, they patted along his shoulders before their fingers dug into the muscles of his back. 

"Really!" snapped Hades, who had decided supervision was more important than his discomfiture. And he was right.
"Even in the middle of nowhere there are...standards!"

They dropped their hands, holding them up and wiggling their fingers to show Hades they had not continued their journey down the other man’s back. As they rounded on Hythlodaeus, their strides were exaggerated but footfalls light. Their mask almost bumped against his as they drew their faces together. Their breath smelled like marzipan, but the rest of them carried the scent of earth, crushed grass, and sweat. Flickering beneath that corporeal shell was the most interesting soul he’d ever seen. Its colour was—

The force of a finger poking into his chest almost pushed him off his feet and did knock him out of his reverie.

"You should be more honest about your skills." 
The adventurer leaned back, affording Hythlodaeus the space to see more than the soul that had demanded his attention.

“What are you talking about?” huffed Hades, glad for the distraction from his internal altercation of relief and jealousy.

“He’s an archer,” they announced, gesturing as though it was obvious.

Hythlodaeus shook his head, braid flopping out from his hood. It was his turn to hold his hands up in before his chest.
“Archer is a very strong term,” he dismissed, “I dabble.”

“If you hit just one shot, it will be the better than you not having fired an arrow at all,” the adventurer countered, a practiced parroting of sage wisdom from Venat.
“Besides, it’s perfect for one with vision such as yours.”

“Yes. A more practical application for your skill at exploiting weaknesses,” sniped Hades as though he was the one wielding a bow.

A clap from the adventurer echoed through the clearing.
“So it’s decided! Staff, sniper, and shield.” They spun on the spot, pointing to each in turn before finishing on themselves with a flourish.  

“Not quite,” cut in Hades.

“Hm?” replied the vagabond, stumbling in their stupid pose.

"If we are going to continue this farce, I am going to need a name."

They blinked.
"But you already have a name, Hades."

This earned an exasperated sigh as the ancient pointed at the other, jabbing his finger multiple times for emphasis.
"I am going to need your name."

"Mmm." 
A calloused finger tapped against their lips as they thought, gaze heavenward. What, were they trying to pluck a name from the aether? Their eyes alighted on the sun and they grinned.
"Sol."

Hades groaned.
"You cannot be serious."

"Oh hush, Hades, I think it is a fine name."

"You also think that a walrus with wings is a concept deserving of publication."

‘Sol’ jumped to Hythlodaeus’ defence.
"You asked for a name, so I gave you one. Whether you choose to use it or not is up to you, Hades."

"Well, Sol, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Hythlodaeus."

They bounded forward and grasped both his hands in theirs. They were as rough and firm as Sol’s scent.
"Yes, Hades’ other headache!"

"Oh. He described me as such, did he?"

Sol nodded, as though they’d just conveyed a second-hand complement.
"I have also caught him wishing for your presence on more than one occasion."

"You most certainly have not."

They rounded on Hades, face set in their patented 'Serious Impersonation' expression.
"Oh, if only Hythlodaeus was here I could be sure. Or: that clerk from the bureau of the architect would have some transformative idea."

Said over-smug clerk beamed at Hades, who winced.
"High backhanded praise as I have ever received."

“Yes, yes,” he said with a wave of his hand, “Might I remind you that we have a stampede of, what?”
He looked to Hythlodaeus.

“Catoblepas.”

“Catoblepas to deal with.”

“Mm. We do need a plan. There are too many to kill outright,” started Sol, sombre as they finally released Hythlodaeus' hands.
“Not that I would even want to. They’re herbivorous and mostly let well alone if left to their own devices.”
They could tell all that, but not know they weren’t bloody cows? Star preserve him, if he didn’t already have white hair it’d be grey. Hades could feel his pigment cells dying each moment in Sol’s presence.

“Another ominous detail. A double threat, then?”

They nodded.
“Something spooked them, and I suspect it may still be in pursuit. Lacking both of your exceptional sight, however, I haven’t laid eyes on it.”

“Wonderful.”

“I know, isn’t it exciting?”
Sarcasm lost on their enthusiasm, they pressed on.
“So, given elimination isn’t an option, I was thinking redirection.”

Hythlodaeus held his chin. It could be a sound enough plan. A bridge over the settlement or a wall around it, to divert the flow of fury. Between Hades and Sol there would certainly be enough aether.
“Would a barrier hold?” he asked, lavender eyes looking to Hades.

“Against several tonz of cyclopic cows? Not likely.”

The tremors had grown to a steady rumble. They were out of time.

“Have a little faith, Hades.”
Sol gave him a gentle nudge to the shoulder.
“We’ll make it work.”

The trio made their way to a hillside overlooking plain below – close enough to intervene, but just far enough to be out of harm’s way. The stampede was visible now, an amorphous mass of bodies writhing over the ground. Grass, dirt and stone were kicked up behind them in a massive cloud.
“Heaven forefend, there’s almost a hundred of them,” breathed Hythlodaeus, gripping his bow that much tighter.

“That many?” wondered Sol, glancing down.

Hades looked as though someone had squeezed lemon juice directly on his tongue.
“There is no way that any strength of aetheric barrier will divert that.”
It would shatter under the force! And even if it didn’t break first, Hades shuddered to think of the clean up required for the resulting carnage of yielding flesh against hardened aether. Why he was endorsing this harebrained plan with his participation, he would never know.

Probably something to do with the lack of other suggestions.  

“So, Hythlodaeus, you maintain enough distance to cover Hades and me from any stray beasties while we execute Operation Catoble-shall-not-pas.”

Hades' response was immediate and monotone. 
“We are not calling it that.”

“Too late!” they hollered, springing to their feet and sliding down the embankment on a board of aether.

“Stay safe,” entreated Hythlodaeus with a wave, to which Hades rolled his eyes.
“It is not me you need to worry about,” he groused, before trudging down the hill.

As each took their positions, Hythlodaeus cast his gaze out to the stampede once more. A hundred eyes glowed with aether, red pinpricks of light dotting the advancing cloud.
‘Light…’
The comparison sparked an idea in the soulseer’s brain. Of course. They couldn’t eliminate, but they could incapacitate. All without needing to test the strength of Hades and Sol’s aetheric barrier!

Scrambling down the knoll, Hythlodaeus called out to his friends.

“Don’t,” he puffed, already breathless, “don’t just create a barrier! Make a mirror!”

Far afield, Sol whooped with excitement.
“To reflect their petrifying gaze right back at them! Hyth you are a genius!”

“Yes, yes, very creative," droned Hades, doing his best to remain composed as the situation careened out of his control. "Do you mind, Sol. Some assistance.”
Oh for- The adventurer was already scampering away, towards the oncoming horde.

“Like you need it. I’m going to go create a distraction!”

A mirror was all well and good, but without sufficient threat in front of them, the beasts would just keep charging.  No longer needing it, Sol let their oversized sword shatter into shards of light. As aether began to shudder around them, Hades thought the lunatic intended to transform. His heart flopped back into his stomach when he saw a staff manifest in their hands, energy coalescing around the crystal focus at its tip. It flew back into his throat when he saw where Sol had chosen to make their stand – front and centre of the stampede, of course.

“Really hoping for that wall soon, Hades!” they called over their shoulder as their spell took shape. The adventurer hadn’t transformed, but the facsimile of a…something sprang up around them. A blob-like aetheric illusion, it had rows of teeth, and plenty of spines, and was a wall of muscle. While approximating no real animal, the catoplebas regarded it as predator enough to deploy their disproportionate defence mechanism.

“NOW!” hollered Sol, unflinching in the line of fire of a hundred eyebeams. Hand on their head to keep their hood in place, they ducked. Most of the aetheric ray flew over the top of them and hit the mirror Hades had erected at the last possible second. The pained yelp that mingled with the strangling hollers of a hundred catoplebas transmuting to stone escaped neither Hades' nor Hythlodaeus’ notice. The danger had not yet passed, however. The creatures that missed the ricocheted spell crashed into their fellows, continuing their deadly momentum towards Sol as a wave of rolling bodies. Crying out, Hades collapsed and condensed the wall of aether to cover the adventurer in a domed shield. Flesh and stone broke against the barrier like an ocean wave against a rock, the whitewash a plume of dirt. The beasts on the edge of the stampede veered away from the carnage, heading back out into the wilderness.

When all was still, Hades pelted forwards into the settling dust, Hythlodaeus trailing behind. A blast of aether forced away any rubble and gore from the bubble. Unlike the crater gouged into the soil around it, the shield was unmarred. Within, Sol grinned, knocking on the solidified aether with the fingertips of their petrified hand.

“Thank the heavens you’re alright,” started Hythlodaeus, his quiet relief steamrolled by Hades’ fury.

“What were you thinking?” snarled Hades as he dispelled the barrier and grabbed them by the shoulders. They offered no resistance as he gave them a shake. Hades then reached for their forearm, inspecting the stony skin. Sol grinned sheepishly, pronating their forearm to wave.

“I knew you’d cover me! And don’t worry about this, it’s just a bit stiff,” they replied, now waving their arm from the elbow. “And my hood’s still on, see?”
“Who cares about—”

A roar a hundred yalms away cut short an admonishment Hades would have come to regret. The trio squinted through the clearing dust; the source of the stampede visible even to Sol’s pedestrian vision.
“Before you ask, I have no idea what that is,” said Hythlodaeus, pre-empting his role as resident concept expert. Whatever it was had the body of a behemoth and…

“Six heads…” breathed Sol. 
Snake heads, with long undulating necks to match. Sol groaned, whole body pulled in to the weight of it. Their dominant hand useless, there was only one thing for it.

A lance with reverse grip.
Yuck.

Pulling away from Hades, they summoned a spear to their flesh hand.
“If one of you could help with tying this thing to my hand, please.”

“Don’t you dare,” barked Hades, glaring between his two friends, “You are in no condition to be fighting.”

“Psh, I’m totally fine,” they replied, waving their lithified limb in dismissal. In the distance, the sound of a shrieking mammal being torn asunder echoed across the steppe.

“No. I will not allow this exercise in hubris to reach its natural conclusion.”

“Hades,” they started, reaching up to cup his cheek with their stony fingers – only to succeed in knocking off his mask. Their solemn expression cracked with a snort of laughter and Hades’ concern was outweighed by the burden of his disappointment.

“Can we not go ONE DAY without you having complete disregard for standards of decency?”
The giggles coming from the insufferable pair answered his question.

“Ugh. Fine. Let us get this over with. This time I will attract its attention. Hythlodaeus, you ensure our hero here does not drop their weapon.”
Hades stomped in the direction of the latest threat, staff in hand once more.

“I’m not really one for knots,” Hythlodaeus confessed, creating a fine rope for the task in his hands.

“I’ll step you through it,” replied Sol, winking even though it couldn’t be seen. Then they paused, humour draining from their features as they glanced at Hades’ back.
“I’ve never seen him actually mad like that before,” they said, voice too small to be coming from such a muscular frame.

“A friend in mortal peril will do that to a person, especially one as soft hearted as our Hades,” countered Hythlodaeus, twining the lilac cord around Sol’s hand.

“I- Hey, I thought you said you weren’t good at this?” they asked, gawking at the pretty knots lying flat against their skin. In moments, Hythlodaeus had weaved both form and function into the lashing. When the adventurer waved the weapon one handed it didn’t even wiggle. They narrowed their eyes at the other ancient who merely shrugged and summoned his bow with a flourish.

“If you two are quite finished, we have a monster to subdue!” hollered Hades.

“Right!” replied Sol, gripping their weapon in two hands. They caught up to the mage in a few strides, falling in with his step.
“What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to make sure you don’t get yourself killed,” Hades snapped, readying a ball of fire to hurl at the monstrosity. Not willing to waste the opportunity of a surprise attack, Sol nodded and ran around to flank the beast. Yalms behind them, Hythlodaeus nocked an arrow, keen eyes searching for an opening.

The fireball found its mark, drawing a bellowing his from the half dozen heads. As it loped towards Hades, Sol came plummeting out of the sky, planting their lance at the base of two of their necks. The manoeuvrability of being tied to their weapon, however, was less than expected. With the blade of the spear lodged in the creature, they were stuck.

Why had they thought this was a good idea, again?
Oh, right, because Hades was there.

Planting their feet on the animal’s back, Sol jimmied the weapon from side to side, working it free. A difficult task while dodging three of the six heads, but an arrow found its mark in the eye of each as they snapped at them. With a mighty push from their legs, the adventurer sprang off the creatures back, somersaulting in the air to land on their feet a few yalms away.

“It’s hide is too thick, my magic isn’t doing much,” called Hades, galled by every word. Sol nodded grimly, knowing that though their lance had gotten stuck, it had done precious little damage. It was times like this they cursed their average eyes – but wasn’t that what gifted compatriots were for?
“Can either of you see an opening?”

Drawing another arrow, Hythlodaeus scanned the creature for any sign of weakness. Seemingly fortified with restoration magic, each time they took out a head, the others would regenerate. Its breast was a plate of bone but—there!
“There’s a gap between its sternum and its ribs!” he called. Sol nodded and sprang to action.

Crouching low to the ground, they darted between snapping heads to get beneath the creature. Six was a lot to keep track of, however, and one caught them off guard, sending them rolling onto their back. The beast was spry for its size, lunging on top of the lancer with the intent to crush. In a motion inscribed on their muscles by thousands of drill repetitions, Sol raised their arms to their defense; the narrow haft of their spear the only thing between them and oblivion. Well, then there was Hades, who flung spell after spell to keep each snapping set of fangs at bay.

"HYTHLODAEUS! YOU HAVE TO FINISH IT!"

Hythlodaeus blanched.
"ME?! You can't possibly be serious."

Sol clenched their teeth, pushing back against the creature’s paws with the shaft of their spear which bent under its weight. With a wordless roar, they kept pressing upwards until the animal’s chest was on view: a perfect shot. The monster’s hulking shoulders bulged as it bore down on the adventurer. Hairline cracks wove their way down Sol’s petrified hand, but they would lose the limb before they lost the battle of wills.
“Any time now would be great, Hyth!”

Calling forth every scrap of aether he could to his arrow, Hythlodaeus took a breath, closed his eyes, and let loose the bowstring. The projectile blazed white with energy as it careened across the plain, finding its mark between the breastplates of the monster. All the condensed power exploded on hit, unseaming the armoured body from within.

Sol copped the worst of the blast, gore splattering over their face and chest. The creature’s corpse spasmed as its neurons fired a final time, before collapsing onto the youth. For once the mask was useful, shielding their eyes from a spray of bone chips and viscera. Some still got in their mouth, though. Ugh. Heaving the serpentine hydra off them with a grunt, Sol staggered to their feet, doubled over as they caught their breath. Hades had flopped onto his backside, leaning back onto his elbows. Hythlodaeus trotted over to the pair, stopping as Sol looked up at him through a mop of unruly hair dripping with the creature's blood.

“That. Was. Incredible!” burst the adventurer, jumping a fulm in the air, punching upwards with their bound hand. Their lance dispersed into a shower of confetti, aimed at the bemused Hythlodaeus.
“Dabble? You dabble?” they scoffed, embracing him with peal of laughter. The bright glow of their soul was almost enough to distract from the layer of viscera, but not quite.

“T’was nothing special. Truthfully it took every onze of my ability to manipulate aether to do that much.”

Sol shook their head vehemently, and Hythlodaeus noticed something odd.

“Sol,” he ventured gently, “how is it that your mask is still in place?”
Even detached from the conflict as he was, Hythlodaeus had removed his face covering for want of better aim. His hood had been blown off by the shockwave of the explosion. Hades, too, was unmasked and unhooded. It would rankle him to know that technically, Sol was the most presentable of them.

“Oh.” They touched the stained mask with filthy fingers. “I used an adhesive to affix it to my face.”

“You what?” snapped Hades from the ground.

“Well, you’re always banging on about propriety, so I figured…” they trailed off, shrugging.

Hythlodaeus couldn’t help himself and burst into laughter. Confused, the adventurer looked between the two of them.
“What?”

“Of all the…” groused Hades, pushing himself up off the ground. He started his tirade anew as he brushed the grass from his behind.
“Once we have obtained fresh robes and masks, we are going straight back to Amaurot and—”

Sol held up a finger.
“Once we have obtained fresh robes, and masks, and had a teabrief.”

“Oooh, a delightful proposition,” concurred Hythlodaeus, levelling a smug smile at Hades.

“No. There will be no tea, no sweets, and no dramatic re-enactments.”
He refused to debase himself by uttering the word ‘teabrief’.

Unfortunately, while Sol’s eyes were covered, Hythlodaeus was an adept user of the puppy-dog eyes manoeuvre. Less than a bell later, after a rudimentary clean up, Hades had the seat of honour at an impromptu tea table in the middle of the blasted grassland.

Chapter Text

It was not, in actuality, as simple as a tea party on the ruined plain.

They hadn’t halted an avalanche, or a landslide, but a tide of living beings. When the first warbling ‘moo’ cut into the conversation, Sol’s smile snapped into a grim line.
“I have to take care of this first,” they'd said, abruptly turning on their heel to face the carnage they’d caused.

“And how do you expect to do that one handed?” asked Hades, pacing after them. Sol attempted to clutch their afflicted limb to their body, but the mage grabbed them by the wrist. There was a small scuffle, Hades unable to overpower Sol’s superior strength but competing well enough in stakes of stubbornness. The altercation culminated in a churlish ‘ugh’ from the traveller as they relented.

“Only because I don’t know how to fix it,” they groused as they relaxed their arm, Hades stumbling backwards as the resistance disappeared. He maintained his footing and was about to snap again when Hythlodaeus swooped in.

“It’s a very strong dominance of earth aspected aether,” he supplied, placing a gentle hand over Hades’ grip, “a simple enough thing to fix.”
Hythlodaeus smiled in Hades' direction, “for some of us, at least.”

The soft touch relaxed Hades’ hold enough that Sol could wrest their arm from the vice of his fingers.
“Then I should do it myself.”
If they couldn’t fix their hand, how could they fix an entirely different being?

“Sol, stop,” demanded Hades, snatching at them again, “Do you want to actually lose your hand?”

They skipped backwards, out of his reach.
“It’ll be fine, I can do this.”

“No, Sol, he’s right,” entreated Hythlodaeus, his usual countenance stained with concern. 

“I’ll be fine.”
As if to demonstrate, they focussed intently on their hand.

Nothing happened.

Then a crack split down between their second and third metacarpal, water aspected aether fizzing into the air.

“Oh, yes, you’ll be fine. Just let me do it, Sol.”
Hades voice strayed closer to a plead than an order with every syllable.

This time Sol teleported a dozen yalms away. How could blinking in and out of space come so easily, and realigning the aspect of their limb be so hard? Again, they closed their eyes and focussed on the flow of energy – or lack thereof – to their hand. After a beat, hairline fractures spread a stuttering course along their petrified skin like spiderwebs. With some encouragement from a picking fingernail the stony surface started to flake away, dissolving into powder on the breeze. As the rest of the shell peeled off, pale skin shone raw red against the sleeve of their robe.

“I told you I could do it!” they hollered (mostly at Hades) sticking out their tongue. They then had to bite it to hold back the yelp of pain when the crack was definitely still there.  Flesh, however, doesn’t crack and was distinctly messier than stone when split apart.

Heaven forefend.

It was Hades’ turn to teleport, appearing in front of Sol in a blackened swirl. Grimacing at the dull pulses of blood, he held the halves of Sol’s hand together and repaired the soft tissue. As it knit together he glowered at the adventurer, teeth bared.
“You stubborn, contrary, reckless idiot.”

“Overbearing, pompous, imperious—”

“Alright, you two, you’re making me feel left out.”

“Oh, feeling left out, are you? You lackadaisical-”

“Super—you know, I’m just going to stop there,” Sol said with a weak smile.

“Very good,” Hythlodaeus replied, smiling in kind, “Now, what is it you wanted to do.”
He already knew.

“I have to fix them.” Sol looked from the struggling animals to the smashed chunks of rock.
“All of them.”

“Alright,” agreed Hades, anger already bleeding away as the flow of blood from Sol's mended wound ceased. 

In accord, the trio set to work.

When the last injured catoblepas had been healed and all that remained of the misadventure was the scars in the soil, it was as though someone flipped a switch in the traveller. Sunny smile was on, mischief mode engaged.
“Teabrief,” they’d insisted, grabbing Hades and Hythlodaeus both by the wrist.
“The village makes these amazing woodfired dumplings and love a good celebration.”

The natives had not been naïve of the peril which had threatened the small cluster of domiciles they called a village. They were also, apparently, aware of the trio that had taken it upon themselves to avert the disaster. As people popped out from their homes, Sol’s ‘teabrief’ increased in scale to encompass the entire population of the settlement. Hades had endured the platitudinous gratitudes after one of Sol’s previous escapades, but that had been nothing like this. There were handshakes, unwanted embraces, foodstuffs foisted into his hands. A small group of the locals produced various traditional instruments and started playing music, while another stealthily strung garlands around the town square.

As night blanketed the grassland, the festivities steadily devolved into dancing and singing around a bonfire. Hades had most certainly not partaken. Even when Sol had grabbed his hands and dragged him to his feet, he stood inert as his two ‘friends’ gyrated around him.

Would that he had been the one to stand in front of the charging beasts to spare him this indignity.

Bells later, when the fire had dimmed to embers, the trio stood in the glow of the aetheryte in the settlement’s centre.

“Do you think you’ll be able to make your way home from here?” asked Sol, bright gaze glancing between their two friends. 

“You’re not coming with us?” ventured Hythlodaeus, brows raising at the prospect. He supposed it would not be out of character from the little he knew of the traveller, but surely seeking out their next adventure would be as easy from Amaurot as from here in the middle of nowhere. Their frank response, accompanied by a blink, was not what he expected. 

“Hm? Oh, I’m not allowed in Amaurot.”

Hades’ immediate reaction was relief. His precious city state, preserved as the final bastion of sanity in the wake of this walking disaster.

“You’re not allowed?” Hythlodaeus cocked his head to the side, fine brows knitting together for the first time since meeting the adventurer.

“An edict of their mysterious master, I suspect,” supplanted Hades with a wave of his hand.

Sol nodded emphatically but offered no further explanation. Hythlodaeus was not satisfied.

“So, if you’re not ‘allowed’ into Amaurot where do you live, if you don’t mind my asking?”

They shrugged.
“Nowhere in particular.”
If the weather was fair and tide favourable, they’d sleep under the stars on white sand. The white noise of the surf quelled the deluge of new ideas which often barraged their brain. On breezy days they rested in fields with so many flowers that the faintest zephyr became the most complex of perfumes. Rain, snow, storm? There was always some crevice they could crawl into, if they even deigned they needed shelter from said elements. And should they for whatever reason crave a bed, there were countless villages just like this one that would find them board and a warm meal in recompense for lives saved.

“Sometimes I’ll stay with my teacher.”

“I see.”

A chuckle bubbled forth from them at Hythlodaeus’ expression.
“You’ll end up looking like Hades if you keep fretting like that.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Hades spluttered, proving their point for them. 

“Why, crinkled up like a dried-out crabapple, and just as sour!”

His jaw dropped, working only to entrench Sol in their stance. 
“Excuse me. I let you interrupt my busy schedule-”
It was Hythlodaeus’ turn to stifle a snort.
“-entangle me in your absurd scheme, save your life, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Oh thank you, most benevolent and magnificent Hades, without whose voluminous stores and immaculate application of aether I would be lost,” intoned Sol, sweeping into a gratuitous bow as they spoke. 

The most benevolent and magnificent Hades folded his arms across his chest and denied Sol the benefit of his attention.

Already satisfied, they devoted their efforts to Hythlodaeus.
“I don’t live there anymore, but one day I’ll have to take you fancy Amaurotines to the town where I grew up.”

“I should very much like to see it.”

Sol beamed.
“Next time.”

“Next time,” agreed Hythlodaeus, with a little wave. 

As the two blinked away, Sol’s smile faded.

They needed Azem.

A thousand malms away, and several hundred malms higher, Venat was collecting botanical specimens. Each different plant had been neatly piled according to alchemical application, ready to be tied into sprigs for drying in her workshop. The collections of fronds and flowers were blown into the air as a youth sprang into existence at her side with a rush of aether. Sighing, the Azem to planted a hand on her hip and shook her head.
“You really must be careful where, and who you do that to, dear student.”
Righting themselves after a somewhat shaky landing, the student grinned up at their teacher.
“Of course. Only to and around you, my venerable mentor.”
And now, maybe Hades.
And definitely Hythlodaeus – they’d be surprised if he even blinked.

Their silence hung in the air like bird riding an air current – not falling or advancing.
Willing to wait until they were ready to speak, Venat continued her work. Sol, still weighing their request, silently set to gathering up the clippings they’d scattered with their appearance. Sprigs in hand, they fiddled with the waxy leaves before they found the words.
“Venat, can we spar?”

Glancing up from the greenery, Venat stared at her student, searching their face. Finding whatever she was looking for, the Azem answered.
“Of course.”

Wordlessly, the pair packed up the trimmings and walked to Venat’s current lodgings. It was a small cottage tucked against a mossy cliffside, a small plume of smoke coiling from a brick chimney. A stream trickled down the rockface and continued bubbling off into the woods. The youth couldn’t see a spot to fight, but they knew better than to ask. Together they deposited the clippings and tools in a small work room jutting off the side of the structure, before Venat led her pupil to a clearing beyond a copse of trees.

“What do you need?” she asked, inscrutable gaze focussed on the youth. They squared their stance and clenched their fists, making their answer plain.
“As you wish,” Venat replied, taking her own fighting posture.

It was a clumsy match – both master and student rusty in form. They’d spent as much time grappling in the gravel as springing from foot to foot to stay spry, blow countering blow as foot met fist and forearm. The student fought with the frenzy of frustration, venting their guilt and grief with each strike. Win or lose, they didn’t care, they just needed to hurt.

The cool-down was iced fruit tea – an assam leaf base with a blood orange infusion, both of which the student had identified. They had, however, missed the elderflower petals added to the blend, drawing for the traditional whine of defeat.
Meanwhile, the Azem had promptly recognized the fact that the ‘fruits’ presented by her protege were made of marzipan. Admittedly the attempt was more joke than genuine. The real blow came when Venat picked that the tea cookies were imbued with fennel.
“Another treat for Hades?” she ventured, watching with a smile as her pupil stacked one biscuit on top of another.

“He didn’t make a face eating these ones!” they chirped, grinning over the growing tower.
“And he had a second of his own accord when he thought I wasn’t looking.”

“No small success, to be sure.”

“And I’ve made another friend!” they crowed, “Hades’ friend, the one I told you about. His name is Hythlodaeus and he has the best ideas.”

“Oh, even better than yours? Then he must be special.”

“He won’t admit it, but he is.”

They continued to stack the cookies in front of them, starting anew each time the tower collapsed.
“He seems to think that just because he can’t do impressive creation magic that he can’t do anything.”
This time when the tower fell, they took to simply arranging the biscuits in a pattern on the plate.
“He’s a terrible liar.”
Planting their elbow on the table, their cheek leaned into their open hand.
“By which I mean he is a very good liar and enjoys lying way too much. And when you catch him he just.”
They pursed their lips and held up a finger as they considered how best to convey the essence of Hythlodaeus. When it came to them, they snapped their fingers and slowly fanned their hand in front of their face, changing their expression as the appendage passed. The corner of their lips quirked up, and the lateral canthus of their eyes crinkled just so. After a beat, the expression faltered, and they shook their head.
“Nope, can’t do it. But I hope you get the point.”

Venat nodded, wearing her own esoteric smile.
“So. The stampede on the Mycanean Steppe?”

“Oh, yes!”

The story of the stampede unfolded. Three of mankind against one hundred creatures and one monstrosity. They detailed their initial plan, and how it evolved. And quickly realised how it sounded.
“Don’t worry! I didn’t try to transform!”

Venat raised her eyebrows.
“I didn’t think you would.”

They sighed, leaning forward to cup their face in their hands.
“Still, things didn’t go well.”

The Azem nodded. She’d been waiting for this: the undercurrent of uneasiness she’d sensed eddying beneath her student’s bright and bubbly surface. Giving them the space to speak, she maintained her silence.

“That is to say, they worked out for mankind but…”
Did the gratitude of the villagers outweigh the panicked baying of the half-petrified Catoblepas left abandoned by their herd? Were fennel cookie crumbs worth the fragments of bone and stone too small to reconstitute into a creature that had died in pain and fear?

“You wished to preserve as much life as possible.”

They nodded, morose.
“The catoblepas were just scared. It’s not their fault that mankind built a village in their way.”
But it was someone’s fault that the serpentine hydra had appeared in their territory.

The concept matrix in the student’s pocket weighed heavy. It had been very, very far from home lying next to a watering hole that a certain herd frequented.

“It took a few tries, but I fixed my hand. And when I knew how to fix my hand, it meant I could fix the catoblepas.”

Of a fashion.

Again, their memory returned to the beasts left behind. They’d thrashed in the dirt, struggling to locomote limbs which would not respond. Some had managed to scramble to their feet, only to falter yalms later, limbs crumbling under their weight. Sol had soothed each one they could, sedating and then revivifying stone into flesh with waves of aether.

A fat tear streaked down their cheek.

“Oh, child, don’t cry.”

“I…I’m not…”
Not to be denied, drop after drop wet their face. With a hiccough Sol smeared the moisture across their cheeks. Rising from her seat, Venat rounded the table and wrapped her arms around her apprentice. The embrace squeezed out the guilt they’d neatly boxed up with each catoblepas they’d euthanised. Sob after sob crested like waves as Venat patted their back, hand firm but gentle.
“They helped,” they said, when the box of guilt lay empty and they’d run out of tears.
“Hades, and Hythlodaeus.”

Hythlodaeus had picked out the larger fragments of matching aetheric signatures to put together like a macabre jigsaw puzzle. When assembled Sol had reversed the petrification, even though the spark of life was long snuffed out. It had felt more respectful to return the creature to the star in its original form. Many pieces were too small to fit together; fine grains littering the turned soil like seeds which would never grow. Hades had dispersed them to their base aether, returning the remnants to the flow.
“And Hades didn’t even argue when I dragged him back to the town.”

Their throat rattled as they drew in a breath.

The people there had made it all worth it.

It was worth seeing the village children weaving the steppe wildflowers into Hythlodaeus’ braid. And watching Hades splutter out a thank-you to the gaggle of girls who had presented him with flowers and specialty sweets both, his strained smile faltering to a grimace as they turned away. They’d scoffed steaming dumplings stuffed with spiced yams and washed it down with rooibos and danced and…and…
Sol pulled back, wiping their nose on their wrist.

“They were both very concerned when they heard that I didn’t live anywhere.”

“Amaurotines,” concluded Venat with a smile and a shrug. Her student laughed – properly, this time.

Master and apprentice hugged for a while longer. Idle chatter bubbled from her precious protégé: Hades this and Hythlodaeus that. Where they planned to go next, samples they wanted to gather, landscapes to draw, ruins to explore. Just as they’d run out of tears, soon they ran out of chatter. In the comfortable silence, Venat was content to simply hold them and be held.

She did not expect what they asked next.

"Can I travel with you for a while?"

The word 'yes' teetered dangerously close to her lips. The world was vast and to experience it with this child as they’d done together years before would be a pleasure. But as she pulled back to regard them it was apparent they were not a child any longer. Gone was the scrap of a thing she’d found shivering in an abandoned cellar. Their eyes now glowed bright. They’d outgrown the gangly awkwardness of adolescence into a striking young adult. To take them with her would be to clip the wings they’d barely spread.

She cupped their cheek, stroking gently with her thumb.
"I'm sorry, little sunbeam, you can't."

Their face fell. For a moment she worried the tears would return, but it seemed her student had been expecting the answer. A small smile crept across their features.
“I know.”
They stood up, planting their hands on her shoulders.
“But I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

The Azem returned their smile.
And then she grinned.

“You know, I think it’s high time you went to Amaurot.”

Chapter Text

Space was always at a premium in the Akadaemia Anyder. From the high-vaulted classrooms to the yawning quadrangles between buildings, students and professors alike set up impromptu experiments or fielded spontaneous debates on scholarly minutiae. Privacy, as such, reached even a higher price when one wished to carve out a quiet spot away from prying eyes. Not even the rooftops were safe from the reaching experiments of academics, with several rookeries erected for all manner of avian life in different stages of study.

Tucked between one such roost and a rooftop ‘garden’ so overgrown one might think it forgotten by the Words of Halmarut was one spare square of space. The enclosed birds were gormless, large beaked things which made no sound aside from the clicking of their claws as they occasionally shuffled on their perches. Their glassy gaze followed a single Amaurotine as he wormed his way between the cloying ferns, unblinking.

“Well, hello,” he greeted, only to be met with a silent stare. With a shrug, Hythlodaeus continued to assess the space. He did not mind the stoic audience. For a man with such exceptional vision, he actually quite liked to be the one being looked at. Although the thousand-yalm stare of birds did not really fill that void.

The sanctuary, however, was perfect. No nearby windows. No adjacent balconies in direct line of sight. Delightful snatches of the Amaurot skyline visible between the rooftops of the Akadaemia. A good solid wall to slouch against.

Yes, this would do nicely.

Settling onto the ground, Hythlodaeus shucked his hood and dropped his mask. He then produced a small pouch of cookies and a book, which he opened across his knees. A compendium on exotic arcane entities. It had little bearing on his formal studies but given the recent extracurricular activities, he figured it would be beneficial to brush up on the topic. If Sol and Hades both brought aether to the table, he would arm them with knowledge. As each entry burgeoned denser than the last with detail, what had begun as earnest study soon devolved into a lazy turning of pages – looking at pictures and an annotation here and there without much mind for the substance of paragraphs. Was it really relevant to know the migration patterns of theoretical entities? The virtues of napping away his spare time gained value with each increasing page number.

Hythlodaeus sensed the approaching soul before he saw it or heard the griping as its owner battled the tangled fronds of the green wall. It lost its patience before the plants yielded, and Hades popped into direct view beside him in a flash of magic.

“Hythlodaeus,” he started, brushing a stray leaf from his shoulder, “What would possess you to ensconce yourself here?”

Hythlodaeus gestured to the tome in his lap.
“I am definitely not hiding from Emet-Selch.”
His smile bounced off the flat wall of Hades’ expression.  

“Just making it as inconvenient as possible for a Convocation member to reach you once he locates your aether?”

A shrug.
“Maybe it will assist the Third Seat in recognising that while I am very flattered by his interest, his efforts would be better focused elsewhere."
It was becoming troublesome. Hythlodaeus did not doubt it took no degree of fortitude to be the Amaurotine to manage the matters of the Underworld, but surely the Emet-Selch had better things to do in his leisure time than chase skirts on an unwilling apprentice. Why, the time could be spent looking at other budding aetheric scholars at Akadaemia Anyder.  There would be myriad better candidates! Like the one right next to him, for example.
“After I enlighten him about the indecency of using soulsight to find someone who does not wish to be found.”

Hades shook his head. He could think of two individuals who would have such little regard for the esteemed leaders of Amaurotine society. He had the poor judgment to call them both friends. Of the two, however, only Hythlodaeus would commit such an indiscretion with full knowledge of who said leaders were, and the degree of power which they wielded.
“Surely you would have nothing to lose from acquiescing his request to mentor you.” 

Hythlodaeus picked up the corner of the latest page between forefinger and thumb and turned it with excruciating slowness, guiding it across its arc to the other side of the tome rather than letting it fall.
“I don’t require a mentor, nor need an apprenticeship. I am content with my current position at the Bureau of the Architect.”

A long suffering sigh which never failed to make him smile sounded beside him, followed by the rustling of robes as Hades took his own seat.
“Then what is the point of pursuing tertiary education if you are not intending to use it?”

“Why, for love of learning in and of itself, dear Hades.” 

Before Hades could offer his rebuttal, Hythlodaeus silenced him with a cookie. Hades’ face scrunched up in distaste as the buttery treat all but started melting on his tongue. Soft fingertips stayed resolutely pressed to his lips as he chewed, and Hades would never debase himself enough by spitting. As he swallowed, Hythlodaeus tapped the tip of Hades’ nose, earning an irritated growl.
“Considering me for Emet-Selch because of my sight would be like thinking a chair can walk because it has legs.”

“There are other kinds of vision, Hythlodaeus, and you are possessed of them,” countered Hades, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Ah, yes, the ability to be a mere figurehead a-front a ship.”
As he spoke, Hythlodaeus reached for another biscuit. Hades flinched but relaxed as the treat headed to Hythlodaeus’ lips. It was time to capitalise on the man’s full mouth!

“A leader whose primary skill is leading is not a detriment. Your supposed lack of ability to manipulate aether would not compromise carrying out the principal role of Emet-Selch.”

Even suppose he thought himself a leader, which he did not, Hythlodaeus would not budge.
“But it would. Not all problems can be solved by firing a single arrow.”
And even then, Sol had laid up the shot on a silver platter.

There was no hesitation before Hades’ answer.
“I would support you.”
The earnestness of Hades’ tone gave Hythlodaeus more pause than it should have. For all his bluster, it was not out of character for Hades to proffer help. The man would quietly aid those in need if he deemed the cause worthy, often untangling problems before they were even recognised.  Then he’d be more likely to skulk off to nap than receive an onze of remuneration. But such candour during casual conversation was not what Hythlodaeus had come to expect from their usual lobbed barbs.

“You? Second chair to my first? So you could sit back and laugh while I fumble through the cadenza?”
He shook his head.
“A grim fate for one of your capabilities.”
Hythlodaeus would return to the Star before he saw that happen.

Hades crossed his arms and slouched against the wall.
“You seem convinced of my hunger for power when I truly have no appetite.”
A blessing for being so talented. Hades oft wondered at the ambition of others. For power, material acquisitions, esteem. It all seemed so counterintuitive to the truth of mankind’s purpose – the betterment of the Star rather than the self. The two went hand in hand, of course, but the former should always supersede the latter.

“It would be satisfying enough for me to support those with the wisdom to know what was best for Etheirys.”
And he had no doubt that Hythlodaeus was one who could see the way forward, aethersight or no.

“An admirable sentiment, but you can barely cope playing nursemaid for an afternoon. I can’t imagine you fulfilling the role for decades.”

Hades smiled – the mirth in it reserved for his own amusement.
“I did not say I would do it quietly.”

Hythlodaeus laughed behind his hand. When did Hades ever?

“You wouldn’t be able to stop them helping, either.”

Hythlodaeus didn’t have to ask who, and not just from the latent exasperation lingering under Hades' tone. He picked up one of the cookies gifted by that very individual and rolled it between his forefinger and thumb. Little flecks of purple stood out from the buttery yellow shortbread. Lavender and lemon. Not an onze of subtlety. Honestly.
“Ah yes. Imagine it: the most formidable right and left hands of the benevolent Emet-Selch.”
Little intention though he had to humour the Third Seat’s entreaties it was fun to imagine the possibilities. 

Hades took his turn to snort.
“So long as the future most honourable Emet-Selch keeps himself between said hands, I’d have no problems with the title.”

“Oh, but I was planning on having you share an office in the Capitol. If you’re concerned about boundaries, we could paint a line down the middle.”

“Ah, yes, so you could watch with glee as they completely disregard it.”

Hythlodaeus did not deny it, nor did he try to contain his laughter. The sound, at least. A delicate hand had reached up to cover his plush lips.
“Have you heard from them recently? Been whisked away to any exotic locales?” Hythlodaeus sounded almost wistful.

Catching a glimpse of his smile behind his fine fingers, Hades corrected himself – he was wistful.
“Thankfully no.”

“It makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it? What they’re up to.”

“No, it does not.”
But it was too late.
Hythlodaeus had ruined it.

And then he made it much worse.

“You didn’t tell me about their soul.”

Hades bristled.
“Why would I tell you about it? I’m trying to ignore it.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

He was.
Hades folded his arms across his chest and turned up his nose.
“It raises too many questions that will have answers I do not want to know.”

Hythlodaeus hummed. The silence lasted just long enough Hades thought he would let it be.

Of course he didn't.

“But it’s prismatic.” 
The flow of aether passed through their crystalline soul, bouncing and splitting into a spectrum of colours.  On first seeing it, Hythlodaeus had been transfixed. It was blinding.

“It’s worse than that. Prisms just refract.”
It was something else entirely to absorb, refract and amplify the aether around them. Most souls merely pulsed and glowed with different emotional stimuli. Not most – all – with the exception of this one. A kaleidoscope that siphoned in aether which drifted past and all but transmuted it.
"It is unnatural."
Beautiful.

“I would call it intriguing.”
Another pause, broken by the sound of Hythlodaeus turning a page.
"You didn't report it to the Convocation."

Hades should have. He’d thought about it. It would have been a decisive solution to the problem of Sol's troublesome fixation on carting him across the star on a whim. But then the owner of said soul had grabbed him by both hands and asked him how he liked to take his tea. Their palms and voice were warm, and their smile was real, lighting up their eyes – eyes brimming with unearned affection and unmasked optimism. They were too real, for their fanciful soul.
"Of course not! You know what would happen."

Hythlodaeus’ lips pressed to a thin line, mirroring Hades’ expression. Gulls fighting over a single minnow would have more dignity than the Words of Lahabrea and Emet-Selch would while clamouring for the adventurer as a specimen. 
“It makes you wonder if their mentor is aware of it.”
To go so far as to block their travel to Amaurot, they had to be. At the time of the revelation Hythlodaeus had queried it, but the practicalities of the edict clarified even as he spoke the words.

Hades, still desperate for the conversation to end, opted for the comfortable shield of sarcasm. 
“I am sure that the embargo on travel to Amaurot is for nought but mercy of Her citizens.”

“What? To protect them from having their chores done for them by an over-helpful someone?”
Hythlodaeus laughed behind his book. Sol would likely have little time to cause any trouble should they ever make it to the city state. Their proclivity to offer aid would see them not take one step before entangling themselves in a stranger’s problems.
“But in all seriousness, Hades.”

“I know,” he replied, tone clipped.

Hythlodaeus pressed on, unperturbed.
“We’ve only met them in barely populated areas. For them to venture to a place with such a surfeit of aether as Amaurot.”

He knew.
“How fortuitous, then, that their master has more sense than they do.”

How fortuitous Sol seemed content to simply summon, rather than visit upon, their friends. 

“Well as future Emet-Selch candidate, unwilling or not, I see it as my duty to investigate the phenomenon to its fullest.”
While not necessarily true of himself, Hythlodaeus had no doubt such a sentiment was partially why his disagreeable friend agreed to so much at the whims of the traveller. At least in the beginning. 
“Which, of course, will require spending no small amount of time in its presence.”

Hades rolled his eyes and maintained his silence. Hythlodaeus, smile dimming, poked again. 
“And with my practical limitations, I will require the guiding force of my Right Hand.”

Before Hades could respond, the greenery flanking their haven rustled again. Emerging from the fronds was an Amaurotine of average height and average build. The individual could be mistake for no-one of importance aside from one critical detail: a distinct red mask adorned their face.

The latent authority in their voice cemented the man’s identity.
"Hythlodaeus."

Drat.
"Ah, the most honourable Emet-Selch. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The Third Seat looked down at the pair, the visible portion of their face betraying no emotion. Hythlodaeus returned his lilac gaze to the page on…whatever that thing was supposed to be. He made no move to raise his hood or don his mask.
"I was under the impression we had a scheduled tutorial."

Hythlodaeus was under the impression that he had politely declined the invitation. His smile was pleasant as he turned a page.
“My sincerest apologies. I thought that engagement wasn’t for another moon. Might I offer you a biscuit?”

Emet-Selch held up a hand, shaking their head.
"Disregarding your absentmindedness, I have need of your exceptional vision. Not to mention it will be invaluable in providing you with experience for things yet to come." 

Lips thinning as his smile drew tighter, Hythlodaeus closed his book. While it was not how he planned to spend his day, it did present an opportunity.
"Then may I humbly request presence of my peer. I assure you he will have no shortage of insight and prowess to add to the venture."

Emet-Selch finally spared Hades a glance. 
"Hades, I presume." 

Hades had hurried to his feet. Thank the star he had trusted his better judgment and kept his mask and hood in place.
“Yes. It is an honour to make your acquaintance. Allow me to apologise for—”
He bit his tongue and prayed his mask held his consternation as Emet-Selch waved a hand in front of their face.

“If I were to let my pride be wounded every time Hythlodaeus acted so, I would be a poor servant of the star.”

“Quite right,” agreed the man in question, bundling up the cookies on top of his book as he too took to his feet.

"As for your presence," continued Emet-Selch, "there can be no harm in another set of eyes. The matter isn't so sensitive to confine it to the two of us." 

Hythlodaeus’ eyes glimmered, as he saw the path to freedom from all the troublesome suggestions of mentorship and succession.
“To be trusted with official Convocation business. I can hardly contain my excitement.”

Emet-Selch’s bark of laughter was dry and brittle, like autumn leaves underfoot.
“You may not be so excited when you find out just what it entails. The Capitol. One bell. Do not make me come and drag you there by your braid.”
And with that the Third Seat disappeared.

Hades released a breath he had been holding for far too long.
“What were you thinking?” he hissed, rounding on Hythlodaeus. He received a slow blink and smug smile for his trouble.

“That it’s a pity I won’t get to finish my book,” he replied.
Except not really. Short of someone siphoning restricted concepts from the Bureau of the Architect it seemed unlikely they’d ever encounter any of them in the wild. But who would ever contrive to break in to such a heavily fortified archive?

“I understand you may not want to one day be considered for the seat of Emet-Selch, but that does not mean you have to lay waste to any and all future opportunities you may wish to seek by making an enemy of the current Third Seat.”

Hythlodaeus smiled, content to listen to Hades’ concerned lecturing until it was time to head to the Capitol.

Chapter Text

Amaurot. The glittering jewel at the heart of the Star. It thrummed with light, life, and laughter. The Akadaemia Anyder was a particular locus of such energy, housing a surfeit of passion and knowledge within its grounds. Much like the City State as a whole, it was alive. The classrooms and laboratories like organs teeming with activity. The students and academics the lifeblood, fuelling themselves and the institute with new discoveries across the broadest of fields.

But what was a diet without a little junk food?

And that nutritionless indulgence came in the form of gossip.

For his worth, Hades generally abstained from such frippery. The two individuals who had presumptively labelled themselves as his friends already imposed enough upon his spare time. While the transient terror he knew as Sol had not called on him of late – a concerning fact in and of itself – Hythlodaeus had supplanted the role by summoning him by more conventional means for more conventional tasks instead. While better in theory, as mortal peril was rarely involved, it was actually worse. At least when Sol pulled him from Amaurot it was with force and the barest scrap of consent. The removal of agency rankled, but Hades could pretend he would decline should he have a choice. Hythlodaeus on the other hand, was in his complete power to refuse, and yet he never did.

Today Hades found himself wishing to be roped into some mind numbing task from the Third Seat. Everywhere he turned in the Akadaemia he could not escape chatter of one of the more ridiculous rumours to date.

Napping under a tree?
‘Have you heard? Azem’s apprentice has just enrolled!’
‘Azem has an apprentice?’

Reading in the library?
‘What, you haven’t heard about them?’
‘I heard they weren’t even a person! Just a familiar she dressed up as a jest.’

He could not even have a coffee in the eatery without his distaste for the ridiculous prattle outweighing his need for caffeine.  
“Come on. The rest of the Convocation would never allow it!”
“No, it’s true! They’re saying it was such an impressive construct that Lahabrea himself endorsed it!” 

As if such a wayward member of the Convocation would stay in one place long enough to teach anyone anything. Which, Hades supposed, was all the more reason for any apprentice of theirs to darken the university's halls. He could only think of one individual who could be more troublesome than any theoretical protégé of the Fourteenth.

As if summoned by the mere thought, on his endless journey to escape the gossip, a familiar glitter, albeit dampened, caught Hades’ eye.

“No.”

It could not be them. They were not allowed in Amaurot. And while they flouted rules because they were 'made to be broken', the vexatious vagabond had high regard for their teacher. It made no sense for them to disregard the edict.

But the colour of the soul was unmistakable.

Sol.

His brain told him to run walk in the opposite direction. Maybe stop at a library and pen his letter of withdrawal from the Akadaemia. A higher education wasn’t paramount to success. There was always. Farming? No. A jack of trades bouncing from village to village? Certainly not. Perhaps instead he could apply to study via correspondence. Or seek an unaccredited internship in Elpis.

Even as he planned out his new future, his feet carried him towards the Words of Logrhif. The final impediment on which he had hung his hopes, the classroom door, lay open. On led his legs, down the stairs, to where the unmistakable soul was nestled in the front row.

It was drab in comparison to the glittering, ever shifting crystal that he knew from their misadventures. The regular rainbow of light was brown and dense like a clod of dirt. It still shimmered lazily as its owner shifted in their seat, responding to whatever dream had stolen them from their studies - mineral deposits in sediment. The change was likely due to too much ambient aether, he concluded. Even wisps of essence drawn in would cumulate into quantities to oversaturate the soul, congesting it like an overgorged reptile. Glutted as it was, their greedy heart still siphoned off aether it could not contain, the tendrils of light bouncing off in irregular directions.

In contrast to their core, Sol appeared deflated. Hades had observed them in stillness before, the coiled tensile strength of a predator awaiting its time to strike. This was different, akin to the laxity of a pudding left out in the sun. 

Hades’ mutinous feet deposited him at the front of the room. His arms, the only part of his anatomy seeming to cooperate with his wishes, crossed over his chest.

"What are you doing here." 

With a groan, Sol pushed themself up from the desk. Hades watched as, in slow motion, a sheet of paper stuck to their cheek peeled off and fluttered to the floor. A valiant effort had been made to twine their bird’s nest of hair into a braid, however rebellious tresses had slipped their way out from the confines and stuck out at a variety of angles.

Eyes initially unseeing, they blinked owlishly at the other student before recognition filtered in.
"Oh! Hades! It’s good to see you. You go here?"

Their lopsided smile was met with a uniform frown.

"What do you mean 'do I go here'?"

"Well, you act like you already know everything, so what need would you have for higher education?"

They were lobbing stones in a glass house. Hades’ glass house where he very much fancied the glaze work.

"What. Are. You. Doing here?” he repeated.

The response was morose.
"Zoology."

Moving as though their limbs carried the weight of eons, the adventurer gathered each sheet a page at a time. Patience already wearing thin, Hades took over. In a swift motion he sheafed all the loose leaves together, tapping them on the desk with unnecessary force to neaten the corners.
“No, what are you doing here.”
Not this classroom.
Not even the Akadaemia – because if anyone needed to study the taxonomies of Etheirys it was this tangle of factoids and misclassifications.
But Amaurot.
They weren’t supposed to be allowed in Amaurot!

Their short burst of energy expended, the youth slumped down onto the desk again, knocking the papers askew.
"My master said that I’d reached the limitations of practical study, so a more theoretical approach might yield fruit."
This was not what they had anticipated when Venat had lifted the restriction on visiting the City State. Whatever they had expected still awaited definition.
“I hate it.”

They didn’t hate it, as such. While didactic learning was not their style, the practical lessons and access to specimens was highly stimulating. Every individual they had met thrummed with knowledge and clamoured to share it, especially when relieved of tiresome tasks which would remove them from their projects. Warm words of praise were also a currency the wanderer prized highly and was exchanged freely at the academy.

What they hated was the fact that the same cluster of phenotypic features could constitute entirely different living beings! In the face of creation magicks what did it even matter? Any thing could be anything and have any name! To trap the wild flow of life in the discrete walls of nomenclature was pointless.

Even if rejecting such convention did sometimes result in temporary petrification, freezing, or third-degree burns.

While Sol wallowed in their misery over studying, Hades tipped over the edge of a realisation that had been teetering on the edge of his reckoning since the first mention of their mentor.

A woman.
Itinerant.
Prone to endorse acts of recklessness.

The pieces snapped together. 
"Azem. Your mentor is Azem."
He could feel a headache building.

A spark of life returned to the wanderer’s features at the mention of the Fourteenth Seat.
"Yes! Do you know her?"

"Do I— Sol there is not a child in Amaurot who does not know of Azem."
Just what had she been teaching them?

"Hyperion,” they corrected. Hades pursed his lips and blinked in succession.

"Come again?"

‘Hyperion’ drew in a breath that never boded well for Hades’ fraying patience.
“On reflection, I realised you were right, and Sol was a ridiculous name. If I’m going to be taken seriously at this respected institute I need a respectable name. So. Call me Hyperion.”

Hades’ response came through gritted teeth.
"It would be much easier if you simply told me your real name."

If Hyperion had heard him, they did not show any sign of it.
"I was thinking of going with Apollo, but if people mistook me for Pollo, or called me a Pollo, that has a very different meaning. If there’s anywhere I’d be teased in a dead language, I figured it’d be here.”

Hades squinted at them through his mask. A Pollo? As in…chicken? Sol...Hyperion never ceased to bewilder him with the nonsense they stored in their memory when they couldn’t positively identify a monster from a farm animal. And this wasn’t even touching on the overarching issue.

“If you want to be taken seriously, the first step is looking presentable,” he chided, pulling up Hyperion’s hood over their head. A spray of stray hairs stuck out from under the cowl, like a cat whose fur had been brushed the wrong way. Features twisting in distaste, Hades set to tucking back each wayward lock. Hyperion obediently underwent the grooming, smile warming as Hades didn’t pull a single hair. In turn, their cheeks burned as his fingertips feathered against their face while straightening their mask.

“Thank you.”

Hades snapped his hands back to himself, silently cursing the betrayal of the last limbs he’d thought to be on his side. He clamped them across his chest, to prevent any further acts of mutiny. Far across the classroom a new poster on batrachoi reproductive cycles drew his intense interest. Nothing like vivid diagrams of amphibian spawn animated with an enchantment to writhe and squelch through their lifecycle to distract one from the electricity in their fingertips.

Ugh.

“So,” he said, lips pursed as tight as his tone.
“Get bored of me, did you?”

Hyperion, meanwhile, had slid under the desk to start scooping up pages. At Hades’ words, they banged their head on the table in their haste to pop up again.
“What?!”

In contrast to the weight of their surprise, Hades' tone was light and his words clipped. 
“You have not summoned me of late."

“Because I wouldn’t summon you if I didn’t need you.”
Beneath their mask Hyperion's brow furrowed. They set their chin on the edge of the desk and squinted at their friend. Try as they might, with their vision they could not perceive whatever emotion was swirling in his soul. Even his eyes were shadowed beneath his mask.

Finding a second wind, Hyperion vaulted up to sit on the desk. The papers which had survived the first impact were crumpled under their rear, matching the mess in their hands.
“Although now that you’re here.”
Each word was drawn out far longer than it needed to be. Hades could sense a request in his near future, and his lip curled in anticipation.
“I was hoping you’d show me around.”

“And why, pray tell, would I do that?”

The response came so quickly Hades wondered if the traveller had practiced this conversation in their head. Maybe more than once, to get the intonation just right. How long had they been in Amaurot, anyway? A week or more based on the propagation of rumours. The unnamed emotion gnawing at the base of his chest grew sharper teeth.
“Because we are friends and because nobody could give me a tour as thoroughly as you could.”

Hades retreated across the room.
“Flattery will not compel me to disrupt my day to play tour guide.”  

Hyperion followed.
“But it’s not just flattery!”
There it was. The tone that had proven his undoing time and again. It was not dulcet, but on the nasal end of the aural spectrum. It wheedled and wiggled in through his ears to some animal part of his brain that buzzed with irritation and, much worse, pride.  
“I know how much you love Amaurot, so I know you’d be the best person to tell me about it! And know all the best places to go.”

He was not going to respond. They had pursued him, so Hades turned away, shying from the eyes which managed to shine through Hyperion’s mask.

“Please, Hades?”

He would not yield, but he did chance a glance over his shoulder to gauge their reaction as he refused.
“No.”

They sighed, shoulders curling inwards. Hades recognised it for what it was – a change of stance. On the battlefield they may have swapped from sword to staff. Or bow.

Definitely bow.
As they drew back their shoulders and fired forth their words. The shot was a bullseye.

“Then I guess I’ll have to go ask Hythlodaeus!”

“No.”
A note of panic, this time. Hyperion’s smile sharpened in the shade of their hood; a flash of the predator Hades had come to know out in the wilds. He vowed not to serve as easy prey, even as he showed his belly.
“I will not leave you and Hythlodaeus together unsupervised.”

The visible pricks of light in Hyperion’s soul vibrated through the layer of slough. They knew they had won.
“So you’ll show me around?”

The shake of Hades’ head, accompanied by a lazy wave of his hand, was an act of deference. Uplifted by his heavy sigh, Hyperion jumped on the spot.

“And then we could go meet Hythlodaeus!”

Lies did not become Hades. He could not deny that meeting their mutual friend had been his plan for the afternoon. Before he could admit as much, Hyperion had reached into their satchel to produce a map of the city. As it unfolded, he could see that they’d already made several annotations ranging from frenzied circles, to doodles, to scratchings he assumed were words, but unrecognisable as any known language to his eye.

“I was thinking we could start by taking the scenic route to the Capitol, then head to the Macarenses Angle, cut a dogleg around to Achora Heights, past the Hall of Rhetoric, and then finish at the Hall of the Architect.”
Hades narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, did you now? And who was it that said they needed to be toured around, again?”

“Planning a route out on a map is totally different to walking the well-worn path of a local.”
Hyperion’s haughtiness broke as they scratched their nose under their mask.
“And I wouldn’t begin to know a thing about what I’m looking at.”

Hades could not deny that. Though if they truly were Azem’s charge – a claim of which the veracity he was still to determine – he suspected they had already seen parts of Amaurot he never would.
“Fine. But should you deign not to listen to my explanations, then this misbegotten tour shall have a quick end.”

Hyperion’s eyes lit up in tandem with their soul and they nodded with vigour. They reached for his hand, and in a way he had seen them do many times before, Hades side-skipped out of reach.

“Do not presume to touch me.” As Hyperion made to speak, he held up a finger, “unlike our previous meetings we are not in the middle of nowhere. There will be no holding of hands. You must understand, there are standards of decorum to uphold.”

“But—"

“Do you understand?” he repeated, annunciating each word with crisp diction.

Their face fell.
“Yes, Hades.”

He sighed, the rush of air easing the tension in his shoulders and spreading a smile across his features.
“Good.”

Without warning he turned on his heel and walked towards the door.
“Now come along.”

With a squawk, Hyperion scooped up the detritus from their desk and scurried after him, leaving a trail of crumpled pages in their wake.

Chapter Text

Over a bell later, Hades’ headache had fulminated into a migraine. What had he been thinking? Touring Hyperion around the city was every bit the disaster he could imagine it to be. They had not made it five steps beyond the classroom threshold when Hyperion had harkened to a cry of dismay. Some fool student had not thought to bind their thesis and now the walkway was a-flurry with an out of season snowstorm.

The adventurer spurred to action without a thought. Their satchel thudded down as they scrambled to scoop and snatch pages from the ground and air both. They scaled a tree to retrieve a leaf of paper and faced off against a bird for the ownership of another. Hades stood sentinel to the display, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his mask. Each time he thought to walk away, Hyperion’s words echoed in his head. ‘Then I guess I’ll have to ask Hythlodaeus’.

Slightly puffed but grinning ear to ear, Hyperion presented the fretful student with their haul. After the display in the lecture hall, Hades raised a brow at the condition of the rescued document: every single page in the wad returned by the adventurer was unmarred.

Following a conversation about the core hypothesis of said thesis – because of course the mineral composition of architectural masonry was imperative knowledge for someone who didn’t even have an apartment until a week ago – Hades managed to extricate Hyperion from their new friend. They mused aloud as they wandered onwards:

“Maybe I should have bound it for them.”

“What? Out of order?”

“Oh! You’re right! I should help them—”

Hades grabbed them by the scruff of their cowl as they tried to turn. Hyperion skipped on one foot and wheeled around. Hythlodaeus’ name perched on the tip of their tongue to remind Hades of the greater good. As their empty pout met his expectant glare, they figured it be best not to overplay their hand.
“Do you wish to see Amaurot or not?”

“Yes,” they conceded.

The Macarenses Angle was next, and the pair travelled without too many distractions. Only three, to be precise. Each point of interest enroute was carefully curated; Hades making his best attempt to steer Hyperion away from any potential distressed citizen. Sharp though his eyes were, their nose for trouble proved just as keen. As promised, however, when Hades stopped to speak at length, they listened.  They did not reach to touch him. They stood and drank in the curve of his lips around certain words, and the lilt of his voice over others. It was more than enough to quench the appetite of their attentions.

Until they reached the bustling green around the teleportation hub.

Like the rest of the city, the Angle thrived with Amaurotines, and not just for purposes of travel. Performers practiced their arts on the grass, while clusters of friends and adversaries both plied their tongues to rhetoric. And, as anywhere travellers came and went, so too did culinarians flock. Where better to employ their trade? The central location boasted convenience for any officials who might wish to stray from their office for a bite to eat.  Several carts and stands punctuated the rim of the square, wafting aromas on the breeze, tempting idle passers-by. Also on the wind, pitching above the bustle of music and debate, was a harried harmony: the siren call of a person in need.

Hyperion did their best to resist. They saw him before they heard him. As their wide eyes drank in the impressive Aetheryte, their attention had hitched on the pacing culinarian. It was a busy operation – even as the owner fretted, shoving sliced meat into bread pockets, fresh orders apparated in a growing pile of receipts. Hyperion clenched their fists and forced their gaze onwards. The cook’s colleague would come. It was not their place to interfere. Besides, Hades was talking. While he made more idle threats than genuine, Hyperion did not want to test the mettle of the mage’s resolve.

So they would just look, glancing to the food cart every few seconds. As excess energy surged through their nerves, they started bouncing on the balls of their feet. The itch burned into a compulsion, the frequency of their tics matching it in intensity. Between the glancing and the bobbing, their braid had fallen out and was flicking with every movement.

Having been party to the layering twitches in his peripheral vision, Hades was driven to distraction.
“Will you stop that,” he snapped, breaking off mid-sentence. Gritting their teeth, Hyperion planted their heels on the ground. Hades could all but hear the keen building in the back of their throat.

“Sorry. It’s just.”
They eyes strayed over to the harried stall owner again. The stack of receipts had doubled since their last glance and there was still no courier in sight. Hades heaved a sigh. There wasn’t much to say about the square, anyway. He released them with a wave of his hand.

“Off you go, then.”

With a squeak of glee the youth scampered off across the green, weaving through the bustling citizens with fluid ease. Hades watched with a bemused smile as they offered their services, scooped up the pending orders, and started running.

A savant of teleportation magic determined to use their feet.
Golden eyes trailed Hyperion’s path out of the square and off to only the star knew where.
Better find a free spot and settle in.

Half a bell later, just as Hades was getting comfortable on the grass, Hyperion reappeared. With snacks.
“They’re filled with cheese!” they crowed, scattering sesame seeds down the front of their robes as they plopped next to Hades.

“And are a breakfast food,” he replied, tone as dry as the pastry probably was after sitting out since the morning. Still, he grudgingly accepted the ring of bread as it was offered. To his surprise, it was warm.

“I asked him to make some fresh, while I delivered the gyros,” explained Hyperion, smile impish.
“They’re kollikion, right? Like you mentioned.”

Hades’ brows would have risen further if they could. They had actually been listening.
“That’s right.”

There was a spray of sesame seeds as Hyperion punched the air and flopped back onto the ground.

They lay there for a time in companionable silence. Hades watched the drifting aether and Hyperion found shapes in the clouds while they ate their bread.
“It’s like you, you know,” started Hyperion, regarding the last morsel between their fingers. When Hades didn’t bite, they pressed on.
“Crunchy on the outside, soft and warm on the inside.”

The gentle smile that had snuck onto Hades' face in the quiet curdled into a sneer.
“It would do you well to learn an onze of subtlety, you know.”

Hyperion rolled onto their side, propping their face up on their hand. In an exaggerated motion they tossed the bread into their mouth. As they chewed, they smiled around the mouthful. Their composure waned further as it bloomed into a giggle.
“It would do you well to save the lectures on manners for when you had a clean face.”
Hyperion reached out and pressed a fingertip to the corner of Hades’ mouth. They displayed the offending sesame seed before popping their finger in their mouth.

Hades choked on his own saliva. Spluttering, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand – a convenient way to cover the fire building in his cheeks. Tensing his core (everything was tense) he sat up and straightened his cowl; a more permanent solution to hide the flush now spreading to his ears.

“What? Were you saving it for later?” needled Hyperion, taking to their feet.

“Don’t be crass,” he snapped, not even taking time to brush the grass from his backside before stomping off.

The Bureau of the Architect, and thus the end of the tiresome tour, was tantalisingly close. Hades could see its roof peeking over the top of the surrounding architecture, its façade winking through gaps in the approaching streets. On the stops after the episode at Macarenses, his languid but thorough explanations had been truncated to bullet point blurbs. No longer did he avoid disquieted citizens, instead veering their course towards distractions to pull the traveller away. Contrary to a fault, however, Hyperion had been glued to his side, sunset-coloured eyes locked on him. Hades would not look at them. He would not check to see if they were even blinking in their apparent insatiable hunger to observe him.

He would not see their lips, nor the sesame seeds still clinging to the front of their robes.

In two blocks, two long blocks he... well, he would not be free, but Hythlodaeus would be a welcome buffer.

At the next intersection, respite arrived in the form of a child’s wail. It cut the interminable silence, splintering Hyperion’s mocking reverie. A pointer dog catching whiff of game, the adventurer swivelled in the direction of the sound. They did not need soul sight to take stock of the situation, and leaving behind a yell from Hades, they broke into a sprint. One, two, three long strides before they crouched, coiled their strength, and sprang into the air. Their arm reached out ahead of them, seeking the string of an escaping balloon.

The cord tickled against their fingertips of one hand, then their other reaching hand, before drifting higher on an updraft.  Face twisting with determination, their physical form phased from sight. They flashed back into focus a few yalms higher, fist snatching the string before it slipped away. Weightless at the top of their arc, Hyperion hovered on the high of triumph for a moment before gravity asserted its dominance. They plummeted downwards, the wind whipping up their robes as a reminder of how fast the ground approached. Before the sickening crunch of impact, for which they were totally prepared, a large gust of air blossomed beneath them as they made their three-point landing. Voice hoarse, Hyperion barked with delight.
"You tried to break my fall!"

Hades balled his hand into a fist – an easy transition after clicking one’s fingers.
"I did no such thing." 

Hyperion hummed and shrugged, staring Hades down before they felt a tug at their robe.

“C-can I have my balloon back?”

Turning to the child, the lopsided smile reserved for Hades broadened to a grin.
“Of course, little sprout!” they said, bending down to tie the cord around the boy’s wrist.
“But you better take good care of it from now on!”

The child’s open mouth closed, and they nodded vigorously and promised to do so in earnest. After some perfunctory ‘thank yous’ the boy’s guardian tugged him away while he craned a look over his shoulder. Hyperion waved until he was swallowed up into the pedestrian bustle, after which they sprang to their feet.

Hades’ words hit them harder than the ground ever could.
"You know I, or anyone, could have just made them a new one."
There had been no need for ridiculous heroics. At the suggestion Hyperion cocked their head to the side. As though the idea of using Creation hadn’t even occurred to them!

"But that one was theirs."

By the star, it hadn’t! Were it not for his mask, Hades would have run his hands down his face. What was wrong with this fool that they would risk life and limb for a random child’s plaything?

The concern straining against consternation was a strange combination. Hyperion’s mundane eyes could not divine the meaning in the twist of Hades’ mouth. Again, they wished they shared his exemplary vision of the soul. Was it so hard to recognise that any replica would not fill the void of its predecessor? The weight of sentimentality could not be woven with even the most intricate of creation magic.

“At this rate we will both expire before we make it to the Bureau,” sighed Hades. Less than two blocks remained. Two blocks! And yet in such a distance he was sure Hyperion would find yet another way to hurl themselves into the face of danger. There were only so many times he could save them from their recklessness. What if they slipped away far enough he could not intervene? What then? As he invented countless improbable scenarios of mortal peril on the streets of Amaurot, he was struck by one possible measure of prevention. A dire course of action, perhaps with far-reaching consequences. After the indecency in the Macarenses Square he was loathe to tempt fate, but already Hyperion was edging off in search of more trouble, no doubt. Growling under his breath, Hades took stride to catch the wanderer before they could become adrift on the tide of the crowd.

Sensing Hades’ approach, the youth turned around, a well curated smile on their face.
“I know wha—” the platitude died on their lips as their breath hitched in their throat. A broad palm slid against theirs, and it was Hyperion’s turn to glow scarlet. As heat spread down their neck and filled their chest, their soul surged with light underneath the dense haze of aether.

“Don’t,” rumbled Hades, raising a pointed finger with his free hand.
“Do not cause a scene.”

In silent response, the adventurer tangled their fingers with his, squeezed gently, and nodded.

As Hythlodaeus exited the front doors of the Bureau of the Architect, he spied a familiar head of white hair, attached to a body sprawled like a starfish on a bench. Approaching from behind, he leaned over the man’s face, smile fading when he realised Hades’ eyes were closed. He did not grace his friend with his golden gaze, and instead squeezed his eyes shut all the tighter. Had he not already done enough for the day? Could he not have a bell of respite?

"I expected Sol to be with you."

Stubborn to the last, Hades gestured to the other side of the square, eyes remaining shut. There, the adventurer had inserted themselves into the testing of an undercooked concept. He did not satisfy Hythlodaeus’ ego by asking how he knew they had accompanied him. The damn voyeur had probably been using his aether sight to spy on him instead of doing his job.
"It's Hyperion, now, apparently."

"Beg pardon?"

"Their name. Hyperion." 

Hythlodaeus’ eyes glinted with amusement.
"Delightful."
A hand cupped to his mouth, Hythlodaeus called out. "Hyperion!" 

The adventurer in question hopped in place to maintain their balance as they swivelled on the ball of their foot. The white flash of their grin was visible from the steps.
"Hythlodaeus!"
The creature in their hands wiggled insistently, pulling their balance more in favour of the ground. They staggered forward, earning a shriek from the concept’s author as the fluffy familiar bounced perilously between their palms. 
"I'll be just a minute!" 

Having completed whatever ‘testing’ the familiar required, Hyperion gently handed the creation back to its author. As they provided feedback, their gestures gained momentum. It started with their hands, before involving their arms, and then finally their whole body. The Amaurotine leaned forward into each suggestion, nodding and taking notes. Occasionally they offered their own suggestion and Hyperion would clap or crow with excitement. The pen swapped hands many times as each added annotations to the proposal; one script neat little tombstones and the other comparable to chicken scratch. Hyperion concluded the exchange with a pat on the back, clearly knocking the wind out of their latest acquaintance.
“You’ll have to show me when it gets approved!” they said with a wave, before trotting over to their friends.

“Hythlodaeus!” Hyperion greeted again, stopping just short of barrelling straight into the willowy man. A hand on their hood, they craned their neck back to stare up at the Bureau of the Architect. While not as imposing as the Capitol, it still cut an impressive figure against the surrounding structures. Knowing what it contained built upon the gravitas. Their posture snapped forward again and their gaze alighted on Hythlodaeus.
"You work here?"

"Merely a part time position. To supplement my studies." 
Hythlodaeus waved a dismissive hand but Hyperion caught it in their own, giving it a gentle squeeze. Though the calluses remained, Hythlodaeus noted with amusement that the dirt smudges had been replaced with ink stains.

“Studies and gainful employment? I feel privileged you’d make time for us.”

“And lest we not forget his apprenticeship,” chimed Hades, unmoved from his slump on the bench.

“Our apprenticeship,” Hythlodaeus corrected, smile widening as he watched Hades bristle.

A breathy sigh escaped Hades as he shook his head.
“I do not understand why you continue to force this issue.”

Because it’s fun, thought Hythlodaeus.
“Because it is my sincere hope that with adequate exposure my would-be mentor will recognise pale I am in comparison.” 

“Apprenticeship?” asked Hyperion, tilting their head. The plait which had been tucked away flopped out, prompting a bubbly chuckle from Hythlodaeus. He would have to show them how braid it properly.

“To the Illustrious Emet-Selch, who only has eyes for Hythlodaeus.”

“Only has eyes for my eyes, more like.”

Hades shrugged, maintaining maddening silence.

Hyperion glanced between the two, head still tilted towards the side.
“That’s the Emet-Selch of the Convocation, right?”

Hades scoffed from the bench, flopping his head back again. Fluent in dead languages but unsure about the governing body of the star. Unconscionable.

“The one and only,” confirmed Hythlodaeus with a bemused smile.

“Oh, I know them!” they replied, perking up.

“Well, that is to say, I met him once when I was a child. He’s part of why I wasn’t allowed in Amaurot.”
Hythlodaeus and Hades exchanged a look. There was no prize for guessing why the Caretaker of the Underworld had been involved. Lavender eyes adjusted their focus to examine Hyperion’s soul. It was a quagmire of aether, the natural colour drowned out.
“Speaking of such, how are you feeling, now that you’re here?”

Recognition of the question truly being asked flickered behind Hyperion’s mask. So, they were not ignorant of their soul’s nature. The candour lasted but a moment before it was effaced by a cheerful façade.
“Hades gave me a tour! So I am feeling much more at home than I did a few bells ago.”

Hythlodaeus’ smile tightened.
“Wonderful to hear. You shall have to regale me with just how you got our friend to agree to such an imposition.”

The response, diametrically opposed in tone, came in unison.
“Blackmail.”

Hythlodaeus curled over in laughter.
“I shall have to try it sometime,” he said, recovering from his giggles with a wink at the adventurer.

“As if you already haven’t," drawled Hades, every word dripping with disdain. 

Hyperion shared in Hythlodaeus’ laughter, before their false smile died.
“Hythlodaeus,” they ventured, grasping their hands together to keep from wringing them, “while it really is a pleasure to see you, I actually need to talk to you.  Somewhere we won’t be overheard.”

The gravity of Hyperion’s tone muted Hythlodaeus’ smile and caused Hades to crack open an eye. The bureau clerk mulled the nearby options, before his lips curled up once again.
“I know just the place.”

Hyperion loosed a little sigh, their tight expression softening.
“Excellent.”

Again, they seized Hythlodaeus’ soft hand in their rough one. Swivelling around, in a silent request they held out their other hand to Hades. He stared at the offered appendage, and Hyperion braced for his refusal. He would not meet their eyes, but as they made to withdraw, Hades linked his fingers with theirs. Hythlodaeus’ shoulders shook with silent laughter as he watched Hyperion press their lips together to bite back their joy.
“Well my dear Hythlodaeus, please lead the way!”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Hand in hand in hand, Hyperion's soul glittered lavender and gold through the aetheric sediment as the trio departed.

Chapter Text

“Damn it all!”

As the curse ground out from the back of Hades’ throat, sparks flew from the tip of his sword as it scraped against the tiles of the Bureau of the Architect's floor. At the start of his arc, despite his best efforts to adjust, his blade had clipped several concept matrices on the shelves. A spray of crystal shards mixed with dissolving aether as the arcane entity in his path expired. Though the curve of the swing was ill fated, it had found its mark. A small salve on his pride, especially when Hythlodaeus was intent to rub salt on the wound.  

“You know, I’m starting to think that a six-foot sword in these tight corridors may not be the wisest choice of armament.”

Hades rounded on his 'friend', teeth bared.
“And what would you suggest instead? You may not have noticed but our usual diversion is not currently fit for the task!”

Behind them, Hyperion doubled over as they suppressed a retch. Both men whipped around to check on the youth, eyes flicking between their bent form and the empty space behind them. One hand clasped over their mouth, the adventurer held up the other and waved it like a bird’s fluttering wings.

“I—” the words caught in their throat as their gorge rose. Holding the bile in their mouth, they swallowed it down and started again.
“I— I can do it!”

Swinging up into a standing position, Hyperion set their stance. Their face creased in concentration and their companions braced themselves. As a tower shield and short sword sparkled into existence and held their shape, the trio released a collective breath.
“Just stand behind me and push!”

They waited, sure expression faltering as the silence stretched on.

“Hyperion,” came Hythlodaeus’ gentle voice. They bit their tongue to keep from correcting him about their name.

“How can you expect to be any use when you can’t see,” snapped Hades, before the archer could continue.

They broke their stance with a small stomp of their foot – as though they could not believe they had to explain this.
“Well, that’s why you’re pushing me.”

“No.”
“But—”

A not-too-distant roar rattled the crystals lining the corridor.

“Time to move on, I fear,” said Hythlodaeus, stepping in before a fresh round of bickering could delay their departure.

With much less effort than it took for them to appear, Hyperion’s shield dissipated. Their hand was empty for but a moment before they felt soft, delicate fingers lacing with theirs.
“Here, how about instead of pushing, I pull?”

“That’s far less fun,” they mumbled under their breath.

“You know what Is even less fun?” sneered Hades, “Dying.”

Hyperion couldn’t argue with that.
In silent agreement, the trio continued their flight through the maze of shelves.

Aside from the stands in the Macarenses Angle, Amaurot was home to any number of eateries. With new concepts being created every day, gimmicks were commonplace to draw patrons away from the other options dotting the streets. Cuisine from far flung corners of the star, restaurants which intensified the experience of taste through sensory deprivation, and dining halls which boasted private booths enchanted for the utmost of privacy.

Hyperion inspected each corner of one such dimly lit booth. On sliding into the alcove, it had felt as though they’d pushed through a membrane of dense air, popping out on the other side. The clinks and shouts of the kitchen were completely deafened, though the scents wafting from the servery persisted. There was no murmur of other patrons conversing. No wind. No ambient sounds of birds or water or rustling trees. The adventurer had never been party to such complete silence. Even when out in the world alone, hundreds of malms from the closest member of mankind, there was more noise than in this two-yalm squared space.

“And nobody can hear us in here?” they asked, mouth slightly agape. Hythlodaeus shook his head with a smile.

“Not a soul.”
A pause, as an idea sparked in his lavender eyes.
“Care to test out the fortitude of the enchantment?”

As Hyperion puffed up their chest with a mighty inhalation, Hades cut the suggestion off at the knees.
“That will not be necessary.”

Hyperion stopped at the peak of their breath, before slowly deflating. Hythlodaeus chuckled as he passed around the menu.
“So what matter for my attention requires the utmost secrecy?”

“I was wondering,” they started, each word meandering out of their mouth.
Hythlodaeus nodded and smiled expectantly.
“If.”
Another nod, paired with a slow blink.
Hades scoffed wordlessly under his breath.

After another pause, the body of the entreaty tumbled from their mouth like a run of quavers.
“You could show me around the Bureau of the Architect.”
Before the allegro tempo could catch up more words to flesh out the request, Hyperion pressed their lips together. There was obviously more the wanderer wanted to ask, but Hythlodaeus was a patient man who would work with what others gave him.

"Unfortunately I can't do that."
He waited for their face to fall, the pause as they considered their options. As they inhaled to elaborate, he held up a finger and smiled.
"...during office hours." 

The inward breath lost its momentum and Hyperion slumped forwards against the table. They stopped short of bonking their head and shot Hythlodaeus an impotent glare.

“You’ll need to keep practising if you wish to compete with Hades, but I’d rather if you didn’t as you have such a lovely smile.”

They obliged him with a small one.
“I guess I can, since you are agreeing to help me.”

“But.”

They nodded, “But.”

Hyperion gauged Hades’ expression. He had been doing his best to avoid looking at them, but after a third perusal the menu lost its lustre as a distraction. One glance saw his eyes caught upon their face, just as they turned in his direction. As he matched their gaze, his eyes narrowed. Such mistrust! But they couldn’t deny it was without basis. While they wished to watch him stew, and his temper come to the boil as their plan became apparent, it was rude to stare elsewhere when asking a favour, especially from a dear friend, so Hyperion looked back to Hythlodaeus.
“What about the restricted section?”

Finally, Hythlodaeus' smile faltered.
“Well now, that is a bit harder.”
Delicate fingers rubbed at a pointed chin as Hythlodaeus considered the scope of the request, and just what he could do to fulfil it. Before his train of thought could gain momentum, Hades threw on the breaks.

“You cannot seriously be entertaining this ridiculous request.”

At least not at face value. Hyperion never asked questions. Hythlodaeus did not ask enough or didn’t ask the right ones – quite deliberately. Hades would not let the adventurer worm out of explaining themselves this time.
“What could you possibly want in the restricted archives of the Bureau?”

Knowing them they were looking to supplement their ‘training’ with some imbalanced monstrosity from the Words of Lahabrea. Or worse. As Hyperion glanced between him and Hythlodaeus, Hades settled on worse. His suspicions were cemented when their gaze settled on him longest. When they spoke, to him no less, it was the grimmest portent of all.

"You have to promise not to get mad."

Hades folded his arms across his chest.  ‘Mad’ was not the term he would use for his reasonable criticism of the antics of these two troublemakers.
"I will do no such thing."

Hyperion mirrored his pose, turning away and looking down their nose.
"Then I shan't tell you."

Before he could retort, Hades felt the brush of a gentle hand on his arm and a kick to his shin under the table.
"All you have to do is promise you'll forestall your ire, dear Hades."

"Imagine what I might get up to out of your watchful eye,” added Hyperion.

Hades held his sour expression. He didn’t care! If Hyperion was caught and expelled from Amaurot it would be the end of his headaches. He had no especial attachment to the Bureau of the Architect. In fact, if the place was in shambles from Hyperion’s exploits it would occupy the other menace to his free time.

"What sort of danger I could put myself in. The havoc I could wreak. All it takes is you controlling your terrible temper this once."

The three of them knew it was never just once. 

Hyperion slackened their unyielding posture. They leaned across the table towards him, causing Hades to press back into the cushion of the booth.
“Please.”

His brows knitted together, and his upper lip twitched.

“Please, Hades,” echoed Hythlodaeus, pressing against his arm before giving it a squeeze.

Hades cracked.
“Ugh. Fine. I shall reserve my judgment on the matter.”
He pulled his arms tighter to his chest and slouched in his seat.

Hyperion wore their relief in the form of a smile.
“So, after you two left the Steppe, I went to investigate just where the…snakehemoth? Behehydra?”
Both terrible names. Utterly uninspired.
“Came from.”

As they spoke, they rifled through their pack. It was clearly much deeper on the inside, as soon they were in it up to their armpits. Much more reaching and they’d fall right in! After no small amount of jostling and cursing, Hyperion secured their quarry. They did not, however, bask in their small triumph. In fact, for them, their expression was subdued as they placed the item in the centre of the table.  
“I found this.”

Hythlodaeus’ eyes sparked with understanding.
"A concept crystal.”

“And given the nature of the entity we faced on the Steppe it would most likely be—” 

“A restricted concept.”

And it looked to be the master copy, at that.

Hyperion nodded solemnly.
“I want to put it back. Without anyone knowing.”
Tendrils of excitement crept along their nerves, sparking fresh action potentials in the wake of their seriousness. A mutinous grin snuck onto their face.
"A reverse heist, if you will." 

Now brimming with anticipation, they wiggled a little in their seat. Since arriving in Amaurot their ‘adventures’ had been on a scale much smaller than their custom. Food deliveries and runaway balloons could not compete with the three of them sneaking into some out-of-bounds government facility under the cover of night. It was an adventure to sate anyone’s appetite for action! And it was enough to overstuff others.

The third of their number had been conspicuously silent.

"...Hades?" 

His response was even. Too smooth. Hyperion feared the quiet before the storm.

“I am not mad.”
Much to their surprise, Hyperion realised he was telling the truth.
“But I do have questions.”

Hades held up a finger.
“First: Why have you not told Azem?”
It would be easy for a Convocation member to access the restricted archives. If it was the Fourteenth, it was unlikely the officials at the Bureau would even ask many questions. Often the less one knew the better when it came to the Seat of the Traveller.

Again, the youth squirmed on the spot. This time the motion was bereft of delight.
“It’s hard to explain.”

“I would invite you to try.”

Still anxious of the oncoming lecture, Hyperion was surprised by the softness of his tone. With a sigh they put their rationale into stilted words.

“Azem is much more than just a mentor to me. She. Had more than a small hand in raising me. I am now of an age where she trusts me as an adult. I do not wish to squander that confidence over something I know I can solve myself.”

Even without a friend who worked at the Bureau they would have found a way to return the matrix to its rightful place. Their voice was loud, but their footfalls were soft. Their countenance was bright, but they were at home in the shadows. While they could not see souls, they could sense wards and had some experience at disarming them if they could not pass them with brute force or ignore them with teleportation.  Looking at them from the other side of the table, Hades and Hythlodaeus knew the youth would venture there alone were they to refuse their assistance.

Hades’ next question was as much a statement as an inquiry.

“Second: You do realise that its removal and subsequent activation was likely a deliberate act.”

“But what would someone stand to gain from summoning an arcane entity of this nature in the middle of nowhere?” countered Hythlodaeus, fine brows furrowed.

“I don’t know. I am not in the habit of trying to empathise with sociopaths.”

Hyperion glanced between the two men.
“So you don’t think I did it?” The words blurted out before they could stop themselves, their hands slapping over their mouth too late. Two snorts – one of laughter and one of derision – sounded from their friends.

“Don’t be ridiculous," scoffed Hades.

Hythlodaeus reached across the table and guided Hyperion’s hands down from their mouth.
“How could you steal a concept matrix when you’d never been to Amaurot, let alone the Bureau of the Architect.”

With wet eyes, Hyperion returned his smile.

“Not to mention you are adept enough at finding trouble without actively creating it,” added Hades, his veil of contempt thinner than usual. 

How could the one who had started the stampede with malicious intent have appeared so morose over the fate of the catoblepas? Time and again Hades had seen Hyperion fling themselves into danger without a thought except for the single-minded cause of aiding others. He would be the first to criticise them, their methods, their conduct, their personal presentation but he trusted them.

Admired them.

“I also think that finding the culprit is a secondary concern,” continued Hythlodaeus.

Though it was a concern.
None of them verbalised an alarming conclusion: that whoever had stolen the crystal had been targeting Hyperion.

“Our primary problem is to first gain access to the restricted area. As such, I ask you to leave it with me. I shall call in a few favours.”

Hades threw up his hands.
“A few favours, he says! As if it’s that simple.”

“It really is, my dear friend.”

“I refuse to believe that a junior clerk at the Bureau of the Architect has enough influence over anyone to gain undocumented access to the restricted archives.”

Hythlodaeus levelled a smile at his scowl. Hades’ scepticism wavered under the weight of his confidence. It crumbled as the Soulseer spoke.

“My aetheric vision is of the highest acuity.”

Hades had all but called it preposterous, but a few days later Hythlodaeus contacted his friends with a date and time. Just as in Hyperion’s daydreams, they met under the cover of darkness, cloistered in the shadows between the blots of lamplight illuminating the street. Hades had arrived first - that is, on time - despite having the most misgivings about this half-baked ‘heist’. After some tense minutes waiting alone in the cool night air, Hythlodaeus graced him with his presence. He had sauntered down the street as though he owned it, nodding at the other citizens taking a late evening constitutional. Making no effort to hide his passage! Though of the three of them, he had the most reason to be in the vicinity of the Bureau of the Architect at such a late hour.

What dedication from the young and upcoming reviewer; the man with sight coveted by both the Chief Architect and the Venerable Emet-Selch.

Hyperion was, of course, the last of their number to appear. Perhaps in truth they had been the first to arrive. Five minutes to the second after Hythlodaeus’ entrance, they popped up behind the two waiting Amaurotines. Perhaps it was due to the colour of their soul being completely drowned out, but Hades had not detected their approach.

“Ready?” they chirped, clapping a hand on Hades and Hythlodaeus’ shoulders respectively. Already tense from waiting, Hades angled an elbow towards their solar plexus in reflex. Hyperion darted backwards, the point of his arm just grazing their belly.
“Ooh, I’ll take that as a yes!”

Placing his hand where Hyperion’s had just been on Hades’ shoulder, Hythlodaeus spoke.
“Do you have the matrix?”

The adventurer held up a wrapped piece of cloth, giving it a little wave.

“Good, then let us get this over with,” ground out Hades.

They slipped into the Bureau via a service door hidden down an alleyway. It wasn’t supposed to be open, but thanks to whoever Hythlodaeus had coerced for a favour they required no key. The three hooded figures walked briskly through the halls. Contrary to their usual order, Hythlodaeus had taken point – this was his realm, after all. His aetheric vision was also the best to alert them to any fellow trespassers in their path.

So far, it had all been clear.
Too clear, if you asked Hades, which nobody did.

He was bringing up the rear, mostly to ensure that Hyperion did not wander off. It was an order he and Hythlodaeus had established while waiting for the adventurer to arrive. As they had during the tour of Amaurot, however, they were showing that they could apply their attention were they wont to do so. High vaulted ceilings and blank walls dotted with doors were, however, far less stimulating than an entire archive filled with dangerous concepts. The closer they drew to the restricted section, the thinner Hades’ faith in his companion waned.

“Two more left turns, and then we enter the third door on the right,” briefed Hythlodaeus over his shoulder.
“We’ll have one bell before Hippodamus has to reactive the wards.”

“More than enough time,” replied Hyperion with confidence.
“It’ll be in and out, depositing the matrix in the middle. Half a bell, and then it’s off to some all-night eatery for-“

“So help me if you say the word teabrief.”

They flashed their teeth in a grin.
“Why? You just said it for me, Hades.”

If not for their need for silence, Hades would have groaned.

The door they used to enter the restricted section was as unassuming as the door they’d used to enter the Bureau proper. As they crossed the threshold, Hyperion gasped. The ceiling in the corridor had been high, but this repository stretched for storeys above that. Aisle after aisle of crystal-lined shelves stretched out into hazy obscurity. And this, apparently, was one of the smaller segments! Some back warehouse, forgotten by most of mankind.

A nudge to their back drew an end to their sedentary gawking. Hyperion continued to stare at their surrounds as they walked forward. The trio continued in silence, before Hythlodaeus paused to consider which direction they needed to head in next. Against his better judgement, Hades paced past the gobsmacked traveller to needle Hythlodaeus about whether he actually knew where he was going. Amidst their hushed tones, a soft clinking tickled his ear.

“For the love of the Star, do not touch anything,” hissed Hades, glaring over his shoulder at Hyperion. It was too late. Hyperion froze, hand already clasped around a concept crystal they had plucked from a shelf. Their grin faltered even as Hythlodaeus gently admonished them.

“This is one time where I must agree with Hades.”

“I mean, can you blame me? It’s so…random. A diremite tail, the body of a lion, the head of a man! Who even thinks of this stuff?”
As Hyperion spoke, aether bled from their form, stretching in a tall cloud of light behind them before the glob of aether pinched off. It bulged and stretched, filling out the entity which the traveller had described with some embellishments – stray thoughts of what they might add to the concept, perhaps.

“I may not be an authority on the practical applications of aether, but it shouldn’t be that easy, should it?” ventured Hythlodaeus, lavender eyes wide with surprise for once in his life.

“No.” came Hades’ curt response, cheek bulging as his jaw clenched. With a glance to affirm the acumen of his gut instinct, Hades observed that the mire around Hyperion’s soul had thinned.

At the sound of the Hades' voice, the arcane entity being drawn forth from Hyperion’s mind’s eye shifted. The amorphous blob where the face should be took shape – transforming into a facsimile of Hades’ visage.

“Oh for—”
Before he could complete his curse, the mouth of his doppelganger opened far wider than it should have anatomically been able to. Expelling a wave of fetid breath over the three youths, an inhuman screech echoed against the vaulted ceiling.

Hyperion was the first to move. They took one look at the entity which screamed predator and knew they could not make a stand. Not here, in the narrow shelves, or their legs barely holding their weight and their stomach twisting mutinously in their abdomen. On their way past their companions, they seized their wrists and hauled them along. They glanced from side to side as they ran, looking for the next break in the shelves. As their eyes alighted on the names of different concepts, more waves of aether billowed from their core. Made from the barest wisp a thought, the creations were initially malformed. Once separated from Hyperion’s soul, the aether took on an intent of its own, filling in the gaps of their errant imaginings to form fully functional yet nonsensical entities of varying levels of lethality. Tentacles, deployable spines, venom tipped fangs – if you could think of it, it had been dredged up from the wanderer’s subconscious and slapped on the malformed monsters.

It was three intersections and innumerable creations later when they faltered. Releasing their grip on Hythlodaeus and Hades, they stumbled onto all fours, barely keeping their face from scraping along the stonework. That was the end of their self care. The hair hanging in their face and the hands flanking their head were caught in the line of fire as they released the contents of their stomach in wave after wave of racking retches.

“What in the name of Creation just happened,” panted Hades, trying to block out the sound and smell of Hyperion’s vomiting.
He knew the answer; at least the part of it that mattered in the now.
After the first drop had spilled across the brim, the cup of Hyperion’s soul had runneth over with aether, and something had happened to that aether while in situ.

As another wave of trashy abominations were born from an outflux of essence from the youth’s prone form, Hades decided that even with his recent cardio training, he was done running.

“Stop looking at things,” he ordered, summoning a broadsword to his hands, “Stop thinking about things.”

“I can't,” a miserable burp interrupted Hyperion's denial, “I don't- I don’t know how.”

You do, supplanted a little voice in the back of their head, Azem taught you!

But. It was difficult to centre their breathing while their mouth was flooded with saliva and the acrid taste of acid. Each time they settled their mind’s eye to a clear pool, the surface rippled with the thudding footsteps of the advancing manticore. The flicker of anxiety was all that was required for a miniature version of the gigantic monstrosity lumbering through the aisles to blossom from Hyperion’s form. This one wore their face, shrieking in panic.

Hades bisected it with his sword before it could solidify. He then set to dispatching the rest of the pack.

Crouching beside Hyperion, Hythlodaeus cleaned their hair with a simple enchantment, and held it back for the next round of emesis. Tears pricking their eyes, Hyperion mumbled slurred apologies. While Hythlodaeus rubbed Hyperion’s back and hummed under his breath, Hades swung his sword and snapped out spells. When the wave of sickness had passed, Hythlodaeus helped them to sit up on their haunches.

“This might help.”
A strip of lilac fabric materialised in his fingers, and he gently tied it over Hyperion’s eyes. It was thick enough they could not see through the weave, but still soft against their skin. After touching the blindfold with tentative fingers, the youth beamed and bounced to their feet – steadying themselves as they reached their full height.

“Call me Justitia!” they announced with a soft clap before conjuring their sword and holding it aloft. An illusory pair of scales formed in their other hand, but the aether of both quickly melted. Now liquid bronze, it trickled through their fingers and pooled on the floor, congealing in the ambient temperature.

“Now is not the time, Hyperion.”

They paused in their attempt to shake the cloying drips from their hands to turn up their nose and sniffed in Hades’ general direction.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re taking to.”

“You, you childish—”

“Does it really matter what we call them, Hades?" interjected Hythlodaeus. "As you said, we do not have time for bickering.”

Hades pursed his lips and tightened his grip on his blade.
“We cannot just keep running.”

Hythlodaeus nodded and took stock of both how far away the manticore was, and just where they could make a stand. The beast seemed to be preoccupied with hunting the smaller creations Hyperion’s soul had conjured. Time was short, but they had some.
“We can lure it to one of the testing halls.”

There, they would have space and there would be no concept crystals for Hyperion to pervert with their aberrant magicks.

“Please tell me there is one nearby,” said Hades, eyeing the next wave of smaller entities heading their way.

“Not too far.”

The lack of a discrete distance was disconcerting. In a facility of this size ‘not too far’ could be a whole malm.
“We don’t want to pull too far away from the manticore, lest it lose our trail.”

When the two Amaurotines did not depart, the adventurer blinked beneath their blindfold.
“What?” asked Hyperion, turning their head as though they might see something.

“Someone else is here,” answered Hades.

“Another soul, yes. I was hoping you’d seen it, too.”
Or rather, he’d been hoping that Hades hadn’t seen it. The confirmation that they were not alone meant that they could not flee, lest they put an innocent bystander at risk.

“They are coming this way, albeit slowly,” continued Hades, staring down the long line of shelves.

“Well, we have caused something of a commotion.”

Hades grunted in agreement as he hefted up his sword. Before they could move on, Hyperion piped up.

“Don’t bend your back so much.”

Even though they were blindfolded, he levelled them a flat look.

They could feel his disapproving stare but took his silence as an invitation.
“And tighten your core.”

“YOU CAN’T EVEN SEE!”

“But I can hear the way you’re lumbering around.”
With a rumble or irritation, Hades stalked down the aisle. Hythlodaeus smirked as noticed Hades stood just a bit taller as he did so.

“I’m going to take the blindfold off, now.”
Nimble fingers pulled down the strip of fabric over Hyperion’s eyes and settled it around their neck. Blinking in succession to adjust to the light, they took in the space of their would-be arena over Hythlodaeus’ shoulder. The vaulted hall shared more with the plain corridors than the grand library of matrices; a blank slate ready to be painted with blood. Whether it would be theirs or the manticore’s was yet to be determined.

Their foe loomed large behind them. Having glutted itself on the aether of the lesser entities, it had burgeoned in size and menace both. And it knew it.  Each step was deliberate - it's toe beans padding onto the tiles as it casually knocked over row after row of shelves. Its tail swatted from side to side, sure to collect any cases it had missed. Its face…

The trio knew what the face would look like.
Only Hythlodaeus could bear to look at it. He would not admit it, but he did regret doing so.

As the beast came to an ominous stop, Hyperion jumped to action, apparently recovered from their aether sickness.

“I’m going to lure it in with what remains of…whatever I have going on.” They waved both hands in front of their chest to emulate the appearance of their soul. The colour, or lack thereof, had returned. Once again, their essence glittered like a crystal - just a few lazy dregs of alien aether bouncing around its core.
“You and I can take turns drawing its attention while Hythlodaeus whittles it down with arrows.”

It was a less than ideal plan.
Worse even than the farce on the Steppe.
When he moved to say as much, Hades was caught by the hollowness of Hyperion’s cheeks and the dark smudges ripening beneath their eyes punctuated by an optimistic smile. His tongue stayed heavy in his mouth as they pressed him for affirmation.
“You ready?”
He nodded.
They nodded back and trotted to the door.  

“This is such a bad idea,” said Hythlodaeus, watching as a pale shadow of aether bloomed from Hyperion’s form. The negativity startled Hades, drawing his gaze over his shoulder as he heard the manticore shift its mass to pounce on Hyperion's offering. Hythlodaeus was, however, gone - teleported away to vantage point on a viewing balcony.

Back in front of him, a rush of footsteps heralded a single word warning from his fellow front-liner.
“BRIDGE!”

“Oh for—”
There was no time for the completion of his oath; Hyperion was already in the air. Hades adjusted, flipping his blade flat over his hands and softened his elbows. Hyperion sprang off the surface with a skyward push from Hades.  Staggering backwards, he watched them fly towards the manticore, sword pulled back, ready to strike at the monstrosity's nape.

The creature, not adequately distracted by the morsel of aether, wheeled around to glower at the catapulting adventurer. Eye to eye with a mirror of Hades’ face, their blade faltered.  Seeing the opening, the manticore’s jaws dislocated and a wave of fire spewed forth directly at Hyperion. Still reeling from the thought of nearly having run through their friend, they copped the full brunt of the backdraft.

Or they would have, had a bolt of white not batted them out of the way. High speed blunt force trauma may not have been preferable to whole body burns, but they were certainly easier to fix. Hyperion bounced like a rag doll and skidded across the tiles. Hades made to chase them, but the two entities now brawling barred his way.

The white streak was the other soul which Hythlodaeus and Hades had seen prowling the shelves, now coated in the thick aether of a transformation. The Ancient beneath was imperceptible under swathes of white fur and flurrying feathers. Hades caught a glimpse of a savage looking blade in the blur of motion. No, not just one, at least two, probably more. They scissored into the flesh of the ginormous manticore, drawing forth that inhuman shriek once again. Driving the blades home, the transformed Amaurotine blasted fire down his blades and quartered the creature with a wet crunch. A stench of hot iron flooded the testing chamber as the blood sizzled on the stonework before dissipating into aether. White fur was stained black, and Hythlodaeus and Hades both drank in the full majesty of the transformation before it, too, dissolved.

Left behind was a panting man, much taller and broader than the average specimen of mankind. His face was weathered with years of travel and lines drawn by laughter. While the pelt of his augmented form had been sullied, his robes were purest white.

Hades muttered an oath.
Another fucking Azem.

Cooling down from his exertions, the retired Fourteenth seat stretched out his shoulder, swinging his arm in lazy circles. He canvassed each of the children (for that is how they seemed to him) and appraised their condition. Two none the worse for wear, and the third…

Hyperion was crumpled in a sad heap on the stonework. Their hair was matted against their face, and the blindfold around their neck was steeped in red. It was a small mercy their head was still round.

The frenetic pace of battle broken, Hades hurtled to their side, their name on his lips. He skidded onto his knees and scooped them into his arms. Aether he could scarcely spare glowed at his palms, sparks of healing magic sputtering along the lines of Hyperion’s wounds. Hythlodaeus knelt on their other side a breath later. He did not pause to decry his ability to apply aether as he, too, made to mend them. Their unnamed savoir sauntered over, apparently unconcerned so long as the youth was breathing.

Which they were. Regularly, if a little shallow and laboured. As their friends worked to stabilise them, each inhalation sounded less like a death rattle and more like a gasp. When Hyperion opened their eyes, it was to six…no, three heads bending over them. Well, three fuzzy blobs that soon focussed into two oscillating faces painted with concern, and one in staring with blatant curiosity.

Before Hades could admonish them in his relief, the retired Convocation member found the memory they were looking for. His face lit up.
“Oooh, you’re Venat’s little sprout.”

The name Venat snapped Hyperion to attention. Their eyes widened before they had to squint against their diplopia. Their vision swam with white as they tilted their head back to get a better upside-down look at the stranger. In the fog of near unconsciousness, they didn’t know well enough to feign ignorance.

“Perses?” they wheezed, the air from their lungs carrying the melody instead of the timbre of their voice.

“Ah, so she’s told you about me.”
Perses grinned and crouched down over them.
“Sorry about the tumble, kiddo.”
He planted a single finger against their forehead and sent through a pulse of aether.
“You know, if I had a kollikion for every time I had to save a student from a monstrosity of their own making, I’d have a single kollikion, which is a great snack.”

Hades and Hyperion blinked in unison as Perses gave the trio a thumbs up. Hythlodaeus stared without smiling.

“So I think, Little Sprout, you owe me one kollikion and we’ll call this all square, hm?”

“Mm,” was the only response as their brows knit together and their eyes closed.

“Good enough for me."
Hands on his knees, Perses pushed himself to his feet.
“And what about you two? Just scrapes and bruises I’d warrant.”

After sharing a glance, Hades and Hythlodaeus nodded.
“Yes,” ventured Hades, holding Hyperion that little bit closer. “My thanks for your assistance.”

The question as to what an ex-Convocation member had been doing in this part of the Bureau at this time of night burned on his tongue, but it was not a question he wished to answer in kind.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let that thing keep rampaging around, now was I? Big aetheric disturbance like that, I wouldn’t be an Azem worth my salt if I hadn’t picked up on it.”
Perses’ own unasked questions loomed large behind his disarming smile.
“I dare say it’ll be quite the clean-up.”

With a groan, he stretched out his back.

“Considering Venat’s little greenhorn will be keeping you busy, I better go get started. But—”
He held up a finger, popping up a second as he spoke.
“That’ll be two more kollikion.”

“Filled with cheese or chocolate?” asked Hythlodaeus, now holding Hyperion’s hand in both of his.

Perses’ laughter rang up to the vaulted ceiling.
“Oh, you’re a fun one. I’ll surprise you. And don’t worry about the whole,” he trailed off, waving a hand.
“Well. Let’s just say I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“We won’t.”

“Great!” he boomed, extending out both arms. With a wink the bulky ancient turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Remember, three kollikion!” were his final words as he waved while walking away.

Chapter Text

“Well that is disappointing.” 

Hythlodaeus’ words rang out from the entry of the testing room across what remained of the restricted archive’s south wing. Hades stood beside him, the wanderer limp in his grip. Still out cold, their head lolled against his chest while their gangly arms had been tucked between Hades’ and their body. So peaceful was their countenance, one could mistake their unconsciousness for sleep. And yet while a little colour had returned to their cheeks their freckles still stood out stark against the ashen pallor of their skin. Their hair, too, lacked its usual fluffy volume. Instead it was matted into hanks with congealed blood. After sparing them a glance to ensure they still breathed, Hades looked out across the wreckage. 

“What else did you expect?”
The mess of the archive was untouched. Perses, nowhere to be seen.

Given the scope, it stood to reason the man hadn't meant a literal clean up at all. Hythlodaeus maintained his disappointment despite his common sense. He had been curious to see how the old Azem had intended to pull it off. But he supposed they should count their boons. The lack of active wards, despite the bell afforded by his beleaguered contact being long over, was no small achievement on Perses’ part. It was also likely that in spite of the mess, the old traveller would compose an adequate cover story. Just what, though, Hythlodaeus could only begin to imagine. 

So impressive was the manticore’s path of destruction that it was difficult to pick through the detritus without crunching over a fragment of concept matrix or splinter of shelf. 

When the doors to the Bureau opened in a few short bells it was going to be a very long day. 

"Thank the Star they are unconscious,” commented Hades, kicking a shard of crystal which had the audacity to be in his way. Hythlodaeus watched its path, instead choosing to navigate the debris at his feet with light steps. 

"True. We wouldn't be allowed to leave."
Even with a mess as monumental as this one - and completely replete of aether to boot - the pair knew Hyperion would not be able to turn their back and walk away. 

Continuing in silence, the weight of the things they really should be talking about hung in the air between them, more oppressive than the exhaustion sinking into their bones. 
Perses, and what he had been doing there. The way their friend’s aether had acted of its own accord, springing twisted concepts into creation with the barest nudge of a thought. Another misadventure ending in their injury, worse this time than a partially petrified limb. 

They had made it halfway to freedom when Hyperion stirred. 

First their eyes cracked open. Their field of vision was blurry, but at least the world was no longer splitting in two. When the extent of lingering hurt struck like Perses’ transformation smacking them to the floor all over again, their eyes scrunched closed. With a groan, Hyperion wriggled in Hades’ grip, apparently finding their current position wanting. 

“Will you—” Hades groused, attempting to navigate his arms around their shifting form. 

“Will you stop that,” he said, stopping himself short of threatening to drop them. Hyperion found their comfort soon enough, tangling their arms around his neck. There was a brief reprieve of stillness before their constant need for motion asserted itself. It started with a flex of their fingers. Then they began to fiddle with the short strands of hair at his nape, flicking them back and forth. Goosebumps sprang up on Hades’ skin at the brush of their fingertips, each stroke sending shocks of electricity down his spine. 

"You are supposed to be gravely injured," he grumbled, but the edge was soft and the arms which carried them held firm.

“I am dying,” they moaned, burying their face in the hollow behind his collarbone. As they breathed – a motion which Hades still found relief in after how shaky their breaths had been less than a bell ago – they were immersed in his scent.

Warm, they thought. Just what made up the smell ‘warm’ they could not define. Something woody - but different from the rich smell of forestry in which they so often wrapped themselves in the wild. 
Safe was the other word which sprung to mind. Not a scent at all. Perhaps a combination of sweat, and the lingering fragrance of whatever soap he used, punctuated by a general undertone of masculinity. The further they pressed their nose in, the further they pushed back the iron tang of their own blood still burning in the back of their nostrils.

“I don’t want to be Hyperion anymore.”

Hades rolled his eyes, but in light of the events of the evening, held his tongue. Regardless, how long could they go on shedding their name like a snakeskin every time something they didn’t like happened?  How had they even been enrolled at the Akadaemia Anyder without a real name? How did Azem deal with this nonsense? Now there was a good question to ask, although meeting the current Fourteenth seat was not on his ‘to-do’ list.

Having been met with silence, Hyperion piped up again.
“What do you think I should pick?”

They felt Hades’ chest rise and fall with a heavy sigh.
“I think you should tell me your real name.”

Hythlodaeus had no such fixations on their true title and eagerly turned his hand to the new game. 
“How about Philophrosyne?” he supplied. The adventurer shook their head, rubbing their face against Hades’ skin. He shivered visibly. Warm became hot as a flush crept up the pale skin of his neck. 

The name Pandora lodged in the back of Hades’ throat with the rising tide of his blush. It would have been in poor taste. Prometheus, too.

“Raphael?” Hythlodaeus continued.

An aurulent eye peeked out over the fold of Hades’ cowl. Hythlodaeus laughed – such a fierce glower from but half their gaze!

“Okay, serious suggestions only.”

Both the un-named adventurer and Hythlodaeus paused as Hades spoke:

“Persephone.”

The adventurer leaned back; arms still hooked around his neck. Their eye twitched as they suppressed a wince of pain, but the look of ire was doggedly trained on Hades.
“Rude.”

“Well excuse me. It seemed appropriate.”

Cheeks aflame, they hid their face back in the crook of his neck rather than behold the devastation they had wrought, if indirectly, on the archive. Hades and Hythlodaeus, however, had been viewing it in full on the trek towards the exit. A path of toppled shelves and shattered crystals could be traced back to the site of the initial summoning. Hundreds, if not thousands of concepts were potentially lost. Even the bard could not argue that, though insensitive, ‘bringer of destruction’ was an apt moniker.

“Helios!” they decreed, voice muffled as their lips brushed against Hades’ neck. He attempted to pass off the strangled sound he made as one of disdain.

It fooled no one.

“Call me Helios,” they mumbled, this time turning their head into the fabric of Hades’ hood.

“Sticking with the solar theme, I see.”
Hythlodaeus smiled as though he was the one taking his influence from the sun. 
“It suits you.”

“You think so?” they asked, this time their expression softer as they peeked out at the bard. 

He hummed and nodded in assent. Again, Helios fell silent. The trio gained another few steps of ground towards the exit before their next question. 

“Where’s Perses?” 
They felt the shrug of Hades’ shoulders. 

“Gone,” was his dismissive reply. And good riddance, was the unsaid chaser. 

“Ensuring our retreat is possible, I’d warrant,” was Hythlodaeus’ more charitable response.

Again, the conversation was mired in the swamp of unasked questions. Helios did not make a third attempt to start banter, settling for drawing circles on the back of Hades’ neck with their fingertips. As the motions and their breathing slowed, small snores signalled they had fallen asleep. 

The remaining trudge to the streets of Amaurot progressed in silence. It was only when they slunk into the dim alley that Hades breathed a bit easier. There was no contingent of irate architects waiting for them. The retired Azem was nowhere to be seen. In the wee hours of the morning, the walkways were populated only by the warm glow of the streetlamps. While things certainly had not gone to plan, they could have been worse. 

His arms were starting to ache after having slung his sword around and carried Helios' lean but dense form, but he did not make to rouse his charge. Better to continue plodding on, holding them where he knew they were safe. 

Were that it was only the two of them. 

Hythlodaeus’ dulcet tones lilted over his shoulder but dug into his ears like needles.

“While it is nice to know that chivalry isn’t dead, it may be best if they walked, Hades.” 
As Hythlodaeus approached, Hades stamped down the irrational urge to pull Helios away from slender, reaching fingers. 
“Late though the hour may be, I imagine it would still be frowned upon to be seen carrying someone so…intimately in public.” 

Hades knew that word was chosen deliberately. 
And yet still it slid under his skin and found its mark. 
Not to mention the smug menace was right. 

“Perhaps a ki—” 

Hades predicted what the word was before it passed Hythlodaeus’ lips. He would not let it be uttered in full. 
“Do not.” 

“I could try,” came the next melodic quip, Hythlodaeus rounding to the shoulder where Helios’ head rested, “seeing as you don’t want to.”

Hades had to take a breath to stop his rejoinder from escaping too quickly. 

“That will not be necessary.” 

Hythlodaeus shrugged, smug smile softening as he turned his attention to the sleeping adventurer.
“Helios…” 

Thei rbrows knitted together at the distant sound. 

“Helios,” came another voice, gruffer and more insistent this time. A gentle jostle from the sturdy arms holding them drew them up from the deep pool of slumber. 

“S’alright,” they croaked, blinking as they roused. “ ‘m awake.” 

This time when they opened their eyes there were only two faces over them, which weren’t intent on multiplying. A good start. The lighting was also softer, and the air cooler. Fresher. Outside, their brain concluded, moving at the speed of a tortoise dunked in molasses. Perhaps if they snoozed for five more minutes the pounding in their head would recede. They closed their eyes again, missing the delightful look of irritation which blossomed across a certain mage’s face. 

“Helios.” 

No response. 

“Hyperion.” 

A cool hand tapped against their cheek. They grunted and shied away, swatting lazily at the assault. 

“Sol.”
The scorn packed into a single syllable had them open their eyes. 

Hades. 

“Good morning,” greeted Hythlodaeus, twisting his fingers into a wave – he definitely had not been about to pinch the youth’s nose closed. They mumbled a greeting back, but this time remained awake. 

“Do you think you can stand?” Hades asked, tone dubious. Helios paused a moment, considering the question. 

“Yes,” they said, hoping to sound more confident than they felt. 
“I’ll be fine. I can—” 

They wrested themselves from Hades’ grip, twisting like a cat which no longer wanted to be held. Their feet hit the pavement with a heavy thud. Next, their legs turned to liquid beneath them. 

“I can—” they asserted, even as they crumpled downwards. Before they met the ground two sets of hands – one broad and one slender – grabbed them under their arms and hoisted them up. As the jolt sent a pang of pain along their ribs, the adventurer suppressed a gasp.  

“Maybe not quite yet, hm?” 
In a fluid motion, Hythlodaeus hooked Helios’ arm over his shoulders, his own lean limb coiling around their waist.
“But fear not. Hades and I shall be the dutiful friends, assisting our fellow who has over imbibed back to their abode.” 

“Their abode?” sneered Hades, still holding Helios by the armpit. 

“Would you find yours preferable?” 

“Certainly not.”
He thought of Helios loose in his suite – pulling books from the shelf, picking apart trinkets like a magpie, opening cabinets which he would put locks on before they ever set foot in his residence. Not that he was planning on them ever setting foot in his home. 

“If it makes you feel better, it’s actually Azem's suite rather than mine. I'm just borrowing it.” 

It did not make him feel better. 
Nor did the ongoing badgering from his apparent ‘friend’. 

“Hades. You cannot intend to walk to Achora Heights holding Helios like that.” 
The irony of receiving the same admonishment for the opposite reason was not lost on the mage. 

Making a sound between a scoff and a sigh, he looped Helios’ arm over his shoulders. Unlike Hythlodaeus, his free hand remained on the adventurer’s shoulder. There were standards of decorum to uphold, after all. 

The apartment near Achora Heights was not Azem's home, but it had enough touches for it to be homey. Reminders of different trips across the star littered the walls and tabletops both, but not so many as to create clutter. Helios had not yet made their own mark on the décor, their life fitting in a rucksack until a week prior. Taking in the open plan from the doorway, Hades was surprised at the cleanliness of the residence. He had expected soiled robes piled in a corner, dirty plates stacked up on tables and uncleaned specimens from whatever expeditions the Azem had dispatched them on strewn across the floor. Instead, there was a couch with some cushions, a bare coffee table, an armchair, and a bookcase laden with neatly stacked books. The living space flowed into a kitchen, demarcated by a bench and not a dirty dish was in sight.

It was unsettlingly neat, knowing who lived there.

“Down we go,” said Hythlodaeus, helping the traveller to lower themself onto the couch. They flopped into the cushions like a sack of popotoes with a small ‘oof’. 

“How about we get you cleaned up?” was his next offer. Although it was not a question; Hythlodaeus was already headed for the kitchen. As he opened cupboards at random in search of a bowl, he was disappointed by an Azem for the second time in one day. A bowl was easy enough to obtain, but there was scant else to see. How dull. On securing his quarry he returned to Helios’ side, perching on the arm of the sofa. Filling a bowl with water was within his meagre capabilities, as was summoning a lilac washcloth.

“Now, this may sting a little,” he warned, gently turning Helios’ head to survey the remaining damage. A large egg adorned their forehead, cracked by a laceration which zigzagged over their eyebrow and skirted past their left eye. Said eye twitched as he pressed the warm, wet cloth against their skin, but Helios betrayed no other sign of pain.

As Hades stepped into their line of sight, Helios did their best to blink away the moisture welling in their eye. Thankfully, if he noticed it, he did not pass comment.
Which could well mean what he intended was worse.

“So.”
It was an ominous start. Helios eyed him warily as he sat on the edge of the coffee table. Hades stared back as he braced his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. Injured, and with Hythlodaeus’ hands on their face, they were trapped.
“What was that.”

In a vain effort of retreat, Helios averted their gaze as best they could under Hythlodaeus’ ministrations, looking up to the ceiling. They got as far as opening their mouth before the mage stopped them. 

“I should hope you would respect us more than to lie to us – either outright or by omission.” 
Their mouth closed, and they looked to the floor. 

Hades waited, watching them search for the words with a lazy, half lidded gaze.

“I can’t really say, myself.” 
That would require actually knowing what was going on! Venat had ever been adept at redirecting their attentions from unwanted questions with fresh adventures and pressing tasks. A new lesson to be learned - perhaps with some subtext to answer what the student’s query but it was never obvious enough for them to tell. Mayhaps one day in retrospect they would look back on her impromptu lessons and find clarity, but it was not today. 

“I’ve never…” 
They paused, grimaced, and attempted to collect their thoughts. 
“Ever since I can remember I have had a strong affinity for the aether of others. The aether in people. The aetheric traces left on things. I don’t really have to work to catch glimpses the past or what people are feeling. It just happens.” 
It almost felt like cheating when training to be the Shepherd of the People. It was easy to be compassionate when empathy was exact, not inferred. 
"Azem always called it resonance."

Sometimes they felt more like a blank slate, having the experiences of others etched upon their soul. Maybe that was why they were so intent on painting story after story of adventure onto the canvas of their memory; experiences that were solely theirs without question. 

Hades nodded throughout the explanation, reserving his judgement until the end. 
“So, you propose that in the archive, it is because of this ‘resonance’ that simply touching a concept matrix was enough to give you adequate information to construct an incredibly complicated entity.” 

Helios shrugged. “I don’t want to propose anything.”

Hades clicked his tongue, not having any of their evasion. 
“Well you are going to have to start. The lack of control I observed throughout this latest fiasco was, quite frankly, disturbing.” 

Their deficit of control wasn’t the only disturbing thing. It was not how aether was supposed to work. Not how creation was supposed to work. Hades regretted not paying more attention to the phenomenon, but in the heat of a life-or-death situation his interests had been otherwise occupied. As the vessel of the essence in question, however, Helios had their own responsibility as the gatekeeper and shaper of whatever sprang forth from their subconscious. A role for which they were painfully ill-equipped – that much was obvious. 

“It’s not a lack of control!” they bit back, jaw jutting forth churlishly.
“It’s that even with the tiniest thought things get blown out of proportion.” 

More than mis-sizing a robe or adding a few too many spikes to their lance. As they had all experienced that night – Hades most acutely of all as the man on the front line of the monsters. 

Unmoved, Hades folded his arms across his chest and leaned back.
“That is an exact definition of a lack of control. A mind undisciplined in the clarity of thought required for the application of creation.” 

“Has Azem not helped you?” asked Hythlodaeus, stealing the next beat of the conversation to mellow its tempo. Helios angled their head back to look up at him. The sight of his easy smile drew one across their features, too.

“She’s taught me about keeping a clear mind and I’ve had lessons on creation magicks from a number of teachers.” 

Hythlodaeus nodded and resumed cleaning the blood from their hair.  

“An inadequate education, apparently, for one with your…”
Hades ceded to silence, grimacing as he searched for the right word.
“Affliction.” 

Again, Hythlodaeus cut the cord of tension before it could pull tight.
“If only there were a powerful mage with exquisite control over aether who could assist.”

It was Hades’ turn to set his jaw.

“Or mayhap the task of teaching is beyond even his considerable capabilities.”

Lavender eyes cast him a sidelong look, their corners crinkling with mirth at the deepening crease between Hades’ brows. The struggle to avoid Helios' limpid gaze seemed a fierce one. As per usual, their timing in the battle was impeccable.

“Would you, Hades?”

It took one glance to break his resolve. 

“Ugh. If I must. If only to forestall our untimely deaths by your incompetence.”

Chapter Text

“Focus.” 
How many times had Hades uttered that word in the past moon? So many one might believe that his vocabulary had atrophied. Its synonyms, however, had been close comrades. But by the same turn there were only so many ways one could tell a flighty student to concentrate for all of the five seconds it took to create a simple concept. 

As the instruction bore down on them, Helios’ response was ever the same track on the record.
“I am!” 

Calling forth the image of the selected object to their mind’s eye, Helios’ brows knit together. Aether coalesced in front of them in a burst of light which moulded and solidified into a flat disc. The resulting ceramic hovered in the air for a moment before dropping into their hands. Hades peered over their shoulder, his mouth a stretched line of disappointment. 

“Then why is it green?” 

Helios’ shoulders hunched over their creation as their face crumpled in a pained giggle. 
“I... looked at the grass.” 

The concept crystal had stipulated a plate – round, ceramic, and white. The dish in Helios’ hands shared the verdant colour of the turf in the glade which served as their classroom. Its rim was also feathered with blades of green. On the cue of Hades’ admonishment, another seven plates popped into existence, the aether pinching off from Helios’ soul like drips of water out of a leaking faucet. The production was punctuated at the end by a puff of grassy confetti. 

Hades heaved a sigh as he watched the blades flutter to the ground. 

Observation over time had revealed that Helios’ soul became saturated with ambient Amaurotian aether after about a week. This was fortuitous, as a weekly lesson was all Hades - and Helios - could tolerate. It was true that for his worth, Hades was a patient teacher and to their credit, Helios was a persevering student. However, by the time the adventurer’s soul had cleared its congestion of aether several bells filled with naught but failure had dragged by. Each week the wounds to the pair’s pride were rent open anew and patience became more threadbare. The small successes at the end of every lesson when Helios' aether was once again their own was a scant salve.

“We should have a snack break,” said Helios, picking up one of the plates to squint at the miniature lawn spreading across its surface.

Hades’ response was as flat as the conjured crockery.
“We have barely even started.” 

“But we have plates now!” they countered, stretching up to wave one in front of the Hades' face. His lip curled at the thought of eating off one of those unsightly creations. Though it was not anchored to any soil, he could see the aether flowing through the fronds with his second sight. The grass was alive. Even to the ungifted, one could observe that the sod on the first plate had grown thicker and taller; some of the stalks already swelled with seeds in a matter of minutes. Before they could bud, Hades dispersed the failed creations to formless aether. 

Helios’ mouth dropped open in a pale mockery of shock as they leaned back to aim it at their tutor. How could you?!

Hades folded his arms and glared down at them. The unasked question would go unanswered. 
“Again.” 

“But Hades!” 

“Again.” 

They closed their mouth and straightened their posture. For a moment it seemed they would comply. Then they leaned back once more, face poised in a pout. 

“But I brought these little savoury cookies! With teeny chips of dehydrated cheese!” 

It was Hades' turn to tilt back skywards, holding his forehead in his hand. Another sigh hissed out from the back of his mouth.  He ran his hand over his hair and looked down at his student.

“We will have a break when you create the plates correctly.” 

Helios deflated, flopping forward into the grass. Then, as though someone had pressed a reset button, they sprang back up, both hands clenched into raised fists. 
“Alright!” 

Behind them, Hades couldn’t suppress a smile. Incorrigible, but irrepressible.

“Alright,” he echoed, “now, this time, why don’t you try closing your eyes?” 

They nodded and obeyed. Drawing in a breath, they cleared their thoughts and focussed their aether. 

This time, the plates were yellow. 
And made of cheese. 

Another week, another lesson. 

As Hades’ feet alighted on the grass of the meadow he was met with the bright grin of his errant tormentor. They bounced on the spot and grasped him by his shoulders, squeezing his deltoids to punctuate their exclamation. 
“You’re here!” 

Hades rolled his eyes behind his mask.
As if he would be anywhere else. 
As if they weren’t the one who was usually late. 

“What have I told you about touching?” he replied, taking them by the wrists and removing their hands. Helios made no struggle, instead enjoying the casual irony of Hades’ response. They canted their head to the side, apparently thinking. 

Do not presume to touch me. 
There will be no holding of hands. 
Do not lay a single, filthy finger on me. 
If you wish to keep your hands you will keep them to yourself.

“Hm, nothing worth remembering.” 
Their nose crinkled in delight as Hades’ face scrunched in irritation. 

“In short: don’t,” he reminded them, holding out the bag of ‘homework’ prepared by Hythlodaeus at arm’s length.

Snatching it with greedy hands, Helios’ smile faded by degrees as they pawed through the concepts contained therein. When they reached the bottom and found the collection wanting, they shot Hades a sulky frown. 
"Hades, this is patronising."

Hades snorted, waving a dismissive hand. He would not accept blame for this ‘indignity’.
"Don't look at me, your beloved Hythlodaeus is the one picking the concepts." 

He’d only made suggestions.

And each and every week the Bureau of the Architect clerk ignored them completely, eschewing practicality for whatever punchline he’d concealed in his selections. Although ‘concealed’ was a generous term. Hythlodaeus could only have made it more obvious were he to directly channel Helios’ lack of subtlety. 

Thus far his offerings had included: the trappings of a picnic for two, which had been the origin of the Green Plate Incident. And not to forget the winged blanket that chirped, all because of a distant birdsong carried on the wind. Hades had been forced to strike it down with a fireball as it attempted to fly away. Then there had been candles, a wine bottle, and chocolate. Helios hadn’t even made it past the candles, almost incinerating the field when they accidentally created a fire elemental. 

Third was pomegranates and wheat. Helios had thrown up their hands and pointed an accusatory finger at Hades – ‘I still can’t believe you tried to name me Persephone!’. Unwilling to point out that the name was as beautiful as they were, Hades had sniffed and argued that it still remained the most appropriate name to date.  

Finally, one which Hades had puzzled over: Oysters. Saffron. Pistachio nuts. One glance was all Helios required to gather Hythlodaeus’ meaning for the first time across their futile tutelage. They held their tongue as their cheeks coloured a pleasant shade of pink. Even with their eyes closed, and Hades blocking out the sounds of the outside world with a spell, their mind had betrayed them. The oysters were undulating flaps of pink flesh, hot to touch and dripping honey from the crevice between their frilled shells. In contrast, the pistachios had burgeoned out of their husks, growing comically large before sprouting into trees exploding with white blossoms. Helios had not attempted anything with the saffron. At the end of the lesson, in a hushed voice, they explained to Hades the common thread between the three foodstuffs. The smell of frying oysters and boiling honey had filled the glade shortly thereafter, the heat of the flames a poor excuse for the vivid colour in Hades’ own cheeks. 

When he had surged into the Bureau of the Architect to strangle wrangle a certain clerk for a lecture on propriety, the smug menace had been snacking.  On loukoumades. Slathered in honey and chopped pistachios and dusted in saffron.  He’d tilted the paper tray Hades’ way, voice thick with the laughter behind his smile. ‘Want one?’

Today’s concepts were much more appropriate in both required skill level and content. No overtures. No innuendos. No aphrodisiacs. 

“Children’s toys, though?” whined Helios, holding up one of the crystals. At their glance a ball popped into existence next to them. Round, and shiny, and bouncy, it looked perfect. It didn’t sprout legs, or open a pair of eyes, or reveal some hidden rows of teeth in multiple mouths. The tutor and student stared, waiting for horror to manifest with bated breath. Hades got as far as opening his mouth to spare the adventurer a scrap of praise.

Then the ball expanded and retracted with a sigh.
It breathed. 

Before it could develop any further signs of life and fuel his nightmares, Hades magicked it out of existence.

Disgusted at their own incompetence, Helios threw the concept crystal into the grass. It didn’t even have the good grace to break. When he spoke, the needles in Hades’ tone could have popped the ball rather than the snap of his fingers.

“You say patronising, I say appropriate.”
When Helios did not respond nor not retrieve the matrix, Hades gave them a nudge.
“Come now. If we were to dwell on your failures, we would be here until everyone else on Etheirys had returned to the star.”

Silent still, Helios trudged over to scoop up the crystal. Hades braced himself for a deluge of bouncing balls which never came. A glance with his aethersight saw the essence suffusing Helios’ soul pressing against its confines. It battered against the boundary of their soul, eager to escape and manifest itself, but was blocked by their focus. Their lips moved in a silent mantra; the shift of lips too subtle for Hades to read the unspoken words.

Another click of Hades’ fingers erected a barrier around the two of them. Weeks of painstaking trial and error had demonstrated the effect of the smallest stimuli on Helios’ attempts at creation. The dome in which they stood blocked out as much of the outside world as possible. It was bereft of bugs, deadened the air of wind, and devoid of sound. Helios was to stand rather than sit. Hades would maintain his silence and utilise his magic to dampen the adventurer’s senses as much as possible.

“Could you,” Helios started, their voice strained under their weight of their concentration, “do you think you could stabilise my aether?”

Hades watched as a thread of the exogenous aether wormed its way through a crack in Helios’ fortifications. It was yet too intangible to take form, but it would not stay that way for long.

"I could, but that is more effort that I am willing to expend.”

With a flourishing curl of his fingers, he forced the tendril back into its confines, utilising his own aether as mortar. When one leak was sealed, another sprang forth. Hades covered that one, too. And the next.

“I refuse to become a crutch for you to hobble about on while conjuring, what? Children’s playthings and candy?"

With Helios’ focus wavering in the face of his comments, Hades struggled to keep up with the multiplying breaches of essence. At this rate a layer of his aether would completely coat their soul. Having only seen it rather than felt it before, Hades could scarce believe the sheer volume of aether packed into the adventurer. They walked around with this weighing on their soul? The degree of attention required to stem the flow would be monumental.

“Well?” barked Hades, teeth gritted at the effort of holding back the tide. “What are you waiting for?”

Helios nodded and tried not to think about the heat in their chest that had built from a warm sunbeam to a searing wash of molten gold. If they could not succeed this time, they never would. Sifting out the stardust of their own aether, Helios envisioned a round, red ball. They pictured the exact amount of air required to fill it. The elasticity of the rubber. The—

As the ball took shape, a single thread seeped out from Hades’ stabilising shell and latched onto the forming construct.

A single thread was all it took.

The ball, now materialised in full, split across the middle. Lids of rubber peeled back and revealed a golden eye.

With a holler of frustration, Helios kicked it right in the pupil. They then threw the concept matrix after it for good measure, and this time it cracked on impact. Behind them, Hades uttered his own curse as he planted his hands on his knees and fought to regain his breath. In a flash of aether, the pair had an audience of unblinking eyes to witness their failure.

And Hades was ever one to perform.  

"I do not understand how you can have such precision with summoning across large distances and be so abysmal at this."

He did understand, though.
However, the clarity of understand did nothing to balm the sting of his incapacity to help them.

Similarly frustrated at their disempowerment, Helios continued to glower at the eye-balls, not considering the words which tumbled from their mouth.
"Because that just happens!"

Hades paused, robes rustling as he straightened.
“I’m sorry?”

Helios looked over their shoulder, their frustration faltering.
“It just happens,” they reiterated.

“I am going to need you to elaborate.”

They turned on their heel to face him but averted their gaze as they balanced their options. The weight of their respect for Hades, however, kept tipping the scales.
“After we met. Whenever I summoned you. It happened by accident. Just like with…”
They gestured vaguely to the pile of failed creations.

“By accident.”
As he spoke, Hades’ lips pressed together into a thin line, an expression far more ominous than the curl of a sneer or the knit of his brows. Helios did not shy away from the truth of their confession.

“Yes.”

The daggers of Hades’ glare sharpened.

"So you are telling me that you have been carting me across the star and wasting my time not because you have actually needed me, but all by accident?" 

Helios’ jaw jutted forward as they rose to their full height. Hades was startled to see that he now had to look up at them.

"What's the difference between summoning you on accident and summoning you on purpose?"
It still showed they needed him either way. That their heart knew what their head did not was, perhaps, more of an endorsement in Hades' favour. 

Hades, apparently, did not see it that way.
“Your lack of insight alone is more than telling enough of the difference.”

He should have known better than to ascribe meaning where there was none. Especially knowing with whom he was dealing! From the first time they had opened their mouth he should have known nothing they spouted was of any consequence. Hades resolved to do what he should have done when he had initially laid eyes on their aberration of a soul: present to the Capitol and report all he knew of it to the Convocation. He would then set about trying to piece back together the shards of the life which had been shattered when a certain miscreant had careened into it and corralled him into this mummer's farce.

"The next time you call you will find no assistance from me."
The declaration was paired with a jab of his finger in the vexatious vagabond’s direction. Like a person shot, Helios threw up their arms.

"Good! Because I wouldn't want you there even if I did call you! Which I won’t!" 

When Hades turned away and missed the next step in their bickering dance, they tried to recapture his beat. He had walked, rather than teleported, after all. Balling their hands to fists, Helios’ arms clamped to their sides as they stomped on the ground.

“And you’re a terrible teacher!”

Hades paused, swivelling to reply in turn.

“My deficiencies as a teacher pale in comparison to your abject failings as a student.”

Waiting for the rejoinder, Hades watched them with one eyebrow quirked in bored expectation.

“Well you—” they snapped.
Are actually a very good teacher.
Are the first proper friend I ever had.
Complement my failings so well I feel like I can do anything when we’re together.

“You are a stupid, stubborn, selfish blockhead! And I—”
Have so many places I want to show you.
Can’t imagine my life without you.
Need you.

“You are a disappointment.”

After stealing the final word, Hades disappeared with a snap.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Hythlodaeus!”

The bright welcome was one of many which had washed over the young Soulseer in his passing that morning. With an absent smile and a dull wave, he returned the greeting just in time before returning to his train of thought, allowing his feet to navigate through the familiar halls of the Bureau of the Architect for him. The matter which commanded his attention was something of a mystery: his friends were fighting, and neither were willing to elaborate on the matter of their own volition. They were both so painfully similar that Hythlodaeus knew the harder one pushed the more tightly they would clamp shut. It was a diabolical puzzle, but he felt equipped to pick the locks on their hearts to obtain the missing pieces. And then give those pieces to his friends so they might solve it themselves. Who else, if not for him?

Of the two, he had only seen Hades since the argument. One could only guess where the traveller had run to – Azem’s side, he hoped, but didn’t trust to be the case. Heavens help whatever problem they had put their mind to as a means of distraction. Hades was easier to find. When the mage had not returned at the appointed hour with the copied crystals of the week, Hythlodaeus had suspected something was afoot, and not the sort of something he had been alluding to with his running joke of concept selection.

He had caught Hades sulking in a park. Pretending to nap but obviously fuming, ire radiated from his soul like plumes of steam. As per usual, he had feigned sleep until it was apparent the person intent on bothering him would not withdraw.

“Did the sun set early today?”

Hades had remained supine, eyes now closed to the flow of the Underworld he had been observing for some spark of inspiration against his frustration.

“I do not know and I do not care.”

A standard enough response. Silence from Hythlodaeus prodded him to speak more, opening his eyes and pushing himself up to glower at one of the sources of his suffering.

“They are irredeemable,” he’d continued, the descriptor carrying the weight of an expletive.

Hythlodaeus had hummed noncommittally, holding hostage the questions he knew Hades wished for him to ask.

“I will never forgive you for roping me into this consummate waste of my time.”

“I shall add it to the ever growing list of my unforgivable transgressions.”

The discomfited twist of Hades’ lips that belied his bluster about the shortcomings of the adventurer in question. Too prideful by half, and too determined to fix a problem when he had set his mind to it. A potent combination, until it came up against an affliction which could not be resolved; then it took a turn for the volatile. Hythlodaeus was unsympathetic to his friend’s plight.
‘That’s what you get for scheduling your lessons like that, Hades.’

A weekly session coinciding with his shift at the Bureau? It was a level of subtlety, or lack thereof, he had come to expect from Helios rather than Hades. And thus his response had come in the form of concepts wildly inappropriate for tutelage as well as the mage’s sensibilities. The impassioned lectures from Hades each week were an acceptable consolation for Hythlodaeus’ exclusion. When fuelled by anger, the mage could paint a compelling picture with his words and brought forth insights they may not have gleaned otherwise. Such as how everything Helios made while glutted with aether was alive, but not a lifeform akin to anything already existent. Or how the permeability of their soul went both ways and acted almost like a receptacle for essence.

From the way the mage had acted that afternoon, there had to be more. But whatever new revelations the most recent lesson had brought were locked behind Hades’ wounded ego. Had he attempted to deposit his own aether in Helios’ soul? Maybe, but an unlikely cause for the quarrel. He was stingy with his magic but when given willingly it was without anger. The way in which he had spoken pointed to the tutorials being an act in futility, but between his skill and Helios’ tenacity what could they not overcome?  

The end of Hythlodaeus’ train of thought was serendipitous; timed perfectly with his arrival to the door of his office. It was a tiny room tucked towards the back of the building, but more than someone of his station was entitled to. Favouritism had its perks.

Eager to keep him amongst the ranks of Architect officials, the Chief of the Bureau had plied him with flexible hours, a small space to call his own, and a promise of upward mobility befitting his gift (the Chief had utilised a plural, but Hythlodaeus knew it was only his eyes which the man coveted). Hythlodaeus was in half a mind to play the Chief Architect and Third Seat off against one another, simply to see what he could extract in name of his favour. Alas, the idea seemed more trouble than amusement. Especially when he already derived everything which he needed from his two fine friends.

When they weren’t feuding.

Closing the door behind him, Hythlodaeus made for his desk and the folio of concepts for review he’d abandoned the afternoon before. Much more interesting, however, was the unexpected visitor flitting about his stationery. A sentient paper plane, strutting around on his modest desk scratching at papers with sticky feet and pecking at his pens with its point. For the first time that morning Hythlodaeus’ smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I am sorry, little friend,” he said, picking up the would-be bird between forefinger and thumb. It went to its fate willingly as he unfolded the page, its appendages dissolving into aether. The handwriting inked within appeared as though it had been penned by the feet the memo had been hopping around on.

Let’s go on an adventure.

Hythlodaeus smirked, not needing a signature, aetheric or otherwise, to know who it was from.
‘Not the most useful of messages, my friend’, he thought idly.

As he flipped the page over in his hand looking for more to the enigmatic missive, another avian envelope wiggled its way under his door.


Sorry! I got a bit excited and realised that wasn’t very informative. Book some time off from the Bureau and come on an adventure with me (Helios)! Just fold up the other page and give it the teeniest amount of aether~


Another sheet of paper fluttered out from the envelope.

Will you (Hythlodaeus) go on an adventure with me (Helios)?:

[ ] Yes(!)

[ ] No

Dates of leave (inclusive):


Favouritism was about to have another perk.

A few days and multiple missives later, Hythlodaeus had packed a bag (as per Helios’ instructions) and was waiting at the Macarenses Angle. It was an unsightly hour, morning dew still clinging to the lawn of the green and a slight chill hanging in the air. Scarce few souls wandered through the streets of Amaurot, most waiting for the sun to climb higher and brighter in the sky before venturing from their beds. One soul with a familiar sparkle caught the corner of Hythlodaeus’ eye in the near distance, but he made no move to acknowledge it.  His own expression was a mirror of the mischievous smile he imaged Helios to wear as they stalked closer.

His planned ploy was a tricky thing to time. Helios made no sound as they approached, or as they coiled down to a crouch in preparation for launching themselves towards Hythlodaeus for a hug. The pull of their empty soul, however, betrayed them. With a light probing of his own essence in the space around him, Hythlodaeus was able to turn and catch them in his arms at precisely the right moment.

The call of his name on their lips turned into a surprised shriek of laughter. Hythlodaeus’ own peal of amusement broke off in a huff as he stumbled against the force of Helios’ affectionate attack. The adventurer’s strong arms enveloped him and lifted him up off his faltering feet.

“Hythlodaeus!” they repeated as they spun him around, voice still shaking with giggles. When they planted him back on the ground, they pulled back and grasped his shoulders.
 “Are you ready for our trip that is just the two of us as best friends?”

Hythlodaeus bit back a chuckle, but it fought its way free when he saw how Helios had styled their hair – their unruly forelocks pinned back over their head.

“Hades said no, didn’t he?”
He knew the answer before Helios’ face turned sombre.

“Hades said no.”

Hades had not, in fact, said no. He had not even been extended the honour of an invitation. Since the tiff in the clearing Hades had not spoken to them, and they had not attempted to seek him out, either. Why should they when he was the one being unreasonable! Helios’ sober expression turned sour as they stewed over their frustration at the mage.

After a beat, the cloud covering the sun rolled on and their smile returned.

“So we will go on an adventure together and teach him a lesson about saying no when he really means yes!”
How long could he stay cross about the accidental summoning debacles, anyway?

Perhaps long enough to make him even more cross by taking Hythlodaeus out on a wonderful jaunt across the countryside, just the two of them. Maybe by the time they returned he would have realised that unintentional summoning was perhaps more flattering than if it were deliberate! Such was their affection and admiration of him that their subconscious would call for him when they were faced with trouble.

“And just where might we be going on this mysterious adventure of yours?” asked Hythlodaeus, tone airy with feigned ignorance. Helios side-eyed him, their mouth pulled up in a lopsided smirk. As if you don’t already know.

“It wouldn’t be a mystery if I told you, would it?”

False ignorance progressed to fake irritation – a poor imitation of the expression worn by their dear Hades more oft than not.
“And here I was hoping I would catch you unawares. My plans thoroughly routed again by the perspicacious Helios.”

A snicker caught in the back of the traveller’s nose in a stifled snort.

Pulling back from the prolonged embrace, Helios offered Hythlodaeus their hand, which he accepted with grace.
“We will be travelling via Aetheryte,” the adventurer announced, tone lofty as they turned up their nose.
“And upon arrival shall rest our weary feet for a sun or two, before the real journey begins.”
Their grin grew sharp as they shot Hythlodaeus a wink.
“Ready?”

His return smile was soft with the warmth of fondness.
“Ready.”

At first glance, the town awaiting them on the other end of the teleportation was like any other. A cluster of structures around a central square. Nestled in the embrace of a mountain range as the settlement was, the buildings were stone with glazed windows to seal out the cold when winter sank its teeth into the land. The braying of livestock and buzz of passing conversation drifted on the air, mingling with the scent of breakfasts still being cooked. Even further away, Hythlodaeus thought he could hear the crash of ocean waves against rock.

Releasing his hand, Helios stepped backwards, their arms spread wide.
“Welcome to Etna, sanctuary to craftsmen, artisans, farmers, and…”
They trailled off, levelling him the second wink of the day.
“My childhood home!”

Canvassing the town a second time, now with his aethersight, Hythlodaeus realised why the wanderer had been so eager to show him this settlement in particular beyond the connection of their upbringing.
"It really is a pity Hades rejected your invitation."
Just imagining how the mage would have recoiled as he made the same conclusion drew a smirk to Hythlodaeus’ face.

Though all the townspeople were in different states of dress and appearance, they all shared one immutable trait:

Not a single resident had a lick of creation potential.

The more he looked, the more he noticed the tiny inconsistencies in the constructs of the town. Bricks not laid with the perfect alignment produced by creation magick. Variations in the hues of paint that had been spread with brushes rather than the sweep of aether. Robes of slightly different cuts made from material of different weave on the folk passing by. Masks, which seemed entirely optional, were also anything but uniform, cut into various shapes, sizes and dyed different colours. Remarkable.

Helios also cast their gaze across the town square with their mundane vision, their face awash with a nostalgic smile.
"I know," came their wistful sigh, "he would have hated it here."

The pair stood by the Aetheryte and surveyed the comings and goings of the townsfolk for a few minutes more. Hythlodaeus marvelled at the realisation that everything there had been constructed by hand, while Helios sought familiar faces in the burgeoning morning bustle. It was not long before one picked theirs out first.

“Kore!”
At the sound of the name, the traveller hunched their shoulders in on themselves, going so far as to pull their cowl further down on their face. Alas, it was too late. After depositing her basket of pears at a market stand, a stout woman with a spray of dirty blond curls poking out from her hood barrelled up to the pair.

“Ah, Pomona,” they greeted, summoning a paper-thin smile and a weak wave. Immobilised in an embrace, they wished they could kick Hythlodaeus in the shin for the look he gave them – that smug smile as though he’d overheard some secret. ‘Not my name’ they mouthed over their assailant’s shoulder, cementing the silent statement with a scowl.

“Don’t you Pomona me,” Pomona chided, pulling back to look Helios up and down. As she clucked away like a mother hen she wet her thumb and cleaned an invisible spot off their cheek.
“Look at you! All grown up!”

“It’s barely been three moons!” they countered, unable to resist relaxing into a more genuine smile. “Did the saplings take?”
The inquiry gave the farmer pause before she could correct the prodigal child as to how long it had actually been.

“The peaches? Hm. They’re struggling to establish a little – far pickier about the soil than the figs and quinces. The ones I planted at least.”
It was the adventurer’s turn to smile in self-satisfaction. Of course, the trees they’d planted were flourishing.
“But don’t you try to distract me!” Pomona admonished, turning her earthy gaze to Hythlodaeus. “Who is this?”

Hythlodaeus smiled and dipped his head, taking the chance to remove his mask.
“Hythlodaeus,” he said, offering his hand by way of introduction. Pomona gave the appendage a conspicuous assessment before grasping it in a firm handshake. When Helios caught a familiar glint in the farmer’s eye, they grabbed Hythlodaeus by the shoulders and pulled him away from her grasp.

“Well that is quite enough, we have lots to see and even more to do! Good to see you, Pomona! We’ll come by the orchards before we head out!”
They did not wait for her response before walking away with Hythlodaeus in hand.

“You better!” she returned, waving widely over her head.

When they were a few fulms away, out of earshot, Hythlodaeus broke the silence.
“What a delightful woman.”
He paused. The adventurer winced in anticipation.
“Kore.”

‘Kore’ bristled, sticking their tongue out in distaste for the name.

“Oh, come now, it’s not that bad.”
Tongue back in place, their nose remained crinkled as they struggled to swallow the new-old name.
“I actually think it’s pretty.”
His smile lost its sardonic edge and the sight of it softened Kore’s rigid posture.

“Maybe that’s why I don’t like it,” they quipped.
Wrapping both their arms around one of his, the traveller nearly pulled Hythlodaeus off his feet as they set a brisk pace down the main street.

They got all of ten fulms further before they were bailed up by another familiar resident, the pantomime playing out much as it had with Pomona. Again and again they were halted, Kore’s breakneck pace slowing to a meander with each subsequent greeting. A bevy of strange, archaic names passed Hythlodaeus' ears - Minerva, Phuphluns, Inuus, Molae, Robigo, and more -  but Kore apparently knew them all. They’d cite some task with which the adventurer had helped them, inquire as to who their guest was, before carrying on their way with promises of a more protracted reunion when time allowed. With each encounter the childhood name nettled them less and less. When the name fit like a comfortable old coat rather than a scratchy sweater, Kore had eventually elaborated on each acquaintance’s role within the town rather than dragging Hythlodaeus away as quickly as possible.

“I think I could stand a trip back to Pomona’s orchard, if you’re getting hungry,” offered Kore, mapping out a route in their mind’s eye.
“And then we can head to Inuus’ farm and pick up some goats’ cheese, oh! And some apaki and pastarma.”
Hythlodaeus nodded along as though he knew what those words meant, glad that they had relaxed enough to release the death grip on his upper limb to a simple linking of arms.
“And by then—”

Whatever it would be time for was lost as Kore was stopped in their tracks by yet another greeting.

“Well, if it isn’t a little spark right off of the forge!”
Perhaps the brightest grin Hythlodaeus had ever seen dawned on Kore's face. As they whipped around to see the source of the apparently familiar voice, their soul shone like the sun, bright white light overtaking the crystalline essence’s usual appearance.

“Vulcan!” they cried out, spreading their arms wide. Before the enormous ancient could respond, Kore was already sprinting towards him. They launched from the ground a few fulms from him, expecting to be caught in his bear-like arms. The man obliged but on impact he staggered, grunting with the effort of remaining on his feet. In a practiced motion, however, the stumble was converted into a spin which pulled a peal of laughter from Kore. 

“You are getting too big for this, little spark!” he admonished lightly, but his voice was suffused with laughter of his own.

“Never!” they returned, plopping easily down onto their feet. Their arms held fast around him in a tight embrace, as they squished their cheek against his chest. When they pulled back to stare up at his lightly bearded face they fidgeted with excitement.  
“I have someone for you to meet.”

Withdrawing from the hug they grabbed one of Vulcan’s meaty hands and hauled him to where Hythlodaeus stood.
“This is my friend!” they crowed, gesturing to Hythlodaeus with a sweeping arm. He smiled pleasantly tilting his head back until it angled towards the newcomer’s face. He was largest man Hythlodaeus had ever seen – larger than Perses, even. The giant wore a robe that had been modified to be sleeveless, and his arms were thick enough it was as though someone had uprooted two trees and attached them to a man’s body. When he spoke his voice was a strange mix of rough and sonorous, chips of gravel reverberating in his barrel of a chest.

“Oh, a friend, is it?”

Kore nodded, the inflection lost on them.
“Hythlodaeus.”

Vulcan appraised him with emerald eyes, and apparently liked what he saw. In a way Hythlodaeus had seen Kore do themselves, the man gave a single, sharp nod of approval.
“The name’s Vulcan,” he said, offering a broad hand stained with ash and oil for Hythlodaeus to take.

Kore could not contain their laughter at the sight of Hythlodaeus’ delicate, pale hand disappearing into the grip of Vulcan’s veritable paw.
“A pleasure. As Kore has already said, I am Hythlodaeus, and we are firm friends.”

He levelled Kore a smile, which they returned with enthusiasm. Vulcan then promptly ruined the small moment by giving the traveller a sidelong look and elbowing them in the ribs.
“More like HythloBAEus, am I right?”

For the second time that day, Kore shrivelled up like a grape in the sun and covered their face with both hands. The ‘bae’ in question did his best to stifle a snort of laughter behind his hand, fingers stretching further than usual to cover the flush in his cheeks. Vulcan's eyes and ears proved too sharp, however, and he grinned. 
"See, he doesn't mind it!"
The unspoken implication was ‘so why should you’?

“Vulcan,” they whined, their voice taking the tone of a child mortified at the poor humour of a parent. Again, recognition filtered over Hythlodaeus. Doubly so when the older ancient steamrolled over their complaint. He looked about, expectant for another introduction.

“And where is the infamous Hades?”

Kore’s expression curdled as they crossed their arms. As they turned up their nose Hythlodaeus looked on in wonder – it was almost as if Hades was there himself. They even sounded alike!
“Not here and none of my concern.”

Vulcan planted a broad hand on their head and ruffled their hair.
“Another fight, huh? Well, there’s always next time.”

They sputtered and shot up their hands, trying to preserve the styling of their bangs; a battle they had already been losing as the morning wore on.
“There won’t be!”
Catching themselves, they rephrased: “I mean. There will be a next time, but never a time with Hades.”
Vulcan nodded slowly but did not bite, instead returning his attention to Hythlodaeus as Kore fumed.

“I hope that—” he broke off, giving the youth an inquisitive glance, “Kore?”
They nodded. He nodded back.
“Kore has shown you around properly.”

“They have been most accommodating. I feel as though I have met the whole town and all but been inducted as a resident myself.”

Vulcan let out a roar of laughter.
“Most like you have, son.”

Hythlodaeus opened his mouth only to close it again as the term of address caught up to him. It lasted long enough for him to repeat the word ‘son’ in his head before he smoothed the crease between his brows. Vulcan, apparently, did not notice the slip.
“And I’m sure Kore was just saving the best until last.”

For a third time, they flushed with indignation.
“I thought you’d be busy in the forge!”
Their temper fizzled as they shone a sheepish smile.
“I was going to bring a picnic.”  
Ah, and by then, recalled Hythlodaeus.

“Well then,” concluded Vulcan, “let’s show this fancy Amaurotine what real food tastes like.”

With a wordless assent and a jumping skip, Kore took Hythlodaeus by the hand and led him towards the horizon.

Chapter Text

What Hythlodaeus had imagined as brunch was, apparently, afternoon tea. The early hour of their departure from Amaurot was to accommodate for more than Kore’s tendency to suck up ambient aether. While it had been dawn in the City State scarce bells ago, in Etna the sun was sinking low in the sky. Time that had seemed bountiful was, apparently, in short supply. Though Kore had identified Etna as their ‘hometown’ Vulcan’s residence was located some distance from the settlement. The winding road from the field where they had picnicked stretched further than the naked eye could see, disappearing into the shadow of the town’s namesake mountain.

In short: dusk approached, it was a long way home, and his hosts seemed intent on walking.

The trek was punctuated by a break for Vulcan, who had struggled to keep pace the longer the walk wore on. A common occurrence, Hythlodaeus realised, for the large marker stone placed right where the blacksmith reached his limit. His keen eyes did not miss the rut scarring the grass between the trail and stone for the number of times it had been trod upon. After catching his breath, Vulcan answered Hythlodaeus’ curious look with the delicacy of a hammer striking an anvil.

“Old adventuring injury,” he’d explained as he eased himself onto the rock. With a grunt Vulcan slapped his calf.
“Left me with a bung leg and shot aether channels.”

Once he’d mentioned it, Hythlodaeus could see that while there was an adequate reserve of aether - unlike many of the other residents in Etna - the flow of essence in Vulcan’s sturdy form was irregular, swirling and eddying in fits and starts.

“It’s all I can do to light a fire,” he’d laughed. “Most times I either set me whole workshop on fire or can barely make a spark.”
It was not, in actuality, that bad, but who didn’t relish a dash of hyperbole?

“Been meaning to get an Aetheryte node set up, but you know how things can be.”
He shrugged his shoulders, though his hands were still busy rubbing his spasming leg.
“Always something else to take up me attention. Not to mention who knows where I’d end up using it.”

“You should let me help!” interjected Kore, their voice tight despite the open conversation. Lavender and emerald eyes both looked their way, catching sight of clenched fists and shaking shoulders

“And have to call on you to teleport me home every time I nip down to Pomona’s for a pear? Not bloody likely, little spark.”

As if to drive the point home, Vulcan pushed himself to his feet, hiding his gritted teeth behind a grin.
“If you don’t use it, you lose it. Come on, before we lose too much light.”

As Vulcan set off down the trail, Hythlodaeus could see he yet limped ever so slightly. From the grim line of their mouth, so could Kore.

“It would appear you have a type,” said Hythlodaeus, content to be a conduit for redirected ire.

“What?” snapped Kore, turning their glower on him even though they knew he didn’t deserve it.

“Stubborn and proud to a fault,” he clarified with a smile.

Scratch that, he definitely deserved it.

“I do not!”
The flush of their cheeks gave away their lie for what it was.

“Come on, Hythlobaeus.” 

Hythlodaeus did not need to utter the words ‘if you say so’ as he watched Kore stomp down the road after Vulcan, following them at his own leisurely pace.

Unlike the buildings in Etna, Vulcan’s home and forge had clearly been shaped by creation magicks. The façade of a provincial home was affixed to the face of the mountain, the body of the residence presumably carved back into the rock itself. The surrounds were more ‘mundane’, all constructed from materials rather than magic. To one side was an overgrown vegetable patch with feral pumpkin vines and beansprouts vying for superiority. Better maintained were the sturdy fence and well-oiled gate, both painted green to match the front door. Chickens scratched about the yard, their clucking finding harmony with the sonorous moo of a distant cow – hopefully one with two eyes and no petrifying gaze.

When Kore and Hythlodaeus arrived, the house was already open. Across the threshold, Vulcan had flopped onto a bench in the entryway under the guise of removing his boots.

“Why don’t you show your friend your room?” he asked, not looking up as he fussed with his laces.
Kore’s face scrunched up at the suggestion. They opened their mouth, but Vulcan wouldn’t have any of whatever he thought they were about to say.
“It’s where you’re going to be sleeping, after all.”

Closing their mouth, Kore stilled before drawing in another breath to take a second attempt at retort. This time Hythlodaeus stilled their tongue with a gentle hand on their shoulder.

“I, for one, would love to review our accommodations.”
Kore pursed their lips but acquiesced in the face of the pincer manoeuvre.

Up a set of winding stairs and down a claustrophobic corridor of stone, Kore led Hythlodaeus to a small wooden door. Without their usual dramatic flair, they ushered him into the room. His building excitement fizzled as he peered inside.

“This is not quite what I pictured when Vulcan mentioned your bedroom.”

It was ascetic. In one corner was a small cot: a rustic box housing a lumpy mattress. Opposite it was a desk, coated in a thin film of dust and nothing else.  Compared to the cosey lived-in feel of the rest of the house it told a narrative of absence. So bereft of personal touches was the space that Hythlodaeus thought it a spare room, rather than a childhood bedroom. Such a conclusion was, however, drawn while excluding the far wall. Vague concern sparked to keen interest as his eyes alighted on the papers plastering the stonework. From nigh floor to ceiling, pages vied for space and attention. At a glance Hythlodaeus could see landscapes mostly, taking him on a journey across the star as his gaze travelled over the pinned pictures. Botanical diagrams provided occasional punctuation to the organised chaos, but conspicuously there were no sketches of fauna.

Before Hythlodaeus could draw too close, Kore clasped his hand and pulled him over to the window.

“Let me to show you my real bedroom.”
Pushing open the glass pane, they leaned out until they were perched on their tiptoes; so far Hythlodaeus thought they might tumble over the sill. Then, they grabbed his hand and pulled him through, too. Their arm curled around his waist as a steadying, unspoken promise: I won’t let you fall. Beyond the frame was a wide vista stretching for malms and malms. Hythlodaeus could see the winding road leading to Etna, the blue of the Aetheryte winking in the light of sunset. Lines of regimented trees stood to attention in Pomona’s orchard before giving way to the green canvas of pasture for the town’s livestock. Even further beyond that was the deep blue of the ocean dotted white with waves and gulls.

“Ah, what spacious and well-lit quarters,” quipped Hythlodaeus, turning to smirk at Kore. Their eyes were fixed on the horizon, bright as the burning sun dipping in the West.

“Hm?” They blinked, glancing at him. Though he was the one with the exceptional vision of souls and aether, Hythlodaeus wondered if they saw something out there which he couldn’t. Some hidden potential, driving them to distraction when constrained within four walls.

“Oh. Yes. They are,” they said, as the open-mouthed wonder on their face settled to a smile.
“The whole world,” they concluded, now devoting that intense attention to the Hythlodaeus' face.
Their voice held a quiet reverence but thrummed with undertones of fervour.
Were they truly looking at his features, or seeing something beyond? Some hidden potential in him? Hythlodaeus brushed away the thought and tamped down the fluttering in his chest.

“Must be terrible when you’re asked to clean your room.”  

Kore’s jaw dropped again, this time in affront.
“I will have you know, Hythlodaeus, that I am as adept at cleaning up messes as I am at making them!”

Pivoting their weight, Kore safely deposited them both back into the bedroom proper. The moment he was released from their steadying grip Hythlodaeus made for the wall of sketches, breezing out of the reach of Kore’s grasping fingers.

“Did you draw these?”
Hythlodaeus leaned forward, scrutinising the linework. The same scratchy strokes that were an act of optical violence in written script had been plied to beauty through illustration. Of course he knew Kore was the artist. It would scarce make sense for them to have so many drawings from the hand of another in their bedroom. But if he didn’t ask then he wouldn’t get to see the tips of Kore’s ears glow pink, or the cute twist of their mouth as they attempted to force their heavy tongue to cooperate.

“That depends,” Kore started, moving to Hythlodaeus’ side. “What do you think of them?”
They leaned into him, closing the space created by his pause.

“I like them very much.”

Kore released a held breath, bumping into Hythlodaeus’ shoulder as they slumped with relief. The moment of stillness was just that, a moment, before the fires of enthusiasm lit beneath them once again. Standing to attention, Kore pointed out different captured vistas on their wall animating the still shots with their words. This is where we’ll be going tomorrow, the chirped, pointing to a strip of sand between two cliffsides. And here, they continued, moving on to a different picture. Oh, and next time…

“Thank you for your most gracious grand tour,” said Hythlodaeus when Kore had finally run out of stories.

“You are most welcome,” replied the adventurer, grinning as they gave a little bow.

“There is something I have noticed, however.”

Kore’s smile faltered.
“Oh?”

Hythlodaeus nodded, spinning on his heel.
“With respect to this room.”

He waited to see if they would comment, but the wanderer simply looked at him with expectant eyes. Well then, he would oblige.
“There is only one bed.”

Kore’s grin returned.
“A keen observation, my friend,” they replied, unperturbed.

“Is there no spare room?”

“Is this not a sleepover?” was their outcry, breaking free Hythlodaeus’ smile from its cover of propriety.

Their façade of indignation was short lived. Skirting around him, Kore plopped down on the floor next to the bed.
“I shall sleep here.”

“On the floor?” asked Hythlodaeus, brows knitting with concern.

Their only answer was an emphatic nod.

“Are you sure?”

Another nod, this time followed by words.
“Honestly it is where I am more comfortable.”  
There were no beds out in the hills and dales of Etheirys. Often the wanderer even forsook a bedroll in favour of a cushion of grass or mattress of sand - under the cover of a blanket, of course.

“That mattress does look as though it has seen better days,” agreed Hythlodaeus as he eyed the misshapen mass of feathers and…straw? Just what would go into a mattress that had been crafted by hand rather than creation magicks? A great many things excepting, perhaps in this case, skill.

“Nonsense!”
Kore slapped the mattress, sending a swirl of dust into the air. They coughed once, waving in front of their face to clear away the cloud.
“Well. Maybe it has.”

Though no aficionado of aether manipulation, cleaning a bed – and, frankly, a whole room – was not beyond Hythlodaeus’ capabilities. A languid wave of his hand, juxtaposed by his brow crinkling with concentration, was all that it took to banish the dust from the bed and desk both. Eyes lighting with admiration, Kore gave their friend a little clap.

“Now, really, I hardly think—”
Hythlodaeus’ words broke away as Kore sprung up and grabbed him by the hands.

“No, that saved us ages! I probably would have…I don’t know.”
Their face fell. They had not struggled with simple spells in the past, but after the weeks of failure in that damn glade they had lost the confidence to try.

“Been just as capable as myself,” reassured Hythlodaeus.
“Now, was there anything else you wished to show me before dinner?”

Their grin, tentative at first, crept back across their face.
“Let me show you the forge.”

Hythlodaeus scarce had time to ask just what they meant by a ‘forge’ before Kore dragged him into the depths of the house.

A forge, Hythlodaeus discovered, was an archaic fixture used in the creation of weapons. Kore demonstrated how to light it, and how one could stoke the flames with the added geothermal heat of the fire aether swirling beneath the mountain. Mount Etna, as it turned out, was a volcano! Dormant, Kore had reassured him. Just active enough to add a little bit of spice to the furnace. Before Hythlodaeus could dwell on the reality of building one’s home on top of a volcano, Kore had guided him to the next point of interest: a display room of Vulcan’s masterworks. One armament for each fundamental discipline of combat.

Every cabinet contained a weapon except one.

The smith had crafted swords, daggers, spears, staves, and even books, but no axe adorned the walls of the armoury.

Kore skirted around the absence, much like the smaller studio tucked away in an alcove of the cavernous workshop. Just as with the wall of drawings, they steered Hythlodaeus towards promises of dinner before he could pull back the tarp covering the secrets beneath.

When they retired bells later, it was Hythlodaeus to the bed and Kore stubbornly reposing on the floor. No amount of cajoling had been able to sway them otherwise.

“I will be fine,” was their assurance, reinforcing it with a smile as Hythlodaeus eyed them from atop the barely more comfortable bed. He did not ask them if they were sure – he knew they were. He did ask himself if it was wise to let them sleep in such a fashion.

“But will you be rested?” was his eventual reply, steeped equally in worry and amusement. Kore waved his concern away. 

“That is for Tomorrow’s Kore to worry about.”

As he surrendered himself to sleep, Hythlodaeus draped a hand over the edge of the bed. He smiled against his pillow as he felt a calloused palm settle against his.

It did not slip away until the small hours of the morning. Hythlodaeus did not rouse at the loss of their touch, and the traveller was sure to be silent in their departure. Unfettered by the role of tour guide, they teleported across the island with the ease of a butterfly alighting on a series of flowers. They milked the cow, gathered eggs, and pleaded with Molae for a portion of her proofed dough. While the bread baked, they prepared provisions for their trip and fussed over the secret project they’d hidden from their friend in the workshop.

When Hythlodaeus woke, it was to the scent of frying bacon and fresh, hot bread. A roar of laughter echoing through the stone halls signalled that he was the last to rise. A glance with his soulsight confirmed it – the orange glow of Vulcan’s soul and the glitter of Kore’s essence filling the kitchen. Pulling his hair into a loose tail and conjuring a fresh robe, he headed down for breakfast.

Along with the sound of spitting fat and a crackling fire, Vulcan’s voice carried up the stairs.
“And what’s in store for today, little spark?”

“I was thinking of taking Hyth to the mainland.”

“Well now, that does sound like an adventure,” the Hythlodaeus in question said from the doorway. Neither seemed surprised by his arrival, continuing the banter without missing a beat. 

“Only if the tide’s high,” replied Vulcan with a wink.

“Which it isn’t,” sniped Kore, as they finished dressing the table for breakfast. It was an impressive spread: mushrooms sautéed in herbed butter, thick rashers of middle bacon, scrambled eggs like fluffy clouds, and a platter of fresh cut orchard fruits. Hythlodaeus wondered how many kisses and pinched cheeks those had cost his friend.

After breakfast, when they were well fed and their bags packed, Kore was eager to depart. The anger of yesterday forgotten, the youth graced Vulcan with a hug and a kiss to his bristly cheek by way of farewell.

“We’ll see you in a few days!” they promised, waving high over their head as the duo retreated down the path.

Far from the town, but close to the sea, it did not take the pair long to arrive at the white sandstone cliffs which towered over the ocean. Stairs had been hewn into the side of the rock, winding down towards the white beach. Jutting out from the coast, Hythlodaeus could see the strip of sand connecting Etna to the mainland. As Vulcan had alluded to, it wasn’t as much a land bridge as a tombolo which would be swallowed by high tide. For now, shallow waves rippled across the sand bar, and he predicted the water would just lick their ankles.

So long as they did not dawdle.

At the last step, Kore shucked their shoes and encouraged Hythlodaeus to do the same. Then, tucking their robe into their smallclothes, the adventurer sprinted onto the shoal, sending up sprays of sand and water droplets behind them. Gathering his robe into his arms, Hythlodaeus followed at a more sedate pace. Noting their companion lagged behind, Kore teleported back to his side. The waves would be up to their nipples by the time they reached the other beach at this rate!

“Here.”
They bent down, the hem of their own robe dipping into the shallows in the process.

“Now, I’m not really one for knots,” they smirked up at him, as they pulled the fabric from his grip.
“But…” They pulled back, sweeping their hands outwards to display their handiwork. “Tada.”

Hythlodaeus nodded at the knot of black fabric hanging next to his knee.
“Not too tight such that I cannot walk, but firm enough it won’t undo. A simple yet elegant solution."

Kore winked.
“I have no small experience with managing the impracticalities of robes,” they replied, resuming the march across the sandbar, the wet cloth of their own garment sticking to their thighs.

Halfway across, Hythlodaeus could no longer suffer his curiosity in silence.
“So just what is the plan today, my dear friend?”

Kore, it seemed, had been waiting for this very question. 
“Hush Hythlodaeus! To ask such questions here upon this bank and shoal of time, we’d jump the life to come.”

Hythlodaeus blinked, having come to expect such recitations from Hades rather than Kore. But if they were fluent in dead languages (or so Hades assured him), he supposed it stood to reason they would be able to quote ancient classics verbatim.

“I know where that soliloquy goes, Kore. Should I be concerned?”

“I was merely implying it is more about the journey than the destination. And.”
They pressed their lips together in a sheepish smile, before continuing, “the quote mentions a shoal, and when else do we get to talk about shoals except when we're on one!”

Their unwarranted exasperation over being pulled up on their incorrect application of a quote drew a chuckle from Hythlodaeus.

“Seeing, however, as you’re in a goal-oriented mindset,” Kore said, tapping a finger on their chin as they eyes angled skywards.

“Today we could…”
The sentence petered out as they dismissed their first idea.
“We could…”
Again, a false start. When inspiration struck, Kore's grin was soft but their eyes were sharp.
“We could go and shuck oysters in the rock pools.”

Too adept at hiding his amusement, Hythlodaeus contained his laughter, one hand flying to his face to hold it in. Kore had not found it quite so funny, their pride still bruised from that particular lesson. Thankfully, there were some small mercies in ecology.

“Although that is incorrect.”
As they corrected themselves, Kore stopped, spinning around on a heel to walk backwards in front of Hythlodaeus.

“They aren’t oysters; they’re cockles.”

Silence. As the exact nature of what they’d said filtered through, Kore stopped, their feet sinking into the wet sand. The two friends exchanged a long look, barely holding back laughter behind tight-lipped mouths.

“Ah, could you be referring to…” started Hythlodaeus, steeling his resolve before the punchline, “limpets?”

Another pause.

A little sputter of laughter escaped as Kore nodded and took their turn. “Also known as... Pipis.”

The dam broke, Kore and Hythlodaeus dissolving into waves of laughter. As the crashing tide of their amusement settled, however, the traveller regarded him with a hooded gaze. Their tone was subdued under the weight of remembered embarrassment.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for that.”

“But you will,” replied Hythlodaeus with a knowing smile.

Kore held their intensity for a beat longer, before doubling over in defeat.
“I will,” they confessed, already feeling dangerously close to a forgiveness they did not yet wish to cede to him.

"I've already forgiven Hades," they continued, answering the question Hythlodaeus had only asked with his eyes and expectant silence. Kore took a slow step backwards, resuming the trek across the sandbank. Unable to bear the weight of Hythlodaeus’ gaze, they turned on their heel.

“I.” They paused right as they slapped their foot into the damp sand.
“I didn’t even ask him to come with us.
They wiggled their toes down into the sludgy sediment, not stopping until their foot was buried up to the ankle.
“I hope he isn’t too lonely.”

Hythlodaeus dismissed their concern outright.
“I’m sure he will be quite alright.”

Kore’s posture slumped, as they continued to scrutinise their submerged appendage, prompting Hythlodaeus to console them again.

“Most likely he’s celebrating the absence of his twin troublemakers.”
It was easy for Hythlodaeus to imagine Hades reclined in a park, dozing off while reading as he enjoyed some rare peace.

Shoulders still hunched over, Kore looked unconvinced. For third time, Hythlodaeus reached to pull them out of their doldrums with light words.

“You could always summon him and see?”

Ah, that did it.

His efforts rewarded, Hythlodaeus smiled as Kore whirled around, wrenching their foot from the sand in the process.
“Certainly not!”

They had not forgiven him that much.

And they could not bear if he made good on his threat not to answer their call.

Besides.
“This is our adventure together.”

To drive the point home, they bent down and sent a spray of water Hythlodaeus’ way. Not expecting the splash, he cried out and copped the full wave. Blinking the salty drops out of his eyes, he levelled them a grin.

“Oh, it’s to be like that, is it?”
It was Kore’s turn to shriek as Hythlodaeus sent a counterattack at them with a surge of aether. Their mouth hung open as they held out their arms, sleeves dripping.

“That’s cheating!”

“I don’t believe any rules were, in fact, laid out.”

Perhaps not the wisest rejoinder he realised in retrospect, when Kore mirrored his mischievous smirk back at him. He had time to think about running before they launched towards him. Not agile enough to scoot out of the way, they both crashed down into the shallows in a tangle of limbs, sopping robes and laughter.

Soaked to the bone, traversing the rest of the shoal had been a squelchy affair. Kore had insisted they not be dried with a spell, going as far as to threaten to dunk them again should Hythlodaeus try. Bemused but always willing to see where they would lead, he did not force the issue. Half a bell later on the other side of the isthmus, Hythlodaeus was not entirely sure it had been worth it.

Once their feet were on dry sand, Kore had peeled off their robe, scrunching it into a wet bundle. Hythlodaeus had followed suit, seeing their approach and outstretched hands. After ‘hanging out’ their robes by spreading them on the scorched white cliffside, Kore had led him to a cluster of palms. There was, Hythlodaeus supposed, something to be said for the feeling the warmth of the midday sun on slowly drying skin while reclining in quiet leisure. While Kore busied themselves scrawling on a notepad, Hythlodaeus pulled a novel from his pack.

It was a comfortable silence, broken only be the lapping of small waves on the sand.

“You know, this is not quite what I had imagined when you invited me on an adventure,” said Hythlodaeus as he finished a chapter.

Kore paused in their scratchings, peeking over the top of the page.
“What did you have in mind?” they asked.

Hythlodaeus closed his book and tilted his head to the side. He had known from the first where Kore had intended to take him— the settlement from their childhood years. Nostalgia aside, their rationale had been apparent at first glance, each new accomplished artisan adding weight to the argument:
You don’t need to manipulate aether in order to achieve great things.

“Oh, I don’t know. To be cast directly into the path of a dire threat, hair-raising action amidst not-yet-traversed climes, a thrilling, swashbuckling combat set-piece at the climax.”

Kore’s eyes flicked between him and the page, their stick of charcoal idly feathering against the paper.
“Who’s to say that isn’t yet to come?”

Hythlodaeus smiled. Kore searched his face, apparently finding something of worth in the expression to add to their project.
“I shall await it with bated breath.”

Tucking his novel back into his bag, Hythlodaeus scooted over to Kore and their mysterious notebook. Or, as he suspected, sketchbook.
“My turn to ask a question.”

Kore froze.

As they were considering their best route of escape, Hythlodaeus continued.
“What has captured your attention so?”

Anticipating his prying eyes, they pulled the notepad tightly to their chest. He could not have seen, but they knew he already knew. Between the wall in their room and the charcoal stick in their hand it was obvious.

“Is that you?” Hythlodaeus asked, earning himself a shove. Undeterred, he added: “Could you draw me?”

Kore’s nostrils flared and their lips puckered into a pout. As they moved to unsheathe their razor wit for a reprisal, they were disarmed by the Hythlodaeus' bright eyes and fluttering lavender lashes. Colour still rising in their cheeks, they lowered their knees and displayed their work.

“It’s already a picture of you,” they mumbled, mouth twisting from a pout to a grimace.
“Us,” they clarified, turning the page towards Hythlodaeus as if they couldn’t stand to look at it now they had been caught.
“I am drawing a picture of us to send to Hades.”

So that was the way of it. Hythlodaeus gently took the notebook from Kore’s hands to examine the finer details of the picture. Arms looped over each other’s shoulders, he and they grinned out of the page with abandon. Side-eyeing Hythlodaeus’ expression as he appraised the drawing, Kore continued to explain themselves.
“I was hoping to make him jealous.”

If he was cross about being left out, maybe he would forget how cross he was about…Honestly, Kore wasn’t really sure what he had been so angry about anymore. It certainly hadn’t just been what he’d said had driven him to censure. The uncertainty cut fresh wounds into the adventurer’s heart. How could they fix things when they could not even see the problem?

“I see!” replied Hythlodaeus with a laugh. Although, he thought, it is a plan with quite the opposite effect. “I think our Hades will be most appreciative you’ve been thinking of him enough to send a gift. ‘Tis a fine portrait.”

As he handed back the page his budding bubble of envy popped, Kore themselves wielding the needle.

“You keep it.”
Abruptly, they held out the page at an arm’s length, head resolutely turned away from him.

Hythlodaeus’ hands paused halfway towards taking the sketch.
“Are you sure?”

Still not looking at him, they nodded in an exaggerated arc.

“Yes,” they insisted. “I’ll draw another picture for Hades. Of the three of us, so he will miss our companionship even more acutely.”

Warm smile once again overtaking his features, Hythlodaeus accepted the gift.

The sand suddenly fire under their backside, Kore scrambled to their feet and went to retrieve the two robes from the rocks.
“We’d best get going,” they announced, tossing one of the swathes of black to Hythlodaeus. “We still have quite a ways to go today.”

Somehow, they were already clothed, rucksack hanging over their shoulder. Just the one, Hythlodaeus realised as he hastened to pull his robe over his head, because they reached down and plucked up his bag to balance things out.

“It’s better this way,” they said, pre-empting his concern. Hythlodaeus voiced it regardless.

“Again, I must ask you, are you sure?”

The traveller nodded.
“Trust me.”

Hythlodaeus would not argue, because he did. And soon he understood their rationale.

They walked.
And walked.
And walked.
And walked, until they hit a point of walking where Hythlodaeus didn’t think mankind could walk that far in a day.

Then they walked some more.

Conversation ebbed and flowed between them like the tide. Kore had spoken on the history of Etna, disclosing that the town was only a few decades old and that while Minerva was the community leader, Vulcan had founded the settlement. Azem had played no small part in promulgating word far and wide across Etheirys about a place for those who lacked talent or capacity for Creation and wished to try a different way of life. At Hythlodaeus’ inquiry, the conversation shifted to the terrain changing around them. Sandy ground and towering white rock had given way to scrubland in shades of taupe and olive-drab. In the distance Hythlodaeus could see rolling hills fuzzy with greenery, prompting Kore to speak about the mountain range and all that grew there throughout the changing seasons.

Scant commentary about any wildlife, though.
And nothing to be said about their absent friend.

In turn, Hythlodaeus regaled the adventurer with stories of the different concepts crossing his desk at the Bureau of the Architect. Accepted ones, rejected ones, ill-fated experiments, and rapturous triumphs of man’s ingenuity. How he could find delight in the fine details of the mundane. Kore chirped out questions, discovering the gratification of being infected with someone else’s enthusiasm, for once.

As the weight of the passing bells pulled the sun towards the horizon the conversation receded to a trickle.

Just as Hythlodaeus was sure his legs would actually give out from under him, the traveller stopped.

“I think we have walked far enough for the day.”

Hythlodaeus released a silent sigh.

Their campsite, arbitrary though it had appeared at first, was well situated. The ground was flat but raised above the water level of the nearby stream. There were enough rocks nearby to craft a fire ring, and scattered trees to provide shelter from the westerly wind without threatening to topple onto them as they slept. As adept at setting up camp as they were at picking a suitable spot, Kore methodically prepared all they would need to last the night. First came a ward of silver encircling the camp. Like bells, they’d explained, harkening back to when they were a child with no mastery of magic and they had relied on actual bells strung onto rope. Next, they taught Hythlodaeus how to construct a fire pit, and the kind of wood which made the best fuel for said fire. While cobs of corn and yams baked nestled amongst glowing embers, Kore finally turned their mind to sleeping arrangements.

“With respect to your packing,” they started, biting their lower lip to suppress a grin. They looked to the bedding they had packed, and then to Hythlodaeus. “There’s only one bedroll,” they concluded.

Hythlodaeus was unflapped by 'revelation'. 
“While my command of aether is prosaic, it is quite within my capabilities to create another.”

Kore’s face fell.
“No!”

“Oh?”
It was Hythlodaeus’ turn to smirk, brow quirking as he canted his head.

“I mean.” Kore cleared their throat. “The weather is mild, and the sky is clear. I can’t smell any rain on the horizon.”

Hythlodaeus checked the aetheric currents above them, and those in the distance. Kore’s nose did not lie.

“So we could forego the bedrolls completely,” was their tentative suggestion as they shoved their sleep-sack back into their cavernous bag. Instead, they produced a thick rug, more than large enough for the two of them to lie on. Just the right size for three, in fact.

"I am happy to do as the experienced adventurer wills,” Hythlodaeus conceded.

With a squeak of happiness, Kore laid out the blanket with a flourish.

After their rustic campfire meal, the two friends lay side by side on the rug underneath the blanket of the night sky.

“Have you ever learnt about the stars?” asked Kore idly.

Before he could answer, they reached over and took Hythlodaeus’ wrist, stretching his arm up until it was above their heads. With their slightly longer reach they shaped his hand to a pointing finger.

“That's the Northern Lodestar,” they started, steering Hythlodaeus’ arm towards the brightest pinprick of light dominating the sky. In the absence of Amaurot’s glow it shone all the brighter.

The sky was the same as that over the City State, but it was the first time Hythlodaeus had beheld it with such clarity. To Kore it was as familiar as the roads they walked around Etna, the stars often their only companion on their travels. They traced Hythlodaeus’ fingers over each constellation man had seen pinned in the sky, weaving the stories that had been imparted to them about what each pattern meant, and where it had come from. Old stories based in myth; new tales based in aetherology. That was where Hythlodaeus was able to chime in, adding his own snippets of information. The way he spoke, Kore knew it was second hand.

They would not ask from who.

Kore dropped their twinned arms but maintained their hold on Hythlodaeus’ hand. Lying like this they were two souls linked by twined fingers with the aethereal sea and ocean of stars sprawling above them.
“Tell me what they aethereal flow looks like.”

Hythlodaeus was silent for a time, gaze heavenward. Kore did not press him, patiently awaiting the picture they knew he would paint with his words. The man was merely taking the requisite time to prepare his palette.

“I ask you to recall the galaxy you pointed out to me.”

Their eyes wandered to the band of stars.

“And imagine it a river, with innumerable branching tributaries.”

Another pause. This time, Kore surmised, for dramatic effect.

“Not only is the river itself refulgent in light but carries the sparkle of its own stars in countless hues.”

“Souls?” they asked, interjecting. Hythlodaeus nodded.

“Now, precious few are gifted with the ability to see them with such clarity as Hades and myself. The myriad colours, each one subtly different. All ebbing and flowing in constant motion not just in the sky, but all around us.”

He could stare for hours, picking out the nuances of souls alive and dead, marvelling at the minute differences between each one. And that was not accounting for the souls that were so unique he thought he could be content watching only them for a lifetime.

“It sounds beautiful.”
They battled back a yawn, losing at the last. 

“It is," replied Hythlodaeus as he attuned his vision back to their face rather than the essence beneath their corporeal form.

“I wish I could see it.”

Hythlodaeus could see their frown through the growing darkness as they squinted at the sky to no avail. 
Would that he could show them.

Kore released his hand, leaving Hythlodaeus to flex his fingers against the cold night air caressing his palm instead.  

“We should rest up,” they said, stretching out against the ground, “lots more walking tomorrow.”

Hythlodaeus groaned, but it lacked the weight of true consternation.
“I do not know if my poor feet can take anymore!”

“I’ll carry you,” offered Kore without hesitation. 

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Kore."

They shook their head vigourously. 
“It’ll be easy! Bags on the front, you on the back.”
They paused. In the dim light Hythlodaeus barely caught their wink.
“Or would you prefer it the other way around?”

“I think that both, while amusing in concept, sound highly impractical.”
Although he could not deny he'd like to see them try.

Kore blew a raspberry in his direction.
“Goodnight, then, Hythlodaeus.”

“Goodnight, Kore.”

Kore lay on their back for a few long minutes, still staring at the stars and willing their aethereal vision to let them peek at the swirling currents of the Underworld. When that failed, they traced out the patterns of their favourite constellations with their eyes before realising that they still had not heard the sound of Hythlodaeus’ breath slowing. Rolling onto their side, they were met with a pair of lavender eyes looking right back at them.

"Why haven't you gone to sleep yet?" they asked, propping their head up on an arm. A silhouette against a backdrop of night, the traveller could make out that Hythlodaeus lay on his back, one arm across his chest.

"Because I want to watch you fall asleep," came his simple reply.

The darkness which covered the flush of their cheeks did nothing to hide the ripple of colour across their soul.
"What about if I want to watch YOU fall asleep?" 

“Then we are at something of an impasse.”
Kore couldn’t see as much as hear Hythlodaeus’ smile in his voice. Chasing down his mirth with their own exasperated sigh, they flopped onto their front.

“I guess I can have the grace to fall asleep first,” they grumbled, turning their head into their forearms.

“How thoughtful of you.”

They shrugged their shoulders around their hidden face. They were not that gracious as to surrender completely - although they suspected their face was not what Hythlodaeus wished to watch.

“We both know I’ll wake up first, anyway.”
And then I’ll get to watch you sleep, they thought, wise enough to keep the statement to themselves.

Kore did not, in fact, wake first.

Unaccustomed to sleeping outside, and on the ground no less, a plethora of small irritations roused Hythlodaeus from slumber barely before the sunrise. The morning dew had dampened his hair and robe and though the blanket provided by Kore was soft, there were still several pebbles sticking into his side. Then there was the added weight of limbs slung over him. A thigh was draped across his hips while an arm had curled over his chest, worming its way around his torso to pull him close. His captor snored ever so softly, their breath blowing into his hair and tickling his cheek. As his body shifted, they murmured unintelligibly, their leg locking tighter around him. Kore pressed their head into his shoulder, their hair feathering against his face instead.

‘I guess I can have the grace to go back to sleep,’ he mused with a smile, pushing back a lock of Kore’s hair, only for it to spring back from whence it had come. Focussing on the warmth of Kore’s body against his, the numerous niggling annoyances faded into obscurity and he drifted back to sleep.

When Hythlodaeus roused again, Kore was gone. 

Chapter Text

As the sun was rising for Hythlodaeus and Kore, it had long since set for Hades. Tucked away behind his desk as he was, however, it made little difference to him. Bouncing between the library and his study, Hades had scarce seen the sun since the last lesson with Helios.

Alas, for all the tomes piled around him, and the number of pages through which he had trawled, the quantity of notes he had scribed was pathetic. He should not have been surprised. This was not the first time which he had studied these very volumes. It was folly to think that perusing them again with a greater depth of experience with the phenomenon in question would grant him a different perspective; that he could glean something which he had not on first viewing. The creeping realisation – that there was nothing to see - was more painful than the dull study. There was no secret knowledge to be uncovered. Whatever his friend’s acquaintance’s soul was, nothing approaching its like had been observed before. At least not in a record of any repute.

Before resorting to articles firmly in the field of fancy, Hades shifted the focus of his research. If books on the nature of souls held nothing for him, then he would turn his attention to the other tangle of nonsense surrounding the adventurer.

Creation magicks.

The topic was as broad as the sky and deeper than the darkest trench in the oceans of the star. It had been overwhelming to consider where to start. Could there be some detail hidden within the fundamentals of the field; something which would take meaning anew in this fresh context? Surely not, considering how niche his question.  Again, he had heard nothing of its like before. Even in the advent of adulthood as he was, childhood and first lessons far behind him, Hades could recall the words of the cornerstone texts for study of that magic which was innate to their kind. Again, his attention wandered to the fringes of the discipline - that which tread a tightrope between fact and fiction.

Delving into the half-baked dissertations wore down the point of his focus faster than the densest of technical manuals ever could. Myth, mysticism, theories on the origins of aether which ignored the most basic of established laws. The texts ranged from plausible to so outlandish he doubted even the authors could believe their own hypotheses.

Unable to bear another word of the thesis he could only think to describe as the ravings of a madman – Unbound Creation: How Man Might Harness Entropy, written by a supposed Word of Lahabrea, no less – Hades buried his head in his hands. The groan which followed the motion sounded for nobody’s benefit but his own and did a poor job of venting his building exasperation.

The lie Hades had woven by repeating again and again that he only studied with such fervour to better explain the situation to Emet-Selch was wearing thin. Try as he might to darn it, each fresh hell he descended to on reading these fictions poked another hole and allowed the guilt over his parting words to Helios to shine through. At this point the flimsy justification was more hole than whole; the truth too bright to be ignored even through closed eyes. He was a damned fool for losing his temper as he had – for lashing out over nothing when they were just as frustrated as him.

Besides, even if he were intent on betraying his friend acquaintance, there was no way that Emet-Selch didn’t already know about them. That Emet-Selch didn’t know they had been here, in Amaurot. Soul sight aside, Azem was their teacher! And that was another point! The Fourteenth, too, couldn’t be ignorant of what they were. Or rather, the soul which they contained.

This, in turn, vexed him all the more. If the Convocation knew, why had they not done anything about it? For how Helios spoke of it, no effort had been made to address their disability. Time and again they had displayed that Azem had merely sheltered them from the ubiquity of creation magicks.

The revelation which had shortened the fuse of his temper that day and filled Hades with the intent to light it reared its head once more.

Azem, Emet-Selch, and the rest of the Convocation did nothing because there was nothing to be done. The problems presented by Helios had no solutions. A life lived in ignorance on the fringes of society was the best which could be offered.

Behind his hands Hades’ mouth stretched to a grim line.

Unacceptable.

It was utterly, completely, objectively unacceptable.

There had to be something more that could be done. And whatever that may be, he would find it. It was not the first time he had pitted himself against the inadequate mettle of his ‘seniors’ in the pursuit of knowledge. Although it was the first time those seniors were the very best of mankind.

Between the gaps in his fingers, Hades glowered at the letter he had been ignoring since it had appeared on his desk. His name, written in a familiar yet too-legible script, taunted him. Damned fool. Could they not hold a grudge for even one week? What of the tenacity which saw them thrust themselves time and again into battles for causes not worth the fight? The doodle of his face below his name glared back at him but did not answer his rhetorical questions. Perhaps he was the fool, now twice damned, and the letter was stuffed to bursting with petty vitriol.

With a scoff Hades flipped the envelope face down.

This was, in fact, worse. The blob of wax sealing the flap was not a less tempting view. Such a small impediment to the sating of his curiosity.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he muttered, again finding little relief to the building pressure of his frustration.

So be it, then.

He would read their letter, and perhaps whatever childish nonsense they’d chosen to scribe for his ‘benefit’ would cure him of this futile obsession over fixing them.

Dropping his hands and sitting straight once more, Hades reached for the letter with his aether. With deliberate movements he lifted it from the desk until it was at eye level, and then peeled back the seal with a thin blade of magic. As he eased it from the envelope, Hades sneered at the flecks of glitter clinging to the pages within. It was better than grass and dirt, but only barely. Sure to place the envelope back on his desk without spilling the sparkling contents, Hades turned his eye to the correspondence itself.

At first glance he questioned if he was mistaken, and that it was not from Helios at all. The handwriting was legible. It was still messy, to be sure, but it did not make his eyes bleed with its sharp edges nor spur a headache for the effort required to decipher their inscrutable scrawl. The ink was even; the paper unmarred by blots or punctures.

How many times had they written and rewritten it?

The contents, vindictive as it was, didn’t matter. Each painstaking stroke of ink held their true message.

Every ‘i’ may as well have been dotted with a heart.

Safe from prying eyes, a smile softened the scowl which had been set into his features. It was but fleeting, however, as Hades flipped to the second page.

A drawing. Unlike the doodle on the envelope it was a proper sketch, which captured three friends - arm in arm in arm. On the left Hythlodaeus had his smile hidden behind a hand, but could do nothing to hide the crinkle in the corners of his eyes. Helios, of course, grinned with abandon. And he…

Hades’ lips pursed as he took in what Helios saw when they looked at him.

A smile.

Not a sneer, or a scowl, or the look of disgust he oft could not contain at their idiocy. Not boredom, or irritation, but a subtle smile that was seen more in his eyes than anywhere else.

The reflexive smile he wore when he thought nobody was looking.

Hades slumped back in his chair, a hand moving to cover his mouth.

Helios, apparently, had been looking.

The longer he stared at the picture, the hotter his cheeks grew. What right did Helios have to draw the three of them so happy? After what he had said to them, they should have hated him. It would have been easier if they had hated him.

The hand covering his mouth moved up to rub his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes which were not prickling. Not stinging, or misting, or anything. That was nothing but the fatigue of bells and bells of fruitless study weighing on him. Sleep was what he needed, but Hades knew he would not. Instead he read their letter again, picking it over for an onze of the sincerity which radiated from their sketch. Alas, as seemed to be the flavour of the day, all he found was disappointment.

Thrice damned fools, now. Him and Helios both.

Did they not know that there was nothing that they could do? They could practice a hundred, thousand times for as many years and the outcome would remain unchanged.

Hades, at least, realised there was scarce little he could do. Yet scarce and little though it may be, he would do it all the same. There was no other option.

Setting aside the letter and drawing both – face down – he turned his attentions back to the ‘thesis’ which read like a cult’s dogma rather than a scientific paper. By the end of the first sentence, a tendril of aether snaked its way towards the sketch. At the conclusion of the first paragraph, Hades flipped the picture up against a backdrop of books. Every few sentences, as his resolve waned, he would steal a glimpse at the three smiling faces to remind himself of just why he was suffering so. In spite of the affront to his intelligence with every word each upward glance brought a reflexive smile to his face.

Thrice damned fool indeed.

As the first fingers of sunlight curled over the horizon, Kore stirred. It was a slow waking and a mixed bag as far as sensations went. The morning was crisp, and after the balmy day prior, the air had gifted them a sprinkling of morning dew. By contrast, Hythlodaeus was warm, and ever churning with aether, Kore ran hot. After sleeping entangled with one another, a thin film of sweat had slicked and dried where skin touched skin. The salty residue left behind was ever so slightly sticky.

Kore grimaced as they peeled away from Hythlodaeus, who in turn shifted in his sleep at the loss of their cloying heat. His brows knitted together as he mumbled something unintelligible, reaching out to attempt to snag them in another hug. Though the burrs of sleep still clung to their eyes, Kore scooted out of his reach with ease.  

“I’ll come back,” they promised, as though Hythlodaeus could hear them through the shroud of sleep. The crease between his brows smoothed at their assurance, so perhaps he could.

Their fingers stretched towards his face to push back the hair falling across his brow but halted halfway. Hades’ endless lectures on propriety echoed in the back of their mind, however it was the fear of waking Hythlodaeus which stopped them. They were so close to their escape.

Wearing a soft smile, Kore shouldered their pack and turned to the hillside. As they set off, they did not look back. Instead, their eyes scanned the road ahead. They wanted a rock, a big one, suitable for perching on as the sun clambered into the sky. If it was nestled against and even bigger rock, that would be best. Or a tree. Something against which they could rest their back as they set their drawing pad on their knee. It also had to be out of sight of the camp. If they wanted Hythlodaeus as an audience, they would have stayed put. This was…private. Hythlodaeus could have something else for breakfast – their embarrassment was off the menu.

Within a bell they found a boulder that was nearly big enough. It was a little cramped to set out their stationery as planned. Much to their disappointment, there was no natural backrest, either. The sweeping view, however, more than made up for those deficiencies. Not to mention that the sun was already growing bolder, they greys of pre-dawn giving way to muted blues and the faintest hint of pink.

Charcoal in hand and page against their thighs, Kore first teased out the picture they’d visualised the afternoon before and spent the night dreaming about. The secret smiles of their dear friends which they had locked in their heart for safekeeping, and would carry with them wherever they went, no matter how far afield.

That was easy part.

Kore fiddled longer with the final touches on the sketch than they should have. The charcoal smeared across their clammy fingertips and palm as dread settled into their stomach and made itself at home.

As they stared at their finished sketch, the invading dread expanded and crushed their heart into their throat. Each breath turned to lead in their lungs, adding mass to the dense anxiety permeating their chest.

A letter.

Now they had to write the letter.

Jaw clenched, Kore took their pen in a death grip and dragged it across a fresh piece of paper.

Dear Hades,

I miss you,

From,

Stumbling at how to sign off, Kore’s pen stuttered against the page. A splotch of ink blossomed like a flower with malformed petals as a curse bloomed from their mouth.  Scrunching up the page, Kore pursed their lips in tandem with the crumpling paper and tossed it onto the growing pile of discarded letters. Shaking the drips of ink from their nib with undue force, they set pen to paper once more.

Dear Hades,

                   Here are some words. Try to guess who I’m describing. (Hint: it’s not me).

                  Incorrigible, irascible, irritating, infuriating, imperious, i— I cannot think of any more ‘I’ words.

With each word their handwriting became more erratic, culminating in a rend in the paper at the final ‘s’. Not sparing the intellect for words this time, Kore growled and balled up the page and the few below it into a tight ball. Tossing it into the air, they set it aflame with a simple spell. The satisfaction of the paper's immolation was as fleeting as the blaze. Watching the embers die and the ash scatter on the wind, Kore dropped their gaze to their page once more.

Again and again they wrote and rewrote the missive. From heartfelt to heartache they poured their feelings onto the page through the nib of their pen. When they had nearly exhausted their pile of paper, their hand was slow and steady. It did not shake nor did it press too hard. Each character was drawn from their pen with meticulous attention to form giving shape to the emotions which had quieted from an unbound torrent to a steady stream.

To the Most Horrible Hades,

I haven’t forgiven you.

I am going to learn perfect creation magicks just to spite you.

You will not see me until we can have a picnic with white plates, hot tea, and the sickliest sweets you can conceive of – though I guarantee what I find will be sweeter. 

I have stolen Hythlodaeus away for an adventure and we are having the best time without you.

This could have been you if you weren’t an insufferable, imperious, infuriating idiot. 

With a sincere wish for your ongoing loneliness and longing,

~Kore

With the final stroke, Kore’s hand began to tremble. Before the nib could stutter against the paper, they pulled their pen away. A quick check confirmed they hadn’t faltered at the last – no spatters to be seen - and the nervous flutter of their pulse shifted to excitement. Was this the one? Setting their pen down, they held the page up in both sets of trembling fingers. The drying ink glistened in the early morning light, the only marks on the otherwise pristine paper. Reading their work one last time, Kore pressed their lips together to hold back a squeal of joy.

This was it! This would show Hades exactly what they thought of him. It was perfect – enough that Hades might be so overcome with contrition and regret that he would seek them out for once! And then they would have the satisfaction of…of—

Of probably failing to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over even at the mere thought of such a reunion.

Drawing back their hunched shoulders with an almighty sniff, Kore shook away the welling tears. Now was not the time for blubbering. They drew in a steady breath, held it as they gathered their nerves, and then exhaled, sending every tremor and unshed tear rushing out with it. Hands no longer shaking, Kore packed and sealed the envelope with a blob of goldenrod coloured wax. They chose wax, rather than a spell, for the tactile feel of cracking a seal, and the smooth shine against the rough fibre of the paper. And the drama.

Not daring to imbue it with the same enchantments which had carried their notes to Hythlodaeus days prior, Kore held the letter to their heart and willed that it find its way to Hades. As the envelope dissolved to aether and slipped into the aetherial plane, they did not doubt it would find him.

Chapter Text

“I’ll come back.”

The words may have been the product of his dreams, but Hythlodaeus held them close all the same when he woke alone in their make-shift camp. The small ember of optimism glowed warm in his chest; its comfort sorely needed. The damp which had contributed to his waking in the small hours of the morning had only seeped deeper into his robes. He was colder now, too, for lack of his bedfellow. Blanketfellow? Hm, he would have to ask Kore the most appropriate term on their return. 

And they would return, of that he had no doubt. ‘Twould be a poor joke to have led him to the untouched wilds and abandon him there, and Kore's sense of humour was better than that. If not better, at least less malicious. Of course, that did not preclude some other punchline awaiting him on their return. Perhaps they were curious as to what he might do in their absence. It was a good question. Hands on his hips, Hythlodaeus stood in the middle of their ‘camp’ and surveyed his surrounds. Just what was there to do? Or, more pointedly, what would a seasoned adventurer do? 

Did one make a campfire in the morning? It was still somewhat crisp, even ignoring his general state of wet. So that was a solid 'yes' to the fire, even if it was not traditional. This, however, prompted another question. How did one make a campfire? The pile of ashes rimmed a circle of rocks was unhelpful. His internal commentary as supplied by Hades – scoffing at not simply drying and warming himself with magic – similarly so. 

Hythlodaeus cast his mind back to the night before, when he had watched Kore flitting around the camp like a petalouda amidst a field of flowers. Their hands had been a flurry of activity, and like the wings of the being to which he compared them they often slowed but never stilled. Alas, the words which they’d spouted had little bearing on the task. New to adventuring as he was, perhaps his friend had not thought it a skill he would require. 

Hm.

Well, wood was requisite, and he supposed it should be dry. Ashes also likely made a poor foundation for a fresh fire. Then there were those extra twigs and grass more prone to catching fire that Kore had peppered on top of the main wood stack. With no shortage of variables for him to contend with, imaginary Hades’ suggestion of magic became much more tempting.

No. Fun, he reminded himself, isn’t necessarily easy.

Imagining Hades’ response to that brought a smile to his lips as he set to gathering fuel for his would-be fire.

True to their word – whether dreamed or spoken – Kore returned within a bell. Devoted to his task, it was a rare occasion where Hythlodaeus heard the thump of their dropped pack and huff of laughter before seeing their soul.

“What are you doing?”

Hythlodaeus looked up, hands poised in the midst of arranging a tuft of tinder atop a precarious tower of sticks. He attempted to summon an expression of affront, but his lips rebelled at their corners, curving upwards. After sprinkling out the last few blades of dried grass like a chef adding a pinch of salt to a dish, he splayed his fingers out, pleased with what he’d built.
“It should be obvious, should it not?”

Kore crouched beside him, tilting their head one way, then another, to examine his structure from all angles.
“An art installation to leave behind as evidence of our adventure?”

“Such a deep cut so early in the morning!” Hythlodaeus clutched a hand to his breast, reeling back. “I had thought you meant to abandon me to expire from starvation and exposure, but clearly you sought to deal the deathblow yourself.”

He slumped to the ground, his arm slung over his eyes for effect. Somehow the pair contained their laughter, although Kore’s voice wabbled dangerously towards breaking.

“But of course! My dear friend deserves that small honour.”

Hythlodaeus peeked out from under his sleeve, curious to see how his monstrosity of wood, leaves, and grass would be salvaged. Kore’s hands, however, were yet idle – one clutching their chin while the other cupped their elbow.

“You know,” they said, tapping a finger against their cheek, “this isn’t actually half bad.”

“Now you tell me, as I lay here dying from wounded pride.”

“I said half bad.”

“I believe you said isn’t half bad.”

“Usually,” Kore stressed, choosing to ignore him, “the tinder goes on the bottom.”

“I’m sensing a but.”
Hythlodaeus grinned but dimmed the brightness of his countenance as Kore turned his way.

“But.” They poked their tongue out at him. They had not missed his self-satisfied look.
“A platform fire is generally best for cooking.”

It was then their hands went to work, deftly rearranging the larger bits of tinder as well as adding some scrunched pages as extra kindling. Hythlodaeus lifted his arm, trying to decipher any of the words inked between the folds. He thought he saw the name ‘Hades’ but a spark of magic caused tongues of fire to devour the words before he could be sure.

Kore did not give him time to ask. Having seen his initiative to build a fire, they took it upon themselves to give a lesson on campfire cooking. The evening before, Hythlodaeus had felt like a guest in Kore’s domain with them shouldering the burden of domestic duties. This morning he was an initiate. The bread which broke their fast contained no sugar but tasted sweeter for being kneaded and baked by his own hands. Slathered in honey it was surprisingly morish for little more than flour, butter, and milk.

When they’d licked the last crumbs off their fingers, Kore taught him how to douse the fire and cover signs of their passage. The blanket was bundled into their backpack and then it was time to walk.

“It’s not too late for me to carry you,” started Kore, observing the slump in Hythlodaeus’ shoulders at the prospect of another long march.

“No, I shall be quite alright, I assure you,” he replied, holding up a hand as they approached.

“Are you really sure.” Kore leaned forward but folded their hands behind their back.

“Really.”

“This is my last offer. I shan’t indulge you if you change your mind later.”
They both knew that they would. Kore would take the world of their shoulders if Hythlodaeus or Hades asked it of them.

Without a word, Hythlodaeus made a show of shouldering his own bag. Chin held high, he breezed past his friend, giving them a dismissive wave.
“See? I’m walking and my feet are yet to fall off. I shan’t require your indulgence.”

Kore watched him walk for a few paces, before scampering to catch his steps.

They had not walked long enough for Hythlodaeus to regret his hubris when they met the first true impediment to their journey.

Kore had taken the point of their pair. They kept a step in front as they babbled about one thing or another and, supposedly, ‘kept and eye out’ for danger and points of interest. Apparently, their eyes saw everything except that which they needed to see.

“Kore.”
Hythlodaeus used their name as a warning, reaching out to grab the sleeve of their robe. They staggered backwards, but regained their balance with ease, wheeling around to look at him.

“It’s subtle, right?”
An impish smile pinched the corners of their mouth, prompting Hythlodaeus to open his in surprise. Their ruse of ignorance had been impeccable, but they had seen exactly what rose before them.

He had been had.

Kore knew it, too.

“But you see it.”
Their smile grew – an audience member brimming with anticipation of what was to come in the final act of a show they'd see before – as Hythlodaeus regained his composure. Of course he saw it. Was that not why they had brought him?

A wall of aether loomed large over them. So tall was it that Hythlodaeus had to squint skywards to catch the curving roof of the dome. Whoever had crafted the barrier did not want anything getting in – or out – either over land or from the air. Not only was it grand in scale but intricate in its implementation. To standard vision the countryside simply continued except with the faintest shimmer of a heat mirage.

“Want to see what happens when you walk through it?”
Kore bobbed with excitement, eager to show off their discovery. This was the punchline Hythlodaeus had been waiting for.

“You’ve been here before.”
It was not a question.

Nor did he ask why they had insisted on walking when it was well within their capabilities to teleport them here. Hythlodaeus did make a habit of asking questions he knew the answer to, but only when the answer would bring him amusement. There would be no joy in undermining the spirit of adventure which had prompted Kore to invite him on this journey.

“Once or twice,” they admitted. Coy, they averted their gaze. The lie lasted all of two seconds.
“Okay, a few more times than that.”
They pursed their lips, deliberating the exact number of visits they had made to the wall.
“…well, a few more times than I can count.”  

“What’s on the other side?” he asked, curiosity lighting the same fire in him that would draw a soul back to the same spot time and again.

“I don’t know!” was Kore’s reply. Their soul sparkled as brightly as their eyes, but the small seed of anxiety at its core did not escape Hythlodaeus’ notice.

They did not know, but they had an idea.

“This is no small ward,” he continued, again appraising the monolith of magic. Something on this scale would require maintenance to reinforce the links of aether holding it together. It looked as if its casters had not returned for some time, the weave wearing thin between each tightly knit nexus of magic.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

Hythlodaeus had a feeling he would – soon.

At their tug, Hythlodaeus released their sleeve, only for Kore to seize his hand. His feet caught against the grass as they towed him forwards into a run. He did not resist their pull, falling into a rhythm with their footfalls. As the pair pelted forward, the towering wall seemed all the taller. Subconsciously, Hythlodaeus braced himself for impact, but it never came. The barrier was permeable, the shimmer accentuating to a ripple as he and Kore plunged through.

It lasted an instant. The duration made it no less unpleasant. Hythlodaeus felt himself lurch across a skipped thread in the fabric of space. Or maybe it was his vision that stuttered, as the barrier bent him and Kore around and spat them back out again, right where they had started. Forward momentum preserved, his feet thudded over the ground, stumbling once again as Kore skidded to a stop. Two voices, breathless with exhilarated laughter, rang into the sky.

“That was…” Hythlodaeus trailed off, catching his breath.

“Fun?”

“Not the word I would use,” he finished, but not in an unkind way. If they asked him (or, let’s be honest, dragged him) to run through again, he would not say no.

“Then interesting, at least,” Kore pressed, adding their other hand to their grip on his.

“It does have me intrigued,” he conceded, earning himself a grin from his friend. Then, with his next breath, he traded it for a thoughtful frown.
“Can you teleport across?”

Obviously, they could not. With their aptitude for spatial magicks, it would have been their first instinct when their feet failed them.

“I bounce right off it,” Kore said, spitting their words towards the dirt. “I can barely see it.”
Piercing through their veil of sullenness, hope drew their gaze towards his face; their gold eyes half hidden behind long lashes.
“How well can you see it?”

Hythlodaeus blinked first, smiled second, then drew a hand up to his mouth to stifle his laughter third. No longer coquettish, Kore dropped his hand and stomped their foot. This set him laughing hard enough for his ribs to ache.

“Well enough,” he forced out between hitches of breath.

Kore pressed their lips together, desperate to maintain at least a neutral if not stern expression.
“Well enough to recognise a weakness?”

Composure regained, but fragile, Hythlodaeus nodded. He did not trust himself to speak without dissolving into laughter again. Kore saw his shaking shoulders and spied the twitching corners of his mouth.

Challenge accepted. Whether by delight or dismay they would break him.

“Excellent.”
Pause, for effect – let him think he was on even footing – and then.
“So, can you do that thing with the arrow, again, then?”

A snort of amusement half lodged in Hythlodaeus’ mouth, and half escaped his lips.
“Certainly not!” he exclaimed past his fingers. “I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.” 

Satisfied with the hint of victory, Kore relented.

“Well…” they added their own chuckle as an echo of Hythlodaeus’ prior laughter. “I wasn’t planning on destroying it, anyway.”
Neither of them had any hope of that. And should it be keeping something in rather than out…
“But if the ward is thin enough, I should be able to wiggle our aether through via teleportation.”

As their real plan matched his supposition, Hythlodaeus’ equanimity solidified.
“What are you hoping to find in there?”

“I don't know. I just want to see what is on the other side.” Kore’s words were light; released into the breeze as inconsequential as dandelion seeds. The bulb of anxiety nestled in their soul budded. Hythlodaeus watched as its tendrils permeated Kore’s aether.

"Just to see?" It was a challenge rolled into a question. 

Kore did not balk. The light of their soul overtook the constricting coils as they smiled…
"Well. Should there be something interesting we might tread a little further."
…only for the binds to reign in their brilliance as their expression sobered.

"You don't have to come in with me. It's likely to be dangerous."

"I thought that was the point of an adventure?”

Kore’s mouth dropped open, and the pressed a hand to their chest.
“Excuse me,” they said, lifting their chin and looking down their nose at him, “that was your expectation dear Hythlodaeus.”

An individual who could face down foes of greater gravitas, Hythlodaeus paid no mind to Kore’s posturing.
“I distinctly remember you promising me a dire threat and a swashbuckling climax.”

“I hinted. I teased. I—”
—don’t want anything to happen to you. The irony of their concern stilled Kore’s tongue. Of the two of them they had suffered more bodily harm. They were the one wont to throw themselves into the face of danger while aiming for its maw.

“I think the potential for life and limb-threatening danger is all the more reason for me not to let you go alone."
The words were kind, but Kore knew that tone. Hythlodaeus’ familiar smile confirmed his intent.
“You’ll need someone to cheer you on from the sidelines as you fight for your life.”

Kore did not miss a beat.
“And to report my untimely demise to a certain snobby mage.”
They wouldn’t say his name. They might have confessed they’d forgiven Hades, but that was yesterday. Today all the affection they possessed for him had been poured out onto a page and sent across the star. Today they were definitely still mad.

“I shall try not to enjoy myself too much while doing so.”

“I am sure you will afford my memory all the respect it deserves.”

Before Hythlodaeus could laugh, Kore seized his arm and yanked him to their side.

“Now, where is the weak spot in this ward?” they asked, pressing their body against his. Hythlodaeus swallowed though his mouth was dry. Kore had curled over, pressing their cheek to his shoulder. He opened his mouth, only to close it again when his tongue refused to cooperate. In the absence of his answer, which was usually so quick, they looked up at him (for once) with wide, expectant eyes.

Hythlodaeus thanked the star he did not blush as easily as his two friends.

One word. He could manage one word.
“There.”

An onze of control back in his grasp, Hythlodaeus was able to point towards the pinpoint gap in the weave of aether.

Realising that they couldn’t adequate track his gesture coiled around his arm, Kore pulled back. Hythlodaeus was only allowed the time for a single breath before they had invaded his space once again. Slipping around behind him, Kore pressed their chest to his back and rested their chin on the shoulder of his extended arm. Eyes in line with the point of his finger, they coiled their arms around his waist.

“Hold on,” they said with a chuckle. Though they had that covered, Hythlodaeus curled his fingers around their arm.

Teleporting under someone else’s power was strange. Disconcerting, to have the integrity of your aether in the control of another. Hythlodaeus had not questioned the degree of trust required but had been dimly aware of the possible ramifications of a bungled blink. That’s exactly how long it took for them to squeeze through the gap in the ward. Sensation was strong word for the slight resistance he felt around his unconstituted form as Kore navigated the dense wall of aether.

There was no rush of momentum as they appeared in the grass inside the dome. They had been outside, then they were inside. Hythlodaeus stood unaffected but felt Kore’s arms slip away as they flopped onto their bottom behind him.

“Ugh, that was awful,” they groaned, flopping all the way onto their back. “Is that how it feels for other people? Teleporting? Is it supposed to be such an effort?”

Now Hythlodaeus had time, and space, to indulge in a chuckle of his own.  
“Only when subverting complicated warding magicks or traversing long distances.”

The truth of other’s capabilities was bitter in Kore’s mouth, twisting their features in disgust, before they remembered the excitement before them. This was an adventure years in the making! How many times had they flung themselves against the barrier hoping to make it to the very spot where they now lay?

“So! What’s here?”

Snapping to a sitting position, Kore surveyed their new surrounds.

The scenery looked as it had outside the bubble – a field of grass extending towards a hillside which was dotted with trees and shrubs. Punctuating the rocky slope, however, was a façade of stone made by mankind’s hand. Two pillars flanked a wide doorway which lacked a door. The frieze over the entrance had long been eroded by the elements. Looking closer still one could see the remnant steppingstones of a path scrubbed away by the passage of time.

“A ruin?” answered Hythlodaeus.

No monsters to be seen, then.

Kore pouted and strained their ears for the distant rumble of a roar. Alas, they were met only with the singing of cicadas amidst the rustling grass. They took a whiff of the air but could not smell anything unusual. Pushing to their feet, they made a token effort to brush the grass from the backside before stepping around Hythlodaeus to survey this ‘ruin’.

As their eyes met the hole in the hill, flanked by those ornate pillars, the world stopped. Every other sense but sight failed. Kore stood motionless as the entry yawned before them. It stretched taller and wider until they were dwarfed in its shadow; all but swallowed by the darkness across the threshold. Their limbs were no longer their own. Kore bade them to move, to run, but they would not obey. Their ears buzzed with white noise as their heart thudded harder and harder against the tightening cage of their ribs. Their diaphragm was frozen, their chest refusing to expand to draw in air. Panic coiled its spindly fingers around their throat, robbing them of their voice as well as breath. Soon, surely, they would be dragged across the threshold and at the mercy of whatever had overtaken their physical faculties simply by staring into that dark archway.

“Kore, are you alright?”

Hythlodaeus’ words, gentle though they were, broke the positive feedback loop of fear and hypoxia. Kore blinked, and breathed, and arranged a smile on their face. In that hitch in time, someone else had slid into their skin and taken charge of their body. Every movement was independent of the visceral urge dominating their thoughts: to turn and run and never come back. When they spoke, it was their voice, but someone else’s words.

“Just checking for traps.”

The entrance had snapped back to its original size. It remained dark and silent - whatever waited within dormant.

“And there’s nothing that I can see,” they reassured him, their voice distant in their ears and bouncing off the walls of their skull simultaneously.

“From this far away?” he asked, scrutinising the arching entry and whatever lay beyond himself.

“I may not have your vision, but I dare say I am more experienced at ruin exploration.”
The peal of laughter rang hollow in their ears. It was not echoed by Hythlodaeus.

“I can’t see anything, either,” he confessed.

Not a soul. Not a confluence of aether denoting an arcane entity. Not a single being of consequence.

What should have been a reassuring development instead filled him with unease.

A powerful, elaborate ward in the middle of nowhere, containing nothing.

So, Hythlodaeus thought, most likely a barrier to keep things out, then.

Perhaps it was not as dire as his instinct told him. If Kore was to be believed – and he did believe in them - there were many odd things in the lesser trod corners of the star. Odd and unsettling, but not worthy of fear. And though dread held its grip on their soul, Kore smiled and forged forward. Hythlodaeus knew that if their fear could not hold them back, he did not have a hope.

Besides, if he had learned anything from Hades’ rants, it was that the easiest way to keep them safe from themselves was to follow.

Having fun himself along the way would be a happy accident.

“No need for disappointment, Hythlodaeus!” said Kore, turning their back to the entry of the ruins – it was the only way they could force their feet to close the distance to it.
“Some of my best adventures have not involved running for my life.”
With their eyes trained on Hythlodaeus, each backwards step slowed their pulse. The tendrils of panic slowly retracted, and they felt more themselves.
“Let’s see what we can discover.”

To start with, all there was to see was darkness.

After Kore cast a light spell, there was not much more beyond that. A long corridor peppered with dust, crumbled stone, and creeping lichen. Unaccustomed to visitors, the resident bugs and rodents scattered from their path, squirming into cracks in the masonry. The spiders in their webs overhead were less perturbed, especially as Kore took particular notice not to disturb them as they led Hythlodaeus deeper into the…

Well, they weren’t quite sure what it was yet. An ancient tomb? A subterranean temple? A secret library, full of forbidden and forgotten knowledge?

The ambient aether held few answers. The ripples made by mankind had all but settled. Even Kore’s essence, which readily resonated with the world and peoples around them struggled to pull together the wisps of memory lingering behind.

It was Kore’s mundane senses which gave the first clue.

“Hythlodaeus.”
They used his name like a warning, but rather than grabbing his sleeve, they extended their arm as a barrier. Hythlodaeus bumped against it with soft thud.

“What is it?” he asked, tone treading the fine line between trepidation and excitement.

“A…” Kore faltered, knitting their brows together as they frowned.
“Not a trap.”

Hythlodaeus bit back a chuckle – they sounded disappointed!
“Then what?” he asked, attempting to follow Kore’s line of vision. Alas, whatever they could see, for once he could not. How novel.

“There was a trap,” they explained, crouching down to dig their fingers into a brick which sat ever-so-slightly-lower than its fellows – a pressure plate. As their skin brushed against the grainy stone their head swam with a vision. Fragmented and faded, Kore could only make out a figure shrouded in shadow before the echo dissipated, taking the snatches of whatever had been said with it. The wave of emotions accompanying the memory crested to panic, crashed into relief, and washed away into irritation.

Desperate for more snatches of the past, Kore walked their hands over the floor to the wall. Careless of the grime, but still careful of the spiders, they continued until they were stretched onto their tiptoes, reaching for whatever mechanism the hapless ancient in their vision had activated. The aether, however, was still.

“Unsurprisingly,” Kore started with a huff, wiping their hands on their robe, “someone has been here before us.”

“So no immediate threat of further traps, then?” This time it was Hythlodaeus’ turn for inappropriate disappointment.

“Probably,” lamented Kore, sighing again. “I did so want just little bit of danger. A smidgeon of mortal peril.”

“As a treat,” cut in Hythlodaeus, before they could finish.

Kore poked out their tongue but did not dash ahead to spite him. Every step was steeped in caution, their eyes combing the corridor for traps their forebear might have missed by good luck. It would have had to be the best of fortunes. There was no shortage of defences the architects of the ruins had devised to keep out intruders. Each one, however, had been dismantled. As they touched each trigger, Kore gathered the threads left trailing through the maze by the unknown ruin hunter and wove a tapestry of the past.

Their first discovery was that there was not one shade, but two. Stocky and strong, the leader of the pair had a shock of brown hair trimming their cowl, the hood unable to contain the unruly strands.

‘Hesiod’

The name was a rock dropping into the aether. The density of love and concern and tentative anticipation rolled into it served as a point of origin for the visions Kore had been assembling like a puzzle with mismatched pieces. The voice which uttered it in their mind was feminine and belonged to the other figure. A woman, they supposed, though the owner of the voice was tall and willowy. Kore fancied they could see a gentle curve from her waist to her hips beneath her robes, but it may have been nothing more than a trick of their imagination. As the pair progressed, providing a path for their present counterparts, the woman usually stood back, observing and making notes as her companion divested their path of deterrents.

Her name was eked out across multiple memories.

Hesiod looking over his shoulder, mouth twisted in indignation. ‘Aris—'

Further down the hall he loosed soft sigh laced with affection as her hand alighted on his. ‘Aristo—’

“Aristophania,” Kore whispered, lips moving in time with the spectre of Hesiod in their latest glimpse of the past.

“Who?” asked Hythlodaeus, leaning over their crouched form. He half expected it to be the adventurer renaming themselves. Then he realised it was probably an apparition visited upon them by the ambient aether. Kore had explained their ability after the first echo – ‘you aren’t the only one with an exceptional form of sight, Hythlodaeus.’ He watched over them as they balanced on the boundary between past and present. Once again he was impressed that they could see that which he could not.

Kore tilted their head back, a lavender braid tickling the side of their nose.

“No one,” was their reflexive response. A frown set into their features – why had their first instinct been to lie?
“I mean.” They blew a puff of air towards the irritating plait from the corner of their mouth. It was to no avail; it would not shift.
“It’s the name of one of the adventurers who disabled all the traps.”
They batted away the braid with their hand, only for it to swing back and smack them in the nose.

“I see.”
Hythlodaeus, too, frowned. It was not Kore’s dishonesty which unsettled him. Why was that name so familiar?

“Aristophania and Hesiod.”

The clarification did little to soothe the itch in the back of Hythlodaeus’ brain. He turned the name over in his mind, as if marinating the thought would stir his memory. “We shall have to thank them for our ease of passage.”

“Or curse them for ruining our adventure,” countered Kore, erring on the glib side of a grumble.

So far the most excitement had been “almost” falling into a pit lined in spikes. Hythlodaeus had teleported across, but Kore had stubbornly shimmed along a ledge sticking out from the wall. They made a show of flailing their arms and leaning dangerously close towards the chasm, but their feet never stuttered. Even if they had fallen it was well within their power to blink up to Hythlodaeus’ side.

The shadows of Hesiod and Aristophania led Kore and Hythlodaeus to the heart of the ruin.  There, the film of dust was thinner. With a small antechamber which flowed into a cavernous hall, the natural debris from the ravages of time had been organised.  A large rock rested in the centre of the room, likely to serve as a seat.

Kore, taking the queue, sat on the stone – Aristophania had, too – and pulled out their sketchpad – Aristophania had, too. Before them, much like in their room in Vulcan’s home, a vast mural adorned the wall. Kore held little hope of replicating the detail of the painting, but they would copy what they could. A rough sketch of the general layout on the first page, followed by closer studies of prominent iconography, recurring patterns, and depictions of magic. If this was the decoration of the entryway, they could only imagine the imagery which would fill the main room of worship of what was now obviously, a hidden temple to a forgotten deity.

Thankfully, Kore had an extra set of capable hands to make light work of the daunting task.

“Do you mind,” they started, holding out a spare notebook to Hythlodaeus, “copying down the text? Not all of us have an eidetic memory.”

Hythlodaeus released a breath as they clarified their request.
“Oh, thank goodness.”
Transcribing, he could do. “I thought you were going to ask me to draw.”

“Nothing’s stopping you,” they countered with a smile as they sketched the outline of a giant egg wrapped in a snake.

“Nothing but my pride,” he replied, already populating the margin of his page with stick figures – one had very angry eyes, another a rudimentary braid, and the third…

“I am not that tall!” snapped Kore, giving Hythlodaeus a shove.

“What was that?” he asked, cupping a hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you from all the way up there.”

“You can try hearing me from over here, then” they snarked, stalking into the adjoining chapel.

The self-lighting torches embedded into the wall bathed the hall in an ethereal glow, blurring the boundaries between past and present. The echoes within were stronger to boot – layered as intricately as the barrier which had hidden the ruins from the world. At the fore was Hesiod and Aristophania. The couple’s initial elation at the threshold devolved into frustration the further Kore retraced their steps down the central aisle.

Where?

Hesiod scrutinised the tiles while his companion continued to study the walls, which continued the tale of creation started in the antechamber mural. The egg wrapped in a snake had cracked open, spilling forth all manner of creatures. Kore did their best to approximate the figures, the result something between Hythlodaeus’ efforts and their usual standard when drawing landscapes.

Where is it?

When Kore reached the stone altar, Hesiod had resorted to scrounging on the floor. An audience of shades from older, deeper ripples watched on, vying for the spotlight on the stage of Kore’s mind. Hesiod’s fingers traced every seam and surface of the altar. What he so desperately sought was not revealed to Kore. Their disgusted disappointment mirrored his as the ripples in the aether settled, and they saw with their eyes once again.

“I don’t know about you,” sounded a voice – one real and present - from the back row of pews, “but I am unsettled by the sheer number of eyes the architects of this shrine felt necessary to achieve their vision.”

Hythlodaeus’ delivery was so deadpan Kore almost missed the pun. The realisation that they were being observed from vantage points in the ceiling, the floor, the benches, and the walls sent prickles down their spine and a wave of goosebumps rising on their skin. The only set which did not cause them disquiet were Hythlodaeus’ lavender eyes. Just when he had slipped into the inner shrine, they didn’t know. He looked comfortable, perched on a pew cradling his chin in his hand.

“Eye-dolatry and eye-conography are staples of creepy abandoned ruins,” Kore lectured, straightening up from where they had been crouching under the altar.

“Any egg-citing revelations from out time-lost friends?” Hythlodaeus asked, uncrossing his legs and standing. He already knew the present lacked any beyond the knowledge to be gleaned form the architecture. The ruin had been picked clean of traps and trinkets.

“Not a one,” huffed Kore, as they straightened the crumpled corners of their sketchpad. They froze, accidentally tearing the paper. “Damn it.”
They sighed down at the damaged page. “I broke the pun chain.”

“To be fair, I did have more time to think them up.”
Smug but affable, his words provided some small consolation to Kore, who now had two reasons to sulk.

The pair idled in the ruins no longer than they had to. Kore’s skin did not stop crawling after Hythlodaeus’ observation about the eyes – an unseen crowd scrutinising their every move. The undercurrent of terror which had stirred in the depths of their soul had not quieted, either. Even after tamping down the panic attack into the hole from whence it had come, a tiny voice telling them to run and forget everything they’d seen rose up from the well of their subconscious.

Hythlodaeus did not feel the pressure of invisible eyes, nor did he mind the unnatural stillness of the temple. Seeing the colour drained from his vibrant friend, however, was another matter. Kore stood beside him but was somewhere he could not reach. He, too, noticed the sickly tinge of fear staining their soul like a film of mould.

Once Kore was satisfied with the haul of knowledge preserved in their notebooks, both were both glad to leave.

Outside, Kore had never been so relieved to see the sun. Or feel. After so long in the dim, the bright afternoon sun bleached their vision white. This did not stop the adventurer from sprinting into the meadow with their arms spread wide. Hythlodaeus followed at a sedate pace, watching on with amusement as Kore practically gulped down the fresh open air. When he reached their side, they levelled him a weak smile.

“Well, that was boring, wasn’t it?”

“Really?” Hythlodaeus quirked a brow, braid flopping over his shoulder as he canted his head. “I found it fascinating.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Kore. “Really?”
They glanced towards their friend, who simply nodded. The breath rushed out and bled away the tension in their body with it.
“Thank goodness.”

When they straightened, it was with a smile curving their lips. “So did I.”
Again, their shoulders slouched.
“I…was worried.”
That he’d be bored, or disappointed.
That he’d realise how selfish they were in their plan to bring him here.
That he’d feel exploited – reduced to nothing more than his aetherial sight and how it could be used.
“I promised you excitement and didn’t deliver.”

A wave of platitudes built in the back of Hythlodaeus’ throat. Before they could tip over his tongue, Kore posed a question which gave him pause.

“What do you think my favourite part of an adventure is?”
They wet their lower lip, before biting it to reign in their diffident smile. They looked to him for an answer, but Hythlodaeus would not be drawn in. He would beat them to a punchline.

“The thrill of near-death and grievous bodily harm? Ensuring Hades’ hair remains white? Providing me with endless blackmail material?”

“No!” they shrieked, the word tumbling out amidst a bark of laughter. As it abated, they reconsidered. “Well. Yes. It’s actually a trick question.”

They stared out toward the horizon, and then tilted their head towards the sky.
“I love it all,” – even the blackmail -  “in equal measure.”
The arc of their shifting gaze came to rest of Hythlodaeus’ face.
“But the part that always takes me by surprise is the comfort in the respite of home, however brief.”

Warm cups of tea shared with a beloved mentor over sweets. A house tucked into a mountainside, smelling faintly of sulphur, and ringing with the heartbeat of a hammer hitting steel.
Time spent in gentle repose with two dear friends as they talked about everything and nothing in particular.

They would travel far, and long, but they would always come back. And there would always be someone waiting for them when they did.

Hythlodaeus extended his hand. His smile was as warm and familiar as his hand in theirs.
“Then let’s go home.”