Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a cloudless summer day, and a small gaunt boy chased Death through a lifeless village.

Death was everywhere. It seemed to follow him. No matter how many villages he’d been to, it was always the same. First everyone would treat him with kindness and hospitality. Soon they realized he was not a god and they were not to be rewarded with their wildest dreams. Then they’d turn him away.  They’d give him names that never seemed quite right. If they caught a glimpse of his strange right eye, they’d call him cursed. He’d tie a cloth around his eye to hide it, which earned him the title of ‘cyclops.’ It was difficult to say if the names or the rejection hurt more. Eventually, they would do something that displeased the insatiable Olympians, and they would pay the price, leaving him alive and alone. But now that he was chasing Death, the god was eluding him. Why now?

The boy’s chest ached. Hot air filled his dry lungs, yearning for relief. Perhaps Death would suit him better than life. So lost was he in his determination, the boy neglected to look where he was going. He tripped over something, fell, and scraped his palms and knees. The pain barely registered. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the putrid remains of someone covered in flies. Just like everyone else. The sight made him gag and choke, but nothing came up. Food and drink seemed like a distant memory. 

Through labored yet even breaths, he mustered all of his energy and stumbled as he rose. Without dusting off his hands and knees, he resumed his pursuit. Except…he realized that that momentary lapse of attention made him lose sight of Death. Dammit.

He took refuge against the wall of the nearest house. Sweat was dripping from his brow, matting his dark hair to his forehead and clouding his one exposed eye. He wiped it away with the back of his arm, though he couldn't do much about the sweat soaking the rest of his body. A meager, stained chiton clung to his tanned skin. If it wasn’t his only protection against the sun and the flies, he would’ve discarded it. 

Peering inside the nearest window, he saw the emaciated remains of the greediest miser in town. The boy had seen him in his final moments. He had been peering through the man’s window, and witnessed him gathering up all of his money into a satchel. Then he simply collapsed on the floor and stopped breathing. The boy had let himself inside and pried the satchel from the man’s bony fingers. It was as if he had hoped to bring it all down with him into the Underworld. Disgraceful, even in death. Despite this, the boy had left a single drachma under the man’s tongue. It was the right thing to do. After that, he had put coins under the tongues of as many as he could. But the boy had saved one for himself, and it rested under his tongue. He had barely spoken since, so as not to accidentally swallow it. If he did, who knows if Charon would accept his payment. It’s not like there was anyone to talk to anyway.

The wind blew, shrouding him in a thick layer of dust. Across the road and through the haze, the boy saw Death emerge from another house. Their elegant black robes billowed, knocking the hood off of their head, and releasing long silver hair into the breeze. It was inhuman. It was beautiful. They were beautiful. Well, he couldn’t make out Death’s face, but they must be. He had to see for himself. 

The boy took a step forward. As if  in response to his curiosity, Death floated in the opposite direction. They must be headed towards the agora. Forgetting his exhaustion, the boy hastily rose and ran as fast as his spindly legs could go. Dirt turned into weathered, uneven stone that dug into his feet. Dead leaves and branches littered the ground. A grotesque trail of  bodies began to form the closer he got to the town square, accompanied by countless flies. The boy held his nose and kept his gaze up, doing his best to avoid the corpses. If he didn't think about it, he could pretend he was running through the village like any other day. The red and white houses lining the streets weren’t empty and he wasn’t the only one left. The trees were lush and green, not bare and broken. And when he arrived at the center of town, people would be going about their lives and everything would be fine. 

But his imagination was no match for the harsh reality awaiting him. Most of the villagers had died here. Bodies were strewn about near the shrine like broken dolls. Vacant eyes were staring at the sky, as if hoping to see a sign from Olympus before departing this life. An emaciated goat carcass was sprawled at the shrine’s base, and its dried blood was still splattered everywhere. It was a horrid sight and a revolting smell, but at least the animal had been given a swift end. No one else in the village had been granted such a luxury. The goat’s sacrifice, as well as the deaths of everyone and everything else did nothing to bring the rains they so desperately begged for with their dying breaths. Now they were nothing more than a feast for the flies. Yet, the boy was still alive. Why couldn’t he die?

The boy raised his tired eyes skyward. Were the gods watching him, laughing at the suffering they had caused? What had they done to deserve their wrath? What had he done to deserve being left all alone?

A soft, purple aura bathed the boy and everything else in the area, removing him from his thoughts. Standing perfectly still, he watched Death raise a large, metallic scythe. Pale dim lights seemed to emerge from the corpses and gravitated towards the god. The boy was entranced at the haunting, yet beautiful sight. He wanted to join them. Please let him be taken, too. He was already in a place full of death. Surely the Underworld wasn’t much different. And then he wouldn’t be alone anymore. 

The boy reached out and stepped towards the god. A desperate prayer was caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure what to say. No one had ever told him how to worship Death. He took a deep breath of dry air and stepped forward, but a sudden burst of wind and blinding orange light stopped him in his tracks. 

Slowly opening his eye, the boy saw a lithe man jovially floating about Death. He looked rather normal, save for the fact he was  flying, and there were wings the color of the sun on his feet and his head. 

Hermes. It could only be Hermes. 

Hermes bore a large sack that was filled to the brim with scrolls of parchment and satchels that somehow didn’t tumble out, despite the god’s constant flitting about. He was too far away to hear every word, but it sounded like Hermes’ reputation for his speed also manifested in his speech. Never had the boy heard anyone talk that fast before. 

As quickly as he arrived, Hermes shot back into the sky. Before he could utter a single word, the dark god disappeared in a burst of green. 

He was alone again. And he was still alive. 

His tiny body gave out.  He didn’t feel the wind or dust on his face. He didn’t feel anything at all. What had he done to always be abandoned? Left behind? Friendless, parentless, and lonely. Was he so cursed that even Death itself didn’t want him? 

“Only one brat left alive?” A gruff voice asked from behind. A large, dirty hand seized the boy’s bony wrist. Looking up, he saw a burly man with dark, curly hair. Malicious and selfish intent was written all over his sunburned face. The boy struggled and tried to pull his arm out of the man’s grip, which only made his attacker more hostile. Effortlessly, the man dragged the boy to a nearby horse-drawn wagon, his heels dragging and leaving trails in the dirt. Another burly man was waiting for him, prepared with rope in hand. The boy winced as the rope dug into his wrists and ankles, and he was thrown into the back of the rickety wagon. Further disgracing the laws of hospitality, the man  demanded the boy’s name. 

He received no answer. The man asked again, but louder and angrier. 

“A one eyed mute, huh? Someone will buy him,” the man who tied him said lazily. Without another word, the horse began to canter, leading the three of them away from the stench of death. Finally, the boy’s exhaustion took over and his mind and body went slack. Before he lost consciousness, he couldn’t help but hope everyone had made it into the Underworld. 

§

Persephone’s stillborn son didn’t even have a shade. Perhaps it was better this way. She wouldn’t have to spend all of her time cradling a baby that she would never be able to raise. But maybe that would be better than having no trace of him at all. She looked up at Hades. His burly, towering frame hunched over his desk. His red and black eyes were staring at his endless paperwork so intensely that Persephone was surprised it hadn’t caught fire yet. Typical of him to bury his grief in his work, if he was even grieving at all. She couldn’t tell. He shed no tears, while she cried enough for both of them. 

In the distance she saw Nyx, beautiful and elegant, standing before her son, Hypnos. He was such a tiny godling with sleep-addled eyes and adorable curly hair. How could she be the mother to a son so precious, and three cruel daughters? Persephone felt sad, quiet envy rise in her as she watched the two of them. She turned away and hurried to the garden to seek solace within the trees. They would be better company than her husband was. 

Chapter Text

The wagon jostled along the dry dirt road. Sounds of sweet, chittering birds were at war with the constant grumbling and bickering of the boy’s captors. Didn’t they ever get tired of arguing all the time?  Ever since they took him, the days have all been the same. There was no reason to keep track, and the boy had stopped counting…well, he wasn’t quite sure. It’s not as if the days being treated as cargo were really worth remembering. The sweltering humidity stopped him from squirming to try and get remotely comfortable. It was only making him hotter, and even the tiniest movement felt laborious. 

Sweat had made his one-eyed blindfold a sopping mess. His stomach grumbled weakly, and he moved his tongue against the drachma still resting beneath it.The brutes had only given him scraps of bread, barely enough to keep him alive. No one should have to suffer being sweaty and tired and starving all at once. Surely things couldn’t be this bad in the Underworld. Did dead people eat or get hungry?

The wagon came to a sudden halt, and the boy bit his tongue. Despite the pain, it was better than accidentally revealing he could speak. He wriggled until he was sitting upright, and craned his neck to see what had happened. The horses had stopped at a small stream, drinking their much deserved fill. Just thinking about cool, crystal water made the boy’s throat feel even drier. What he wouldn’t give to be free and—

“Alright, brat. Come on,” one of the men said. He wasn’t sure which one. They both kind of looked the same. The boy was hoisted up by the scruff of his chiton and dropped onto the ground. Stifling a gasp, he winced as he hit the dirt. One of the men knelt in front of him and sliced the rope around his hands, while the other one held his tiny body roughly in place by his shoulders. There was no need for that, though. A complete lack of food and water meant his body was in no shape to try to run. The rope was retied around his waist, and the other end was tied to the front of the wagon. A clay jug was shoved into his arms. 

“Take this and go fetch us some water. Be quick about it.” Exhaustion slurred the man’s words, and took the edge off of his command. Still, the boy obeyed. It had been a while since his legs were free, and he shakily rose to his feet like a newborn foal. Pebbles dug into the bottoms of his feet, but he didn’t care. It was a relief simply to walk again. 

The boy knelt down beside the horses and lowered the jug into the water. He looked up at the sound of birds. A couple of deer were wandering along the other side of the stream. Thick forests were on both sides of the road, and one of the pathways led into the trees. If they were headed that way, the boy wouldn’t mind. The shade from the trees sounded like a welcome relief from the sun. 

Once the jug was full, he raised it to his lips and began to drink. When was the last time he had even a small sip of cool, fresh water? It truly felt like a blessing. The boy licked his chapped lips and refilled it. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder. Those brutes weren’t even paying attention to him. One of them was sitting under a tree fanning himself, the other looked like he was falling asleep. This could be his chance. Maybe he could jump on one of the horses and ride off—

“Ooh, look at these horses!” a bright voice exclaimed. The boy looked up beside him and saw two tall women, but they were also trees—nymphs. They had bright green leaves for hair, warm brown tree bark for skin, and their feet were bare.

“They’re not bulls,” the other one said. “But maybe two horses will be better than one bull?”

“Maybe! Can you disconnect them from this cart?”

The second nymph shook her head. “Haven’t got a clue how to do that. But I do know how to drive it! I’ve seen the farmer near my tree do it.” They hopped onto the wagon and took the reins in hand. The boy hurried into the back of the wagon and peeked between the boards. Both of his captors didn’t seem to realize what was happening. Good. He heard the sound of the reins cracking and the horses whinnied. It acted as an alarm, and the men finally turned their attention to their cargo. 

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” they yelled, failing to completely shake off their weariness. Whether the nymphs were ignoring them, or couldn’t hear them, the boy didn’t know. He didn’t care. He kept his eye on the men until they became nothing but angry specks. Good riddance to those awful thieves. 

The triumph was fleeting; The wagon was creaking so much that the boy was scared it was going to break apart. He winced and bumped against the sides as it ran over stones and fallen pinecones. Somehow, the nymphs were still chattering away through all of this, and he couldn’t tell whether they were arguing, or having the time of their lives. Vague sounds of commotion and music were coming from the distance. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard music. Even the birds seemed to join in.

“Okay, stop!” one of the nymphs cried out. She must have pulled on the reins hard. The horses whinnied again, and they finally stopped. The boy rubbed his head and breathed as if he’d just come up for air. Slowly the rush subsided, and he peered over the side of the wagon. 

After so many uneventful quiet days, the boy felt like he was drowning in sound. Lutes, pipes and singing of varying quality resonated in the clearing. People of all shapes, sizes and colors were celebrating—drinking wine as fast as they could pour, feasting, engaging in pleasures of the flesh. Though it wasn’t only humans occupying this space. Satyrs clopped their hooves and pretty nymphs were celebrating harmoniously. Watching everyone getting lost in their merriment had certainly inspired the bandits to join in, but the boy wasn’t so eager. Especially since his hands and feet were still tied. But just what were they celebrating? Was there an occasion or-

“Oh, you poor thing,” a dazed female voice said. “Here, let’s get you free.” A pair of rough hands with long fingers that didn’t look quite human ripped the rope clean off. “What’s your name, child?” she asked. He looked up into a pair of vivid green eyes that were glossed over from wine. Her face was wrinkled like her hands, but she still looked young. Spindly branches atop her head filled with thick clusters of sweet smelling needles. Her tall, narrow figure was draped in loose clothing that reached her ankles. 

Gods, he hated that question. And his mouth was dry again.

“Eriphia!” another voice called. Both of them looked over and saw another nymph sauntering towards them. She looked similar to her friend, but smaller and younger. Eriphia gracefully waltzed over to her companion. 

“Have you seen Callisto? I thought she said she would join us for a change.”

“Maybe Lord Dionysus has already caught her,” Eriphia said. 

“Lady Artemis would shoot him with a thousand arrows if that were the case.” Just like that, they returned to the fray, leaving the boy forgotten and alone in a sea of people. 

Thank gods, he sighed in relief. But looking around, he wasn’t quite sure where to go or what to do. Cheers and applause erupted as the song came to an end, hitting him with another wave of sound. 

“Play another one, Orpheus!” someone shouted. The person in question obliged and immediately launched into another rousing song. Something about boats and the ocean or whatever. He didn’t care. He just wanted to get away from this crowd. 

Easier said than done. The song seemed to be infectious, invigorating everyone with the same energy and passion as the singer. Well, almost everyone. The boy awkwardly maneuvered through a constantly shifting labyrinth of legs. 

A sudden chill coursed through his tiny body. Cold—so cold, he stopped and held himself as he shivered and his teeth chattered. Where did that come from? Was it Death again? Were they here? He took a shaky step and tripped over someone who had passed out with a wine goblet in their hand. Looking up, all of the people seemed to be bathed in shadow. They did not know he was on the ground. Wine had heightened their energy, but dulled their awareness. Without another thought, the boy ran for it. It was rude, pushing through everyone so brazenly, but no one seemed to care. They never did. 

The boy panted as he broke free from the crowd, and stumbled towards the edge of the clearing. He collapsed at the trunk of the nearest tree. Even though he was surrounded by people, living people, he couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness. At least his wrists and ankles weren’t red anymore. 

“Having fun hon?” A soothing voice asked. The boy looked up at the person—the nymph who had addressed him. Her face looked warm and kind, and atop her head were gathered branches that were host to a tight cluster of green leaves. Like the other nymphs, her skin looked like bark, but her arms were embroidered with elaborate and colorful tattoos. Vibrant fabrics were draped elegantly on her body, and she held a bowl of sweet smelling food. 

He shook his head. 

“Yeah, me neither,” she said sympathetically and sat beside him. “These maenads are something else. Gotta be careful around them, you know.”

His stomach growled. 

“Here,” Eurydice handed him her bowl. “I think you need this more than I do.” He accepted it eagerly, and the aroma filled his senses. This was the nicest thing anyone had done for him in…longer than he could remember. 

“Thank you…um?”

“Eurydice. And you?”

He froze. 

“Something wrong, hon?”

Silence.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk. Getting that food in you is more important,” she said. The strange chill from before melted out of his body as he tipped his head back and shoveled the food into his mouth. It was sweet and warm and the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. He swallowed it eagerly, forgetting about the drachma at the bottom of his mouth until he was licking at the remnants left at the bottom of the bowl. Carefully moving his tongue, he still felt the metal beneath it. He dropped the bowl in his lap and slouched against the tree. 

“Did you come here with anyone?” Eurydice asked. “Maybe you should ask them to take you home.”

“I did, but…I don’t think going with them is a good idea.” 

“Say no more. I understand completely. If it makes you feel better, the person I came with hasn’t paid much attention to me since we got here.”

“How long has it been?”

“About three days,” she said nonchalantly, running a hand through her leaves. 

Three days? 

Reading the look of shock on his face, Eurydice just shrugged and said, “Gods throw wild parties.”

“Don’t you feel lonely?”

“Sure I do,” she said. “Everyone gets like that sometimes. Even with the person you love the most. But those feelings won’t last forever you know.” 

The person you love the most? He didn’t have anyone like that. But it sounded nice. Right now, the idea of refilling his bowl sounded the nicest. The boy rose and kindly asked Eurydice to show him where the food was. She ran a gentle hand through his hair and obliged. Maybe this is what having a mother was like. 

Eurydice refilled his bowl, and the boy ate to his heart and stomach’s content. With food like this, it’s no wonder this celebration had been going on for three days. They sat side by side on the grass and watched everyone celebrate from the sidelines. The music ceased, and everyone cheered as the nymphs brought in the horses that had brought him here. 

“Eurydice, what’s going on?” he asked through a mouthful of food. 

“The sacrifice,” she said. Eurydice slouched forward and rested her chin in her hands. “It’s not pretty, and I’ve never liked it. But it’s part of all this madness.”

Sacrifice? Suddenly, his appetite was gone. “Why? Can’t we do something about it?”

Eurydice shook her head. “It’s what the gods want, hon. Nothing we can do about it. Besides, you don’t wanna get in the way of those maenads. They can get pretty scary.”

He saw the nymphs pull out a dagger. Everyone else grew silent as a speech was made to honor the sacrifice to Dionysus. That poor animal did nothing wrong. Why did the gods demand such things? 

The boy dropped his bowl beside him and curled in on himself. “Eurydice….I…”

“Hey,” she placed a hand on his shoulder, “if you don’t wanna watch, you don’t have to.”

The boy nodded. He hurried into the woods—away from the rabble and chaos. The trees were quiet and demanded nothing. He went deeper and deeper until the celebration was nothing more than a buzz behind him. 

But the sound of whimpering stopped him. He looked around and saw nothing but trees. All of the nymphs were still celebrating and—there it was again. That sound was all too familiar—the terrible sound an animal made as it was being slaughtered. The thought of crying for help crossed his mind, but he didn’t want to scare whatever it was even more. If he ran back for help, it could be dead by the time they found it. Turning away from the revelry, he headed deeper into the forest. Fallen branches cracked under his feet, and pine needles and leaves fell in his hair. 

Then, he saw it. Beneath a large, gnarled tree sat a brown bear with vivid green eyes. Half a dozen arrows were embedded in its body. It wasn’t a pretty sight. With wounds like that, it should’ve been dead. Slowly, the boy carefully approached the wounded animal. Its head darted straight at him, and let out an angry yet pained growl. The closer he got, the more the bear struggled. 

When he was within arm’s reach, the bear swiped its paw, claws tearing through his clothes and skin. The boy bit back a scream and fell to his knees, curling in on himself. Breathing heavily, he looked down at his wounds. Ichor was dripping down his chest, staining his chiton, dripping down his legs and onto the ground. The pain was sharp and stinging, but it should subside soon enough. It always did.

For a moment, he thought he heard the bear gasp. He’d never heard an animal do that before. Swallowing the pain, he stood and began pulling out an arrow in one of the bear’s arms. It was embedded deep into its flesh, and he placed one of his feet against the tree trunk for leverage. The bear cried out as the boy slowly pulled out the arrow. He took a deep breath and yanked it out, falling backwards onto his rear. Looking down at the arrow in his hand, his eyes widened—it was stained with golden ichor, just like his own. That was the reason why this animal was still alive. He looked back at the bear. 

But in the bear’s place was a pretty nymph. Just like Eurydice and Eriphia, her skin resembled that of tree bark. But her hair was thick and made of long strands of thin, pointed green leaves. She panted and groaned as she grabbed the arrow in her thigh, with ichor trickling out of her arm. Why did she change back? Surely the wounds must hurt even more now. Maybe getting the arrows out would be easier this way. The boy got up and bent down to help her again. 

A burst of pale green light blinded his vision, and a massive force hit him in the chest. He screamed as he slammed backwards into a tree. The rough bark had ripped into his skin, and he could feel his own ichor dripping down his back now, too. In an attempt to regain his bearings, the boy placed his hands on the ground and carefully pushed himself upright against the trunk. Blinking the dizziness away, he gazed straight ahead at his attacker: a young girl with light green hair worn in a single braid. A brown animal pelt adorned her shoulders, and her dress was short and ragged. Laurels adorned with the phases of the moon and a thin, sharp pair of antlers rested atop her head.

Artemis. 

She would’ve looked pretty friendly, if it weren’t for the fury ablaze in her dark eyes.

“Don’t move.” Artemis took an arrow from the quiver on her back, and drew her bowstring, aiming it directly at him. 

This was it then. Maybe an Olympian would finally be able to finish him off.

“No, Lady Artemis!” the nymph begged, but the goddess shot. True to her reputation, Artemis’ aim was perfect, and her arrow struck him in the chest. 

Agony engulfed his scream. The wound was small, but deep. The pain was concentrated, yet it overtook his entire body. He felt like stone. Ichor was welling up in the back of his throat. Through the deep fog of pain, he overheard the two women talking. 

“Callisto, those wounds…you’re lucky to be alive.”

“No, my lady,” Callisto said. Her voice was strained, but sweet. “That child was no attacker. He helped me.” 

“But your ichor is all over him!”

“It’s not mine. It’s his.”

“What?”

The boy coughed and ichor spilled out of his mouth, dripping down his chin. It was pooling at the bottom of his mouth; he could feel his drachma swimming in it. He looked down at himself and lurched at the sight of the arrow in his body. Gasping and choking for air, his arms shook as he struggled to lift them. Everything hurt, but he was still alive. 

“How is that possible?” Artemis asked. 

“That’s a good question,” a new voice asked lightly. The boy shut his eyes tight as the forest was illuminated once more. It was too much, and his arms dropped limply at his sides. Right now he could only breathe and listen. 

“Lord Hermes,” Callisto said reverently.

“What do you want, Hermes?” Artemis spat. 

“Now now, don’t be like that. You still mad that I won the last thirty-seven races we’ve had?” Hermes asked. Judging from the silence that followed, the boy assumed that Hermes’ question only soured Artemis even more. “Come on, I’m innocent. Just like this poor chap over here.” Even though his eyes were closed, Hermes’ orange light shone through the boy’s eyelids. “Yeesh, you really did a number on him,” Hermes said, though he didn’t sound like he cared. “Never knew you to attack children.” 

“Child or not, anyone who hurts Callisto is deserving of death.” 

“Well, he’s clearly not dead. I think there’s something amiss here. Had a hunch, but this pretty much confirms it.” Agony burned through the boy’s body as the arrow was ripped out of his chest. Before he could even register the pain, he was scooped up, and he could feel himself rising into the sky in Hermes’ arms. 

“Where are you going? Hermes!” Artemis’ voice grew more distant with every word. “Come back here!”

The boy wheezed and gagged as more ichor welled up in his mouth. A soft sensation enveloped his body…a cloud maybe?

“Easy there, chap.”

Opening his eyes was a terrible struggle, but he looked into a friendly looking face smiling down at him. Even through his blurry vision, he could tell it was the same god who had been with Death back in the village. Those orange wings were unmistakable. “Hermes?” he asked weakly. 

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” Hermes chirped. “You know, most mortals would call me ‘Lord Hermes,’ display some sort of reverence, and such. Though I suppose you’re not quite mortal, are you?”

The boy tried to speak again, but his body had had enough. His head lolled back and he groaned. 

“You’re hurting pretty bad there. And bleeding all over me. Eesh. I’m the god of a lot of things, but medicine is definitely not one of them. But,” Hermes picked up his speed, “I know who is, and I know where he is.” 

§

Demeter had searched every inch of this forest, including this embarrassing display that Dionysus liked to call “a celebration.” His followers were little more than inebriated hooligans. Not a single one of them could tell her whether they had seen her daughter or not. 

She wasn’t here. Of course she wouldn’t be here. Her daughter was far too good to spend her time with rabble such as this. Demeter left the clearing, ridding herself of such undesirable company.  The woods were quiet and had no news to bear. So be it. The surrounding bushes were now covered in a thick layer of frost. She heard a soft rustle from behind, and didn’t bother to turn and acknowledge whoever or whatever it was. 

“Lady Demeter,” a stern voice said, “perhaps we should go our separate ways. We shall cover more ground and hasten our search.”

“Do as you wish. I daresay you’ve been little help to me thus far,” Demeter said, keeping her gaze forward. “What use is the Goddess of Wisdom if she can’t even tell me where my daughter is?”

“I shall send word should I see any sign of her,” Athena said civilly.

“Yes, you will.” Pale light lit up the forest for a fleeting moment, and Demeter was alone.  Without hesitation, she strode away from that awful racket and continued to scour the forest. Kore was out there somewhere.

Chapter Text

Screams of anguish filled the air as more and more blood spilled from the soldier’s mangled bodies. This battle had been going on for days. Yet, no matter how fatal the wound, no matter how much they bled, no one had perished. It wasn’t even a battle anymore—just a sad display of writhing and agony. There was no sport in a field of men too wounded to move. Well, for those who still had their limbs, at least. 

The Keres circled like a vulture, waiting for someone to die. Her large crimson wings cast ominous shadows, and her long silver hair trailed behind her. She toyed with her mace and snarled, bearing her sharp fangs. Ares understood her anger. They were growing more impatient by the hour. A familiar and annoying flash of golden light appeared, ushering Athena to his side. She stood proud and erect, remaining silent as she looked down upon the red field.  Normally, Ares detested the look in her eyes whenever she was around him—always filled with revulsion, condescension and pity. But for once, he shared her sentiment. 

“Terrible, isn’t it, sister?” Ares asked. 

“Indeed,” she said. “Perhaps Death is more of a blessing than I thought.”

Ares resisted the urge to draw his weapon, and clenched his fists so tightly that his nails were drawing ichor. He shook his head. When would the rest of his family learn to appreciate Thanatos properly, as he did? With respect and reverence? Ares held his tongue. He was not in the mood to argue. Now that he thought about it, it had been some time since he’d last seen Thanatos. 

“It is unlike Thanatos to ignore his duties. Something dreadful must have occurred,” Ares pondered aloud.  

“Have you spoken to Father about this?” she asked. 

“I’ve currently no desire to speak to him,” Ares said curtly. His wonderful Lord Father was still laughing at him for that incident with the urn. He scowled at the thought of it, and quickly put it out of his mind. “Though if it concerns you that much, then perhaps you should.”

“Indeed,” she said, turning her head to face him properly. “Perhaps you should search for Death. We may reach a conclusion to this issue quicker that way.”

“I should hope so. I grow weary of seeing such a pitiful sight as this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the scene below. 

“I shall send word if I hear anything. Lord Ares,” she asked as light began to envelop her, “you haven’t seen Lady Demeter’s daughter, have you?” 

“She’ll never find her,” Ares said dismissively. 

Athena’s eyes narrowed. “And why is that, Lord Ares?”

“It’s very difficult to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. Knowing Demeter, her daughter most assuredly would like to avoid such a fate.” Ares couldn’t imagine the wrath the girl would face if located. It was not something he would ever wish to face himself. 

“Nevertheless, we must persevere. They are family after all.” Athena’s light swallowed her and she departed for home. What a relief. 

He turned away from the poor undying mortals and began his search for Death. Whatever had happened to Lord Thanatos, Ares would find out. Whoever it was who had interfered with his war, they would suffer greatly for their transgression. Ares would be sure of it. 

§

Within the blink of an eye, Hermes and the boy landed at a grand temple sitting comfortably on a large plateau. Its pristine marble columns stood as tall and proud as the lush green mountains surrounding it. Even the sun itself seemed to adore it, and its gilded roof glittered in the light. Had he not been in so much pain, perhaps the boy could’ve appreciated the view. 

“Here we are,” Hermes said and flew them both inside, through the massive doorway. The boy sighed—It was good to be out of the sun. His head lolled back and his eye lazily wandered around the interior, which was noticeably less pristine. In fact, it was a mess. Smashed urns and vases littered the marble/stone floor. One of the columns looked like it had just been punched. Who could’ve possibly done that? Echoes of a voice deeper into the temple bounced off of the painted walls. The way they were talking, it sounded like someone was nursing a wounded animal. Maybe whoever it was was going to help him, too. 

Hermes cleared his throat. The boy gazed up absentmindedly at the ceiling and resigned himself to listening to their conversation. 

“Hermes!” a bright, melodious voice said warmly. “You wouldn’t happen to have a letter from…you know…”

“Sorry Apollo, no letter from Hyacinthus today.”

“Oh, okay. Care to share a bottle of ambrosia with me? If you’re not too busy. Which you usually are.”

“Better save the bottle for this chap right here,” Hermes said. The boy uttered a dull groan as he was laid down on a cold, flat altar. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was better than being flown about. 

“A mortal? Bleeding ichor?” Apollo asked. “Oh no,” he sighed, “did Father-?

“For once, I’m not so sure. Wouldn’t put it past pop, though. Don’t think any of us would. Something’s definitely weird. Not even demigods bleed ichor,” Hermes said quickly and lightly. “Also, poor chap got shot by your sister’s arrow, point blank.”

“You saw my sister?” Apollo asked. Dammit, why did Hermes bother bringing him here? He didn’t ask to be rescued. Even the god of medicine himself didn’t seem to want to save him. 

“Sure did,” Hermes said. “No message from her either.” A hand snuck under the boy’s head and raised it ever so slightly. Cool glass touched his chapped lips, followed by the taste of sweet, syrupy liquid. It was even more delicious than Eurydice’s food. How was that even possible? The drink seemed to dissolve his pain with each sip, and the boy took a deep breath. Much better.

“Well that should take care of that, but what about his eye?” Apollo asked.

No, don’t, he thought. But he was still too weak. Apollo removed the cloth and pushed back the boy’s hair, gently prying his right eye open. 

“Oh,” Hermes said in a tone that the boy couldn’t quite place.

He sighed in reluctant resignation. No point in hiding anything. They were gods, and they were going to find out anyway. Surely they’ve seen more unusual things than a pair of mismatched eyes and a mortal with gold blood. Opening his other eye and his vision gradually coming into focus, he looked straight into a pair of bright, sky colored eyes. 

If it weren’t for the wings on Hermes’ head and feet, he could almost be mistaken for a regular mortal. Apollo, however, was most definitely a god. His skin and hair were so gold they rivaled the sun. A short chiton embellished with blue and gold hung loosely on his strong muscles, and half of his chest was exposed. The image of a sun was framed by a modest green laurel wreath resting in his curls. It was the only modest thing about him. 

Once they made eye contact, Apollo stood up straight and flicked his hair out of his eyes. A winning smile spread across his handsome face, accompanied by a pair of dimples. He was the picture of easy confidence—the exact opposite of the way he had sounded when they first arrived. Had the boy not heard him speak with such insecurity, he probably would’ve believed this was Apollo’s true personality. Not questioning it was probably for the better; he was still too exhausted for defiance. 

“Apo…” he remembered Hermes’ words and, reluctantly, decided to be reverent. “Lord Apollo?”

“Indeed, child,” Apollo nodded. “Rejoice, for I have healed your grievous wound, and have saved you from impending death.” Apollo didn’t speak boastfully. Rather his tone was delighted, and implied that the boy should also be delighted in turn. Maybe Apollo was just someone who really liked to please people. 

Rejoicing seemed like a little too much effort, but the boy still managed to squeak out a proper “thank you.”

“Why do you bleed ichor?” Apollo asked. “Are you the child of a god?”

He shook his head. “Don’t know my parents. Never had any.” 

The boy could’ve sworn he saw Apollo glance uneasily at Hermes, but it was quickly masked with radiant bravado. They were thinking of Zeus again, weren't they? Apollo said something under his breath and strode away. A question was caught in the boy’s throat, but he wasn’t sure what to ask. His mind and tongue were too tired.Hermes lazily floated about the room, never taking his eyes off of him. It made the boy very uncomfortable. 

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked. 

“Because I want to see what happens,” Hermes said. There was no mistaking the mischievous gleam in his eyes. 

“But I was dying, and you…you bring souls to the Underworld, Lord Hermes. Shouldn’t you have…ugh…” he groaned as he slowly pushed himself upright, “taken me there?”

“No can do, chap. I can only bring down souls of people who have already died. Your heart’s still beating and you’ve got all that ichor in you. I’ve never really been one to attack kin. That’s usually reserved for my siblings, as you found out the painful way. So there’s not much I can do for you about that,” Hermes shrugged. “Besides, that part of my workload has been absent for a while now.”

“What do you…” he stopped as he sat upright and looked down at himself. His chest had been fully healed; There wasn’t even a scar. Ichor had stained both his chiton and his blindfold gold. 

Quiet footsteps were approaching him, and Apollo was gently leading a statuesque, fair skinned woman towards the altar. She looked like she just had the wind knocked out of her. Even in the dim, she was white as a cloud. But her distress did not mask her beauty. Her thick dark hair reached the floor, and she donned an elegant peplos befitting of her regality. Apollo leaned into her, and she dismissed his concern with a gentle wave. He took a step back, leaving her standing face to face with the boy. 

“What do you say to the Oracle, chap?” Hermes nudged him on the back, and he awkwardly pushed himself off of the altar. His legs wobbled as he hit the floor and he looked up into the Oracle’s placid face. 

“…Hello?”

She remained silent as her calm eyes bore into him. She looked like a regular mortal, but her eyes told a different story. But she did not look at him the way the other Olympians did.Artemis’ gaze was that of a predator who was sure to kill. When Hermes looked at him, he felt like a tool whose mechanics hadn’t been quite figured out yet. But the Oracle’s eyes seemed to see all; every thread the Fates have spun for him, everything he’d ever done, every possible outcome for his future, they all seemed to be laid bare. He was utterly defenseless. 

“You are so young, and yet you already desire answers from me?” she asked. There was no mocking or condescension in her voice, just a hint of sadness. 

“I…well, I bleed ichor and have different eyes…and can’t seem to die. I suppose I would like to know why?” 

“What is it that you seek? Ask me a single question.”

“I would like Death to take me to the Underworld. How can I make that happen?”

The Oracle’s body went rigid. Her eyes shone gold, and her voice grew deeper. It was as if ten Oracles were speaking at once. The boy froze, and even Hermes put his feet on the ground beside him. 

In the city shared by the sun and sea, the Nameless Prince war will set Death free.

Madness will flourish amidst the trees, the Nameless Prince will fall to his knees. 

She stopped.The boy watched her uneasily, not sure what to do. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to ease this suffocating silence. But Apollo stopped him with a glare that made his pretty blue eyes look like they were on fire. It froze the boy in place, and he thought it seemed far too intense from someone who seemed so eager to please before. Just as he shut his mouth, the Oracle took a ragged breath and continued. 

The weaver shall reignite the flame, ichor and blood will be exchanged.

Birthright and name shall be claimed, within the god king’s realm shall he eternally remain.

The glow in the Oracle’s eyes faded, along with her consciousness. Her knees buckled, and Apollo took her in his arms as she collapsed into sleep. 

I wonder how often she has to do this, the boy thought. It didn’t seem like a very pleasant task. 

“Well, there you have it then. What do you think, Apollo?” Hermes asked.  The boy was thankful that the silence had been broken. 

“It’s better than what Heracles got.” Apollo muttered.

“Another one?” 

“Don’t get me started,” Apollo said. He handled the Oracle with care and laid her out on the altar. Was she comfortable? The boy hoped Apollo could give her a blanket or something. “But the god king? Must be dad, er, I mean Father Zeus.”

The boy suddenly had the urge to jump in a lake. Gods, please don’t let Zeus be his father. Hermes and Apollo threw some ideas around, mentioning Corinth and Zeus and Arachne, but his own thoughts drowned out their voices. What if he was a son of Zeus? Surely he would have manifested some sort of amazing godly ability? But he didn’t. He had nothing save for ichor and mismatched eyes. Maybe the Oracle was wrong. Wait, what did she say in that first part again? Something about—

“Death, hm?” Hermes mused. The boy’s ears perked up but Hermes didn’t say anymore than that. “Now, Nameless Prince,” Hermes said. The boy couldn’t tell whether he was being mocked or not. “The first part of that prophecy sounds like you’ll need to get yourself to Corinth. Wouldn’t you agree, Apollo?”

“Yes, I-”

“You know,” Hermes continued, “I was thinking about trying to find Thanatos myself. But it looks like I won’t have to. It’s all up to you now.” He poked his index finger at the boy’s chest.

“Me?” he asked. “What about you two? Surely two Olympians could find—”

“We cannot interfere,” Apollo said quietly, and his voice resonated eerily through the temple. He turned to look at them, and that steely look in his eyes returned. “Sibling or not, even we cannot tamper with the weaving of the Fates.” Hermes nodded in agreement, and the boy held his tongue. Any more questions and he could be back on that altar in an even worse state than before. 

“I’ll tell you what,” Hermes said, “I’ll take you there myself. We don't want poor Thanatos suffering for too long, do we? Otherwise the whole world will be overrun with stupid mortals,” he said as if he were talking about the weather. 

“Hermes,” Apollo said. The intensity in his eyes vanished, and he conjured a scroll out of thin air. “Before you go, will you take this to-”

“Another one? You’re lucky my services are paid in full.” Hermes took Apollo’s letter and placed it in his satchel. “All right, let’s be off.” In one swift movement, he slung the boy’s tiny body over his shoulder like a sack, and flew outside. Warm sunlight bathed them, and the temple became nothing but a white speck. The boy shut his eyes tight. Who knows what would become of him if he ruined Hermes’  clothes.

§

Demeter approached an entire village of decaying corpses and collapsing houses. The sight and foul stench didn’t faze her. She was a little jealous that she hadn’t been the one to end them. Calm ocean waves lapped the shore in the distance. Soft pinks and oranges dyed the sky as Helios rode his chariot towards the horizon. 

Helios. He saw everything. And he was far more observant than the rest of her Olympian family. Athena had been useless thus far, and none of the others seemed to even care. Perhaps it was time to branch out for assistance. 

Pale light glowed around her as she rose into the sky, transporting herself beside Helios’ chariot.   The fiery horses, the chariot, and Helios himself were all growing dimmer and dimmer. It had been a while since Demeter had seen him. Helios’ dark curly hair and beard looked like they hadn’t been properly groomed in quite some time. His chiton seemed to be stained with the colors of the sun. His body was strong and chiseled, but his rugged face looked weary. There was barely any sign of acknowledgement as she appeared. 

“Helios,” she said sternly. It was more of a command really. 

“Demeter?” he asked casually. “My shift is about to end. What do you—”

“Have you seen Kore? My daughter?”

“…Kore?” he yawned. “Ah, the small girl with the…flaxen hair?” Helios said, his eyelids drooping. His grip on the reins and his muscles relaxed.

“Yes. Where is she?” Demeter asked, barely suppressing her impatience. 

“The Underworld.”

Demeter froze. “Excuse me?”

“The Underworld,” Helios repeated, slurring his words and slouching over the side of the chariot. 

“You mean to tell me she is dead?” Demeter’s voice was rising. 

Helios shook his head and drifted into sleep as he and his horses descended below the horizon. Demeter’s entire body felt numb. The Underworld? There was no possible way. Despite her parentage, Kore was still a goddess. She could not die. And no one in the awful Underworld would ever be fool enough to take her there. Or trick her there. Kore was an intelligent girl. Of course, Helios must be mistaken. He obviously mistook another girl with flaxen hair for Kore. He was wrong. 

Demeter put the thought out of her mind and realized that the night had completely swallowed the sky. The moon was a mere sliver. Not very helpful when searching for your daughter, but it didn’t matter. Rest was not an option until she found her. 

§

The boy’s stomach churned like the ocean in a storm, and he nearly fell as his feet reunited with solid ground. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees, his chest rising and falling heavily as his mind and body sorted themselves out. As the rush diminished, he looked down and felt something sticky on his hands. Grimacing, he saw that there was still ichor all over his clothes, and trails of it drying on his legs. Apollo may have healed him, but he did not clean him. 

“That won’t do for a sneaky rescue mission, will it?” Hermes asked. The boy looked up and saw Hermes snap his fingers. His chiton was fresh and clean, and there were even proper sandals on his feet. It felt rather odd. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn shoes. But he knew better than to say any of that. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Well, I daresay I’ve done quite a lot for you in the past couple of hours. You should really leave me an offering of some sort,” Hermes said with a grin. 

“But I don’t have anything.”

Hermes leaned in close, uncomfortably close. “Lying straight to an Olympian’s face, huh? You’re bolder than I thought.” His eyes narrowed and his cheerful tone had an edge to it. “Best be careful with that tongue of yours, you know. Speaking of which, let’s see what you’ve got underneath it, hm?”

Dammit. The boy reluctantly plucked the drachma out from under his tongue. Hermes snatched it out of his fingers, playfully tossed it up into the air, and caught it in his sack. Guess he didn’t mind that it had been covered in saliva and ichor. 

“A bit on the cheap side. But considering that you’re family, I’ll let you off easy,” Hermes winked, reverting to his normal, non-threatening speech. The boy glowered and crossed his arms. “Ah, don’t be like that. Consider it a favor. Otherwise you’d probably end up swallowing it, and that wouldn’t do you much good now, would it? And who knows,” Hermes grinned, “maybe you’ll find a way to get it back.” 

Confusion tied the boy’s tongue. He needed answers. What did Hermes mean by that?

“Pleasure doing business with you, Nameless Prince,” Hermes said before launching himself back into the sky. The boy’s gaze lingered as he followed Hermes’ flight path. He breathed in deeply and sighed. At least he wasn’t around any Olympians anymore. Hesitantly, he took his first steps into Corinth. Maybe finding Thanatos would be easier than he thought.

Chapter Text

Why did Hermes have to take his drachma? He told Apollo that all of his services were paid in full, didn’t he? No matter how nice Hermes seemed, he was still a god, and shouldn’t be trusted. The boy took small steps, looking around as he slowly made his way into Corinth. All of his thoughts about Hermes were drowned out in the sights and sounds of the city. 

This was nothing like any of the villages he’d lived in before. The streets were paved neatly with stone. Grand buildings with pointed roofs and thick columns lined the streets. Some were so tall, it almost seemed as if the gods themselves had built them. He stopped at the base of a wide staircase so tall that he couldn’t see what was at the top. Cautiously, as if the stone would crack beneath him, he put one foot on the lowest step. Nothing unusual happened and he sighed in relief.

One by one, he climbed. Reaching the top, he arrived at a large open pavilion lined with trees. Tiny birds were pecking at the ground and bathing themselves in puddles. There were so many people here. Yet, no one greeted him or questioned why one of his eyes was covered, or even acknowledged him. It was refreshing. He saw another staircase on the other side; the birds scattered as he scampered over to it.

These stairs were even taller than the last ones, with tall stone railings on either side. Just how high did they go? It was like climbing a mountain. He could feel his tiny legs grow more tired, but his hesitancy dwindled with each step. It was so exciting being in someplace new—A city that was full of life. A city that had not yet been plagued by the gods’ temper. A place where no one knew and no one cared if he had one eye. 

He panted heavily as he reached the top, slouching against the railing as his lungs caught up with his body. A sea of rooftops lay before him. To his right he saw the large agora, bustling with people. Its perimeter was lined with grand buildings—they must be temples, and maybe a palace. Fountains with large pools dotted the area, and some were decorated with majestic statues of the gods. There was so much to see, and he only had one eye to look with. 

Gods this city was enormous! Gods…this city was enormous. How was he going to find Thanatos all by himself? 

§

Athena stared at the empty banquet hall. The large, ornate table had no trace of recent use. It had seen many great feasts, and just as many arguments. Each one of its twelve chairs, beautiful enough to be considered thrones, were completely empty. With no reason to linger, she departed the hall and continued her search. 

Her robes trailed elegantly behind her. Gilded columns proudly lined the walls, framing numerous elaborate tapestries that Athena had woven herself. She had no time to stop and take pride in her work. It wasn’t as if they were going anywhere, no matter how much Aphrodite insisted otherwise. 

The corridor led her outside, and the birds at the entrance sung, as if heralding her arrival. Athena scoured the lush, spacious gardens. She could not appreciate the majestic fountains and their pristine waters. Her eyes skimmed over the beautiful flowers that never wilted, nor perished. They were always perfect, even without Demeter or her daughter tending to them. Pure white clouds floated lazily about, as if they, too, were enjoying the perfection of Olympus. It was all lovely. It always was. But there, on the edge of the gardens, was Zeus.

He stood at the edge, where the garden met the sky. His luxurious hair billowed in the wind. Zeus hurled his lightning bolts relentlessly down below, each one lit up the dark, stormy clouds beneath Olympus. Athena knew not what had irked her father this time. But she approached him confidently. She knew the best way to navigate a conversation with Zeus was with calm compliance. 

“Greetings, Lord Father.”

Zeus raised his arms, and paused at the sound of her voice. He looked over his broad shoulder and grinned. “Ah, Athena. You’re just in time. I was just about to finish off this island. Those mortals will suffer deeply for not honoring properly. The lack of sacrifices has been disgraceful.”

“Father, I fear that your efforts will be in vain. The mortals are currently incapable of dying.”

“Now, Athena,” Zeus shook his head, “I’ve never heard you speak something so preposterous.”

“It’s true, Father. I have witnessed it with Lord Ares upon a battlefield. Many mortals bore wounds far too grievous to survive, and yet they all still live. Something must have occurred to Death, or perhaps in the Underworld,” Athena explained.

“What are you saying, Athena?”

After a fleeting moment of hesitance, Athena said, “Father, I would ask that you communicate with your brother below the earth, so we may discover what has transpired.”

Zeus laughed. “No.”

“Father, please—”

“My word is final, daughter,” Zeus said. The air around them was charged. Electricity surged through his hair and beard. “Now, if you’re not going to enjoy the suffering of these ungrateful mortals with me, do run along.” Before Athena could answer, Zeus summoned another lightning bolt and resumed his rampage. 

Athena inhaled slowly, hoping that clear, Olympus air would suppress her frustrations. It did not. She turned on her heel and strode away. Out of nowhere, Hermes appeared before her. He floated lazily about, wearing a cheeky grin. She did not need this right now. 

“You don’t look so good. Pop’s driving you a little mad again, is he?” Hermes asked. 

“Lord Hermes, I ask that you please refrain from speaking such things in our home.”

Hermes chuckled. 

“You knew that the mortals weren’t dying. Why didn’t you alert anyone?”

Hermes shrugged. “No one asked.”

“Surely Hades must know something about this. Do you communicate with him often?”

“Can’t say I do. He’s not the sociable type. Doesn’t like us Olympians much either, from what I gather,” Hermes said. No surprises there. After all, who wouldn’t be bitter and jealous of not being able to live in the radiant splendors of Olympus?

“Lord Hermes, you must tell me who is the most reasonable person in the Underworld. This issue must be settled swiftly, and we must cooperate with those below.”

“Nyx would be your best bet there, sister. Nice lady. Mother to my professional associate. You know the one. Also mother to our missing Thanatos.”

“Missing Thanatos?”

“Whoops.”

Well, that would explain the situation, Athena thought. “You are certain that Night Incarnate’s personal feelings will not cloud her judgement?”

“Absolutely.”

“Very well. Lord Hermes, I ask for your patience whilst I compose a letter.”

“No problem. Seeing as no one’s dying, I’ve got lots of free time on my hands.”

§

There was no way he could search the entire city all by himself. The Oracle’s prophecy didn’t say anything about how long finding Thanatos would take. It could be weeks. Or months. Or years. What if he had to search for the rest of his life? 

He groaned. His feet hurt, and his legs were tired. It had only been a few days, and exploring Corinth had quickly lost its luster. He had searched high and low, in stables, peered into houses, wandered into narrow alleys, and still no sign of Death. 

The boy plopped down on the ledge of a fountain, away from the women washing their clothes. He could use a wash himself. Gossip filled his ears—talk of husbands and weather, hushed whispers about a king, but no one said anything about a lost god. He kicked his legs and sighed, tilting his head back to the sky. Faint traces of orange and purple were beginning to paint the clouds. The outline of the moon was peeking from behind the roof of the grand palace; Its high painted walls were casting a dark shadow on the agora. He had never seen royalty before. Maybe Corinth’s king would be able to help. Surely he would’ve heard about the whereabouts of Death.

A mournful wail rang out through the agora, and the boy hopped onto the ground. There, at the center, a few people were gathered near a large marble statue. He went over to see what the commotion was, and quickly wished he hadn’t. The statue was sullied with fresh blood, and a bald man holding a dagger was cradling a dead foal. The women nearby were weeping. If it made them so sad, why did they watch in the first place? 

“O Poseidon Pontomedon, please accept this offering…” the bald man began. Others in attendance began to murmur their own prayers. What desire could be so great that they were willing to kill a horse for it? Did the gods even value these sacrifices? 

In the blink of an eye, the clouds turned to the color of ash and a deluge spilled forth. The thunder was so loud that the boy felt his bones rattle. The women snatched up their things and bolted; some were trying in vain to protect their elaborate hairdos from the downpour. The man who killed the foal abandoned it at the base of the statue, and the blood on the altar quickly washed away. Was the prayer that was made washed away with it? Was that poor animal’s sacrifice even worth it? If he splashed his own golden blood on there, what would happen?

“Hey! Come inside!” a young voice called out. The boy looked around and saw someone waving atop a large staircase of a temple. There was no one else around, so they must be talking to him, right? “Quickly!” 

The boy obeyed, scampering over as quickly as he could. Water sloshed beneath his feet, by the time he reached the stairs he was already drenched to the bone. Well, this was one way to bathe. The cloth around his other eye felt heavy and was beginning to sink. He had to hurry, but smooth stone stairs were slippery. He gasped as he lost his footing, breaking his fall with his hands. His palms and knees were scraped, and the rain was stinging. Drops of gold were washed away. Good. Just to be safe, he clung to the hems of his chiton. He was so soaked he could see his skin through the fabric.

It was like climbing a mountain, but he reached the top intact. Looking down at his hands and knees, he sighed in relief that they had already healed. 

“Come on!” The person who had called him ushered him inside. As soon as he crossed the threshold, his blindfoldsunk down to his neck. He quickly covered it with his hand, and looked down at the puddle forming at his feet. 

“Are you okay?” the person asked. The boy looked and saw a girl who appeared about his own age, maybe a couple of years older. A bronze circlet rested in her long dark hair worn in a single plait. “Come over here, I’ll fetch you a blanket,” she said. Her voice was warm and tender. She motioned to a large fire pit. He allowed her to lead him over, conscious of the trail of water he was leaving. The girl didn’t seem to mind. She went further in and quickly came black with a large blanket.

“Before you take this, maybe you should get out of those wet clothes,” she said.

He held his tongue and pressed his hand harder against his eye. 

“Something wrong with your eye?” she asked without judgement. “I promise I won’t look.” He looked around to see if anyone else was around, but all was quiet. No one else in sight. The boy turned so that his left side was facing her, and tugged the one sleeve off of his shoulder. He pulled his sopping chiton down his legs, then knelt down and clumsily undid his sandals. Even clothes gifted from a god were still vulnerable to rain. The wet cloth still hung limply around his neck, and he untied that too. He wanted to wring it out, but he didn’t want to make even more of a mess. 

“I can take that, too. Seems rather uncomfortable.”

There wasn’t any point in arguing. Reluctantly, he let it drop to the floor. Still facing the wall, he graciously accepted the blanket and draped it over his back, clutching it tightly. Water from his hair was dripping down his back, but that was okay. 

“Thank you,” he said, followed by a yawn. 

“You’re welcome. Sorry there isn’t a hearth here. You’d think there would be one, considering this sanctuary honors a mother and daughter, right? Oh well.”

A sanctuary? Could Thanatos be here? “You haven’t seen any…gods around, have you?” he asked quietly. 

“I’m no Olympian, but there are those statues over there.” She pointed to the back, where a large statue depicting two women side by side sat in the center. They went over to get a closer look, the boy trailing a few footsteps behind. “The Goddess Demeter,” she motioned to the older woman on the left, “and her daughter, Kore.”

Demeter wore a wreath of wheat in her hair, and was offering a large bundle of wheat to her daughter. Guess she really liked bread. Kore had her arms extended, ready to accept her mother’s gift. Both women were dressed elegantly, and Kore was depicted with a veil flowing down her back. Though their eyes were nothing but empty marble, the love between them was evident. 

His eyelids grew heavy, and he yawned again. The girl gently told him to lie down, and he obeyed. Running around a city looking for a god was exhausting. Kore’s statue was the last thing he saw before his eyes shut. What kind of name was ‘Kore’? What mother would always want to refer to her daughter as ‘maiden’? 

Well, at least she had a name, he thought before drifting into sleep.

§

The Pool of Styx was quiet. Normally crowded with impatient shades, the grand hall leading up to Lord Hades’ desk was empty. Even the god himself, who was practically attached to his throne, was off elsewhere. Without Thanatos, nearly all of the House of Hades’ operations were completely put on hold. For the working shades, a break in routine was a welcome relief. For others, it only served to amplify their grief. 

Achilles shooed away a small group of nosy shades lingering by the garden gate. The shades scattered, some mumbling annoyances under their non-existent breaths.Had Death made them forget their decency? In their newfound idleness, they’d begun to poke their noses in places where they didn’t belong. Achilles glanced at Nyx and Persephone in the garden. How dreadful it must be to be a mother and lose your children. A pang of guilt hit his chest. Achilles’ own choices had led to his own mother experience the same thing. Loss of children, separated families, perhaps mortals and gods had more in common than he thought. 

Achilles leaned his head back and looked around the hallowed House of Hades. Its stark white walls and weary columns were cold and unwelcoming. The poor lounge still hadn’t been repaired since the last time Cerberus had a temper tantrum, though it hardly provided a relaxing atmosphere before its ruin. The garden was perhaps the only place of true respite—an oasis of life that so many had already forgotten. But so few were allowed inside. He sighed. Perhaps he should take his break now. 

He turned to the right, into the room that had been intended for the Underworld Prince. It was wide and spacious, far too big for one baby. A small cradle lay on the right, surrounded by stuffed animals that the Queen had handmade. Large bookshelves lined the walls on the left, containing stories of the gods and great mortal heroes. Dust seemed to be accumulating all over the room. There was no one to occupy it, and neither Hades nor Persephone had been inside here much. 

Best not to dwell on those things, he thought. Achilles hurried through and stepped into the courtyard. 

It was quiet out here. River Styx’s raging waters and the distant moans of Tartarus were strangely peaceful compared to the discomfort in the House. The stone floor was cold and worn, and a modest rack of wooden training weapons stood on the side. Even after all this time, he still felt most at home in a place intended for fighting. How terrible. Maybe a few more aeons of death would be able to change that. 

Achilles walked over to the far end of the courtyard. He leaned his spear against the railing, then allowed himself to shed his diligence and slouched over it, too. He stared at his transparent hands and watched the red river flow behind them. 

What a peculiar part of being dead, Achilles thought. Though, perhaps it is no more peculiar than anything else I had experienced in life. 

Bright orange light removed him from his thoughts. A lithe figure with winged adornments appeared before him. How familiar and strange a sight this was. 

“Well, if it isn’t the shade of the great Achilles Aristos. Fancy seeing you down here. How long has it been?” he asked cheerfully. 

Achilles bowed. “Lord Hermes.”

“Weird being down this far,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard Achilles. “But I’m doing a favor after all. You always seemed like a trustworthy guy, and you’re much more relaxed now, too. You’re familiar with Nyx, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Lord Hermes.”

“Ah, great! I don’t think I want to go into that House, and I have other things to do. So,” he pulled out a letter from his satchel, “take this and give it to Nyx, won’t you? And keep it a secret.” He handed it to Achilles who accepted it as reverently as he could. As quickly as he arrived, Hermes departed. 

Achilles couldn’t help but notice the seal as he tucked the letter into his robe. No doubt it was from Olympus. What could they possibly want with Nyx? Perhaps it had to do with the missing Thanatos. Achilles took his spear and tried not to let his theories get away from him as he strode back into the House. 

He was relieved to see Nyx back in her usual haunt in the corner. Perhaps one day he’d discover why she was so partial to that particular spot. 

“O Night,” Achilles bowed, “forgive me for troubling you.”

“Achilles, what ails you?” Nyx asked. Any worries she had about her son were buried beneath her cool stoicism. 

“Forgive me, but I was just given something intended for you.” He took out the letter and presented it to her. If she was surprised at the seal, she didn’t show it. “The deliverer asked me to be discreet,” he whispered. 

“I see,” she said, and the letter vanished. “I thank you, Achilles.”

“It is my honor, O Night. Should you need anything, please ask. I’ll do everything I can.”

§

After suffering through countless days in a rickety wagon, sleeping on a cold sanctuary floor was a nice change of pace. He yawned, stretched, and…his blindfold. His right eye was completely exposed. Where was it? Frantically looking around, he saw his clothes had been laid neatly folded beside him. The fear gradually subsided when he realized no one was around—Not even the girl from last night. Still, he took the blindfoldfirst, and tied it tight. After he finished getting dressed, he folded the blanket as neatly as he could. With no one around to claim it, he simply left it at the base of the statue, smoothing it out. Hopefully the gods wouldn’t think it was an offering. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair and dashed out the door. 

Clear skies and brilliant sunshine greeted him. Puddles dotted the roads, making it look like the stones had been decorated with patches of sky. People were already out and about, going about their business. But a large crowd had gathered at the statue of Poseidon. Oh no, were they about to sacrifice another poor animal? Without hesitation, the boy hurried down the stairs to join everyone. 

His small size made it easy to push his way to the front. Grand offerings of delicious looking food and drink covered the base, as if there was a feast at the statue’s feet. The same bald man from yesterday was now standing beside a beautiful brown horse. Its eyes were darting about, and it was struggling against three other men holding it down. 

“O Poseidon Pontomedon, ” the bald man said, brandishing a dagger, “you have blessed us with the rains we have prayed for. As a token of appreciation, we of the city of Corinth offer you this majestic steed. May its sacrifice appease you.” 

This wasn’t right. He needed to do something. He had already seen one horse suffer, and was not about to see another. 

But what could he really do? He was just one small boy with no weapons, no godly powers, no…anything. And if the horse did end up being saved, what would these people do to him? How would they respond? If Poseidon really demanded this, would he punish the city? 

The horse brayed and reared on its hind legs. The boy could hear the fear in its voice, and see it in its dark eyes. Worried gasps and murmurs filled the crowd, and everyone near it took a step back, including the bald man. They were afraid, too. This was his chance. 

“Stop!” he cried, rushing into the space between the horse and the bald man. 

“What do you think you’re doing, child?” he asked.

He wasn’t thinking at all. But he did notice the man’s eyes shift uneasily from himself and the horse. “Please don’t kill it!” he begged, spreading his arms wide. 

“The gods demand it. Now step aside,” the man yelled. 

All of this stress was too much for the animal. It whinnied so loudly it sounded like a shriek, and kicked the boy in the back of the head as it reared again. The force sent him forward, and he heard the crowd gasp as he hit the ground. That really hurt. Though, not as much as an arrow to the heart from an Olympian. 

He groaned and slowly, slowly pushed himself on all fours. His chest rose and fell heavily, and he felt something warm and wet trickling into his hair and down to his neck.

Oh gods. No, no, no.

Shocked whispers filled his ears. He caught words like “gold,” “ichor,” and “god.” No, he was no god. He had to tell them. Frantically stumbling to his feet, his eye widened at the sight of everyone kneeling before him. He saw the poor animal was still agitated, but the men holding it down were also bowing as low as they could. They were trying hard to hide that they were still struggling to control the horse. But it was alive and unharmed. 

“Forgive us, Lord,” the bald man said reverently. “You honor us with your presence. All hail.”

Chapter Text

There was so little Persephone could do. She could do nothing to aid Nyx in locating Thanatos. The lull in the poor boy’s absence had added another layer of gloom to this downtrodden House. She tossed and turned on the bed that was far too large for her. All she saw was an unused red pillow that was five times her size. Her husband was so often buried in his work, Persephone was convinced he had forgotten how to relax. Now that he had none, he didn’t seem to know what to do…except hole himself up in the administration chamber looking for more work. If only they had their child, maybe they could’ve enjoyed some family together. The three of them. 

But at the expense of poor Nyx and Thanatos? 

No, that’s wrong. She should be ashamed for thinking such things.

Persephone shifted her gaze along the bare walls. Maybe a painting or two would liven things up. Surely there was a shade of a skilled artist somewhere who would be willing. Someone who could create beautiful landscapes with a river—a normal river—with colorful flowers lining its banks. 

Fresh air and blue skies felt like a distant memory. She sighed. Lying in bed would do her no good. Perhaps she should take a walk. 

Persephone pushed herself upright and hoisted herself off bed, legs wobbling as she landed on the cold floor. Her long hair fell loosely against her back. She played with it absentmindedly as she shuffled to the door, which was left slightly ajar. At least her husband had remembered to do that much. If he didn’t, she’d probably be trapped. 

When Persephone first arrived in the House of Hades, she thought its bare walls and lack of statues to be quite a nice change of pace from the blinding extravagance of Olympus. Now, she yearned for something to fill all the empty space. 

The hems of her dress dragged on the floor. She turned the corner, hoping to see Cerberus. Disappointment filled her at the sight of the vacant spot beside her husband’s desk. Persephone continued on, barely aware of the shades wandering about. Nyx wasn’t at her usual spot either. She’d been able to provide the comfort that her husband could not, but Persephone couldn’t rely on her forever.

Her mind was so tired that her instincts took control, and led her into her son’s bedchamber. Everything was just as she left it—books neatly lined up on shelves much too large for a baby god, a desk prepared with parchment and quills for writing and creative expression, and decorative skulls hanging on the dark walls. But her eyes gravitated towards the crib. It had been hand carved by Daedalus himself. She’d been so excited. Now it lay here gathering dust in a bedroom that might as well be a tomb. 

“Persephone, do come out of there.”

Persephone looked over her shoulder and saw her husband. His massive body cast a long shadow in the doorway, and his bejeweled hands were curled into fists.

“You haven’t set foot in this room since then, you know.”

“Please. I acquire your assistance with…work.”

“I’m not like you, Hades. I cannot bury my emotions as you do.”

“Still you grieve?” Hades grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We shouldn’t have even tried. The Fates themselves decreed—”

“The Fates be damned,” Persephone declared. She saw her husband’s eyes widen. “Hades, you truly have moved on from this? You truly wish we shouldn’t have tried to have a child?”

Hades remained silent. 

“Leave me alone, Hades.”

He turned and lumbered away, leaving Persephone alone with the only traces of her son she had left.

§

The boy was trapped. One of the finest woodcarvers had offered him his best chair. It was beautiful and much too large for him. His tiny feet, now in fine sandals, barely reached the edge of the seat. Even if he tried to leave, he’d have to climb through the barrier of offerings, and then somehow navigate the sea of people surrounding him. Hundreds of eyes were staring, waiting for him to do amazing.

“Please Lord, pray tell us: what are you the god of?”

“What is your domain?”

Nothing. I’m not a god, and I’m not a god of anything, he thought angrily. But nothing he could say would change these people’s minds. They had already seen his golden blood, the sign of a god. Who knows what else they wanted. They’d been here all day, and all he’d done was sit on this chair and watch as gift after gift was brought to his feet. Did it really make these people happy?

“Is this offering enough?”

“I’ve never been this close to a god before.”

“What is it that you ask of us?”

“What is your name?”

He shifted uncomfortably. It was getting dark and he was tired. Maybe if he told everyone to go home and sleep, they would. He didn’t know how to be a god.

“Everyone…?” he began. The chatter stopped instantly. People leaned in to hear him. “I…uh…” the boy cleared his throat. “It’s getting late, so…I command you all to…go home. And sleep.”

A couple of people exchanged awkward glances, but that was enough for them. Some people bowed and offered up more prayers, but they all obeyed. 

Once he was sure he was alone, the boy scooted off the chair and grabbed some delicious looking fruit that had been piled high in a basket. It was wrong to take it; he did nothing to deserve it. But he was so hungry. He bit into a shiny red apple, and some of its sweet juice dribbled down his chin. It was delicious.

What was he supposed to do with the rest? He couldn’t eat all of it himself, and it would all go bad soon enough. But if they thought him a god, would they obey him if he said to take it back? Maybe that would be more of an insult. He wished he had someone to share it with. Maybe Thanatos would appreciate it…Dammit, he should’ve asked if anyone knew where Thanatos was. 

A large man with a round face and curly hair approached him, wading carefully through the offerings. “Oh my. All this food is surely enough to feed all of Olympus. How is only one boy supposed to enjoy it all?” 

The boy scrambled behind the chair, clutching the apple to his chest. 

“You’ve caused quite the stir,” the man said. “I heard all of the commotion outside my window.”

It’s not my fault. No one will listen, he thought.

“You don’t even seem to want it. Perhaps you need a little help?”

The boy slowly peeked out from…His eye had adjusted to the dark, and this friendly sounding man wore an equally friendly smile. 

“Really?”

“Of course. That which is meant for gods should be bestowed by a king.”

“You know the king?”

“Of course I do. He’ll be most pleased to be of service. He’s well acquainted with the gods, you know.”

“Do you think…maybe…he can help me with something?”

“I’m sure he can. Go on, you can tell me. I’m one of his most trusted advisors.”

“Shouldn’t I tell the king?”

“He’s quite busy. Ruling over a city as large as Corinth is a lot of work, and he simply doesn’t have time to see everyone. But if you tell me, I’ll be happy to pass on your message.”

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Man? Woman? Child?”

“I’m not sure actually.”

The man raised his eyebrows. 

“I’m looking for…a god. Their name is Thanatos.”

The man’s eyes seemed to light up and he smiled. “Oh yes. You’d better come along then. I can help you find him.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Thanatos and the king are well acquainted with each other.” Eagerly, the boy grabbed a fruit basket with both hands, while the man filled his arms with enough gifts to feed an entire family. After carefully maneuvering through the piles of offerings, the boy followed the man through the empty agora. 

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Sisyphus,” he said. 

A mountainous staircase lay before them. The boy slowly ascended one step at a time. He didn’t want anything spilling out of the basket. The palace loomed over them, blocking out the stars. Its columns looked like they could support the weight of the sky. If the outside was this impressive, the boy wondered just how amazing the inside was. 

The boy wheezed as he reached the top of the stairs, allowed himself to drop the basket, and catch his breath. Sisyphus was not nearly as winded, but he did wipe the sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand. He gave the boy a friendly wink and strode towards the doors, pulling one open just enough for them to squeeze through. Grabbing the basket, the boy almost tripped over himself as he entered. His spindly legs were done for the day. Maybe the week. No fanfare awaited them as they entered the palace. Good. The boy had had enough of that for one lifetime. 

Tall torches lined the halls and lit the way. Their light flickered upon statues and vases, and shone on the gold frames of large paintings on the walls. The boy wondered what it would all look like during the day. He followed Sisyphus through another doorway and into a grand room with a large table sitting in the center. Ornate candelabras illuminated the room, bathing Sisyphus in dim light as he placed the food on the table. The boy scurried towards it, stood on his tiptoes and did the same. Sisyphus grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him up into the nearest chair. 

“You wait right here,” Sisyphus said. "I’m just going to let the king know about your…situation.”

“Thank you,” the boy said. He kicked his legs as he watched Sisyphus go, grabbing a few grapes out of the basket. 

A small woman holding a candle cautiously peeked into the banquet hall, as if perhaps there was a monster lurking around. She wore a simple night robe. Her dark curly hair looked such a tangled mess that one could mistake her for a gorgon. The candlelight cast eerie shadows on her gaunt face. She shuffled towards the boy and placed the candle down. 

“Child, what are you doing here?” she whispered, and frantically looked around as if afraid of being caught. 

“Sisyphus brought me here,” the boy said in between bites of food. “He said he can take me to Thanatos.”

Her tired eyes widened, and the boy wondered if he had said something terribly wrong. “You must go, quickly.” The woman pat him on the back, urging him to get up, but he didn’t move. 

“But I need to find Thanatos,” he said, voice echoing through the room. 

She shushed him as if his voice would collapse the palace, then said, “You don’t want to join him.”

“You know where he is?”

She closed her eyes and quietly cursed her loose tongue. They both heard soft footsteps, and the woman snatched up her candle. The flame flickered and she sighed. “I shall pray for you, child,” she whispered and hurried away like a frightened child. 

Moments later, Sisyphus appeared in the doorway bearing a torch. He extended his free hand and said, “Come. I shall take you to Thanatos now.” The boy took an apple and hopped off the chair, following Sisyphus like a lost puppy. He was led through dark halls, down a flight of stairs that seemed to go into the bowels of the earth. 

“Sisyphus, why is Thanatos so far down?”

“Death is a scary, terrible thing, don’t you think? No one likes losing a loved one. No one really wants to die.”

Except for me, the boy thought. 

“So the king thought it would serve Thanatos well to punish him. That way no one will ever have to suffer the indignities of Death ever again.”

“Oh,” the boy said, absentmindedly playing with the apple. Finally, they arrived at the bottom, and stood before a dark, heavy door. A small window with metal bars was carved near the top, far too high for the boy to see inside. Sisyphus pulled it open, and the boy winced at the awful sound it made as it dragged on the floor. 

“There you are. There’s your Thanatos,” Sisyphus said. The boy looked and saw a limp figure with silver hair. He ran over and kneeled before him. He placed the apple down and hesitantly reached out to touch him. “Enjoy your time together,” Sisyphus said. The boy turned around and saw that the door had shut. 

“Wait! What are you doing?” he cried.

Sisyphus’ laughter was his only response. 

Chapter Text

He was such an idiot. How could he let himself get trapped like this? And yet, his search was over. He finally found Thanatos. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. After all, the Oracle had said that ‘he and war would war will set Death free.’ He could fix this. 

Thanatos was as still as the grave, lying on the cold floor. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. Did gods need to breathe? Thanatos’ long pretty hair almost completely obscured his face. His arms were stiff behind his back, and his wrists were bound in heavy silver chains. 

Just like the Oracle said, the boy thought. He reached his tiny hands towards the chains, but stopped as Thanatos stirred. The god shifted his legs and pushed himself up onto his knees, groaning like a child who had been woken up too early. His hair fell away from his face, and the boy realized Thanatos was a child. Well, he looked like one at least, but definitely not like a human child. His skin the color of a storm cloud. While his hair was silver, his eyes were pure gold. Thanatos’ chiton was dark and dirty—ill befitting of a god. 

“Thanatos?” he asked, hesitantly reaching towards him.

“Don’t touch me!” Thanatos cried, recoiling away. It was strange seeing a god look so young. “Who’re you?” he asked hoarsely. 

The boy clamped his mouth shut. He had no name to give…though when had the gods ever cared about that anyway? “I’m…I’m here to free you.”

Thanatos scoffed. “And yet you’re in here with me.”

“I can still try,” he said, though they both heard the waver in his voice. He seated himself behind Thanatos and looked at the chains more closely. He didn’t even see a keyhole. 

“There’s no key,” Thanatos said, as if reading his thoughts. Still, the boy grabbed them and pulled. They didn’t budge. He took a deep breath and used all of his body weight into pulling, but it was useless. 

“It’s no use. Only a god can break them,” Thanatos said impatiently. 

The boy leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. “That oracle lied to me then,” he muttered. 

“What did the oracle tell you?”

The boy paused, struggling to remember the exact words the Oracle said. “Um…something something…me and war will set Death free—”

Thanatos laughed ruefully. “So. Ares is going to see me like this. Tsch, of all the gods. And who knows how long it’ll be until then.”

“How long have you been stuck here?”

“I don’t know. I need to get back….to Lord Hades…and Mother,” he choked. 

“You have a mother?”

“Of course I do,” Thanatos hissed. 

The boy scooted over to sit in front of Thanatos. “What’s it like? What’s she like? What’s her name?”

“Nyx.”

“Nyx?” the boy asked. He didn’t know any stories about Nyx. 

Thanatos’ eyes turned as cold as the chains. “Typical. You mortals never bother to educate yourselves on those who deserve it the most.”

“What do you mean?”

“I bet you know all of the Olympians, but can’t name a single Chthonic god.”

“I know you.”

“Aside from me.”

“Well,” the boy said, running his hands through his hair, “your mother is Nyx—”

“Which I just told you.”

“And then…” he folded his arms. Why couldn’t he think? Thanatos just said someone else’s name, didn’t he? Did he really not know any other Chthonic—

“See?” Thanatos sneered. The boy looked at the god, whose eyes were filled with scorn and condescension. “I told you. You don’t know anything, do you? You never even told me your name.”

No. Not again. Please, ask me anything but that, he pleaded silently. 

“What’s your name?” Thanatos asked. 

The boy brought his knees to his chest and curled in on himself. He didn’t ask for this. It’s not his fault. He was just trying to help. He shut his eyes, trying to prevent the tears from falling. Again, his efforts were in vain. 

“You don’t have one?”

“You’re not scary. You’re just mean,” the boy said weakly, wiping his eyes. Though his vision was blurry, he saw Thanatos lower his head. 

“Just stay away from me,” he muttered. 

§

Nyx’s letter was still in Athena’s hands. Even Death’s own mother knew naught about his whereabouts. She had read it a dozen times now, scrutinizing every word for a hidden message or code. But it wasn’t so. Athena folded the parchment neatly and tucked it away. 

There were so few of her relatives she could trust in this kind of situation. Hermes was knowledgeable, but unpredictable. Ares was doing the legwork, scouring the country for Death. But as always, his methods remain inefficient and highly unsophisticated. Still, it was nice to see him putting in the effort for something other than mass murder for a change. 

And Zeus? Well, Athena knew her father better than all of her siblings. After all, it was she who had been born from his head. He was an expert at hiding things beneath hearty bravado and the sound of thunder. But his behavior always seemed more…excessive than normal when he was the source of precarious situations. Thunder boomed in the distance. Her father was here, and she needed to try again. 

Athena went in the direction of the thunder, and found Zeus hurling lightning bolt after lightning bolt down below. The clouds were black and angry, swirling like coiled snakes. As Athena approached, she could see sparks in her father’s hair. 

“Curse these mortals! Have I lost my touch?” He laughed. “No, of course I haven’t. These bolts must be defective.”

“Lord Father,” Athena said. Zeus turned, and Athena saw the anger flash in his eyes. 

“Ah, Athena. Get that lazy Hephaestus over here and have him forge me new bolts,” Zeus said. 

Sometimes Athena felt like she was the only one with any sense. She was the goddess of wisdom, yet she could not devise a way for her family to understand the real priorities. Her pride would never allow her to admit it aloud, but there were just some things that she couldn’t achieve alone—like getting their family to cooperate with each other. But getting her father to divulge information about Thanatos was a much easier task. 

“It is a shame about the missing Thanatos, isn’t it?”

“Missing? What do you mean?”

“That’s why you haven’t been able to enjoy the thrill of destroying mortals, Lord Father. No one has seen Thanatos in quite some time, and no one has died since then.”

Thunder crashed below them, and Zeus’ knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on a lightning bolt. Athena was mildly surprised it didn’t break in half. “I told Hermes to tell Thanatos to go and collect that scoundrel, what’s his name, Siysphus, in Corinth. And he couldn’t even do that?” Zeus turned away from her and began to barrage the clouds below with lightning. “Those cursed Chthonic gods. Honestly, what kind of slovenly realm is my brother running down there?”

Finally, she had all the information she needed. 

“Well then, Father, I shall take my leave,” Athena said, though she was sure Zeus hadn’t even heard her above the storm. 

§

The boy awoke to the terrible sound of metal scraping on stone. He slowly opened his eye and saw the blurry shape of a person with wild hair gently place a few things down. They came and went in silence, leaving only the grating sound behind them. He rubbed his eyes and groaned as he pushed himself upright. The cold floor was rough, but he’d had rougher nights. At least there was a roof over his head. 

Near the dungeon entrance sat a small basket of food, a small jug of water, and a chamber pot. The boy scampered over and silently thanked whomever had brought him these gifts. He took a few sips of water, and nearly dove into the basket. Fruit and bread looked like precious treasures and his stomach was begging for it. He grabbed a bunch of purple grapes and stuffed his mouth full.

Wait…Thanatos has been in here far longer. He should eat first, the boy decided. He handled them delicately and went back towards Thanatos. The boy kneeled before him and held out the offering. 

“Here, Lord Thanatos,” the boy said. Oh, right, his hands were chained. Would the God of Death like being fed by a mortal?

“Tsch. I don’t need to eat, you know,” Thanatos said. 

“Oh,” he said sullenly, lowering his hands. 

“Eat them before they go bad, mortal.”

He’s so pushy, the boy thought. Yet, he couldn’t argue against it. He was starving. The boy wiped his hands on his chiton and eagerly began plucking the grapes off of the stem. One by one he popped them in his mouth and sighed as their sweet flavor enveloped his tongue. 

“Is that true for all gods? You don’t need to eat?” he asked with his mouth full. 

Thanatos shook his head. 

“Then why do so many people sacrifice food and animals to them?”

“To the Olympians, you mean.” 

The boy nodded.

“They’re vain and over indulgent. Their behavior causes so much extra work for me, and those down in the Underworld. But we Chthonic gods? We don’t need such things to feel good. Such worship would just get in the way.”

Then what is the proper way to worship Chthonic gods? the boy wondered. He had no money, or anything of his own to offer. He remembered the way the people of Corinth had knelt before him and lowered their heads to the ground. Maybe that would work. He positioned himself in front of Thanatos and hung his head. 

“What are you doing?”

“Are you not pleased, Lord Thanatos?”

“What?” Thanatos asked, bewilderment plastered on his face. It was kind of cute. 

Maybe the god of death doesn’t want to be called cute, he thought, trying to suppress a smile. “How do I worship you, Lord Thanatos?” the boy asked. 

“Mortals…don’t worship me.” 

“How would you like to be worshipped?”

“I’m..not sure. I’ve never thought about it.” 

The boy sat up and crossed his legs. He let his head loll back and drummed his fingers on the ground. Dealing with gods was difficult. 

“Why aren’t you afraid of me, mortal?” Thanatos asked. 

The boy shrugged and made a vague sound that indicated he didn’t know. “Tell me about your family.”

“What?”

“You said mortals don’t know about the Chthonic gods, right? And they’re your family, right?”

“Not all of them, but yes,” Thanatos said. 

The boy scooted closer and leaned in, resting his chin in his hands. 

Thanatos told him about his mother, Nyx. How her skin was as pale as the moon, and her long beautiful hair seemed to contain the stars, and how anyone would be honored to simply stand before her. 

He spoke of Hypnos, his twin brother. Even though they’re twins, Hypnos has short curly hair, in stark contrast to Thanatos’ long straight hair. True to his name, Thanatos said Hypnos constantly falls asleep, even when he shouldn’t, and that he never goes anywhere without his favorite blanket. 

Next was Charon, the ferryman to the Underworld—a tall god of few words and great wealth. And apparently great strength, too.

As Thanatos spoke, the weariness in his face melted away. Even the more annoyed tone that crept in when talking about Hypnos was halfhearted. The boy could tell that Thanatos truly loved his family. Perhaps after Thanatos was released and the boy could finally die, he could meet all of these gods. 

“They all sound really great,” the boy said. 

A ghost of a smile appeared on Thanatos’ lips. “They are.”

“You must love them a lot.” The boy yawned and laid on his side, using his arms as pillows. “Must be nice to have a big family.” 

“I have more siblings, but I don’t really talk to them.”

“Why not?”

“There are some people you’re better off without.”

“Even…if they’re family?”

Thanatos nodded. “Families can be complicated.”

I wouldn’t know, the boy thought, and let sleep take him.

Chapter Text

It became customary for the boy to awaken to a small portion of food and water, and a clean pot once every few days or nights. He wasn’t sure—It was difficult to keep track of time in the dungeons. He wiped his dirty hands on his chiton, even though there weren’t many clean spots left. The idea of turning his chiton inside out had occurred to him, but then all that dirt would get on his skin. If only there was enough water to wash himself. 

He lifted the jug to his lips and took small sips, fighting the urge to drink it all at once. Maybe Thanatos would like some. Sure, he didn’t have to eat, but everyone needed water, right? He took the jug in both hands and brought it over to Thanatos. His long hair drooped sadly in front of his face, and his bones looked as if they were ready to protrude from beneath his dusky skin.

“Water, Lord Thanatos?” he asked. 

“Tsch.”

“You must be thirsty,” he said. Thanatos clammed his mouth shut, but his eyes were focused on the water. The boy bit his lip to try and stifle a laugh. 

“Being fed by a mortal…” Thanatos muttered. 

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“You’d better not,” Thanatos muttered. The boy held the jug to Thanatos’ lips, who drank eagerly. When he had his fill, Thanatos turned his head to the side and sighed. It wasn’t much, but he already looked a little better. Well, the boy thought he did. 

“…Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. The boy sat beside him and pulled his knees to his chest. “Um, Lord Thanatos?”

“You’re a chatty mortal, aren’t you?” Thanatos said in a way that sounded more like a statement than a question. 

“When this is all over, will you take me down to the Underworld?”

“Tsch, I can’t take anyone living. And it depends on how you die.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just don’t be stupid and get yourself killed.”

Were there more gods of death? How did that work? he wondered. A loud whine from his stomach interrupted his thoughts, and he hurried back over to the basket. The boy dragged it by the handle back towards his spot. Maybe Thanatos would want something, too. He plopped back down, grabbed a dark red fruit that looked like an apple and tried biting into its shell. 

Ow. He heard laughter beside him and saw a genuine smile on Thanatos’ face. 

So you can laugh, the boy thought. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You can’t eat a pomegranate like an apple.”

“How do you know?”

“They grow easily in the Underworld. The Queen…likes to grow them.”

“The Queen?”

Thanatos nodded.  “Persephone.”

‘Death bringer’? A fitting name for the Queen of the Underworld, the boy thought. He dared not say that aloud—the last thing he wanted to do was insult more of Thanatos’ friends or family. 

“She rules alongside Lord Hades.” 

“Are they your family, too? What are they like?”

“No, I’m not related to them. Lord Hades is…strict,” Thanatos said. The boy looked at him expectantly, and Thanatos furrowed his brow as he searched for more words. “He’s great and powerful, just like the rest of his Olympian family. He’s the God of the Dead and rules the Underworld.”

“But you’re Death, aren’t you? Why don’t you rule the Underworld?”

“That’s just the way things are. I try not to question the Fates much.”

“And the Queen? Persephone?”

Thanatos sighed. “She is…kind. Things have been much more, erm, relaxed, since she arrived.”

“What does she look like?”

“Well, the Queen is small-”

“If Hades is big and she’s small, how do they kiss?”

“Tsch, I don’t know! I don’t have all the answers,” Thanatos sighed. “Can I continue?”

The boy nodded. 

“She has light hair, like the color of wheat. And bright green eyes…kind of like your own.”

“Do they love each other?”

“Yes," Thanatos said, "I believe they do.”

§

Finding Ares wasn’t difficult, as his bloodlust was detectable from Olympus. He was a walking signal flare. Well, Ares was never one for strategy. Nevertheless, Athena followed her brother’s signal flare. She appeared on the outskirts of a quiet rural town that stank of manure. In the blink of an eye, she cloaked herself in a modest mortal appearance—plain and unassuming with dark brown hair tied back in a single plait. It was perhaps a little on the simple side, but she wouldn’t be here long.

A strong wind sent dust from the road her way, but Athena threw up a barrier and it blew over past her. Through the cloud, Athena saw a large silhouette approach. It radiated anger so strong she could practically see it. The dust settled. Ares wore a human form not too dissimilar from his true appearance, though his anger had caused traces of his godhood to show. Dark hair was turning white, and the red gleam in his eyes was as feral and primitive as ever. Athena sighed. The mere sight of him felt exhausting. No matter, it would be a brief exchange of information, and then they could put this issue to rest. She strode towards him.

“Thanatos is not here either, sister. Don’t waste your time,” Ares said without looking at her. 

“Lord Ares, you will be pleased to know that I bear information pertinent to our shared dilemma.”

He shifted his gaze and looked her in the eye. “Well? Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Lord Father has informed me that he had sent Thanatos to retrieve the soul of King Sisyphus in Corinth. He has not been seen by anyone since,” Athena said. 

Ares’ eyes burned with malice. “I see. Well then, Sister, would you care to accompany me?”

“I leave the task to you, Lord Ares,” she said. “You are more familiar with Death than I. I’m sure your talents alone will suffice.”

Ares chuckled and said, “I must say, I do enjoy it whenever our agendas line up, sister.” He completely shed the remnants of his mortal guise, and his gilded armor gleamed in the sun. “When next we meet, Death shall be restored.” Red light enveloped him and Ares vanished. 

Everything will return to normal shortly, Athena thought. But something like this cannot happen again. 

Perhaps it was time for another family gathering. 

Chapter Text

The boy sat beside a sleeping Thanatos, silently braiding his hair. He reached the ends, gently placing the plait along Thanatos’ back; it looked pretty. He shifted himself so his back was against the wall, and ran a hand through his own shaggy hair—it had grown so much the ends brushed his shoulders. He wiggled his toes that were black with grime. Although it wasn’t just his toes; his whole body was filthy. He probably stank, but he couldn’t even tell. If it bothered Thanatos, he didn’t show it. 

Thanatos’ head slumped onto the boy’s shoulder, and his breathing was so quiet. Maybe he didn’t need to breathe. Thanatos slowly opened his eyes and looked at him—those golden eyes were so pretty. If only he had pretty gold eyes, too. He would happily exchange his ichor for them.

The boy brought his hand absentmindedly over his cursed eye. 

Thanatos must know a lot of gods, and he’s definitely seen a million mortals, he thought. Maybe he could actually give me an answer about—

“Mortal,” Thanatos said, cutting through his train of thought. “You want to ask me something? Then ask it.” His voice was groggy, but not aggravated. 

“How did you—”

“Do you have a question or don’t you?”

“Um, Thanatos? Have you ever met a mortal who bleeds gold?” he asked.

“Tsch, don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Oh. Okay.” The boy looked down and hugged himself a little tighter. 

Thanatos sighed. “What I mean to say is…no, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Well…Have you ever met a mortal with different colored eyes?”

“It’s not something I really pay attention to.”

“What about…” the boy bit his lip, “someone with a red and black eye?”

“What do you…”

Before Thanatos could finish the question, the boy grabbed his tattered blindfold and pulled it down. He took a deep breath and pushed his hair away from his face. For the first time in years, he was looking at someone with both of his eyes. He saw Thanatos’ pretty eyes widen, and his mouth hung open. “You know, don’t you?” the boy asked. 

“Yes…yes, I—” 

The boy leaned in and grabbed Thanatos’ shoulders, and begged, “Thanatos, please tell me! You have to—aaaah!”

A violent red aura enveloped the dungeon. The boy shielded his eyes with his arm and turned his head away. Slowly, the light dimmed, and he dared to peek at their new visitor. 

One look was all it took for the boy to decide that he did not want the company of this god. Looming above him was an enormous man with dark skin and muscles so chiseled they looked like they had been carved from the finest marble. A satisfied grin was smeared on his handsome face. But it was the look in his beady red eyes—aflame with a ravenous desire for something; the boy didn’t want to find out what. 

“Finally, Ares,” Thanatos muttered ruefully. 

Ares knelt before Thanatos, bowing his head. “I do apologize for taking so long to find you, Lord Thanatos,” Ares said, almost shamefully. 

Ares is the first god to call him ‘Lord,’ the boy thought. 

“Tsch, Just get me out of here.” 

Ares rose to full height and raised his weapon, slashing clean through the chains in one swing. The metal clanged as it hit the floor. Thanatos winced as he slowly moved his arms, and flexed his fingers as if he were testing to make sure they still worked. Ares took a step back, patiently waiting for Thanatos to rise on his own. But his eyes were eager and excited and angry. It made the boy’s skin crawl. 

Then Thanatos rose. His hair floated around him, and his dark robes billowed softly.  Thanatos’ golden eyes turned steely, and all of his rage that had been chained up seemed to pour out of him. The boy instinctively crawled back. He knew Thanatos was a god. But his youthful appearance and frailty had made him seem so human. Now that all seemed to melt away. 

Ares followed Thanatos’ lead and stood, towering over him. The boy suddenly found himself under Ares’ gaze. Ares drew his sword, preparing to strike—

“Stop,” Thanatos said. 

Ares obeyed. 

“Open the door, Ares,” Thanatos commanded. 

“Oh? Surely you would appreciate a sacrifice before we destroy Sisyphus.”

The boy’s eyes darted between both gods, and he caught Thanatos glancing at him for a brief moment. 

Thanatos looked at Ares and said, “Leave him. You can cause a ruckus on our way out.”

If looks could kill, the boy was sure Ares would have destroyed him already. His red eyes gleamed, and then he laughed. Ares’ glee sent a fresh wave of shivers throughout the boy’s body. 

“Why, Lord Thanatos, perhaps your imprisonment has encouraged your thirst for destruction.” Ares lowered his head and said, “Very well, I shall follow your lead.” He strode over to the door and ripped it off its hinges, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. He tossed it aside and it crashed into the wall.“Where is your weapon, Lord Thanatos?” Ares asked and ushered Thanatos through the doorway. 

“That bastard took it,” Thanatos said as he ascended the stairs. 

Fear kept the boy frozen on the floor. The wrath of one god was intimidating enough, but two combined was something that no one should face alone. He shook off his hesitance and wobbled as he stood. Thanatos couldn’t already be gone, could he? He still needed answers. 

Climbing the stairs felt like a trial. He could almost hear his spindly legs creak beneath him. 

Dammit, I”ll never catch up to them, he thought. Step by step, the air grew fresher, and light, real sunlight, filtered into the top of the stairway. A mangled body of some poor servant greeted him in the hall. Blood was still pooling beneath them, and the boy couldn’t tell whether they were alive or not. Drops of blood formed a trail, along the pristine marble floor. The boy followed it, and found himself dancing around shattered vases, and dirt and ruined plants. Ares’ trail of destruction continued into a hallway going upwards. 

At the end, the grand doors were already ajar. The boy rushed and stumbled forward, and peeked his head into the room. 

Sisyphus was cradling his arm and incoherently begging for his life in a puddle of his own sweat and blood. Thanatos and Ares were looking down at him, as if he were nothing more than a repulsive insect that needed to be stepped on. Thanatos held a gleaming silver scythe—the same one the boy had seen him wield back in the village.

The chamber was bathed in pale green light. Thanatos raised his scythe and ripped into Sisyphus’ body. The king’s eyes rolled back into his head, and his body went limp. 

“I’m finished here,” Thanatos said, and vanished. Ares followed suit, leaving the boy all alone with the king’s corpse. 

He didn’t even say goodbye.

Suddenly, the room turned pink. The boy shut his eyes from the brightness and heard a soft female voice sigh. 

“Aw, poor thing. First time your heart’s been broken, hm?” she asked. 

He looked up and saw a naked, statuesque woman with the longest, pinkest hair he’d ever seen. 

“Speechless, hm?” She giggled. “I don’t blame you. Pleasure to meet you, love. I’m sure you know me already, but my name is Aphrodite.”

Chapter Text

“Aphrodite…?”

“My, my, we just met and yet you speak so familiarly,” she said. Her presence seemed to conjure dizzying visions of flowers and doves. The boy rubbed his eyes and blushed as his vision came back into focus; Aphrodite’s body was completely exposed. Was it even appropriate to look at a goddess’s naked form?  

The boy swallowed. “Lady Aphrodite,” he corrected himself. Just to be safe, he bowed his head and looked down at his grimy, disgusting feet. 

Aphrodite giggled. Hopefully that was a good sign. “You’re cute and you have manners? I’m sure you’ll grow up to be a fine man someday, dearest,” she said. The boy felt gentle fingers hold his chin, and the goddess tilted his head upwards—her mystifying pink eyes bored into his own mismatched…his blindfold. Where was it? Did he leave it in the dungeons? Aphrodite spoke again, and her voice replaced his worries. “You’ll never attract anyone looking like this. Here,” she tapped his nose with her index finger, “a little something from yours truly.” 

A weird tingly sensation coursed through him. When he opened his eyes, he saw Aphrodite had transformed him. All of the muck on his body had vanished, and his skin was as soft and supple as a newborn babe’s. His clothes were much fancier than what Hermes had done—the fabric was heavier and his rope belt was gold. So were his shoes. He ran a perfectly manicured hand through his hair, now shorter and clean. He smelled like roses. 

He bowed again and said, “Thank you, Lady Aphrodite. Forgive me, for I have nothing to offer you in return.” He risked looking up, and saw her wave her hand dismissively. 

“Like I said, it’s a gift,” she said, kneeling down to meet him at eye level. Her long hair floated around him, tickling his arms. “First meetings are to be celebrated. One must always look their best. After all, you never know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Before he could respond, an enormous clap of thunder rattled his bones and silenced his tongue. He threw his hands over his ears. Aphrodite glanced up and pursed her lips, as if she noticed a bothersome insect. 

“Ah, our meeting has been cut short,” she whined. “I wish you all the best, dearest,” she said before vanishing, leaving nothing but a sweet aroma behind. 

Once again, the boy was left alone, with Sisyphus’ corpse as his only company. It was strange. Even though he had seen countless lifeless and mangled bodies, something about this one was making him sick. He collapsed on the cold marble floor. 

Images of the gods flooded his head. He heaved at the bloodlust that burned in Ares’ eyes. It was even scarier than the way Artemis looked when she shot him. She had blindly assumed he had been responsible for hurting her nymph friend. Hermes had rescued him and then—he held his stomach. It churned at the thought of being whisked away to wherever destiny dictated. Why couldn’t Apollo and Hermes just tell him what he needed to do? Why did they make everything so difficult? These gods didn’t care about mortals—just themselves. 

But Thanatos was different. Wasn’t he? He was kind and honest and—the boy glanced at Sisyphus and thought of how Thanatos had easily replaced his softness with fury so great that it bent the God of War to his will. 

He didn’t even say goodbye.

His vision grew blurry as tears began to well up. This was exactly the same as the village—surrounded by death, and still Thanatos wouldn’t take him. He didn’t want to be left behind. 

Not again. Not again. Not again. “NOT AGAIN!” he cried, his broken voice echoing through the empty chamber. 

Dizziness made his head swim and his body sway as he struggled to his feet. Without a second thought, he ran.

§

Silence hung over the residents of the House like a noose. Thanatos knelt before Hades, his embarrassment and shame on full display. Shades were hiding behind columns, trying to decide just how close they were willing to get. Persephone stood beside her husband’s desk, looking down on the poor boy, and began to fiddle with the long, annoying ribbons dangling on her dress. 

Hades, if ever there was a time to show mercy, it’s now. Please, she silently begged. The boy was still a godling, and he had never been anything but a dutiful worker; he shouldn’t have to suffer more than he already has. She glanced at Nyx, calm and placid as ever, even as her son awaited punishment. Hypnos clung to her skirts so tightly they looked like they would rip.

In times like these, her husband appeared more monster than man—The same hands that once held her tenderly were clenched, probably eager to throw Thanatos into the pits of Tartarus. His eyes which were once filled with love were cast in shadow. 

Hades grumbled, sending renewed anticipation through the onlookers. 

“This will never happen again, Thanatos,” Hades said, his voice laced with simmering anger. 

Thanatos lowered his head. “Yes, my lord,” he said weakly. 

“Get back to work.”

No, it’s too soon, Persephone thought. “Hades, please,” she said. He looked down upon her—his face was hard and impatient. “Thanatos has been through so much. Allow him to rest for a bit.”

“Has he not rested enough? Haven’t the mortals waited long enough?” Hades asked. 

“They can wait a little longer,” she said. Persephone calmly walked to Thanatos and knelt in front of him. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder and he gasped at her touch. Slowly he tilted his head upwards, meeting her eyes. 

Poor thing. No child, mortal or immortal, should suffer as he did, she thought. “Thanatos, please spend some time with your mother and—”

Hades slammed his fists onto his desk. “You dare defy me? In my own house?”

Persephone rose, gingerly taking Thanatos’ hands in hers and helping him to his feet. Without looking back at her husband, she declared, “You may rule this house, Hades, but Thanatos rules the Underworld.”

No one dared to move. Persephone felt countless pairs of eyes shifting their gazes between her and her husband. She kept her eyes on Thanatos; Shock and admiration were fighting for dominance on his cute little face. Eventually he would learn not to fear Hades’ tired intimidation tactics and empty threats.  

“Everyone get out of my sight,” Hades commanded. The shades scattered, leaving only those with powers that exceeded the king’s. Persephone gently pushed Thanatos in the direction of his mother. Her heart melted as the boy stumbled into his mother’s arms. Before envy could worm its way inside her, she walked down the hall towards the garden. Thanatos’ cries echoed through the house. 

§

Twelve majestic thrones bordered a circular room, each hand-forged by Hephaestus, and tailored to each Olympian’s taste. They glimmered in the sunlight pouring in from the tall arched windows. A large golden bowl of fire burned brightly in the center, acting as a hearth. Athena had already thrown a lavish offering into it. She was no Hestia, but she hoped for a civil and productive family meeting. 

Athena’s shoulders were back, her spine was straight, and her expectant eyes wandered the room in anticipation. How long would it take for the others to answer to her father’s summon this time? Would Hera, Hephaestus and Demeter even show up? Zeus sat lazily across from her on his throne engraved with lightning bolts, and drumming his large fingers on the armrest. 

Hermes zoomed in and dusted bits of cloud out of his hair. “I’m not late am I? Of course not. You think Hephaestus will actually show up if Hera’s not here?” Hermes asked and dropped his bag. 

“I thank you for your timely arrival, Lord Hermes,” Athena said. Hermes floated into his chair and placed his hands behind his head. For someone with a mountain of responsibilities, he looked far too relaxed. Pink and red auras lit up the room, and Aphrodite and Ares appeared side by side in their garish thrones. 

“You seem to be in a much better mood than last I saw you, Lord Ares,” Aphrodite cooed, leaning into him. 

She still refuses to wear clothes, even at family meetings, Athena thought. Despite being the goddess of wisdom, there were some things that she would never be able to fathom. 

“Indeed, My Lady,” Ares said, returning her advances. 

“And why could that be?” she asked, stroking his face with the back of her hand. 

“I presume the reason behind my good mood is the reason why we’ve been summoned to this meeting.”

How nice, he’s still using his head, Athena thought, almost proud of him. Almost. 

Apollo arrived next, wearing a forced smile and playing absentmindedly on his lyre. Poseidon appeared shortly after, ushering in the smell of the ocean. He sat in his throne next to Zeus, and maintained his grip on his trident. Poseidon’s usual jovial nature was absent today, and his eyes were  stormy.

The aroma of wine overtook the room, and Dionysus appeared with a goblet in hand. Artemis appeared moments later with frustration written all over her face. 

“Do I need to be here?” Artemis groaned and crossed her arms. 

Three thrones, unsurprisingly, remained empty: Hera’s, Hephaestus’ and Demeter’s. Overall, this is the best Athena could’ve hoped for. She rose and cleared her throat.

“Everyone, thank you for responding so promptly to my summon.” 

“Your summon, Athena? Why, if I had known, I would’ve taken my time,” Aphrodite taunted.

“Really, sister. Do make this quick,” Ares said. “I have just successfully located and freed Lord Thanatos, and would like to return to the battlefield.”

“Must you refer to that downer as ‘Lord,’ Ares?” Dionysus asked and took a sip of wine.

“That means we’ll be able to end those mortals again, won’t we?” Poseidon asked. “Good. Do hurry it up, Athena. I’ve got a storm brewing for those mortals in Corinth.” 

“Lord Uncle Poseidon, if you drown all of the citizens, then there will be no one left to worship you,” Athena said. Zeus offered a hearty laugh in support, while Poseidon’s expression grew darker. 

He’s still bitter over Athens? Athena thought.

“They must drown for worshipping a false idol,” Poseidon bellowed and banged his trident on the ground,  

“What ever do you mean?” Aphrodite asked, egging him on. 

Must she always try and divert the subject? Athena sighed. “Lady Aphrodite, please—” 

“They thought it wise to worship a mortal instead of me!” Poseidon spat. A collective combination of shock and disbelief filled the room. “Left him offerings that should’ve been mine. A mortal bleeding ichor? I’ve never heard something so absurd.”

Ares’ eyes narrowed. He looked ready to hunt down and kill the mortal in question, while Hermes and Aphrodite wore expressions of false concern. Athena noticed Apollo and Artemis shift uncomfortably in their seats. If they believed their suspicious behavior went unnoticed, they were sorely mistaken. 

Zeus began laughing like Poseidon had made the greatest jest he’d ever heard. No one else dared say a thing until he was finished. “Come now, brother. Do calm your temper and let Athena speak.” 

“Lord Father, do you really find such an idea preposterous?” Athena asked her father. 

“Of course. Not even the greatest of heroes have ever bled ichor as we do.”

“The Fates are unpredictable,” Ares said. “Were I to meet such a mortal, I’d be most curious to see if he can be killed.”

Dionysus shook his head. “Ares, man, that’s no way to treat someone.” He poured another glass of wine and handed it to Poseidon. “Here, maybe this will calm those angry waves of yours, yeah?” 

“If I may,” Athena said, finally reclaiming the floor, “I called this meeting to inform all of you that Thanatos has indeed been released, and the cycle of life and death have returned to normal.”

“Is that all?” Aphrodite asked, looking at her nails. 

“No. In order to prevent such a disaster from occurring again, we must maintain a better connection with the Chthonic gods.” 

“I’m not doing it. I can’t imagine gods surrounded by dead people would throw a good party.” Dionysus said. “Besides, isn’t Hermes all we need?”

“Aw, thanks,” Hermes chimed in. 

Zeus stood and the room fell silent. “Athena, we cannot correspond with those who refuse to cooperate with us.” 

“With all due respect, Lord Father, when was the last time you spoke with Lord Hades?”

“Enough,” Zeus thundered. “I will not have that name spoken here. This meeting is adjourned.” Zeus vanished. Ares, Aphrodite, and Poseidon departed immediately. 

“If anyone wants to have a good time, you’re welcome to join me,” Dionysus said lazily and disappeared in a purple haze. Hermes slung his bag over his shoulder and gave Athena a salute. “As far as family meetings go, I’d say that went rather well,” he said.

From the corner of her eye, Athena saw Artemis begin to glow, but Apollo raced up to her and shouted, “Wait!”

“What do you want?” Artemis whined. “There’s no need to shout. You’d be a terrible hunter.”

“Um, I mean,” Apollo muttered, then whispered something into his sister’s ear. 

“Oh?” Hermes wondered quietly. 

Athena beckoned Hermes over; thankfully he obeyed. “What do you know, Lord Hermes?” she whispered.

“Come on, sis,” he played with the plumage on her helmet. “You should know the answer to that by now,” he grinned mischievously and looked towards the twins. Athena and Hermes knew this game far too well. They locked eyes and made a silent deal to feign an engaging conversation and eavesdrop. 

“What’s wrong, Apollo? I thought you said you wanted to talk to me. You’ve gone awfully quiet.” Artemis’ arms were crossed. 

“Well, it’s just that I had the strangest delivery from Hermes a while back. What was more of a surprise was that it was from you,” Apollo said. 

“Me? I never send you anything.”

“I know,” Apollo snapped back. He sighed and recollected himself. “But maybe you’ll remember attacking a boy who bled ichor?” Athena saw Artemis’ eyebrows raise, then she cast her gaze downward. 

So they both knew, Athena thought. She needed more information. Thankfully they were cornered. If they fled now, it would simply make them even more suspicious. Even if they did, Athena would make sure they were found. 

“Look, Artemis, I know you don’t care for men, and I know you don’t care for me—”

“I never said—”

“But shooting a child? Isn’t that a bit beneath you?” Apollo asked. Hermes stifled a laugh, and quickly stopped when his eyes met Athena’s. 

“I didn’t mean to,” she muttered. 

“Really? Because Her-someone…said otherwise.”

Both Hermes and Athena could feel Artemis glaring at him, which made Hermes grin. Athena was glaring at him, too. 

“You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.” Artemis sighed. “Who else knows?”

“Who do you think?”

“Well,” Artemis scoffed, “he’s much better at keeping secrets than you.”

Apollo grimaced, and said, “I love you too, Artemis. Just…” he sighed, “don’t say anything to anyone about that mortal. My Oracle has already determined his fate.” Without any farewells, Apollo departed. Moments later, Artemis followed suit. How rude. 

“I hate seeing siblings fight, don’t you?” Hermes asked. 

“Wait—” Athena said. 

“No can do, sis. I’ve got a special delivery to make,” Hermes patted his bag and zoomed off to who knows where. Athena hung her head; The weight of her helmet felt unusually heavy. 

Chapter Text

There was a baby burning in the fireplace. Demeter watched the soft flames dance around it, leaving the child’s soft skin unmarred. Instead, the fire was slowly burning away its mortality. Hestia sat before it, making silly and stupid noises that made her seem like a mortal woman. Who did she think she was, the baby’s mother?

Hestia had grown too soft. Ever since she had relinquished her Olympian status, she no longer shared the proud, authoritative demeanor that Demeter herself still wore. The wrinkles around Hestia’s warm eyes no longer looked as deep as before. The few wisps of her fiery hair that were visible beneath her veil flickered dimly. Even her laurels had been replaced by a mere, modest circlet. The fire illuminated her gentle face—too gentle than any god should be. But she was still infinitely more deserving of the title of an Olympian than that irresponsible drunkard, Dionysus.

“She was not in Corinth, Hestia?”

“No matter how many times you ask me that, the answer is still no,” Hestia sighed. “You know, your sanctuary really needs a hearth, Sister.”

“This is no time for jests.”

Hestia placed a hand on Demeter’s shoulder and said, “Sister, do at least try to relax.”

“You of all people should understand my pain.”

“I do. I also know a thing or two about families. Sometimes even those you love the most need time apart,” she said sweetly; not a hint of condescension to be found. A soft smile spread across Hestia’s face. “The mortals often say that distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

“The mortals are fools whose lives can be snuffed out in an instant,” Demeter said. “They know nothing of eternity, and certainly do not speak for myself, nor Kore.” And now they refuse to die, she thought. 

The babe began to giggle, as if the fire was its new favorite toy. It was just an ordinary human from an ordinary family. Who knew what Hestia saw in any of them to deserve her blessing. She needn’t lower her standards simply because she was no longer an Olympian. 

Hestia took the baby out of the fire, cradling it in one arm, and gently dusting the ashes out of its hair with the other. 

“Demeter, will you be a dear and grab a blanket?” she asked without taking her eyes off the baby. Demeter pursed her lips, but did as she asked. Once the child was swaddled, Hestia picked it up and practically dropped it in Demeter’s arms. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Demeter asked, instinctively cradling the child in her arms.

“It’s your turn, sister. You need something to take care of,” Hestia said and sank down by the fireplace. 

I don’t want to take care of this child, Demeter thought. She looked down at it and—oh, its hair was the color of wheat, the same as Kore’s. How Demeter longed to return to the days when Kore was young, and they spent countless days gathering flowers in their green fields. The baby cooed and Demeter began humming a light tune. The gentle sound of the crackling fire seemed to melt Demeter’s weariness away. Maybe she did need this. Maybe once she was refreshed, she would be able to search even better—Without a word of warning, Athena appeared before them. Her tasteless armor and shield seemed to glow in the light of the fire. 

So much for relaxation, Demeter thought. 

“Lady Hestia, Lady Demeter,” Athena said, bowing to them both. 

Demeter pursed her lips. She should’ve addressed me first. Athena could use a lesson in manners.

“Oh, hello, Athena,” Hestia muttered. Her voice was so profoundly unenthused, it almost made Demeter smile. 

“I hope my offering to you was sufficient, Lady Hestia,” Athena said, lowering her head. 

“Yes, of course,” Hestia said, averting her gaze.

“To what do we owe the Goddess of Wisdom?” Demeter asked, keeping her eyes on the fireplace. “Surely you could only be here to inform me of my daughter’s whereabouts.”

“Esteemed aunts, I came to inform you that the cycle of life and death has resumed normalcy.”

“Not the news I was looking for. Though perhaps I can find Kore more quickly now. The mortals will die, leaving only Kore left alive.”

The baby burst into tears, wailing and wriggling in Demeter’s arms. Hestia stood and shot an ugly look at Athena, then went to Demeter’s side.

“No, no, Sister,” Hestia said, shaking her head. “Your daughter will be fine. She’s a very capable girl and can handle herself. This child needs your attention more.” She placed her gentle hands on Demeter’s head, instantly dissolving her anger and ill intent. Demeter cradled the baby—ah, it was already beginning to calm down a little. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Demeter said quietly. 

§

The boy stood at the edge of a precipice, gazing at the city from which he’d just been freed. How strange that his happiest times in Corinth were spent in a dungeon with the God of Death. But Death was kinder than he thought, and the Chthonic gods sounded much better than anything he’d experienced with the Olympians. 

Stupid prophecy, stupid gods. Why can’t they just tell me things? Like Thanatos—the boy groaned in frustration. Thanatos had known something about his weird eye; Recognition had been written all over his face. He needed answers. 

“Thanatoooooos!” he shouted, but he only heard his own voice echoing through the red and yellow trees. Maybe there was a way to summon him somehow? Without dying? The boy smacked himself on the head and muttered, “I should’ve asked him before.” 

“There you are!” A familiar voice chirped. The boy looked up and saw Hermes fly down in front of him. “Looks like you finally managed to fulfill the first part of that prophecy. Gotta thank you for freeing my colleague. Now that things are back to normal, my workload is enough to give Atlas a run for his money. Eh, what can you do?” Hermes looked around and whistled. “Look at all these trees. Autumn already? You were there for quite some time, weren’t you. What was that third line in the prophecy again? Oh and Dionysus did say…mhm…” Hermes mused musically. 

The boy clenched his fists. More secrets. Why can’t anyone just tell me what they mean for once? he thought. 

“Oh, you’ve got both eyes out. How interesting.”

He raised his hands to his face. His cursed eye was exposed. He hastily bent down to rip his chiton.

Hermes wagged a finger at him. “Oh no, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. That’s from Aphrodite, isn’t it? I’d recognize her fancy handiwork anywhere.” He chuckled. “You’ve just been running into everyone, haven’t you? Shame you haven’t met my other professional associate. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Does a big boatman to the Underworld sound familiar?”

“Charon? That…” Thanatos’ brother, he thought. “Thanatos? Will you see Thanatos soon?”

“Never seen a mortal so eager for Death. But, you’re a special case.”

Special? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? he wondered. 

“My services are paid in full for my family, not mortals. Oh, but you are family, aren’t you? Son of a god king and all that?” Hermes grinned in a way that made the boy feel very uncomfortable. “I suppose I should give you this back, then,” Hermes said, procuring the same drachma he had taken from him all that time ago. The boy reached out to take it, but Hermes pulled away at the last second. 

“Hey!” the boy said. He stood on his toes, reached as high as he could, but it was useless. 

“You want it? Come get it.” Hermes zigzagged through the trees, leaving behind a trail of orange light and fallen leaves. 

“Wait!” he yelled and sprinted to catch up. He could feel the dirt and pebbles getting caught between his toes, but he didn’t care. Sweat was already gathering on his forehead. He saw Hermes standing atop a high tree branch, sadistically playing with the drachma. 

“Come on, cuz. Keep up,” Hermes said playfully and took off again. 

These gods always want to make fools of me. I’m tired of it! he thought as he ran. If Hermes wants me to go somewhere, why can’t he just tell me? 

Branches scratched his arms and legs, but he barely felt them. Hermes worked alongside Thanatos, and he needed answers from both of them. The boy stumbled into a tree and almost collapsed against it. His legs and lungs were on fire. He heaved and wiped the sweat off his forehead.  

“Out of breath already? You may have ichor, but your body is as mortal as they come.”

“Where are you leading me?” he asked between heavy, labored breaths. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

Hermes threw his head back and laughed like he had heard the funniest jest in the whole world. “You know, I’m kind of growing to appreciate that tongue of yours. I’d love to see you talk to Ares like that.” Hermes took a deep breath and descended in front of the boy. “Alright, I guess I can help you out the rest of the way.” He scooped the boy in arms and said, “Besides, we’re practically there.” 

Before he could blink, they were racing through the forest so fast that the boy feared his skin would tear off. It felt like his insides were rearranging themselves. He shut his eyes and…he heard something. The familiar sound of revelry crescendoed, and he forgot his queasiness. Hermes stopped short upon arriving in a large clearing and the boy’s stomach churned. Vague shapes of humans, satyrs and nymphs gradually came into focus.

“See,” Hermes began and put the boy down, “I’ve got this half-brother—perhaps you know him, Dionysus.”

The God of…Wine? the boy thought. His legs wobbled as he found his footing. 

“He’s a swell chap. Really knows how to have a good time. Seems only appropriate to celebrate your achievements.”

Chapter Text

The calming waters of the Styx couldn’t drown out Thanatos’ addled thoughts. The shades were still gossiping about his long absence; Some were reveling in horror at the fate that Lord Hades had bestowed upon Sisyphus. Thanatos still winced at the sound of that name. Although he couldn’t help but smile at the news that the Furies had made him their new favorite subject, and were relentlessly and ruthlessly torturing him. It was a shame he couldn’t join them, but countless mortals were calling. It was high time he resumed his work, his purpose. 

Thanatos took his scythe. Nothing about it had changed, yet it felt heavier than before. It was probably just the impending workload. Gods, he was so behind, he probably wouldn’t be returning to the House for quite some time.Again. This time, he wanted to say goodbye to his mother properly; It was the least he could do. 

Thanatos turned his back to the river and floated down the hall. They were stark and barren, but comforting in their familiarity. He would miss them. In the distance, Thanatos saw the queen enter her chambers. Her skirts dragged on the floor, and her head hung low. Thanatos was too familiar with such looks—He had seen them time and time again on mortals who were on the verge of death, or in mourning. The queen must still be dwelling on the loss of her son. But maybe her son wasn’t even dead. 

That mortal child who joined Thanatos in his imprisonment had two different colored eyes. One had been the precise same color as the queen’s, and the other was identical to Lord Hades’. What other explanation could there be? That boy could be the one to bring the queen peace. 

He needed to tell someone. Not the queen, and certainly not Lord Hades. 

Mother Nyx knows all. Telling her would be the safest option, he thought. Then he would depart. He moved silently through the main hall, past Lord Hades who made no sign of acknowledging his presence—Better that than to face his wrath. Mother Nyx was at her usual spot, looking as ethereal and regal as ever. She turned her head upon seeing Thanatos approach. 

He bowed his head and said, “I must go, Mother.”

“Of course. I believe you have properly rested enough to resume your duties.”

“I feel the same. Thank you, Mother.” Thanatos clenched his fists. He was sure his efforts to hide his nervousness weren’t working. “Mother?”

“What is it, my child?” Nyx asked. 

“I believe…there is something I need to tell you.”

“Go on, Thanatos. You need not hesitate with me.”

Thanatos glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. The Queen was quietly walking into the lounge, and he waited until she was well inside. He lowered his voice and said, “While I was imprisoned, there was someone with me. He was a mortal child, but he…he had one green eye and…one red and black eye.” He looked carefully at his mother’s face for any sign of recognition. To his dismay, her face remained placid. “Do you know what that means, Mother? Surely you know who he is. You know everything.”

“Your news is unexpected.” She ran a gentle hand through his hair. “You need not worry about such matters now, child. Go, and we shall speak again when you return.”

Thanatos swallowed his disappointment and lowered his head. “Of course, Mother. It shall be as you say. Farewell.”

§

The power of the Underworld was stronger than Persephone's. No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t grow much of anything in the little garden her husband had provided for her. Purple trees and pomegranates were certainly fine plants, but they’re not what she wanted. And why were pomegranates the only fruit that was able to grow down here? One could not live off of pomegranates alone. The mere thought of tomatoes, carrots and apples made her mouth water and her stomach ache. Perhaps she would feel better after a little refreshment.

Persephone dragged her feet out of the garden, and entered the lounge. It looked much better now that the repairs were finished, but it still looked sad, barren, and devoid of any relaxing atmosphere. Persephone went to the bar, and the shade immediately handed her a full goblet. She turned and scanned the room for a place to drink. The bar was completely full, and all of the tables were crowded with shades. There was only one vacant spot left. Persephone took it and stood beside Achilles, who suddenly stood at attention upon seeing her.

“Your Grace,” he said, lowering his head. His hair fell in front of his eyes; Persephone resisted the urge to move it. 

“Achilles, you need not be so formal with me, especially when you’re off duty,” Persephone said.  “Would you mind if I joined you?”

“It would be an honor, Your Grace.”

Persephone rested her arms on the table. Achilles’ goblet was almost empty, and the rim was stained with wine. 

How many drinks has he had? she wondered and sighed. Persephone’s shoulders slumped. She could feel the ribbons in her hair coming loose. 

“May I speak freely with you, Your Grace?” Achilles asked. 

“Of course.”

He looked directly into her eyes and asked, “What ails you? Forgive me for saying so, but I’ve not seen you smile in quite some time.”

“Did I do something to make the Fates curse me? Why did they see it fit to rob my son of his life?” She took a large sip, then rested her head in her hands. “Ironic, isn’t it? For the child of the God of the Dead to be stillborn.”

Achilles swirled what little wine remained in his goblet. 

“Have you ever experienced the loss of a child, Achilles?” Persephone asked. 

“I have, but not my own,” Achilles said, and finished his drink. “I’m afraid that war does not discriminate against the lives it claims. Loss is something I’m terribly familiar with.”

“Did you ever feel like you wanted to run away from it all?”

“Often in a losing battle, one of the most appropriate courses of action is to flee. Sometimes it is necessary,” he said.

“Thank you, Achilles,” she said.

Achilles bowed and excused himself, leaving Persephone behind with her drink. She downed it all, some trickled down her chin, and she slammed the goblet on the table. She didn’t feel any better. In a very un-queenly manner, she wiped the wine off her face with the back of her hand and left the lounge. Perhaps it was the wine, but Persephone could’ve sworn she’d seen the hems of luxurious purple robes disappear from the doorway. 

§

War was a terrible business. While Thanatos was not responsible for its active participants, he was responsible for those who suffered in its wake. He roamed a small village that had the misfortune of being plundered by a small army—the soldiers had devoured every last scrap of food and had set fire to the farmland. Now the fields they burned were bathed in their own blood. Their souls were at the mercy of the Keres, violently claiming their spoils with glee in the distance. Thanatos could feel Ares nearby, too. Surely he was reveling in the violence and pain, especially since mortals were finally dying again.

Starvation had taken the lives of many of the villagers—a slow and agonizing way to die. Thanatos reaped their fragile souls from their emaciated bodies. Truly, he’d done them a kindness. He tucked them away in his robes, where their faded voices cried and protested. 

“Please don’t take us to the Underworld,” they pleaded.

“Death, release me,” another begged. “I’ve no wish to journey with you.”

“I have to take you,” he said. Thanatos gripped his scythe tight. All that time imprisoned had made him forget to steel himself against such disparaging words. “You don’t have to be so afraid of me,” Thanatos whispered. 

Why do all mortals fear me? he wondered. Well, except for the boy he had spent the last…however many days and nights with. It was, perhaps, the first time a mortal had ever spoken to him without the slightest hint of fear. Even though they had both been trapped, his companionship had set Thanatos free from his loneliness. Now he was surrounded by mortals, but felt more alone than ever. 

A familiar aura cleaved through his thoughts, and he shuddered as he was enveloped in bloodlust. 

“Lord Thanatos,” Ares said, bowing to him. His armor was smeared and splattered with blood. 

“Lord Ares,” Thanatos said. Blood and darkness, I can’t talk to you now, Ares. I have so much work to catch up on, he thought. 

“I must say, releasing you from confinement has renewed my appreciation for all that you do, Lord Thanatos,” Ares declared reverently. 

I never thanked him, Thanatos realized. “Lord Ares, I thank you for releasing me.”

“Your words honor me, Lord Thanatos,” Ares said. He knelt before Thanatos, and raised up his hands. Something small lay on his palms, and Thanatos leaned in to get a closer look. It appeared to be a vial, but what was inside it? As if reading his thoughts, Ares said, “It is a vial filled with mortal blood.” 

Thanatos winced. 

“I extracted it from the greatest warrior on the battlefield today. He fought and perished so beautifully. In honor of the first battle since your release, I present this to you as a token of my gratitude,” Ares continued. 

I don’t have a choice, do I? Thanatos thought, and plucked the vial out of Ares’ hands. “Thank you for your gift, Lord Ares,” he said as graciously as he could. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Lord Thanatos. You may not require sacrifices, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it,” Ares said. “I beg your forgiveness,” he stood, swallowing Thanatos in his shadow, “but there is a war brewing elsewhere.”

Thanatos nodded, and Ares disappeared. He held up the vial and it glinted in the light. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he wondered.

Chapter Text

Satyrs, nymphs and humans danced and sang in a large circle around Dionysus. The sun seemed to favor him, shining upon his burly, chiseled physique, and making his purple hair glow. He was lazily conducting them with his overflowing chalice. 

What are they celebrating this time? Do they even need a reason? the boy wondered. All he knew is that he wanted no part of it. He had had enough of the gods and their ilk. Suddenly, someone had pushed him into the ring, and he was splashed with wine. 

“Bleh,” he spat. Some of it got into his mouth. People actually drink this? he asked, looking down at his stained chiton. Gross. He began wiping himself off, and Dionysus himself sauntered towards him. 

“Hey, man! You having fun? Of course you are,” Dionysus said. His words were slurred and purple eyes were hazy from drink. “I throw the best parties out of all the Olympians. You know, let’s make the music louder,” he shouted to his followers, and stumbled away. If that’s what wine did to people, maybe the boy wasn’t missing much. He scurried away from the main festivities and found a quieter spot near some nymphs who were too drunk to move. 

“Too bad Orpheus isn’t here,” a tiny nymph whined, plucking loose red and orange leaves from her head. 

“Hon,” a sultry voice drawled, “wedding preparations are quite a task you know.”

“Eurydice is so lucky,” the first nymph said. “Are you going tomorrow?”

“Of course. Anyone who’s anybody is going to be there.”

The tiny nymph gasped. “Really? Like who? Oh, I hope Apollo will be there!” she swooned.

Eurydice is getting married? I wonder where. I’d love to see her again, the boy thought. Maybe I should ask. He stood and went towards them, but his path was instantly blocked by other nymphs wanting to hog the gossip for themselves. 

The boy kicked the dirt and stomped away. This wasn’t fun. He missed Thanatos. After shaking some dirt out of his shoes, he rose and went over to the banquet area. Wooden goblets were scattered across the table, along with bowls piled high with delicious looking food. He stood on his tiptoes to reach for something, but all he got was a dull, dirty knife. There were no chairs either. 

Stupid tall people, he thought. Stupid party, stupid—Soft orange light was glowing above him—he looked up and saw Hermes waving. Stupid flying Olympians. 

“What’s the matter, cuz? Can I call you ‘cuz’? Not having fun?” 

The boy wasn’t taking the bait, not this time. He crossed his arms and pressed his lips shut. 

“You know, cuz,” Hermes said, “you’ve got to learn to live a little.” He lowered down and planted both feet on the ground. 

What did he call me? he wondered. “Did you just call me ‘cuz’? What does that mean? How are we related?”

A sly grin spread across Hermes’ face. “You know, you were the talk of Olympus. Seems like almost everyone in the family knows you.”

“What?”

“Might not want to go back to Corinth for a while,” Hermes said and grabbed some food. “Or anywhere Uncle Poseidon rules over. He’s got a nasty temper and an inferiority complex, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Wait a second!” he shouted. 

“But you actually got the twins to talk to each other. That’s quite an accomplishment, you know. They’ve been avoiding each other ever since…” Hermes prattled on, but his words fell on deaf ears. This…this was a lot to deal with.

The Olympians were talking about me? Are they after me? Wait, why won’t Hermes just answer my questions? he asked himself. His head was pounding and Hermes was still going on and on about his damned relatives. Was Hermes trying to make him mad? “I need Thanatos,” the boy mumbled, and stepped away from the table. 

“Stay and chat some more, cuz,” Hermes said, plopping some grapes into his mouth. 

“No,” he said and began walking away. 

“That’s a shame. Wouldn’t want you to miss the bull sacrifice.”

The boy stopped. “Bull sacrifice?”

Hermes nodded to his left and said, “Right over there.” The boy looked in that direction and saw a bull with rope around its legs and mouth.

Typical Olympian, he thought. He needed to free the poor animal. Dionysus won’t mind losing one bull.

“What have you got there?” Hermes asked. “You’ll never free it that way. Here,” Hermes produced a dagger out of nowhere and handed it to him. The boy reached for it, but hesitated. 

“Why are you helping me? What do you want in exchange?”

Hermes shrugged. “Sometimes I just like messing with my family.”

The boy dropped the dirty knife, took Hermes’ dagger, and began to hack away at the ropes. The animal wriggled in fear. He hoped that it wouldn’t attract any attention. He could hear his heartbeat as he worked even faster. After what felt like ages, the ropes finally fell away. The beast stood up and beat its hoofs, forming angry patches of dirt in the grass. 

“Go! Run away!” he said. But the bull didn’t need much encouragement. It bolted away into the woods, and quickly became a speck in the trees. 

“Hey man, what do you think you’re doing?” a voice drawled. The boy turned and his eyes widened and saw a large figure looming over him. His purple eyes were practically glowing. 

“Di-Di-Dionysus,” he said. The boy was swallowed in Dionysus’ shadow. The god still wore a smile, but his face was anything but happy. 

“You know, some of my favorite maenads worked really hard to catch that bull. That’s not cool, interfering with the party like that. In fact,” Dionysus’ voice grew steely, “I’m pretty mad.” 

The party came to a complete halt. A crowd formed around them. Dionysus’ emotions were infecting everyone else. Deranged eyes looked down on him, accompanied by wild grins and manic laughter. 

He looked around frantically for…“Hermes?” The god was floating above Dionysus, his eyes were brimming with mischief. His words echoed in the boy’s mind.

‘Oh, but you are family, aren’t you?’

‘Sometimes I just like messing with my family.’

Without a word, Hermes saluted him and flew away. 

There was no escape. 

Angry hands smothered and clawed and strangled him. The boy couldn’t hear himself scream over the mad, gleeful crowd. Pain completely overwhelmed his senses. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t see. He could barely feel himself being torn apart. 

Chapter Text

A new statue of Athena towered over the citizens of Athens. Its exquisite craftsmanship was accentuated with olive trees surrounding the base; an appropriate way to honor her. Mortals were already placing offerings before it, and the altar was already splashed with sacrificial blood. Athena herself had watched the ritual nearby in mortal guise, plain and unassuming.

These mortals truly never falter in their worship. They deserve to know they are worthy of my blessings, she thought. With a snap of her fingers, a fine aura enveloped the statue. The crowd gasped—every Athenian in sight flocked to it, and fell to their knees.

All except one. 

A young girl was holding a basket and harvesting olives, rather than show reverence to her. How ungrateful. Someone ran up to her, and the girl turned around. Once glance was all it took for Athena to see that she was no mortal. No matter what sort of appearance her relatives cloaked themselves in, she could always see through them—A trait not every family member was blessed with. 

What is Lady Hestia doing? Mingling with mortals so familiarly like this? Athena thought as she strode towards her. The other person went away, and Athena greeted Hestia like she was an old friend. 

“Lady Hestia,” Athena said. 

“‘Lady Hestia’?” She laughed and waved her hand dismissively. “You’re clearly mistaken. My name is—”

“Lady Hestia,” Athena repeated. She reverted her false eye color to her true one. Hestia stopped and resigned her mortal identity. 

“Ah, hello, Athena.” Hestia said. She suddenly became very interested in the ground, and her free hand began fiddling with the olives. 

“It has been too long since I last saw you upon Olympus. Why do you not visit us?”

“Athena, dear, you are the Goddess of Wisdom, are you not?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then pray tell me, why do you think I stopped visiting?”

Pride held Athena’s tongue. She was fully aware of the cracks between the Olympians, and the damage that marred their image of perfection. But to say that aloud would be…treasonous. Admitting that would truly let the poison flow freely, and she could not let that dam burst. But she could still tell Hestia the truth.

“There is no higher honor than to be a part of this family. I take pride in our talents and accomplishments,” Athena said with her head held high. 

Hestia sighed. Her shoulders slumped as if great weight had been thrust upon her. “You don’t believe the Olympians to be a little…what’s the word…suffocating? Messy?”

Athena’s eyes widened. Hestia truly dared to use such language to describe their great family?

“Our family is complicated. It is very freeing to not be an Olympian anymore. The company of mortals has been quite charming.”

“Do you not find Mount Olympus splendid?” Athena asked. 

“Oh, it’s certainly splendid,” Hestia said without a shred of enthusiasm. “But,” her face brightened, “there is so much beauty in imperfection.”

Imperfections are for mortals, Athena thought. But she kept her mouth shut. She was not in the mood to argue. 

“Our family isn’t perfect. We all know it, but no one will ever admit it. We could learn a thing or two from the mortals, you know.”

“You think so?” someone asked. Both goddesses looked and saw Hermes standing before them. His mortal appearance looked identical to his real one. How lazy for a trickster god. 

“I do, Hermes,” Hestia said. 

“But Lady Hestia, our family needs you,” Athena said. Surely the Goddess of the Hearth could assist me in mending what is broken. 

“You know sis,” Hermes said, “if you’re so determined to bring the family together and what not, I think I found just the thing.”

Athena glared at him. “I’m listening.”

“Remember that mortal the twins were talking about? The mortal child who bleeds ichor?” he asked. Out of the corner of her eye, Athena saw Hestia raise her eyebrows. Whether it was from surprise or recognition, she wasn’t sure. 

Athena nodded. 

“Well I just happen to know where he is,” Hermes said.  

This child…Was this another one of her father’s progeny? What had the Fates spun for the gods this time? Athena didn’t have a choice. She didn’t want to fall prey to Hermes’ whims, but she needed to find this person before any of the other Olympians. 

“Lead the way,” she said. 

§

Mortals were weeping at Thanatos’ feet. They begged and pleaded to not take their loved ones away. Thanatos had been imprisoned for so long, he’d almost forgotten the sorrow he left in his wake. He looked at the souls he had just collected, their dim green lights leaving a soft glow on the palm of his hand. The color reminded him of that mortal’s eye—the one living person who didn’t treat him like the worst thing that could possibly happen. Then again, he wasn’t a normal mortal, was he?

His right eye was exactly the same as Lord Hades, Thanatos thought. But why…hadn’t the prince been stillborn? What did the Fates do? he wondered. If only he could track him down. But he was Death, and had no way to track down a single mortal—

“Thanatos.”

A tiny, weak cry pierced Thanatos’ senses, drowning out the weeping mortals. Someone stood at the threshold of death, but could not completely pass on. Something was prohibiting them from dying, yet they were still crying out for him. 

I have a bad feeling about this, he thought. Against his better judgement, Thanatos tucked the souls away and answered the call. 

He appeared in a forest clearing, littered with remnants of some sort of celebration. But there were no participants to be found. The forest was quiet but restless. Even the animals seemed to be afraid of making a sound. Thanatos looked around and gasped as he found what he was looking for. He knew how cruel life on the surface could be, and what mortals were capable of doing. Yet, he could never make himself numb to the terrible feelings such sights caused him. 

Mangled limbs lay in a large pool of ichor—But signs of life were clinging to them. The fingers were still twitching. The chest rose and fell so slightly that it was nigh imperceptible.

Thanatos dropped his scythe and reached for the head, holding it close to his chest. He looked into a familiar set of mismatched eyes.

I thought I told you to not be stupid and get yourself killed… Thanatos wanted to scream, and tears blurred his vision. Heartache weighed heavily on his tongue, unable to comfort a mortal whose name he didn’t even know. Death granted people relief from pain, but Thanatos couldn’t provide any to one who couldn’t die. Why was such suffering brought to the one who had relieved him of his?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”

A familiar air of mischief engulfed the clearing, accompanied by a steely disposition. Thanatos looked up and saw Hermes and Athena standing side by side. Thanatos blinked his tears away and stood, still holding on tight to the mortal’s head. The look on Hermes’ face seemed far too pleased, while Athena was just as unreadable as Mother Nyx. 

Hermes whistled, taking in the sight. “They really did a number on him.”

Athena glared at Hermes as siblings do when someone accidentally reveals a secret. Hermes took it in stride and gave her a cheeky grin. Athena’s cold, calculating eyes surveyed the clearing; no doubt she had already assessed the situation. She looked at Thanatos expectantly. 

“He cannot die,” Thanatos said. 

“Poor chap is family,” Hermes said. “We’ve got to help him. Right, sis?”

Athena stepped forward and said, “Yes, we do.”

Chapter Text

Athena and Hermes transported the child’s mangled body into Olympus. The task of sewing a mortal back together was ill suited for a forest floor. Each of his limbs laid on a large altar, like a grotesque puzzle. Ichor had trickled out, staining the pristine marble with gold. Athena weaved with care and precision, her dextrous fingers sewing the boy back together with threads of ether. Days had gone by, but she was almost done; all that was left was to reattach the child’s head back onto the rest of his body. Alas, her mind kept wandering to the prophecy that she had to pry from Hermes’ mouth: 

The weaver shall reignite the flame, ichor and blood will be exchanged.

Birthright and name shall be claimed, within the god king’s realm shall he eternally remain.

The first two lines had been fulfilled, with the third underway. 

‘Blood and ichor will be exchanged’? How is that possible? Athena wondered. But they were already in the god king’s realm. Perhaps Zeus would be able to tell her precisely what was going on. Then again, he had sired so many children that he probably didn’t remember the name or the face of the child’s mother.

Athena gently placed a hand on the boy’s chest. It was rising steadily. Good. She pried his eyelids open and her face hardened. His eyes were different colors. ‘What does this mean? Is it a curse of some sort?’ 

A gust of wind threw the doors open, and ushered in Hermes. He dusted off his chiton and hovered over the child.“How’s it going, sis? Any progress?”

Why was he here? She just completed her task, and couldn’t even be granted a little peace and quiet. “Shouldn’t you be working, Lord Hermes?” Athena asked. 

“A little break never hurt anyone,” Hermes shrugged. “Ooh, he looks good. Has he woken up yet?”

“No,” she said. But I need answers about that eye of his. Surely one of her elders would know. “Have you seen Father? Or perhaps Poseidon?”

“Pops and Hera are having a bit of a spat over that chap, Heracles, and Poseidon is still angry at the mortals in Corinth. They won’t be much help. You know how those two get.”

Hermes is right, she thought. Demeter is still tending to that child, and I’ve no desire to get her involved now that she’s calmed down.

Hermes waved his hands in front of Athena’s face and said, “You know who could help? One of my professional associates, Thanatos.” 

“Chthonic gods have no place here. Besides, what would Death know of a boy who cannot die?”

“That’s funny,” Hermes said and cocked his head. “Weren’t you the one saying we should try and foster a relationship with the Chthonic gods, or something like that?” 

“Olympus is only for our family, and those we deem worthy.” 

Hermes shrugged and said,“Suit yourself. But there is one person who could help you out. Don’t forget about Hestia.”

“I haven’t.”

“You’re not going to want to hear this, but you might just have to swallow your pride and beg her to come here.”

Athena glared at Hermes with the energy of a battalion. “You’ll hear no begging from me, Hermes,” she said icily, and transported herself back down to Athens. 

Crisp wind blew her hair about, now dark brown. The leaves were beginning to change with patches of oranges and reds bleeding into green. Athens was bustling with activity, but Athena could sense Hestia nearby; her calm demeanor felt like an oasis amidst the commotion. 

Athena followed the quiet signal, strolling past old men spewing philosophical arguments, and gossiping women. She arrived at a stable, where Hestia was sitting amongst a litter of kittens, cradling one in her arms and humming softly to it. Athena approached, sending the kittens mewling and scurrying away. 

Hestia looked up and glared at her. “Athena, really,” she scolded.

“Lady Hestia, I beseech you. Please come to Mount Olympus with me.”

“For what reason? Surely not for a family gathering.”

I cannot make any demands to my elders. Perhaps gaining sympathy for the child would motivate her, Athena thought. “There is a child whose parentage is unknown to me. There is a possibility he doesn’t have a family. However, he bleeds ichor.”

Hestia pinched the bridge of her nose and said, “Don’t tell me Zeus—” 

“One of his eyes is red and black.”

Hestia’s eyes widened and, for a fleeting moment, Athena saw fire dance within them. This was her chance. 

“You know something, Lady Hestia,” she said. 

Hestia sighed. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Athena?” 

“Please tell me.”

“Many aeons ago, my siblings and I were devoured by Chronos—”

“Lady Hestia!” Athena protested. 

“Athena, I suggest you seek assistance elsewhere,” Hestia said and waved her hand dismissively. “I have things to do.”

“Aunt Hestia,” Athena said softly and knelt before her,“if you assist me with this matter, I swear that I will not bother you for the next century.”

“You swear it, Athena?” Hestia asked. “No pestering about family meetings? Or assistance with anything at all?”

“I swear it,” Athena said solemnly. Please, Hestia. Please go with me, she thought. 

“All right, Athena. Let’s go,” Hestia said, a faint aura already surrounding her.

Athena was speechless. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s settle this quickly,” she said. “Those kittens aren’t going to feed themselves.” Together they vanished.

§

Nyx was no stranger to harboring secrets. What better way to hide things than cloak them in the darkness of night? But the letters from Athena and Thanatos’ testimonythreatened the strength of her oath. She had promised her cruelest children, the Fates, to never utter a word that she had interfered with the rebirth of the Prince of the Underworld; Nyx alone had shouldered that knowledge. Now that others were aware of the prince’s existence, it felt like the wheels of fate were finally in motion.But they needed to spin faster. 

The weight of the Underworld was crushing Persephone to her breaking point. It would not be long before she chose to depart. But if mother and son were to meet at last, then would it not be better down below? The prince’s birthright was in the Underworld. Surely Nyx could devise a way to convince Persephone to stay without revealing her own role in all of this. 

Nyx sensed that the queen was approaching quickly. She looked and saw Persephone turning the corner—her hair was knotted and frazzled, and there were ribbons hopelessly tangled within. When the queen had first arrived in the Underworld, her skin was sunkissed and her eyes shone. Now she was pale and sallow. Nyx was certainly no stranger to beings devoid of life, but to witness someone gradually lose their spirit, lose their livelihood, that was something else entirely. 

“Nyx,” Persephone said weakly. She tugged on Nyx’s robes like a lost child, and asked, “Will you come with me to the garden? Please?”

“Of course, My Queen,” Nyx said. They slowly and silently walked side by side down the hall. She gently supported Persephone by resting a hand on her back—it felt like Persephone was made of parchment. She could disintegrate at any moment. 

Has it really come to this? Nyx wondered. They entered the garden, and Persephone led Nyx further inside. The queen paid no mind to the crates of pomegranates or the untrimmed hedges. Only when she was steps away from the gate did Persephone stop. However, she remained silent and did not even turn to face Nyx. Perhaps she was waiting for Nyx to initiate the conversation. But Nyx’s usual natural authority eluded her. Was this her punishment for interfering with fate? She could not delay this any longer. 

“My Queen, what is it that you desire?” Nyx asked, even though she already knew the answer. 

“Nyx,” Persephone tilted her head back, “I’m afraid I can’t stay here any longer. This place isn’t doing me much good.”

“What will you do? You did not arrive here under normal circumstances.”

“I know,” Persephone said. She pivoted and looked into Nyx’s eyes. “I will need your help, if you will aid me.”

If Nyx could persuade her daughters to bless Persephone with eternal happiness, she would’ve done so long ago. But the Fates were merciless to all, mortal or immortal. However, if Persephone’s desire was to leave, then Nyx would not argue. Perhaps aiding her would be the first small step towards atonement for her dishonesty. 

“I will do anything that is within my power to assist you,” Nyx said. 

§

Thanatos reaped soul after soul, dropping them off in the Temple of Styx. Countless shades were awaiting Charon at the docks, and those who were fortunate enough to have their payment had already formed lines. Impatient and terrified murmurs were fighting for dominance over the voices of mortals awaiting him on the surface. But he couldn’t hear the voice he wanted to hear. 

Thanatos floated away from the crowd and granted himself a moment of respite on the Styx’s banks. He laid his scythe down and slouched, dipping his toes into the river.

Is Athena taking care of you? Are you all right up on Olympus? he wondered. The voices of shades grew louder; Thanatos saw Hermes drop off a new crowd of mortals. He noticed Thanatos and rushed over to join him. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Hermes said. “Hm, what’s got you down this time? You worried about that mortal?”

Thanatos looked away and began playing with his hair. 

“Seeing as you’re on break and all, why don’t you just come to Olympus with me?”

“Me? Olympus? Wha—”

Hermes grabbed Thanatos’ hood and pulled him to his feet. “Hurry along, Thanatos. If cuz is awake, I’m sure he’s dying to see you,” he said, grinning at his own jest. 

“Wait, my—” Thanatos quickly grabbed his scythe before he felt himself being pulled into Hermes, who transported themselves upwards through the clouds, into the heights of Mount Olympus. 

“Welcome to our humble home,” Hermes said, dramatically inhaling a deep breath of crisp, cool air. Thanatos flinched as the blinding light of the sun hit him like a chariot, obscuring his vision of the shining palace and lush gardens.

How can they stand it up here? he wondered, lowering his hood. 

“First time here, right? I’d give you the grand tour, but we’ll have time for that later,” Hermes said and dragged him through Olympus’ labyrinthian hallways. Everything inside looked the same, from the pristine white and gold columns, to the ridiculously large statues, and the elaborate tapestries decorating the walls. 

Hermes stopped short, sending Thanatos crashing into his back. 

“Here we are,” Hermes said. Thanatos peeked his head into the large, open doorway. He only saw the backs of two goddesses. One was Athena—her large helmet was unmistakable. But Thanatos wasn’t sure about the other woman. She had fiery hair that burned dimly through a long veil, held in place by a golden circlet. Before he could ponder about her identity, they began to speak, and he listened closely.

“The poor dear,” the unknown goddess said, leaning over Athena’s shoulder. “He’s a child of both worlds.”

“How do you know that, Lady Hestia?”

Hestia? Thanatos wondered. He’d never heard that name before.

“Ah, you’ve never met your Uncle Hades, have you?” Hestia asked. “He’ll need to choose which world to stay in.”

“But there is only one option, is there not?” Athena asked. “Perhaps Father can—”

“Don't even think about calling anyone else here,” Hestia said firmly. “Especially not Zeus.”

“Aunt Hestia, please,” Athena said. “Surely we Olympians can all unite to aid a family member—”

“No, Athena,” Hestia said icily. “The two of us alone will handle the child, for the Fates have already decreed it.”

“But this child may be able to aid me,” she shook her head, “to aid us.”

“Athena,” Hestia said, her hair tinged blue, “our family cannot be fixed without effort from everyone. But this child needs a family more than any of us.”

Thanatos leaned in just a little more, and Hermes took that moment to knock on the doorway. The goddesses whipped their heads around, and Thanatos was speared with Athena’s quiet fury. 

“You’d bring a Chthonic god into our home, Hermes?” Athena asked, not taking her eyes off of Death. 

Hermes shrugged. “There’s no rule that says that I can’t.” The boy glanced up at Athena. If looks could kill, Thanatos would’ve died a dozen deaths by now. He nearly shrunk under her hard gaze, but Hestia’s face was soft and kind. Her eyes seemed to see right through him.

“Well if you wanted to see the child, then you should’ve said so earlier,” Hestia said, and stood back to let Thanatos look for himself. He took the invitation before Athena could say anything. 

Relief loosened his muscles—the mortal’s body had been repaired. He looked much better, too; his hair and nails had been cleaned and trimmed, and his chiton looked appropriate for a prince. Most importantly, he no longer stood on the precipice between life and the threshold of death that his own ichor forbade him from crossing.

“He hasn’t woken yet?” Thanatos asked the goddesses. 

“Not yet,” Athena said. “Hopefully he shall soon, for there are many questions I need to ask.”

“Athena, please. You can’t just bombard a child as soon as—”

Thanatos gasped, and Hestia and Athena leaned in closer to see why. 

“Ooh,” Hermes remarked, flying in.

The boy’s fingers twitched and a weak sound crept out of his lips. Everyone watched as the rest of his body slowly came back to life. A spasm in his legs, tension in his brow, a curling of the toes. 

Finally, the boy’s eyes opened.

Chapter Text

Two goddesses were looking down at him. He’d never seen them before; the one on his left had fire for hair, but had a face that was warm and inviting. The other was wearing enough gold and armor to make a king jealous, and had a piercing gaze. 

No, no more gods, please, he thought. The boy tried to move, but his body wouldn’t allow him. His eyes darted about and saw only pristine white walls and bright sunlight. Where am I?

“Peace,” the fiery goddess said. “He needs ambrosia. Hermes, do you have any in that satchel of yours?” she asked.

Hermes? Oh no, the boy thought. He needed to get out of here. 

“I don’t, but I know where pops keeps his secret stash,” Hermes said.

“Take your colleague with you, Hermes. I would like to settle this family matter with family only,” the armored goddess said. There was a whimper of protest, followed by the whoosh of Hermes zooming away. Thank gods. 

The fiery goddess offered him her hand. His arm felt like stone, and he struggled to raise it. But the woman was patient, and remained silent as his fingers met hers. Instantly her warmth filled him, and the stiffness melted away. She pulled him upright. The boy wiggled his fingers and toes and looked up at the goddesses. 

“I’m pleased to see you’re awake,” the lady with the enormous helmet said. Even if the boy wanted to flee, he wouldn’t be able to. “I have mended your body and granted you new garments befitting one related to the gods.”

He looked down and saw a clean, gilded chiton draped on his tiny frame.

“I trust that my work was adequate and you have returned to normal,” she said. It was not a question.

The boy lowered his head and said, “Thank you…um…?”

“Athena,” she said proudly. 

“Thank you, Lady Athena.”

“Of course. You are family.”

But how are we related? he thought. He opened his mouth, but Athena silenced his tongue.

“Come,” she stepped aside to let him exit, “allow me to show you the splendors of Olympus.” She didn’t give him a choice, ushering him out the door. He glanced back at the other goddess, but she’d already disappeared. 

It wasn’t long until Athena was smothering him with promises of greatness and regaling him with stories of achievements. Tapestries that she’d woven herself lined the walls. They were certainly impressive. But they depicted a side of the gods that he wasn’t familiar with—here they were saviors and heralds and selfless gift givers. There were scenes of Athena giving mortals an olive tree. Next, a goddess wearing a veil was handing laurels to, ugh, Dionysus. Athena continued on and on until the stories seemed to bleed together, always flaunting their accomplishments, but never expressing any love or affection for any of her relatives. 

“Our family is most impressive,” Athena said, leading him out of the Olympian palace and into the gardens. The radiance was blinding, and the boy shielded his eyes with his hands. Even then, it was still too bright. Everything was beautiful, but he couldn’t appreciate it if he couldn’t see.

“Hermes told me the prophecy. You have a mortal body but the ichor of a god. You are a child of two worlds, and you will have to decide which to reside in permanently. I trust you will choose wisely,” Athena said. 

Why is she making it sound like there’s only one correct choice? he thought. “What do you mean, 'a child of two worlds'?”

“It seems you were born from a Chthonic god and one who resides above the surface.”

“Which gods? Is it Zeus?” 

“Definitely not pops,” Hermes’ voice said. Athena and the boy looked up and saw him descending. Instinctively, the boy took a step back. “Let’s all be glad that it’s not. I don’t think we need any more half brothers and sisters and what not,” Hermes continued. Behind him was a smaller figure clad in black, carrying a scythe on his back. The boy gasped in delight. Thanatos was pulling his hood so far down it covered his nose.

“Anyway,” Hermes said, “there’s more than one god king. Consider my colleague here a representative for Uncle Hades.”

“Hades?” the boy asked. 

Hermes flew in close and pointed to his right eye. “Where do you think you got that red and black eye from?” The boy instinctively brought his hand up to cover it. Hermes grinned. “Don’t let Athena bully you, cuz.” 

Whose side is he on? the boy wondered and clenched his fists. 

“Lord Hermes—” she protested. 

“Come on, sis. You’ve made your argument. Why don’t you weave another tapestry of this momentous occasion while our friends here talk?” Before Athena could respond, Hermes was pushing her out of the garden. Her protests were swallowed by Hermes’ constant chatter. 

The boy breathed a sigh of relief. He looked over at Thanatos, who seemed to be trying to withdraw into his robes.

“Thanatos,” he said warmly, approaching him. 

“It’s too bright up here,” Thanatos muttered. 

“I think so, too.” The boy jumped up and grabbed the hem of his robe, pulling him along towards the palace. Thanatos gasped, but didn’t resist. Both of them could use a little shade. They sat side by side upon the cool marble stairs. As Thanatos placed his scythe down,  the wind freed his hair from his hood, and he hastily tried to put it back on. The boy gently took a hold of Thanatos’ wrist. 

“Can we talk? Face to face?” he asked. “Please?”

Again, he was met with silent consent. Thanatos let his hood fall; Through the curtain of silver strands, the boy could see Thanatos’ face was flushed gold. 

“So about what Hermes said…I’m the son of Hades?”

Thanatos nodded. “The King of the Underworld.”

“And my mother?” he asked.

“Persephone, the queen.”

The boy hugged his knees to his chest. I really am a prince, he thought. My parents are in the Underworld. 

“But…prince,” Thanatos said. 

‘Prince’? It sounds weird, but it’s better than being called ‘mortal,’ he thought. 

“The Olympians are your family. The prophecy said you will eternally remain in the god king’s realm. It’s your choice.”

The boy tilted his head towards Thanatos and said, “But Thanatos, it’s not really a choice at all.”

“Right, of course,” Thanatos said dejectedly, averting his gaze and reaching for his scythe. 

The boy took Thanatos’ hand in his own and looked straight into his eyes. “I’m going down to the Underworld!” 

“But why? You could stay up here. Mortals dream of being blessed by Olympus, not going down to the Underworld with me.”

“I thought I told you that I want you to take me there. Now I have more reasons to go,” he said, and smiled as Thanatos’ face softened and the corners of his mouth hesitantly turned upwards. “Besides, the Olympians are mean.”

The color drained from Thanatos’ face, and he frantically looked around to see if anyone was nearby. “Prince! Don’t say things like that here!” he whispered. 

But the boy didn’t care; It was true. Aphrodite had told him that first impressions were important, and the Olympians made theirs with violence and deceit. Would anything really change were the gods to learn he was one of them? Would—

“Lady Athena,” Thanatos said, hastily rising to his feet. Athena stood behind them, looking like she couldn’t decide whether to lecture them or smite them…Maybe both. 

The boy remained seated, and grit his teeth. She was listening? Why can't they just leave us alone?  

“Please, allow me to clarify something,” Athena said. “Everyone in our family certainly has a strong personality. But we are not, as you would say, ‘mean.’” 

Lies. 

“There is much you need to learn about us Olympians. I assure you, should you remain here, you will be treated as one of us. I urge you to reconsider your decision,” she said. 

“No,” he said. “I don’t want to be treated as one of you. I don’t want people killing animals for me, or worshipping me. I’m not a god!” He could hear his voice rising, and was painfully aware that Athena and Thanatos looked like they had been struck by lightning. He didn’t care. “I don’t want to live up here, and I don’t want to live with you or your family. I’m tired of being attacked, and being carried off to places I don’t want to go to. None of you listen to me!” he cried. Tears were rolling down his face and blurring his vision. He wiped them away, and saw Thanatos looking at him so sadly. “The only one who’s listened to me is Thanatos.” He leaned in close to Thanatos and whispered, “Take me home with you.”

“Prince, you may still have ichor, but…your body is still that of a mortal’s. A living mortal can’t go unto the Underworld,” he said.

“I can help with that,” a warm, familiar voice said. The goddess with fiery hair appeared. “Looks like you’ve finally found some family.”

Have we met before? the boy wondered. Something glinted in the light—the circlet atop her head. I’ve seen that…“Oh! It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked. The girl from the sanctuary. “I…never thanked you for taking care of me that one night.” He frantically searched his robes for something he could use as an offering, but came up empty. “Sorry, I don’t—”

“I don’t need an offering. Like I said before, I’m no Olympian,” Hestia said, kneeling before him. Her face was round and soft wrinkles bordered her eyes, brimming with compassion. She looked like the grandmother he’d never had. “Thankfully, you are also not an Olympian, nor are you sired from one.”

“Ouch, that really hurt, Aunt Hestia,” Hermes jested. The boy looked over Hestia’s shoulder and saw Hermes lurking by the doorway. 

Now what do they want? he thought. 

Thanatos completely ignored them and asked, “How can you help him, Lady Hestia?”

“I can burn away his mortality.”

Both boys looked at each other quizzically, and were thinking the same thing: how was that possible? 

“He’ll become a god then?” Thanatos asked.

“Yes, but,” Hestia rested a hand on the boy’s cheek, “there is something very special about you. You are borne of two realms. The balance must be maintained, and there will always be some mortal in you.” Hestia withdrew her hand and stood. “A mortal’s body will not survive in the Underworld. So Athena and I will work together. In exchange for an immortal body, you will have mortal blood.”

“However,” Athena said, “while Lady Hestia insists that she does not require sacrifices. I cannot say the same.”

“You need a sacrifice?” the boy asked. 

“Indeed, good cousin.”

“Why?”

“Mortals honor us with sacrifices. In turn, we repay them as we see fit. That is how things are,” she said emotionlessly.

Ichor and blood will be exchanged, he remembered. But what was here to sacrifice? Would Athena really ask him to kill a bird and spill its blood here in Olympus? I won’t do it. But, but how will I—

“Wait!” Thanatos cried. All eyes were upon him, watching as he reached into his chiton and pulled out something small.

“Oh? What’s that you’ve got there?” Hermes asked.

Thanatos gulped and said, “It’s a vial of mortal blood.” 

“Is Ares finally rubbing off on you?” 

Thanatos ignored the question and walked up to Athena, holding up the vial. “Will this suffice?”

Athena took it and examined it closely. 

Please, please take it, the boy begged. His fists were clenched so tight his nails were biting into his skin. 

Athena closed her hand around the vial and said, “I accept this sacrifice.” 

§

Being whisked away by Zeus and thrust into a marriage meant Persephone had entered the Underworld with very few belongings. All she had was the dress she’d arrived in. She found it buried under the bed—wrinkled and dusty, but the same as she remembered. It no longer smelled of flowers, or even herself. Persephone re-folded it and tucked it back where she’d found it. There was nothing else for her in this room. Maybe there was something in her son’s bedroom she could take. 

She headed over, waving to Achilles at his post down the hall. He bowed to her in return. Achilles really was the consummate soldier; he was always so polite and diligent. But there was a sadness about him that Persephone was more familiar with then what she was comfortable being around. 

Were I not in such grief, I would help you with yours, Achilles, she thought, and continued on. Before she knew it, she was already in her son’s room. It still looked the same, and still contained all of Persephone’s heartache. Her eyes aimlessly wandered about, searching for anything she might be able to take on a long, solo voyage to the surface. 

Skulls? Absolutely not, she thought. “I can’t take the crib with me,” she mumbled. All of Daedalus’ work gone to waste. Perhaps a book will suffice, she decided and went to the shelves. Then, the desk against the wall caught her eye. The quills, ink, and parchment were still perfectly set up, and seemed to be calling to her. Despite everything she and her husband had been through, it would be terrible of her to leave without saying goodbye. Persephone sat down and began writing…writing…how best to phrase a farewell letter? 

She scribbled: Hades: how long has it been since we met? Remember when

Persephone crumpled it up and threw it aside. Too sappy. 

She grabbed fresh parchment and wrote: Hades: our marriage is not what it once was. The Fates have plagued us. I can no longer remain here because

No. Again, she ripped up the parchment and tossed it away. It needed to be simple. Persephone dipped the quill once more, placed a small sheet of parchment before her and wrote: 

Hades: I can no longer tolerate my life here in this place. So, I am leaving, even if it kills me. I won’t be returning to Olympus. If there is a place where I belong in this world, it must be somewhere between heaven and hell. Perhaps it’s on the coast and has a little garden. Take care of Cerberus; I shall miss him. 

- Persephone

Chapter Text

Having red blood was great and all, but that was far less interesting compared to the boy’s feet. He looked at the delicate flowers in the gardens, then looked down and wiggled his toes. It seemed like a very bad idea, running around with feet that were perpetually bathed in flame. But the palace was dizzying and stifling, like Olympus itself was rejecting him. That was fine; he’d be on his way to the Underworld soon enough.

He carefully lowered his right foot onto the cool grass, expecting it to burn and spread and set all of Olympus ablaze. But not a single blade withered. He sighed in relief and placed his other foot down. Perhaps the Olympians had done something to make the gardens immune to fire. But it didn’t hurt him either—It felt warm and tingly. 

Will water put it out? he wondered, and ran towards the nearest crystal pool. He jumped in and saw the fire had gone, though he felt fine. Immediately he stepped out, and the fire returned. Weird. He knelt at the water’s edge and looked at himself—his hair was as unruly as ever, and his eyes were still mismatched. Why were his feet the only thing that changed?

Hestia said it could be due to his lingering mortality that could never truly be burned away. Thanatos scoffed and said that it was merely inherited from his father, Hades.

My father, he thought. It felt very strange knowing he had parents. How would they react when they met? Would it be a happy meeting? Did they even want him? Maybe Thanatos could tell him—

The sound of bells rang out in the gardens. Olympus’ radiant splendor was awash in green, and Thanatos appeared in front of him. His hood covered most of his face, and he looked like he was trying to withdraw into his robes. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Thanatos muttered. 

“How about a little something for your trip?” Hestia asked. She and Athena approached them with two glass vials gleaming in the light. She bent down and handed one to Thanatos and one to the boy, who held it close to his eyes. The stuff inside looked like melted gold. Hopefully it would taste better than wine. 

But what is it? he thought. 

“It’s ambrosia,” Hestia said like she was sharing a secret. “It’s the nectar of the gods. Don’t drink it all at once,” she winked. 

“Hail, cousin. Allow me to see you off properly,” Athena said, lowering her head. The light shone on her enormous helmet, and the boy winced. 

Does she ever take that thing off? he wondered. 

“Do forgive the absence of the rest of our noble family,” Athena said. 

“No no, that’s okay,” he mumbled, rubbing the stars out of his eyes. 

“Perhaps you’d be interested in a correspondence once you settle in the Underworld. Despite your choice, my wish to understand you better has not changed.”

“Athena, please,” Hestia said, rolling her eyes. She knelt down before the boy and placed her soft, wrinkled hands on his shoulders. “Remember, little prince, immortal families can be complicated. It may take time, but beings like us have all the time in the world to figure out how to love one another,” she said. 

The boy merely nodded in response. Before any more farewells could be exchanged, Thanatos scooped him into his arms, and they flew off the side of the mountain. He glanced back and caught Hestia waving goodbye and Athena saluting them. 

If flying with Hermes was a never ending race, flying with Thanatos was a leisurely stroll. They slowly descended, passing through soft fluffy clouds that tickled his skin. Olympus’s oppressive radiance gradually faded, allowing sunlight to dominate the skies again. 

“That’s better,” the boy said.

“What?” Thanatos asked. 

“No, you were right. It’s way too bright up there.”

“Told you.”

The boy caught the corner of Thanatos’ mouth twitching into something that looked like a smile, though he was trying hard to suppress it. He wondered if all mortals saw Thanatos the way he did: someone soft, and lovely, who never really meant harm to anyone. There was no hatred in those pretty gold eyes. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Thanatos asked, and his cheeks turned gold. “Look at the surface instead. This is…probably the last time you’ll see it.”

He obeyed, and saw sprawling green fields and rich warm hues on the forests below. In the distance, the ocean glittered with sunlight. Everything looked beautiful from up here. 

“This is the first time the view has been so nice from up here,” he said. 

Thanatos looked at him quizzically. 

“I’ve flown with Hermes before. but it wasn’t fun. He goes too fast.”

“No, cuz. You’re just too slow,” Hermes said, appearing out of nowhere, and saluting them with a wink and a smile. The boy tightened his arms around Thanatos’ neck. 

“How’s it going, chaps? You two sure are taking your time getting back down. Don’t know how you can stand it.” He looked at the boy and said, “If you like, I can take you—”

“No,” the boy barked. He glared at Hermes, hoping he looked more angry than scared. 

Hermes laughed. “Heard you loud and clear, boss.” He reached into his back and procured a single drachma that danced between his clever fingers. “I think it’s time I finally gave you this. I’d say you’ve earned it.” He flicked it at the boy who scrambled to catch it. His legs flailed and Thanatos’ grip faltered. 

“Hey, be careful!” Thanatos said. He winced as his hood fell off, freeing his hair. The boy clasped his hands together tightly, and felt the cool metal in his palm. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers and there it was,shining and golden. 

“Give my professional associate my regards,” Hermes winked, and disappeared. 

Good riddance.

§

Hypnos was young, but he still had enough control over his powers to knock everyone inside the house unconscious—even a massive three headed dog. And Cerberus was so cute while he was asleep. Alas, Persephone wished she could say farewell to each head properly. She gently petted them, even Beta and Gamma who didn’t much like it. But this was the last time she’d see him, possibly ever. Surely they wouldn’t mind. 

“The mortals may think you’re scary, but you’ll always be the best dog, Cerberus,” she whispered. Reluctantly, she pulled away and grabbed her bag off the floor. Persephone’s footsteps were silent. Shades were collapsed everywhere; even Achilles was passed out with his spear in hand. 

Goodbye, Achilles, she thought. Thank you for your advice. Persephone continued on, shifting her gaze to the empty walls that she wouldn’t miss. She thought of how much she hated asking for assistance every time she wanted to lay in her bed…Yes, all she had to do was concentrate on the things she disliked. 

I never want to eat another pomegranate again.Or wear that stuffy black dress with those bothersome ribbons, she thought, passing by her son’s bedchamber. Perhaps one more stop—no. If she faltered now she would never leave. Persephone raised her head as she entered the garden. After I leave, I won’t ever have to argue with my husband ever again—

Persephone froze. 

Hades was standing inside the garden.

§

His feet did burn things after all. Thanatos gently placed him on a rocky area atop a mountain with sparse patches of grass. The ground beneath the boy’s feet withered, and he sighed.

Sorry, grass, he thought. When he looked up, he was greeted by two majestic, intricately carved doors that towered above them like mountains. 

“What is this place?” he asked.

“The Temple of Styx,” Thanatos said, and they opened at a gentle push of his hand.The doors rumbled as they parted, and they entered. Inside the boy saw a cavernous temple with blue waterfalls that flowed into a raging red river that looked like blood. A small port with a market stall rested on the banks. A long boat awaited them, along with its captain, Charon. Thanatos carried the boy over and placed him before his brother. 

Thanatos wasn’t kidding when he’d said Charon was tall and strong—Even on his tiptoes, the boy couldn’t see all of Charon’s face. The purple smoke pouring out his mouth wasn’t helping either. His arms looked like carved marble, and would put the strongest heroes to shame. The boy had a feeling if he did something wrong, Charon would beat him senseless.

“Uh, hi?” he said. 

“Guuuuuhhhhhhaaaaaa,” Charon moaned ominously. 

“What does that mean?” he whispered to Thanatos.

“Just give him the drachma,” Thanatos said.

The boy reached into his robes and held the coin in his open palm. It would pay for what he once thought would be his final voyage, the same one all other mortals make. But his life, his immortal life, could truly begin in the Underworld. He reached up towards Charon, who eagerly plucked it out of his hand. Charon made a vague noise that sounded like approval. 

Thanatos stepped beside the boy and said, “You sure you don’t need more time?”

He shook his head and said, “I’m ready. My parents are waiting for me down there.” He confidently stepped into the boat and it gently rocked in the red waters as he sat at the bow. Looking down, he wiggled his toes and realized the boat wasn’t burning beneath his feet. 

Thank gods, he thought.

“Take care of him, Charon,” Thanatos said. “This one’s a special delivery.” He brandished his scythe and began to float away.

“Wait!” the boy shouted.

Thanatos stopped and looked down at him.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to work,” Thanatos said.

“I thought you were going to escort me down?” he said. 

Thanatos remained silent, his eyes shifted and his grip on his scythe tightened. 

The boy stood and said, “You just said I was a special delivery. I’m the son of Hades, right? King of the Underworld, that you serve?”

Thanatos nodded.

“And I’m a prince. So as prince, I…declare, that I want you to join me in this voyage,” he said, desperately hoping Thanatos would listen. Thanatos’ face was a war between duty and desire—his mouth opened, but indecision held his tongue. 

Please, the boy begged. After a minute of silence that felt like forever, Thanatos sank down next to him in the boat. 

“Thank you,” the boy whispered, taking Thanatos’ hands in his. He heard Thanatos hum softly, and felt his head lean against his own. Charon pushed off with a groan, and they floated down the river. 

§

Persephone had never feared her husband, even in his worst moments. She was well accustomed to the wrath of gods. But when she looked at Hades, Persephone found no anger—just exhaustion. 

“Did you really think I didn’t know?” Hades asked softly. 

Persephone winced at the twinges of betrayal emerging through the cracks in his low voice. 

“This may not be my realm, but I’m still strong enough to break through a godling’s power. Even if they are sleep incarnate,” he said wearily. Maybe he was just as tired as she was.

Persephone tightened her grip on her bag and said, “I suggest you start thinking of ways to explain my absence to everyone else, Hades.”

“And just what will you do when you return to the surface?” Hades asked. “You are well aware that the circumstances of your arrival here were…unusual.”

That’s putting it very lightly, she thought. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out on my own.”

Hades’ impenetrable exterior melted away. “Is there really nothing I can do to make you stay?”

“Even the God of the Dead has limitations,” Persephone said. “Tell Cerberus I’ll be gone for a while. And that I’ll miss him.”

§

Red waters soon turned pale and misty—the Lethe was shrouded in the haze of forgotten memories. The river snaked through Elysium’s verdant hills and enormous statues. Then the cool temperatures of paradise quickly plummeted, and the boat floated through the fiery Phlegethon, weaving through rocky islands. The boy rested his head on Thanatos’ shoulder, and they moaned as they tried not to drown in their own sweat. 

“Why is it sooooo hot?” the boy groaned. And how is this boat not on fire? he wondered, but didn’t really care to know the answer. 

“The Phlegethon has been, ugh, overflowing for a while. Asphodel needs…work,” Thanatos said, his voice overlapping with mournful singing somewhere nearby—the boy felt like the voice was familiar, but the overwhelming heat robbed him of his curiosity. 

They each pulled out the ambrosia, hoping that it would provide any kind of relief. Instantly the sweet aroma dissolved their displeasure, smelling of honeysuckle and distilled happiness. Once the first drop hit his tongue, his suffering was replaced with delight and wonder.

“Do you have ambrosia all the time in the Underworld?” he asked in between gulps.

“No, this is a very rare delicacy, so savor it,” Thanatos said and he corked his bottle. He had no idea what a ‘delicacy’ was, but the boy did the same. 

It was a relief when they left Asphodel behind them, and their ears were filled with tortured screams from those in Tartarus. It was dark and gloomy, and reminded the boy a little too much of Sisyphus’ dungeon. Green light illuminated the dark chambers—Thanatos said Tartarus changed constantly to prevent souls from escaping. The river had long since turned blood red, and ghostly hands broke through the surface, reaching for something that they’d probably never be able to find. A rush of wings joined the raging current and sorrowful wails; the boy looked up and saw large winged figures flying swiftly. 

I wonder who they are, he thought.

“We’re almost there, Your Highness,” Thanatos said reverently. The boy pushed him playfully on the shoulder. Thanatos returned the favor in kind, and they both laughed as the boat began to rock. Finally, Charon pulled to the side and groaned, which the boy interpreted as, ‘get out.’ Thanatos floated onto solid ground, and offered his hand to the boy, who gladly accepted.

“Thank you,” he said, but his words were swallowed by the low reverberating sound of a heavy gate rising. A woman stepped out with her head hung low, her fair hair covering her face. 

“My Lady,” Thanatos said and bowed.

The boy quickly followed suit and wondered, She doesn’t seem to be Thanatos’ mother. Is this the queen? Is she my…

“Thanatos?” she asked. “What are you doing here? And who is—” The woman gasped and turned her head. She dropped her bag and began shooing them away. Lumbering footsteps were fast approaching, and the boy saw Thanatos turn rigid. “Hide!” she whispered, but it was too late. 

A giant figure emerged from the gate, and suddenly the boy felt small and helpless. This man—this god, was scary. His muscles resembled boulders that had been stuck together, and his hair looked like a massive storm cloud. But his eyes matched the boy’s right, and his feet were aflame, too.

That’s my father? he thought.

“What is the meaning of this, Thanatos?” Hades bellowed. 

“Lord Hades, Queen Persephone,” Thanatos said reverently, lowering his head, “I present to you your…son. Prince…um…”

The boy raised his head and saw Persephone cautiously walk towards him—gods, she was trembling. 

What should I do? Should I say something? He glanced at Thanatos who remained perfectly still. No, this is okay. Maybe? Gods, what if—he felt two soft yet weathered hands cup his face, and tilt his head up. He looked into lovely green eyes, the same as his left. 

“Your eyes…” she said almost to herself. Persephone slowly cast her gaze downwards, and gasped at the sight of his fiery feet. “Hades…Hades!” she cried, her voice breaking as she looked over her shoulder. Hades approached them, and when Persephone turned back to the boy, he saw tears in her eyes.

“I’m-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you sad!” he said. 

Persephone shook her head and asked, “Is that really you, Zagreus? You’re alive? How can this be?” Her hands frantically wandered to his shoulders, down his arms, as if she needed to be sure he was real. 

“Persephone…Mother?” he asked, unable to tear his gaze away from her kind, tired face.

Persephone pulled him into the tightest embrace he’d ever experienced. Her sobs were muffled into his shoulder, and her long hair tickled his face. “Zagreus,” she sobbed.

“‘Zagreus’? Who is that?” he asked. 

Persephone pulled away and said, “It’s you.” She clumsily wiped away her tears and gently ran the back of her hand against his face. “Zagreus…your name is Zagreus.”

Chapter Text

Sword and scythe clashed in the courtyard. Zagreus attacked relentlessly—all of his lessons on form were slipping further away with each swing. He couldn’t help it. Thanatos had won the last two rounds and Zagreus wanted at least one win from this training session. Zagreus jumped backwards, panting and wiping sweat and laurel leaves off his brow. Thanatos stood across from him wearing a smug grin as he effortlessly twirled his scythe like a performer. 

“So not fair,” Zagreus muttered.

“What was that, Zag?” Thanatos asked, his golden eyes filled with laughter.

He’s so annoying, Zagreus thought. “I said—”

“Your Highness, control your emotions,” Achilles called from the sidelines. 

“Yes, Achilles!” Zagreus shouted, looking at his mentor. Achilles was watching every move with his keen eyes and kind face and pretty hair and gods, Achilles was incredible—

“Pay attention, Zag!” Thanatos said, swinging for the kill. Zagreus brought his sword up just in time, but the force of Thanatos’ attack caused one of his knees to buckle. Suddenly, Thanatos withdrew, causing Zagreus to stagger, and then Thanatos kicked him in the chest, sending him skidding across the cold floor. 

I thought he was supposed to be Gentle Death, Zagreus thought. His sword clanged as it fell out of his hands, and he groaned as he pushed himself up. 

“You okay, Zag?” Thanatos asked, floating towards him. Achilles was also beside him, checking for any serious damage. 

“Ah,” Achilles remarked. Zagreus followed Achilles’ gaze and saw that his elbow was scraped—red blood was already welling out. 

“I’m alright,” Zagreus said, waving their concerns away. Thanatos offered his hand, which Zagreus took. “I”ll get you next time, Than. And Achilles,” he said, looking his mentor in the eyes, “you don’t have to call me ‘Your Highness’ you know.”

“Right, my apologies,” Achilles said, placing a hand on Zagreus’ shoulder. “Forgive me won’t you, lad?”

“Of course,” Zagreus said. “But I have a name—Hi Nyx!”

Nyx appeared and floated towards them. Her ethereal, mystical beauty looked very out of place in the dingy courtyard. Achilles bowed, and Thanatos’ posture became so perfect it looked unnatural. 

“Greetings child. Your father has requested your presence in the garden.”

Zagreus gasped and said, “I forgot that was today! Or tonight?”

“Your garment awaits you in your room. Thanatos,” Nyx said, “why don’t you assist the prince?”

Thanatos nodded. “Of course, Mother—”

“Yeah, come on, Than,” Zagreus said hastily, grabbing Thanatos’ hand and pulling him into his room. His room. He’d never had his own room before. And now he lived in one that felt like a palace. It was much too big for one person, but he was never alone in here for long. His favorite things were his massive bookshelves, and a large bed with the softest blankets he had ever felt. 

A black tunic and fancy red chiton were laid out atop the quilt, and he hurried out of his regular clothes and threw on the others. 

The sleeves will hide the scrape, Zagreus thought, and straightened his laurels. Thanatos gently tugged on the hems, smoothing the fabric and brushing off stray leaves. 

“How do I look, Than?” he asked, spreading his arms wide. 

“Very regal, your highness,” Thanatos said and bowed dramatically, and they laughed. “I have to get back to work soon.”

Zagreus pulled Thanatos into a tight hug and whispered, “Be careful up there. And don’t stay away too long again, okay?” He could almost feel Thanatos’ ichor rise into his face. Sure enough, when they pulled away he saw Thanatos’ cheeks flushed gold. 

“I won't. It’s too cold and snowy up there now,” he said, shivering. 

When was the last time I saw snow? Zagreus wondered. It didn’t snow down in the Underworld. No sun, no moon, no stars or rain or clouds—

“Do you miss it up there, Zag?” Thanatos asked. 

Zagreus gave him a small smile and shook his head. “It’s better down here with my parents,” he said, taking Thanatos’ hands. “And you.”

“I-I-I have to go. Bye, Zag,” he said, and disappeared. 

He’s so cute, Zagreus thought, and dashed outside and into the garden. All he could see inside was a mass of red fur. Cerberus’ ears perked up upon his arrival, and two of the heads started barking enthusiastically. 

“Hi boy!” he said. One of the heads leaned towards Zagreus to give him a lick, but Hades restrained him. 

“You’re late, boy,” Hades grumbled. Not only had he shifted his size to something smaller and less…terrifying, Hades had exchanged his normal red attire for luxurious black and gold robes. His large fingers were still adorned with colorful rings, and even they seemed to shine more than usual. 

“Hades, he has a name,” Persephone said, stepping out from behind. Zagreus’ eyes widened. His mother was always beautiful, but seeing her in such a pretty white dress with her hair down, she truly looked like a goddess. “Come, Zagreus.” Persephone knelt and Zagreus rushed into her open arms. She carefully adjusted his laurels and brushed his unruly hair out of his eyes. “You look wonderful. Doesn’t he, Hades?” Both of them looked toward Hades with expectant eyes. 

“Indeed,” he said, and his red and black eyes softened. 

“Thank you, Father,” Zagreus said and reached up for a hug. Would Hades finally hug him? Would this occasion be enough to inspire an open display of affection? Slowly, Hades lowered down and gently patted him on the back.

That’s okay, Father. We’ll get there, he thought optimistically. 

The shade behind the easel cleared their throat and began mixing paint on their palette. Zagreus stood front and center, with Persephone right behind him, and she rested a hand upon his shoulder.

“Remember, Zagreus, you’ve got to stay very still,” Persephone said. “And after this, we’ll do anything you like.”

“Anything?” Zagreus asked.

“Anything,” Persephone said, running a gentle hand through his hair. “We have all the time in the world.”

Zagreus reached up and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Alright, Mother.”

Persephone bent down and hugged him, too. “I love you, Zagreus,” she whispered. 

“I love you, Mother,” he said. 

The shade cleared their throat once more and Zagreus reluctantly let go. It was okay. He had his home. He had his family. He had his name. 

Everything was as it was meant to be.