Chapter Text
A sweet, high-energy melody strums within the garden, the leaves rustled into the air by Philia as she weaves through the courtyard with every note. Kairos, undaunted, plays faster, his fingers blurring over the lyre. The music teeters towards a crescendo as she spins so fast she can hardly see, levitating onto one toe. Kairos cuts the melody off with a flourish, and Philia tries to freeze at the same time. Instead, her momentum twists her to the side, but before she can hit the ground, a firm hand grasps her forearm.
“Be careful,” Calix warns, smiling warmly. Philia rolls her eyes but allows him to lift her to her feet.
“I would have caught myself.”
“Sure.”
Kairos flicks a sour note on his brand-new lyre, encrusted with pretty orange stones that remind him of his favorite slavugs. He sticks his tongue out at Philia. “You’d have pomegranate stains all over your butt. A shame; the dress is prettier than you.”
Calix snorts, and Philia’s eyes flash in indignity. “It is not,” she pouts, “and I would not! Papa made it special for my fifteenth birthday and I would never ruin it!”
“Our fifteenth birthday.”
“Kai, don’t tease,” admonishes Calix. “As always, you are the most beautiful, Philia.”
Philia preens. “Thank you, Calix. This is why you’re my favorite. I suppose with height, comes real manners.”
She and Calix are a whole head taller than Kairos, and still growing! Kairos shrugs.
“I’m taller than Uncle Zag. I’m going to tell him what you said!”
Philia squawks, and goes to grab Kairos. He dips behind Calix, pulling him in front. His hair, a shrub now thick with evergreen, shows on both sides.
“Nope! You wouldn’t want to hurt Calix, would you? Look at him, he’s practically a puppy!”
Philia pouts at Calix, and Calix offers a lopsided grin. He really does look like a puppy, Philia notes. His hair, a reddish-brown, has grown so that it curls over his forehead, so he wears it back in a band, but free strands still curl near his eye. Deep blue eyes that only ever shine with warmth crinkle at the sides alongside his many freckles and a very handsome smile. His mother gifted him a new cloak that matches them and sits well on his shoulders. Actually, he looks every bit the prince his father looked.
Huh. She’s not sure where all of that came from.
Philia turns away to hide her thoughts, folding her arms. “Well. You’re lucky you have such a loyal dog. And to think, I thought I had two best friends.”
Her tone is petulant, nose up in the air, and Calix coos.
“Aww, Phi. You know he’s just teasing. He thinks you look wonderful.”
Philia turns to Kairos, still pouting, and Calix pokes Kairos in the head. Kairos groans before moving around and hugging her.
“Yes, Philia, you and your dress are the prettiest. If you want, I’ll even dance a dance of apology to make you feel better.”
Appeased, Philia hugs him back, squeezing their faces together. “It would be hideous.”
This time Kairos squawks, but she speeds away, cackling. She really does love her new dress. It’s a lovely dark purple, and it goes down to her feet. There are small slits in the side, so she can still run and play, and it’s tied at her waist with a leather belt where she can attach her pouch and knife. Papa made it, showing her how to obtain the dye and sew it, and he said that she looked just like ‘one of the muses’. She thinks her eyes pop in it, the emerald a stark contrast. All of her normal outfits are either green or blue tunics or chitons, and while those clothes are okay, this one is her favorite. She feels older in it.
Daddy had been petulant about it, pointing out that he could see the top of her chest in it.
“It’s too tight here,” he whined. “It needs more fabric.”
“Daddy, it’s fine! That’s just how chests work!”
He’d tugged one of her curls as she tried to dodge away from him.
“And what do you know about how chests work, little girl? Now go put on a blanket!”
Still, after breakfast, Daddy had given her a gift of his own. The Myrmidon’s crest, he called it, placing the palm-sized pin into her hand and closing it.
“I do not have much I can pass down anymore, but…” He’d paused, somewhat flustered. “I thought you were old enough now, and should have this part of your lineage.”
Philia’s eyes had watered, and she straightened her back. “I’ll protect it with my life.”
He only pinched her cheek. “Don’t. This is replaceable, you are not.”
“But I’ll come back anyway!”
“Philia.”
So now, she’s wearing the dress her Papa made for her, and within her pouch is her Daddy’s crest. Her fathers adore her, her best friends love her, and she couldn’t be happier.
Just then, a strong breeze blows from behind her, and a bright light sends her shadow over Calix and Kairos’ stunned expressions. Philia’s scars itch with a phantom pain, a ripple of fear running through her, and she’s quick to turn and deferentially bow her head.
“Lord Apollo.”
The light breezes past her, the warmth of the gilded god sapping from her body.
“Calix, Kairos, let me take a look at you!” Apollo coos, rushing to the boys and clasping them in his arms. Calix and Kairos stiffen, nervous, but they smile respectfully as he touches their hair, their faces, their arms. “Look how big you’ve grown! Calix, you’re growing into such a handsome young man, and those freckles are all your mother. I can see her craftsmanship in this weaving. And Kairos, truly, I can see your calluses from over there; you must practice non-stop! A true musician! What a lovely new lyre, I can see your parents worked hard on embedding every stone!”
As he continues to gush over them, Philia stands frozen, staring at the stone stairs.
He’d walked right past her.
She was right here.
And he walked right past.
Something burns within Philia; an ugly wrath, demanding that she turn around and command the god’s respect. But under that, something more powerful- something cold, curdling, saying that perhaps she hadn’t deserved his attention at all.
Once he finishes lavishing them with love and attention, Apollo steps back.
“Now, I’ve come for a special occasion. Since it’s your birthday and all, I’ve decided to take you on a special visit to Olympus!”
Calix and Kairos gasp, and Philia sharply inhales.
“Olympus,” Calix murmurs, unable to help the awe in his voice. Apollo grins, gleefully squeezing his hand.
“Yes! We only have a limited amount of time gifted to us, so I can’t show you everything, but I’ll make sure to show you the best! Plenty of fruit, meat, and drink, so much more than what this dismal house can offer. Plenty of instruments, you both can take your pick! And the nymphs? Why, what are your tastes? Boys? Girls? No matter. You can have both, only the finest! Now, are you ready?”
By now, Philia has turned toward their embrace, eyes wide upon Apollo’s turned back. Behind him, Calix witnesses her crushed expression, and shakes himself.
“Lord Apollo, with all due respect, I-” He searches for a diplomatic answer. “We would need to tell our parents first, at least.”
Kairos, catching on, nods. “Right! I know my mom would be really nervous if I didn’t come home.”
“Exactly! Could we possibly delay so that-”
Apollo waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll send Hermes to tell your parents. Let’s go!”
He tugs, but Calix and Kairos drag, and he frowns.
“Surely, you’re not… refusing my offer?” Apollo stops, his skin glowing with rising anger. “Calix. Has your father ever told you about his sister, Cassandra?”
His father doesn’t talk about the past at all, actually, but whatever this Cassandra did must have displeased Lord Apollo, from the look on his face. Kairos quails at his fury, genuinely grasping Calix’ arm this time. Calix rarely uses his gift anymore, better practiced at it than he was as a youth, but he sincerely wishes it worked on the gods.
I’m sorry, Phi! Really, I am!
“No! No, of course not. We just want to make sure we’re following the rules at home!”
“Oh.” Apollo’s skin stops glowing, and he smiles. “To be more afraid of your parents, than of me. I suppose I can understand; Zeus can have quite the temperament. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine. In fact, we’ve wasted so much time; I’ll just have to expedite the journey with a portal.”
A portal from the House? Philia wonders. Uncle Zagreus would be so envious.
Forget Uncle Zag, what about-
“Lord Apollo!” Her voice is strong, and she mentally pats herself on the back for hiding her fear. “Is there perhaps, someone who would be willing to take me as well?”
She watches as he squares his shoulders, forced to acknowledge her. He turns around with a saccharine smile, clapping his hands together.
“Oh, doll, I’m afraid not. I don’t have a purpose for you at this time. Perhaps Athena or Ares will have time in their schedules. Better luck next time!”
And with that, he spins back around, claws his fingers into Calix and Kairos’ shoulders, and after a painfully bright light, vanishes from sight.
So that’s that, then.
No purpose for her.
Hm.
That… hurts, a lot more than she thought it would.
Why does it hurt so much?!
With a whimper, Philia flees down the stairs, not noticing Nyx slowly close the door behind her. She makes it to the edge of the Styx and curls into her knees, squeezing tight. Her tears burn as they seep into her dress, the dress that she no longer feels beautiful in. What value was a piece of fabric to being gifted the surface? To stand in the real sun, to glow amongst the gods? Was she really so… worthless?
“Philia.”
Philia jumps to attention, Nyx’ soft voice doing nothing to soothe her. She quickly wipes away her tears.
“Auntie Nyx! Hi! Um, I’m okay. Really!”
Nyx shakes her head. “You did not deserve that, child. He was cruel to you, once again.”
It’s nice to hear, but Philia cannot make herself believe it right now. Not if she’s to keep standing.
“It’s fine, right? I can’t miss what I’ve never seen. Besides, it makes sense that Lord Apollo would take them. Kairos can sing beautifully, on par with Uncle Orpheus, and he’s become so much better at his instruments. He’s mastering his psychic abilities with the lyre, too! I’m so proud of him, he’s so much stronger than he used to be.”
What can you contribute?
“And-and Calix, wow, right? What gods wouldn’t love him? He’s sweet, and so thoughtful. He doesn’t even need to use his persuasion to convince anyone of anything. Perfect born diplomat, perhaps even the perfect hero one day! They’ll love him. And if the two of them duet, it’ll be wonderful for all to hear. We can’t keep them forever, you know. It would be selfish.”
Neither the afterlife nor the surface needs another soldier.
Philia smiles as giant tears pour down her face, and she tightly grips her arm.
“Besides, I should have known it based on these scars. He was never going to choose me. He doesn’t need me. I am… not needed.”
I serve no purpose.
Nyx holds her hands wide, offering an embrace, but Philia only holds herself further away.
“Auntie Nyx- you control the way the gods can see us here, right? I want…” Philia inhales, trying to control her breathing. “I want to be alone, please. Can you please not tell anyone where I am for right now?”
Nyx’ brow furrows, but she decides that at least this, she can gift.
“As long as you are not in danger.”
Philia bows her head, grateful. On the Styx, Charon passes in his boat, and Nyx waves him over.
“Take Philia. I’ll offer you extra, on top of your fee.”
Charon grumbles, but lets Philia jump onto his boat. A small wave to her aunt later, and she’s on her way. They are in the stifling heat of Asphodel when Philia jumps off at one of the docks. Normally when she’s here, it’s to visit Kairos, or to fight the creatures there as practice for when her father was standing guard in the House. Today, she wanders, the chamber doors slamming open and closed as she goes.
Philia knows her skills are close to her father’s. Even her Papa, as powerful and well-trained as he is, knows that she’s surpassed him in skill. Even though she may dance playfully, allowing herself to be off balance and enjoy the fun, she’s serious when it comes to her training. Whatever power lies within her, she’s worked hard, every day, on honing it.
If neither god of war was interested in her abilities, she must truly be useless.
Was it because she’d never fought a real battle? Because she’d planned on asking her fathers about it! Elysium hosts tournaments in the colosseum, and she wanted to participate in one. When they were twelve, Philia had secretly snuck Calix and Kairos in to see Zagreus fight Theseus and Asterius. Kairos hadn’t liked it very much, but Calix and Philia thought it was amazing! Even now, she goes to watch the fights, learning from their moves. I could win this fight, she thinks. It’s been an unfailing thought through every battle. Even when she and Calix spar, she always wins.
Strangely, last time they fought, she’d pinned him to the ground. Instead of crying uncle the way he always did, he’d just stared at her while red in the face. It was weird.
Anyway, her Daddy didn’t want anybody to see her fight. Philia once overheard him and Papa debating about it. He was worried that it might put her in danger if someone saw her, and so he’d always refused, and she tried to respect his wishes. She’d felt so confident today in her argument to get him to let her fight officially, she was going to bring it up over dinner. Now it has fallen apart completely, shattered alongside her confidence.
This is why her fathers hate Apollo, Philia seethes. She’d grown a healthy fear of him after her illness, but she’d never grown to hate him. If anything, she’d hated not understanding why Apollo and her fathers hated each other so much that it was taken out on her. Now she gets it. He’s a horrible man, petty and cruel, and she hopes bad things happen to him.
Papa would tell her not to wish ill will on others, but she doesn’t care. The hate begins to flow through her, soothing her damaged pride. Yeah! He should fall into a pit of the worst monsters! He should wake up from bed and all of his stupid hair should fall onto his pillow! She wishes she could stomp him into the ground for ignoring her, how dare he?
Philia’s face curls into something wonderfully spiteful as she starts to imagine all the horrible vengeance she would take on the god, when nearly trips over something sticking out of the ground.
“Is this-” she frowns, dusting off her dress. “A wheel?”
It doesn’t look like one of the wheels from the monsters in Elysium, and she’s never seen one in Asphodel. In fact, Philia wonders, as she looks around her, she’s never seen a good many of the things all around this chamber.
It’s a massive space, one of the largest she’s ever seen, full of contraptions. In the distance, there’s a large building with smoke coming out. The lava of the river flows far down the side of the cliff, keeping the home and all its additions safe. Philia has no name for many of these things- were they from the surface? What would she do with them? Did everyone on the surface have this many things? Why do they put them outside? One of the things has a piece of fabric on it, and the small pedal on the bottom is spinning on its own. Each time the pedal spins, one of the sticks holding the piece of fabric moves, adding more length. At home, they receive pre-made fabrics as gifts for Philia’s clothes, to dye as they please. Is this how they’re made?
“It’s called a loom.”
Alarmed, Philia spins around. A boy points at the machine. He stands only as high as her shoulder, like Kairos, with spiky brown hair and mischievous brown eyes.
“A what?” she whispers. The boy smirks, turning back to it.
“A loom. It’s actually something better than just a loom; it’s a mechanical loom. My father invented it. He invented everything in here. He’s even inventing now, listen.”
Paying attention, Philia can hear a hammer against metal. She turns to the boy, unsure where to start, when he takes the toy he’s holding in his hand and throws it. To Philia’s awe and delight, it flies through the sky on crafted wooden wings. He holds up his hand, and it glides right back into it.
“What is that?”
“A winged flight machine! It has wings, just like I had! My father created it too!”
He’s bragging- he must be, because regular humans don’t have wings- but his adoration for his father is nice. The boy holds his hand out, chin high.
“I’m Icarus. You must be here to speak to my father. But, he does not do things for just anyone. He contracts for the gods, and specifically, for Lord Hades himself!”
Philia takes his hand, squeezing firmly. “My name is Philia, and I’m not, actually. I don’t know who your father is. And I know humans cannot fly.”
Blinking, Icarus seems genuinely astonished that Philia doesn’t know of his father. He also seems very offended that she doesn’t believe him.
“I didn’t just grow the wings, silly! My father made them! Here, I’ll show you what I’ve seen while wearing them. Follow me, it’s in my room.”
At first, Philia is uneasy. Her fathers have told her not to trust the intentions of anyone making these sorts of overtures, though they’ve never explained why. But she cannot help but feel curious. What had Icarus seen, with wings made by his famous father that she’s never heard of? Besides, she could strangle this guy with one hand. With a nod, she follows behind him. She thought they were going to the big building, but instead he turns towards a small hut.
“This is it?” Philia snarks, raising her brow disdainfully outside the front door.
“Just wait and see,” Icarus retorts.
The home seems small, but once she enters the foyer it is clear that there’s more to it than meets the eye. It’s somehow kept cool from the heat of the realm by keeping its rooms underground. There’s a kitchen, a sitting room, a combined library and office filled with papers and books, and one room with a closed door.
“That’s my father’s room,” Icarus offers. “He’s outside in his workshop; that’s the big building you saw outside.”
A workshop, larger than her own home. What types of things was the man making?
“Anyway, are you ready?” Icarus asks, practically jumping from foot to foot. “I’ve never been able to show anybody this, I haven’t had a friend over before!”
That’s… really sad, and Philia is about to say so when he opens the room and she is stunned into silence. Whereas the rest of the home was full of orange, stilted light and shadows, this room is brilliant with light and color. The walls are painted a cerulean she’s only ever seen in paintings at the House, and at the top of the ceiling, there is a bright yellow object, only amplified by the multifaceted crystal orb in the middle shining with light.
Icarus gestures grandly. “This is-”
“The sun.”
It hurts to stare at the light after a while, and she turns away to blink away the tears. Icarus giggles, proud.
“You can’t look at the sun too long, and it’s the same with that light. I don’t know how he did it, but there’s a smaller crystal inside the glass figurine that helps it shine brighter. It’s bright, but it’s nowhere near as bright as the real thing! And those, on the sides, the puffy white things- those are clouds. They’re up there with the sun too! It’s really a man on a horse. An unkind, unyielding titan, my father says, but a constant one. The moon is the same, though it’s darker out.”
After meeting Apollo, Philia can somewhat understand how someone so cruel could still control something so marvelous. The color of the room, alongside the light, makes the room feel so much vaster than it really is. If this is just a small example, what must the real thing be like? Kairos and Calix must be having a wonderful time, seeing it.
They might not even want to come back, having seen it.
“It’s so- Philia? Are you crying?”
Philia wipes at her eyes. “No. I’m- I’m just a little overwhelmed is all. Why do you love the sun so much?”
Icarus, effervescent with energy before, quickly becomes subdued.
“I spent so long trapped, unable to see it. My father and I, we were held captive. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. I just… I felt the wind, I saw the sun, and I… I had to know what it was like to be near it.”
Philia has a bad feeling that his adventure to the sun didn’t end well- why else would he be so young, in Asphodel- and she nods along happily as he shifts the conversation to the rest of the inventions she saw outside. In the middle of his explanation about a stove that can light itself using a spark, Philia is ready to bring up how her Auntie Eurydice would love such a contraption when she pauses.
Kairos and Calix aren’t here. They’re probably off frolicking, singing, and being fed fruit and meat by the loveliest of nymphs as promised by the bastard god. They likely aren’t even thinking about her at all.
So why should she share this? Why can’t this be something of hers? It’s nice, actually. One friend that isn’t in awe of Kairos or charmed by Calix. A secret that she doesn’t have to share, same way they won’t share the surface with her. They get the real sun, let her have this.
Icarus has finished his explanation when a soft ahem comes from the door. Philia turns to see an older man, beard as white as her Uncle Hypnos’ hair, but arms as corded with muscle as her Papa’s.
“Icarus, this is not how you effectively keep people away. In fact, it is the opposite.”
Icarus rises, gaze repentant. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just, we never get other kids here! And she wanted to see!”
His father sighs through his nose, but then turns away. “Fine. I need your help in my shop. Bring your friend.”
They quietly make their way from the bright room and back into the dark hallways, vision blurred from the lack of light. By the time they’re in the workshop, the wondrous light is but a memory. It is clear that Icarus’ father made Icarus’ room special, because every other aspect of the home and workshop are dark and mechanical, like a forge. Icarus leans over to Philia.
“His name is Daedalus. He seems old and grumpy, but he’s no harm.”
“Icarus.” Daedalus calls, bringing his son to attention. “Go and fetch me my folder from the office. I left the plans I went there to find.”
Icarus gives a quick salute and runs, leaving Philia behind with the inventor with the strangely knowing eyes.
“One thing I am grateful for, is that he no longer suffers the restlessness he once did. Perhaps that is a gift of the afterlife. One that you seem not to have.” When Philia says nothing, he continues. “He is not telling you the full story. You know this, yes?”
It feels like a betrayal to her new friend, but Philia nods.
“He fell from the sky. I made him wings of feather, molded together with wax. He disobeyed me when I told him not to rise too high, for the heat of the sun would... Well. The wax on his wings melted, and he plummeted into the seas and perished.”
Philia has never seen the seas, either, but she has heard from her fathers that it was not always forgiving.
“Why are you exposing your son as a liar?”
“Because I see the same look in your eyes- eyes that want to see the sun, that demand to know what more there is to be had after waiting for so long- and I want you to know a potential outcome of the choices you plan to make.”
Philia bristles, folding her arms. “You don’t know me well enough to lack faith in me. And what plans?”
“Be honest with yourself.”
“I am!”
Daedalus pauses, looking her over thoughtfully. “You must realize that this workshop is near impossible to find, yes? That I’ve asked to do my work in peace, that I create for the gods when they command, and otherwise I am to be left to my own devices?” He looks over at Icarus, now returned with the bundle of papers. “So, what is that you want so badly that you managed to wander where you weren’t meant to be?”
Where you weren’t meant to be.
So where was she meant to be?
Philia thinks about what Icarus said. About the idea of sailing through the skies, the freedom to do so. She thinks about the pressure she felt in her heart when she watched Apollo take her friends before her. The way Kairos is welcome to Calix’ home, but she is not; the way everyone loves her friends and their families, but there’s always a hint of fear or distance when they see Philia. The way it seems like Philia is supposed to be meant for something that she just can’t figure out, the way she refuses to accept that she could truly be as purposeless as Apollo claimed. It’s too much to put into a simple answer to give this mysterious inventor.
“When I have an answer for you, I will be back.”
Daedalus chuckles, unable to help being impressed at her determination.
“Most heroes are expedient with their answer.”
“I’m no hero at all.”
Down here, I’ll never be.
“And who are you, then?”
She stands tall, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin. “Philia.”
“Just Philia?”
It feels odd- she doesn’t want to forsake her father’s name, but for once…
“Just… Philia.”
“Hm. Then, we shall see, Philia.”
Philia slowly opens the door to her home, the delicious smell of fresh bread and a fish stew saturating the space. Her Papa smiles warmly at her, welcoming her home, but she only smiles briefly before racing to her room. She’s got entirely too much on her mind, and she’s never been great at lying; it’s easier to just deal with it on her own.
Later on, she hears her Daddy come home, and they talk in low voices. Philia knows that he must have been told what happened today. When they call her in for dinner, they are quick to ask her what happened, if she’s feeling okay. Normally, she would complain about how awful it was, and Daddy would agree with her, and Papa would tell her everything would be just fine.
“No. I don’t feel like being angry,” she lies, staring at her bowl. “I just want to get over it, if that’s okay.”