Chapter Text
The last time Antonio had been summoned to the Great Hall, he distinctly remembered how everything seemed to shimmer: the pillars and floors of obsidian and gold, the tapestries depicting war and charity, and, of course, the Gods themselves as their gazes fell upon him, eyes twinkling with the knowledge of ancients and the wisdom of divinity. He’d dreamed of standing beside them for centuries to come.
But that was three hundred years ago.
Today he was here for the exact opposite reason. The Gods would undo the brilliance of that faraway day, that day when Antonio ascended from his untimely death as a mere Mortal, to become God of—
“Do you admit to the evil in your heart and the irreversible harm you’ve wrought upon both Realms? Do you accept responsibility by relinquishing your Divinity?”
“I—”
“Yes or no?”
If it were any other God handing down Antonio’s decree, he would have already thrown the first punch, and maybe even won. But alas, the Gods had the power both to bestow and to take, and in this moment it seemed the God of Courage had taken all of what was his from Antonio. Staring up into those icy blue eyes made Antonio shiver. What was the point of all of this if the others had already decided his fate?
And yet, something seemed off in the God’s countenance. Regret? No, his sense of right and wrong was straighter than an arrow. Melancholy? No, he couldn’t care less about Antonio. So what could it be?
“We don’t have all day. Any dissenters?” This comment, from the God of Nobility, seemed directed at both Antonio and his interrogator. Antonio relaxed a bit, although he couldn’t bring himself to trust those violet eyes. It was him, after all, who had first reported the matter of Antonio to the others.
Speaking of which… as Antonio glanced between them, he noticed that the chairs on either side of the God of Courage were empty. Although he was certainly intimidating, he was by no means unfriendly either. Just a bit awkward, perhaps, as someone unwillingly thrust into the unofficial position of leader.
Otherwise the Great Hall was mostly full, everyone more eager than he was to get on with it. Francis wore a carefully neutral expression and kept quiet. Some friend he was; but at least he’d shown up.
“Very well, then,” the God of Courage proclaimed. “By the collective decree of the living Gods, I hereby revoke your Divinity, demote you to Mortal human status, and banish you to the Lower Realm!”
Before he could protest, Antonio watched in horror as his body began to lose its luster, the light leaving behind a humble, earthy brown tone. He felt his energy sap away, feeling heavy yet light-headed. And the sparkling world seemed to fade to gray as his ability to sense and read his fellow Gods’ auras faded. When was the last time he had inhabited such a modest form? What had he done to deserve this?
Oh, who was he kidding. Antonio knew exactly the various things he’d done to deserve this. And yet it all felt terribly unfair. If only the other Gods would give him a chance to—
A blinding flash forced Antonio to cover his eyes, followed by a strident voice: “Brother! Terrible news!”
Despite the foreboding message, Antonio allowed himself a small sigh of relief. At least he would be able to see his other friend before he went and died a short unhappy human death in the Lower Realm.
Gilbert now occupied the chair to his brother’s right, scarlet eyes ablaze with worry. He and Ludwig were complete opposites in most ways, but they shared the same furrow in their brow when anxious.
Anxiety. That was what seemed off about the God of Courage. But anxious for what reason?
“Gilbert, now is not the time—”
“Feliciano is missing!”
That explained Ludwig’s unease. Antonio didn’t know Feliciano well, the latter having appeared suddenly only fifty years ago, although he was familiar with his airy voice and youthful disposition. What he did know was that the God of Fortune, perhaps befitting his title, was the God most beloved by the Mortals.
The God of Nobility mused, “Are you sure he’s not off napping somewhere? Shirking work as usual?”
“Roderich! Don’t be rude,” the God of Form chastised him, lightly slapping his shoulder.
“Thanks, Liz,” Gilbert smirked. “But yes, I’m absolutely certain. Because Feli’s concealed his aura and denied all Summons, even from me! He’s nowhere to be found… at least, not in the Divine Realm.”
Francis hummed. “You don’t mean…”
“Enough,” Ludwig started, though his brother easily drowned him out.
“The God of Fortune was last seen in the Lower Realm…” With a dramatic flourish, Gilbert clambered up onto his chair and lowered his voice. “…in the territory of the so-called God of Ruin.”
Roderich rolled his eyes. “For the last time, that ‘God’ is just a silly human rumor!” This incited multiple Gods to begin arguing and shouting. Antonio, though, had learned to see the grain of truth in such ‘silly’ rumors. In which case, if such a terrible God really existed, what if Feliciano was in grave danger?
Before the fighting could devolve further, Francis piped up: “May I suggest a deal, everyone?”
The Hall fell silent. Antonio trained a level gaze on his friend. “How about Antonio strike a deal with the rest of us? Right now, we’ve rescinded his Divinity and are about to send him to the Lower Realm. If he brings back Feliciano safely to the Divine Realm, however, we restore his Divinity. What do we all think?”
Nobody was looking at Antonio, only at Ludwig, who again was burdened with speaking for them all. Antonio clenched his fists, knowing he was powerless. How swiftly he had fallen from his former glory!
“It’s a deal,” Ludwig declared, turning to him. “Antonio, you may return only with the blessing of a God, that is, Feliciano’s. But remember: you must never let a human find out about your Godhood.”
Antonio pursed his lips. He didn’t want to accept this, mainly because he didn’t want to accept his punishment in the first place. But he had no choice. He tried in vain to catch either Francis’s or Gilbert’s eye, but they both stubbornly refused to even glance his way, their faces unreadable.
“Fare well, then,” Ludwig said, almost too quietly for Antonio to hear, which made him look back to Ludwig. Unlike the other Gods, Ludwig wore his heart on his sleeve. His expression softened Antonio’s bitterness. Enough to accept this precarious quest, if it meant any chance at regaining his Godhood.
“May fate guide you justly.” With those final words, the Gods opened a black hole in the floor, darker than moonless nights, beckoning Antonio to descend. Antonio took a deep breath, took one last vindictive look around at his former fellows, and took a leap of faith into the Lower Realm.
~~~~~
When Antonio came to, all he could think about was how much his body ached all over. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, as if that would stave off some of the pain, though what he assumed was sunlight kept trying to creep into his consciousness. As his senses slowly returned to him he also realized he was probably on the ground. More like dirt and hay, nothing like the nice polished floors of shining marble.
Had he fallen all the way down to the Lower Realm? That would certainly explain why he felt so sore. And now that he was a mere Mortal, he could no longer simply expend a bit of that renewable divine energy to heal more quickly. Oh, how simple those times were… he let out a sigh.
“Brother, he’s awake! Hurry!”
The high-pitched voice jolted Antonio back into reality. No, he hadn’t (just) fallen from the Divine Realm; he had been wandering the Lower Realm for some miserable weeks now, having recently found his way to Mezzo Village. And he’d been relearning the finer parts of Mortal life such as the Common tongue; as well as the not-so-fine parts, like having to scrounge for food, and beg the locals for a place to stay the night rather than being left to the literal wolves, and work his ass off just for crumbs of that accursed symbol of society… money. Why was the God of Fortune in hiding when Antonio needed him most?
But the hope of regaining his Divinity shone brighter than the darkness in his heart, and so he kept going.
Meanwhile, during those weeks he’d asked around Mezzo Village not only for odd jobs and warm shelter, but also—“Have you seen a young man with reddish hair and a curl that won’t stay down, soft brown eyes, maybe about this height?”—and he’d gesture with a hand up to about his eye level.
The strange thing was, though, that most of the time, any offers of said odd jobs or warm shelter would be instantly withdrawn upon hearing this extra question. Nobody would tell him anything, except:
“You’re only looking for trouble.” “Don’t summon him here!” “What do you think you’re doing, bringing him up?” “He’s not a real god, you know.” “Don’t get involved with him. They call him that for a reason.”
Formerly pitying expressions would twist into fear and doors would slam shut in his face. But why? There was no God as beloved as Feliciano. Perhaps they were mistaken? Mortals were strange beings…
“Wake up, you jerk bastard.” This time it was a gruffer, deeper voice cutting into his thoughts.
Antonio, still in a daze, finally thought to open his eyes. As his blurry eyesight slowly stabilized, he caught sight of a figure crouching next to him, head tilted. He suddenly smelled the scent of petrichor.
“Heard you’ve been asking literally anybody with a working brain about me. But nobody in their right mind would willingly seek me out, so explain yourself: what the fuck do you want? To curse someone?”
Antonio blinked once, twice, but his vision was clear, and the figure was bright. “…You’re not Feliciano.”
The young man startled and retreated, his demeanor changing more quickly than the wary villagers’. There was trepidation in his eyes, yes, but also something more than that—something akin to wonder.
After he regained his composure, the human scowled and folded his arms. “You sure about that?”
“Yes!” Antonio replied cheerfully. Finally someone was willing to help! Maybe? Although, this someone was… well… Antonio supposed he could understand why the villagers confused Feliciano with this ornery fellow. He did sport a similar hair curl, but in the opposite direction. His hair was muted auburn rather than a warm ginger, his eyes more hazel-green than amber-brown. He was also shorter than Feliciano. And he couldn’t possibly be a God; although, he was the most handsome Mortal Antonio had ever seen.
“Quit staring,” the man muttered, a faint blush filling his cheeks, “and explain yourself before you make me strangle the answer out of you. What the fuck do you know about Feliciano?”
“Well…” Antonio thought for a moment about how to best explain things. “All I know is that Feliciano was last seen in the territory of the God of Ruin.”
The young man’s eye twitched at the mention of the fabled God. He seemed at a loss for words.
Antonio became uneasy. Clearly this man was different from the other villagers, though Antonio wasn’t quite sure how. But he figured he ought to at least get this odd Mortal in his corner.
“Oh! Sorry,” Antonio laughed nervously, “I’ve been very rude. What’s your name? Mine’s Antonio.”
What was this sensation washing over Antonio—anxiety? nervousness? …excitement?
“…Romano,” his counterpart finally replied. “You can call me Romano.”
“Romano! Nice to meet you, Romano!” And saying his name seemed to dispel Antonio’s weird feelings, for now anyways, and he felt his trained easygoing grin return.
But Romano seemed even more restless now. “Hold on. The God of Ruin has no territory, got that? But let me rephrase my question: Why are you searching for the God of Fortune? Feeling unlucky lately?”
“Oh, yes! How did you know?” Antonio did not notice that he had never mentioned any God of Fortune. Which is why he followed up with, “I really need to find Feliciano so that I can go home and regain my—"
But he did realize something, as Ludwig’s words echoed in his mind: “But remember: you must never let a human find out about your Godhood.”
Antonio clapped both hands over his mouth, which actually made Romano smile, if his amused half-smirk could be called that. And for a second Antonio found himself wondering, if Romano could simmer down and stop being so antagonistic, whether Romano actually could be kind of cute.
“Regain your…?” Romano repeated. If Antonio knew any better he would’ve thought maybe Romano was teasing him, no, taunting him, with those raised eyebrows and all. But he did not know any better.
“Regain my… honor! Yes. My honor. I’ve lost it and Feliciano might know where it is.” Antonio stretched his grin the same way he was stretching the truth.
But Romano, after a long pause of suspended disbelief, burst into laughter. “Oh, you hopeless idiot. I know exactly what’s going on now.”
“You do?” Antonio asked, more dumbfounded than impressed.
“No, stupid. You didn’t explain a single thing. But I got the gist of things because I’m fucking brilliant and all.” Then Romano muttered, but still loud enough for Antonio to hear, “Honor, my ass.”
As Romano wiped a mirthful tear from his eye, a voice called out: “Heyyy, Antonio! You in there? We’re hired you to be out there in the fields, not sleeping in our barn! No pay no stay!”
Both men startled as footsteps approached them. A gust of wind burst past Antonio as the door swung open, revealing a farmhand with… oddly familiar-looking forest-green eyes and wood-brown hair.
Now Antonio dimly recalled that a tomato farmer had hired his labor for the week. But this farmhand at the door definitely wasn’t the hunched-over grandma who had set him up in the empty barn.
“Are you helping or not?” the farmhand said, one hand on his hip. “Otherwise we’ll fire you.”
“Coming, coming!” Antonio headed for the door, then turned back. “Hey, Romano—”
But Romano had disappeared. Antonio shrugged, deciding Feliciano could wait for the tomato harvest.
Antonio didn’t realize that the barn had no windows, or that when the farmhand shut the door, it was pitch black inside.