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Chapter Text

What if you take another maiden as your bride?

Your god won't be angry, that is for sure. This is not the first time he has seen his lover settling down in marriage.

He will gift you a robe more beautiful than any mortal has ever seen, woven from only precious materials, fitting for a mighty groom like you. He will personally oversee the preparations for your royal wedding, allowing no mistake to occur on such a joyous day of your life. He will generously bless and witness your union with your bride.

He will stand aside and say the most sincere wishes for your eternal bond with a smile on his face. Yes. For you, he will smile, and for you, he will swallow back his bitter tears as he watches you kiss your bride and lead her into the nuptial chamber he had meticulously prepared for you.

You will never know he had cried. You should never know.

You will never know that he had cried when you took that maiden's hand and declared her your companion for life - the same way you once entwined your fingers with his and confessed your love for him.

You will not know that he had intended to kill your chosen bride many times. That fragile body would not survive a cursed arrow piercing her heart and setting her into an agonizing blaze. But he knew how heartbroken you would be when you were announced the tragic news.

You will never know that he had imagined destroying your wedding. He will dress in the finest bridal gown - even if he is a god - and stand before you replacing your supposed wife, vowing that not even death will separate you from him. But he knows that you will loathe him for eternity.

But that doesn't mean he didn't dream. He dreamed for countless days and nights that you would have him as your life partner.

How pathetically ironic that a divine being would want to be chosen by the mortal he loved.

Yet he pushed down all his power and right to take as he pleased, giving you the freedom of choice and accepting whatever decision you will make.

He loves you very much, more than his own life. He loves you too much to bear to see you unhappy. You just have to say the word, and he is more than willing to give up everything for you, even his own happiness.

You will live a long, content life with your wife. And you will have children, and then grandchildren when your hair turns grey. The later generations of your lineage will live under his protection for years to come, for he will see you in each of your descendants, even after you have long passed.

The Radiant One will still love you, Hyacinthus.

That love will be carried by him even when your lineage is gone, and he will still carry it until he himself is no more in this world.

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“Can I share a secret with you, Penelope?”

Penelope tried not to make it too obvious that she was surprised when Athena addressed her not only by her name but also in a casual manner like she was talking to a friend. There had always been an established distance between gods and mortals. Yet just now, Athena bridged said distance without a second thought.

But Penelope knew better than to get cocky and take advantage of the sudden bestow of friendliness from the patron goddess of her kingdom. She paused her unfinished work on the loom and respectfully turned her whole body toward Athena.

“Of course, my Lady,” Penelope bowed low, “Whatever we exchange in this chamber shall stay behind closed doors.”

Athena chuckled and bent her neck at an unusual angle (almost owl-like, Penelope thought) to look at the princess next to her. And while Athena met Penelope’s eyes, her long, clever fingers never stopped dancing across the tapestry in the making like butterflies flitting from flower to flower.

“I enjoy weaving with you more than my sisters,” the goddess admitted.

“Oh…,” Penelope had not expected such a confession from her. It was common for women with sisters to gossip such things to their friends, but not a literal goddess. She could only reply softly, “Then I’m honored that my humble company is pleasant to you.”

“If truth be told, daughter of Icarius,” as Athena smiled, the sides of her bright eyes deepened with crinkles, “You are always a delight to be with.”

The goddess’ honesty was a gentle soothe to Penelope’s beating heart. She returned with a sheepish yet appreciative grin, the corner of her lip lifted just enough to reveal her peculiarly sharp teeth.

“Do not get me wrong, though,” Athena continued like a pottery turned upside down and poured all out, with Penelope watching her pulling several green-dyed threads, “I love my sisters as dearly as you love your kin, but they are embarrassing to watch with the loom. Persephone would try to improvise the material only for the robes she made to fall apart when someone put them on. And Artemis… where do I even begin? She had broken three looms before finally understanding how to string the first thread.”

Pious and composed as she was, even Penelope couldn’t help but giggle at how exasperated Athena sounded, “I can only imagine how difficult it was for you to teach the Maiden and the Huntress.”

Athena did not dismiss, “Oh, it was a century and a half of labor in Sicily.”

Sicily. The name rang familiar with the princess. The sacred island where her city’s patron was brought up in, a place she held near and dear to her heart, perhaps above all other lands, if the myths were true. It was then Penelope noticed the patterns that Athena had been working on had solidified into the outlines of three women - undoubtedly Athena herself and her sisters whom she had been talking about, Artemis and Persephone - on the vibrant green background, which was the Himeran field they spent their days with each other.

The realization that even the divine beings, who roamed the earth before the dawn of humanity, were once born from their mothers and shared a childhood with their loved ones was very enlightening to her. Many moons ago, regal Athena was once a young goddess who frolicked on the grass field like a carefree girl with her family, basking under the gleaming sun and warm springs and fragrant flowers. Just like Penelope did with her sister and cousins when they were little kids.

“Yet you remain patient with them the whole time,” Penelope said, then offered her insight, “Pardon me if my assumption might be bold, but perhaps teaching your sisters wasn’t the sole reason you stayed with them for so long, but it was the joyous time you had together.”

Another mirthful laugh was planted in Athena’s chest, this time she halted her weaving to sit and laugh to her content. The goddess of wisdom had always enjoyed the outspokenness of her favorite mortals, and Penelope was perhaps one of her favorites when it came to cunning speeches.

“Yes,” the Olympian goddess mused and returned another direct look at the Spartan princess, “That you are right, Penelope.”

This time, the name truly felt warm and endearing.

Chapter Text

The soft ringtone pulled Apollo’s attention away from the book he was reading. As soon as he saw it was an incoming call from his boyfriend, Hyacinthus, a smile drew on his face as he picked up the phone.

“Hello, darling,” Apollo greeted with a chuckle, “Do you need me to pick you up from the party?”

“Ah, no. Not yet,” Hyacinthus declined sheepishly, “I just want to ask you a small favor.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow, leaning back against his armchair, “Whatever is it?”

Hyacinthus threw a glare at his friends, who were giggling at the other side of the table and motioning him to keep going. Ganymede even reminded with a stuck out tongue, “You lost the round, you have to do it!”

Hyacinthus sighed in defeat and briefly explained to his boyfriend, although he couldn’t hide the embarrassment in it, “I lost a round of beer pong and had to do a challenge. I have to call a partner and ask for their notes on my performance in bed. Can you help me with that?”

Apollo snorted a laugh at the exasperated request, though he tried to suppress it to not make it worse for Hyacinthus, “Notes on your performance?”

Before Hyacinthus could reply, Nerites jumped onto him and shouted to Apollo through the phone, “He’s supposed to ask for a diagram too if the partner is in the room, but we want to see one!”

“Yeah, give us a visual presentation so we can absorb it better!” Ariadne followed up excitedly, “And it better be detailed!”

Hyacinthus shooed his friends away and returned to Apollo, “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I want to do it,” Apollo smirked, “Good feedback yields better performance, after all.”

“… You’re into this too?” Hyacinthus hissed under his breath.

“Why not?” Apollo cooed, “Put me on facetime and speaker mode, I’ll get a paper and pencil.”

Hyacinthus reluctantly did as told, and the gang cheered as they saw Apollo’s close-up face appear on the screen.

“Hello,” Apollo greeted everyone before flipping the camera to the rear side and positioning it to the piece of blank paper on his desk, “Are you ready for some notes?”

“Yes!” Everyone cheered in sync.

“Alright,” Apollo drew the vertical and horizontal lines for the graph, “This one is Hyacinthus’ evaluation chart. First and foremost, he got the best stamina and went for hours if needed, so I’ll give that a 95% rating.”

He drew a tall bar at the “ooh” and “aah” of the spectators. Hyacinthus blushed a little, but felt a sense of accomplishment tingling in his chest. That wasn’t a lie. Apollo did enjoy the many all-night heated sessions with him.

“He’s also quite vocal. His low Spartan accent is very sexy, I’ll give you that,” Apollo continued and drew a, however, shorter bar, “But still not enough vocal to my liking. He sometimes keeps to himself when I’m prodding for intimacy, that knocks it down to 78%.”

“Wait, what?” Hyacinthus was a bit unexpected, “Isn’t 78% a bit too specific?”

“You got 2% taken from the original 80% because I’m still upset that you didn’t call me by any pet name last night,” Apollo explained.

This straight-up honesty brought out a fit of cackle from everyone else. Hyacinthus stared at the new bar unbelievably after listening to Apollo’s reason, “Are you… Are you actually grading me like grading a test?”

“You asked me for feedback, so I’m giving it to you now,” Apollo said a-matter-of-factly, “Look, I love it that you’re not quiet when we’re making love, but you don’t always say the right thing that I wanted to hear. You’re not even the best at foreplay. In fact, I’ll mark that 30%.”

“30?!” Hyacinthus exclaimed at the sudden low score, “I gave you fellatio whenever you ask! Is my oral skill not good enough for you?”

“The problem isn’t your skills, but the fact that you always want to rush to the main act, that’t not romantic at all,” Apollo told him with a surprisingly straight face, “Your oral skill is actually one of your best, Hyacinth. I would have given it 96% if you gave it more frequently at the start of sex.”

“How much do you rate my oral, then?”

“80%.”

Hyacinthus inhaled deeply while his friends went hysterical. Still better than the 30% on foreplay.

“Is that all?”

“Oh, no. We haven’t talked about your kinkiness and cuddlings.”

Psyche had to cover her mouth at the sudden turn of events while Nerites barked out a laugh, almost falling to the ground at Apollo’s comical seriousness.

Hyacinthus felt his right eye twitching, “You’ve been waiting for this opportunity this whole time, have you?”

“No, I’m just doing my job,” Apollo shrugged, “Moving on. Your kinkiness and cuddling both tied at 63%.”

“Why are they so… average?”

“Because some nights you’d cuddle me after sex, others you just rolled off to sleep,” Apollo complained, “I don’t like being left hanging.”

“As if I don’t need to rest?!”

“At least give me a kiss before you doze off, but you did none of that,” Apollo argued, then a reconsideration hit him, “Mhm, no, I think your kinkiness is actually better. A 77%.”

Although he was a little seething just now, Hyacinthus got curious, “Why the change?”

“You made a lot of wonderful suggestions these months, so I increased the score for the effort,” Apollo said as he drew out the bars.

“What suggestion, exactly?” Ariadne squinted her eyes playfully.

“Some businesses better stay between us only,” Apollo turned the camera toward him and winked, “But I’ll let you guys know Hyacinthus loves using restraining devices. Very dominant and in control when in the mood, so his boldness and eagerness to try new things are solid 85%.”

Okay, Hyacinthus was glad he still acknowledged that after dragging him over all of his silly shortcomings.

After drawing out the last two bars, Apollo finally set his pencil aside and lifted the chart closer to the camera for all to see, “There they are, my notes on Hyacinthus’ sexual performance.”

“Do send us a photo of this,” Nerites suggested, “So we can keep it as a souvenir.”

“Sure,” Apollo complied with his eyes on Hyacinthus, “I’ll send you one too, my love. So you can reevaluate yourself and make improvements. I look forward to see better performance from you when you get home.”

“Shut up,” Hyacinthus made a playful disgruntled face at him before disconnecting the call.

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It felt like an eternity had passed between them, but it’s actually only a few seconds. Just a few seconds for Hyacinthus’ cheeks to burn up from embarrassment, the redness even threatened to spread to his neck, and Apollo did not help with his not-so-subtle snicker.

“It’s not like what you think!” Hyacinthus near-screamed and waved his hands around, instinctively trying to move his phone’s screen away even though Apollo had definitely seen it all, “I can explain!”

“Go on, then,” Apollo gave him an inviting nod.

Hyacinthus didn’t miss a second more as soon as permission was given, “The website will give a discount for each purchase of four audiobooks, so I bought this kind of bulk many times. There was also a recent holiday special offer, and I wanted to make the most of it–”

“That doesn’t explain why you bought so many audiobooks narrated by me,” Apollo interrupted with a barely suppressed snicker. It might have sounded like an interrogation for a panicking Hyacinthus, but the blonde man’s bemusing smile couldn’t help but lift up even more.

Hyacinthus wished Apollo hadn’t been that blunt. Now he just wanted to bury his head somewhere to never see the light of day again. But since the room’s floor was too hard to dig through, he opted for the second best thing: curling up into a ball on the sofa and hiding his face away in one of the pillows.

“Aww,” Apollo let out a playful laugh at Hyacinthus’ retreating, swiftly scooting closer to him, “And I thought you like listening to my voice?”

“You don’t have to say it outright,” Hyacinthus’ replied with a pitiful voice that was muffled by the pillow.

“Well, it’s quite amusing to know my boyfriend has been my fan for the longest time, isn’t it?”

Hyacinthus glared up in protest, “I never said I was your fan!”

“Right,” Apollo’s eyes crinkled with his non-stop grinning, “Then how do you explain purchasing my most recent audiobook only a day after its release?”

“... It’s a coincidence,” Hyacinthus felt his self-explanation deflating, but he would rather die than admit defeat, “I just like that particular book, alright? Any narrator would do, not just you!”

Apollo looked at him like he was a child flimsily covering himself up and obviously failing, “Have you seen your library? There was no other narrator’s name. You only bought my books.”

“...”

How much of his library did Apollo see again? How did he find out so much from just a few quick glances?

“Got you,” as if he had not a single hint of shame, Apollo cooed with a wink at his boyfriend’s steaming face.

Hyacinthus refused to even look at him, puffing his reddened cheeks and turned away angrily.

There was no way he would let him go. Apollo leaned over until his shoulder pushed against Hyacinthus’ and his thin lips almost gazed at his ears. Hyacinthus didn’t dodge in time because he was busy ignoring Apollo, and now he had to take in the other’s weight on him.

“Darling,” Apollo breathed into Hyacinthus’ ear, his intentionally lowered voice tickling him from the outer shell to the inside and igniting a sensual tingle from his blushing face down his neck and chest in a heating path, “Do you want me to coax you out like this?”

Fuck. Fuck. Apollo had no right to sound this hot and sexy!

“Tell me,” Apollo’s widened grin can be practically heard, “Do you prefer listening from the audio or from the actual person?”

“G-Go away,” Hyacinthus pushed his boyfriend away, but his force could barely be called an attempt.

“Not until you answer me,” Apollo kissed his ear after the soft demand.

Hyacinthus bit back a groan, but with Apollo’s warmth only pressing further onto him and would definitely not leave until he had his answer, he finally gave in, “Fine. Fine! I like hearing you in person, you’re the best! Good enough?”

“Yes,” Apollo closed his eyes in satisfaction, “You made me happy, so now I will reward you.”

“What do you mean…”

Apollo already pinned him onto the leathery plush of the sofa before he could finish the question. Hyacinthus let out a surprised yelp, then all that he could hear was Apollo’s low chuckle purring by the side of his face and sending electric waves down his neck and shoulder.

“I’ll let you hear me to your heart content. All night, baby.”

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Hyacinthus pounced onto Thamyris like a beast seizing its prey, greedily capturing his lips and clashing their teeth. It didn’t feel like a kiss, more like ravenous devouring, until Hyacinthus let out a feeble moan when Thamyris bit him.

“Ah…”

Hyacinthus pulled away and instinctively pressed his lips together, his tongue tasting the faint metallic tang of blood. He wasn’t sure if it was from the fervent kiss just now or if Thamyris had meant to bite him harder but ultimately held back.

Thamyris sighed as he watched Hyacinthus suck on his lip. He reached out, cupping the younger man’s chin, rubbing his thumb gently over his lower lip as he scolded him lightly, “I’m here with you now, aren’t I? It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Why are you in such a rush?”

Hyacinthus stared at Thamyris’ busy thumb on his lips and couldn’t resist playfully snapping his teeth. The bard immediately retreated his thumb with a click of his tongue, “Biting again?”

“I can’t help it,” Hyacinthus chuckled. Before Thamyris could fully withdraw his hand, he swiftly caught it, this time to press a gentle kiss to his wrist, “I love you.”

As he kissed him, Hyacinthus looked into Thamyris’ eyes with a gaze filled with amusement. His warm breath left a tingling sensation on Thamyris’ skin, sinking deep into his wrist, traveling through his veins, and flowing straight to his heart.

It took a long moment before the bard finally responded, “I love the way you look right now.”

Hyacinthus didn’t know who leaned into the other first, but he didn’t bother to wonder. The moment those soft, petal-like lips pressed against his, he could taste the fresh sweetness of harvested honey and beeswax, a delicate flavor that only tempted him to melt further into Apollo’s touch and mingle with his essence. It would have been a bliss.

Letting out a quiet sigh through his nose, Hyacinthus parted his lips, his tongue teasingly and deliberately licked into Apollo’s mouth like it had a mind of its own, allowing him to swallow the gentle sound escaping the god’s throat as he savored every second of their intimacy.

“Sweet one,” Apollo murmured between their breaths and scents, all tangled in a leisure dance.

Oh, how he loved it when Apollo called him that, whether it was the first time or the thousandth. It was almost arrogant, how openly delighted he felt knowing that a god cherished him with such tenderness and reverence, as if he were the most precious gem in his hands. He should have seen it as a divine blessing, yet he couldn’t help but surrender himself to the love Apollo offered like a man fell into his lover’s embrace.

Hyacinthus rested his forehead against Apollo’s, their lips still grazing ever so slightly as he responded in a soft, honeyed voice, “Yes?”

Answering him were Apollo’s slender fingers caressing his jaw and gently brushing away stray curls before his entire hand cupped the side of his face, his gaze never straying from Hyacinthus.

“Thank you for choosing to stay by my side.”

Each word spoken carried the god’s deepest sincerity and seeped into the prince’s very soul. Hyacinthus’ cheeks flushed as quick as the flame that was kindled in his chest, blazing and hazing like he was intoxicated by the wine of love. And before he could stop himself, he confessed in the very next breath he took.

“I’m just as happy to have you with me.”

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The sky that blanketed over the Laconian land laid motionlessly with a monotonous gray-blue of the transition between night and day. The winds had stilled, the river’s currents had softened into their most tranquil state, and all beings remained embraced by Sleep’s arms.

“It’s a beautiful world, my son,” Clio whispered as she glanced up at the changing hemisphere, her hand resting on the curve of her stomach, “I can’t wait for you to see and fall in love with it.”

The child inside her kicked gently as if in response to his mother’s words. Clio touched the place where she had felt his impact, smiling, “You just can’t wait to come out, are you?”

The goddess knew the moment had come when she saw the silver chariot of the Moon disappear among the faint wisps of clouds, leaving behind the blank canvas for the arrival of the Sun. She had already pressed her bare feet into the damp, muddy bank of the Eurotas River, undeterred by the reeds brushing against the hem of her long gown. The grass tips swayed like long arms, and after a while, they seemed to rise up and embrace the goddess’s naked flesh in place of the fragile fabric that once wrapped around her ethereal form, now had dissolved as fast as a ribbon loosened and flown away from the hair.

The cold night air never bothered Clio, and neither would the cool water. She slowly stepped into the river, allowing the sloshing ripples to rise above her ankles, calves, knees, and finally her rounded belly before stopping just when it was about to reach her chest. Gently stroking the overly stretched skin of her stomach, through which she could feel the constant shifting of her son had been increasing by the passing minutes, Clio commanded her legs to part and relax along with the caress of the surrounding water, which had already become warm enough and clear of any remaining sediments and solid particles through the spread of her magic. The goddess gradually closed her eyes and let her form radiate the purest energy from deep within her core as she fully submerged herself into the water.

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It was unclear how much time had passed until long streaks of ink-black began to spread across the water’s surface in all directions. From within that pool of dark, a head emerged, followed by a slender neck and the upper half of a delicate body. Clio rose from the water, neither hurriedly nor sluggishly, but with utmost gentleness so as not to startle the infant cradled in her arms. Her drenched hair clung like vines to her back, chest, and shoulders, with only a single strand slipped and brushed against the tiny face that laid pressed against her bosom. It tickled the child awake, and he slowly opened his eyes to see the gentle smile of his mother - the very first thing he beheld upon entering this world.

“Hyacinthus,” she lowered her head until all she could see was her newborn son, smiling and whispering to him in an ancient language like an echo from a distant past, “Your name is Hyacinthus.”

A noble and talented child, he shall be. The one beloved by mortals and favored by gods.

But in less than a heartbeat, the blooming joy Clio had had in her heart froze at a bitter realization: her child bore half the blood of gods, yet not immortal. Only half of the divinity.

Staring at Hyacinthus for a while longer, Clio couldn’t help but bring him closer to her as if to shield him away from all the danger she could already sense were coming his way. But upon feeling his healthy warmth and breathy cries, Clio understood that Hyacinthus was a small one yet pulsing with life, as he carried in him the fervent blood of the southern people interwoven with her diluted ichor… unless she could fill him with full ichor. Schemes and calculations began to rush back and forth in the goddess’ mind, a perfect plan to outmaneuver the Fates and keep this child for herself.

Clio gradually regained her composure and swiftly climbed out of the river, holding Hyacinthus tightly in her arms. With a flick of her hand, she was once again draped in her long gown, and little Hyacinthus was carefully wrapped in a swaddle and warm cloth. Looking at her son, restless just moments ago but was now calmed enough to fall asleep again, Clio couldn’t help but lean down and place a kiss on his forehead.

I have seen all the lives that have walked the earth; I have seen all the mistakes that could tear you away from my arms.

But I know what I must do to keep you safe. You will always be safe as long as I am alive.

I will not let anything harm you, not even the gods. I would kill Mother Earth herself if she dared to take you away from me.

That I swear, my son. My Hyacinthus.

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Harmonia had her eyes on her chalice of dark drink on the table, running her finger around the circular rim as she murmured thoughtlessly, “Papa, how do I ask someone out?”

Ares was about to bring his chalice close for a sip, but upon hearing the question, he paused and lowered his drink to look at his daughter. Seeing the returning eyes of Harmonia, the god of war let out a small cough before suggesting, “I think that question should be for your mother.”

“Mama and the Erotes were out on business,” Harmonia pursed her lips, “So I figure you’re the next best option. You’ve been with Mama for a long time, so I figure you would also know about love.”

Oh, so he was also a considerable option to her? Ares felt a warm sense of honor tingling in his chest and a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. With her unwavering trust in him, he wanted to help his little girl as much as possible.

“Hmm,” Ares scratched his chin, “It’s important to first know who you’re asking out first so you’ll know which approach best suited them.”

Harmonia paused for a second, then stuttered with blushing cheeks, “Oh, uh, he’s just some guy.”

Ares raised an eyebrow, “Just some guy?”

“He’s a prince!” Harmonia quickly added, “He’s also around here and had the favors of us gods.”

At this, she shrunk a little, “Some of us, at least.”

Ares set his chalice back onto the table, “Do I know this prince?”

Harmonia knew she could not hide everything. She tried to muster up a simple, quiet “yes” in hopes that it’s vague enough her father might not find out who exactly this man is right away. But unbeknownst to her, Ares already had a hunch at who this prince his daughter is talking about.

“Since he’s a mortal prince,” Ares spoke gently, intending to play ignorant for now, “The first thing you should do is make him feel comfortable. You already have leverage over him as a full-born goddess, so it’s best not to make him feel forced or overwhelmed.”

Harmonia nodded with pressed lips, “I understand that.”

“Try to find some common ground with him,” Ares continued, “He’s a man among gods, so it’s natural for him to feel like an outcast. Start with asking him about his day, listen to what he has to say, then act upon it.”

Harmonia blinked, “How can I act upon it?”

Ares waved his hands, suggesting, “Maybe that day his weapon broke, and he’s looking for a new one. You can give him advice on where to find good replacements, you know a thing or two about weaponry.”

“I do,” Harmonia gave a cheeky grin, “Thanks to you.”

“Glad to know my teaching finally came in handy,” Ares returned her smile, “And if he looks tired, offer him a drink. Your auntie Hebe has nice beverage recipes you can learn. Whiping a cool refreshment for him on a hot day will get him on good terms with you.”

“I will try.”

“That’s all I have to say. I believe in you, darling.”

“Alright,” Harmonia beamed as she spread her hands across the table, “I will tell you if it works out with me and Cadmus.”

Ares nodded, “I look forward to your update.”

“Yeah–Oh,” it took Harmonia a second too late to realize she had spilled the one critical detail she was supposed to hide this whole time, “I, uh, I didn’t…”

“I already know it’s Cadmus you’ve taken a liking to,” Ares told her calmly, more calm than Harmonia had anticipated.

Harmonia was dumbfounded for a couple of passing seconds, and when she had found her sense again, she was still unbelieving, “Y-You really don’t mind that it’s him?”

“Really, I don’t mind,” Ares reached out to hold her hand, “It’s true I have grudges with that Phoenician prince, but it shouldn’t and wouldn’t affect your relationship with him. I want his repentance for offending me, but I do not seek to thwart him if he is true to you.”

The tension in the young goddess’ chest unraveled by each comforting word her father told her. His larger hand upon her also felt like a trusting anchor of support, its firmness soon outweighed the now crumbling heaviness in her heart.

“Thank you, Papa,” Harmonia’s smile shone like the evening’s rays, “Thank you so much!”

“You’re very welcome, daughter of mine.”

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His kiss was a soft threat for death, breath swirling like thorn vines sharp around her neck, teeth glazing against the slope of her neck like a knife’s blade just waiting to tear through her skin and dig deep until it ruptured the main vessel underneath. Oh, how Ariadne would let him bleed her dry and drain all of her over and over again. It was the divine blessing and punishment she sought to rid her shackles of guilt.

“To think such a princess as you were,” Dionysus murmured, playfully tightening his arm’s hold that draped over her torso and gripping onto her other shoulder, “would find euphoric satisfaction by the scene of human sacrifice right in front of your doorstep.”

It wasn’t an accusation, the god was merely stating a fact. He knew of the desire that lay within the deepest part of her, the degrading ugliness that none would ever be allowed to know - yet he did.

“Not quite so,” Ariadne whispered, eyes remaining closed in a strangely relaxed state, “It was the purpose of the kill, not the act itself, that drove me into ecstasy.”

Dionysus’ chuckle was light, as if Ariadne had not just confessed to him her thirst for revenge, the twisted joy to see her late brother’s demise being duly paid by the flesh of the children of the Athenians who had murdered him.

“But you cannot say the experience did not add into the deadly thrill,” he murmured between hot kisses, “Until you’ve ravished in the scent of blood and delighted in the scream of the dying, you wouldn’t know how intoxicating they could be.”

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Hyacinthus flung the bouquet of flowers at the tombstone, not caring at how the petals scatter in the air from the force of the throw. The look of disdain on his face as he gazed at the stone surface was as if he were staring directly at the person lying beneath it.

His voice was cold as he sneered, “A dead man like you should’ve stayed the hell where you should be.”

Of course, there was no reply.

“Even the restless spirits weren’t as big a nuisance as you.”

Silence again.

Hyacinthus fell into a long, quiet pause before bursting into a bitter cackle, “Seriously… why did you come back? Do you think there’s anyone who still bothers to remember you?”

He tilted his head back, eyes meeting the vast sky above. His long, curly hair trailed down his back with the movement, sliding like a pack of slow, creeping snakes. Hyacinthus stayed like that, unmoving, allowing the midday sun to scorch his cheeks red and burning. The sun’s fierce heat was oddly comforting, as if it lent a spark of life to his perpetually cold body.

To be alive was truly a precious gift. The odds of a life being born were one in infinity. Every living being was but a speck of dust in the universe, and by some miracle, they became a conscious, breathing existence. A living entity.

Whenever Hyacinthus thought about those odds, he felt like laughing. To him, the wheel of life must have erred somewhere along the way to spit out someone like him.

Why was he even alive?

On the tombstone, there was only a single name engraved: Hyacinthus .

Chapter Text

She was indeed a sight to behold. A beautiful nymph with soft green hair flowing down to her waist, puffing out in the middle and tapering at the ends, resembling a leaf from afar. Ever graceful, ever delicate, even when her face turned deathly pale at the sight of Apollo as he passed by the lake where she had been gathering flowers by its shore.

Especially when their eyes met, his eyes of coals with amber sparks instantly caught fire, only spreading with each step he took toward her as if intending to consume the entire forest with her.

“You can turn from the light. A beacon within the night,” how could such a terrifying man serenade with such a melodic voice, “You’re the brightest, my star.”

Daphne’s trembling hands dropped the flower crown while stepping back unconsciously, heedless of the crushed petals beneath her feet. She feared the god as a lamb fears the wolf, as a dove fears the eagle. She couldn’t stay here–

“Perfect in every way,” Apollo seemed unfazed by the nymph’s retreat, even reaching out a hand with a charming smile like an invitation, “The whole world’s ocean waves reflected in your sad gaze.”

No. No! She couldn’t!

“My savior!”

As soon as he uttered next, Daphne bolted as if she were escaping a wild beast, leaving Apollo stunned for a moment, before he immediately gave chase.

“Oh, what a beautiful soul,” the god called after her, undeterred, “I don’t believe—”

“—you’re a liar!” Daphne screamed, refusing to listen.

Yet Apollo did not stop. The chase stretched deep into the forest, with him relentlessly on her heels.

“Night’s falling, and all the darkness comes out to play.”

His mind was bit consumed entirely by his love-crazed desire, and the sight of Daphne fleeing like a frightened hare only fueled his obsession, spurring him on as if he were a hunter pursuing his prey.

“Just let me take it away!”

His fingertips nearly brushed the ends of her flowing green hair, but she slipped away at the last moment, darting suddenly down a hidden path, nearly vanishing into the towering trees.

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Apollo laughed like a lunatic, almost breathless, “Eternally beautiful.”

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Despite Daphne’s never-ceasing screams for help throughout the chase, no critter would dare to stand in the way of a god ablaze with burning passion. They shrunk not only at the sharp tips of Apollo’s arrows but at the god himself, a presence as scorching as a wildfire. But the nymph did not give up her pleading, her heart tightened with a sliver of hope that a divine hand would reach down and grab her away before her feebling legs gave in and she fell into Apollo’s flesh-tearing grasp.

“Oh, within all these walls… falling with no ground.”

In a single moment breaking down.

Daphne thought her lungs had collapsed, fearing she might not make it until then.

She flailed her arms wildly to swat out the low-hanging branches that obstructed her path. She couldn’t see what lay ahead, but she knew with absolute certainty that she did not want to look back.

It seemed that every branch she sent whipping behind her in hopes to slow Apollo down was instead burned to ashes, completely obliterated without a second thought. He didn’t even bother pushing them aside. Perhaps that was why there was the scent of charred wood lingered in the air, mingling with the rising heat of the smoke. Daphne must have gone insane when she heard within that suffocating haze the god’s sing-song laughing, a sound as beautiful as it was terrifying.

“Taken my sight and sound, darkness fills all around…”

Daphne shot her hands up to cover her ears, not even realizing that in her panic that she was clutching at her own hair, frantically pulling it as if trying to tear herself apart.

“… collapsing my world.”

Illusions swarmed around her, suffocating Daphne as if they meant to torment her to death.

“My savior!” Apollo echoed from far behind yet seeming to come from right in front of her, “Oh, what a beautiful girl!”

There were the god’s wretched fingers seizing her face, forcing her to look at him as he leaned in close with that manic smile stretching across his lips.

“Make me your god, I can give you everything.”

No–

“Night’s fallen and all our shadows come out to play.”

No!

“Just let me take you away!”

Go away!

Daphne gasped sharply like she had broken through the water surface just before drowning. She swung her arms desperately, pushing aside the branches in front of her, finally revealing the forest’s edge opening into a stretch of empty grassland. She didn’t stop for a single breath of relief, there was no relief coming to her. She had to keep running.

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

“Eternally beautiful.”

The longer the pursuit stretched out, the closer the distance between them became. Daphne could almost feel Apollo’s breath, warm against the back of her neck, sending chills down her spine.

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

As she neared the riverbank, Daphne pleaded with her father, the river god Peneus, to save her from Apollo’s greedy hands. Her desperate sobs stirred the waters into a violent tide, waves crashing against the shore in a frenzy just as she reached the edge. Daphne was about to leap into the river, but in that instant, her legs froze into roots that dug deep into the earth.

The metamorphosis happened so fast that she felt nothing: layers of rough bark enveloped her body like an unyielding suit of armor; lush green leaves spread into foliage thickets from her once-flowing hair, and her outstretched arms extended into limbs of wood. Finally, her radiant, expressive face contorted and faded into the lifeless trunk of a tree.

She had gotten her wish.

.

.

.

By the time Apollo reached her, Daphne was gone, now forever standing still by the banks of the Peneus River in the form of a tree. Her evergreen leaves, as vibrant as her lovely locks, dipped gently toward the calmed surface as a mirror to her unmade attempt to dive into the water.

Apollo’s knees went limp in his final steps before he finally fell down and clung to the tree, refusing to let go, but no warmth greeted him in return. He kissed her, only to taste the bitter and rough bark against his lips.

She was no longer Daphne. And she would never be his.

In the end, she had won.

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Even so, her boundless hatred for the god to the point of rather choosing the embrace of death over his could not quell his maddening devotion. Though stricken with sorrow, he accepted her decision and declared:

“Laurel. I will name this tree the laurel. A tree as beautiful as you, Daphne, deserves to bear your name. And it shall be sacred to my heart forevermore!”

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Ruler of my heart

Only the rustle of leaves had answered him - whether in agreement or in mourning, none could say.

Chapter Text

Penelope couldn’t remember for how long she had been kneeling on the grass until the soft blades now scraped against her ankles, staring at her opened hands like they were all that was left, and the world had melted away. She could not move, but seeing how her inactiveness had led to such a horrifying incident, she might as well be turned into a stone as the only means of repentance.

She did not reach out to grab Helen or push her aside.

“Princess…”

She did not fight back the men who stole her cousin away.

“Daughter of Icarius…”

She did not do a single thing. She stood there and watched it happen.

“Penelope!”

Penelope whipped her head up, eyes dried from the long stare. Standing in front of her was the regal form of the goddess Athena. There was no shining armor or helmet full of divine authority, nor was there the celestine spear or the aegis shield adorned with the head of the Gorgon. There was only Athena, dressed simply in a long, simple-patterned himation, grounding the goddess in a more human-like presence.

Athena did not flinch when a pair of desperate hands clutched at the hem of her gown, yet her heart couldn’t help but clench at the sight of the young princess kneeling at her feet, her once-bright and intelligent eyes now reddened with despair.

“Lady Chalkioikos,” Penelope choked through the hard lump in her throat, lowering her head until it almost met the goddess’ sandaled feet, “They have taken her.”

“I know, princess,” was all Athena offered.

“I’ve let those men take her. I let them take her–!”

Athena slowly descended from her tall stance to cup Penelope by her cheeks with calloused yet surprisingly gentle hands, those that were as warm as real flesh. She brushed the fallen strand of hair away from the princess’ forehead, melancholy in her voice, “None of it was your fault.”

Penelope exhaled sharply, “But I could have done something!”

“What exactly could you do, then?” Athena asked back.

“I…,” the sudden question fumbled Penelope, “I could have called for the guards. Or I could fight the men myself! I could…”

“You couldn’t have done any of it,” Athena said firmly, knowing it would break Penelope’s heart, but knowing that she needed to hear it as well, “What have I taught you, Penelope? Dwelling on what you could have done with what was already done will not solve anything.”

Penelope’s breath hitched. She could only hold onto the goddess’ gaze for only a second longer before breaking away in defeat and growing hopelessness, “But my delaying had pushed Helen into danger.”

“It wasn’t your lack of response,” Athena shook her head, explaining, “Helen was always meant to be the factor that led Theseus and Pirithous to be overdriven with hubris and ventured into the Underworld, where they shall be punished accordingly. Your cousin shall be returned safe and sound by the Dioscuri when the men have left.”

The revelation did not comfort Penelope - the last part about Helen’s safe return did, but the purpose of her abduction only shocked the young princess, and soon it gave into fuming rage.

“How could you do this to her?” Penelope near-shouted, “Was Helen not a princess of your city as well? Did you gods only see humans as mere pawns to play with?”

Athena’s owl-like eyes hardened at the accusation, but she couldn’t bring herself to be offended. Penelope was still young - clever as she was, she was still a young girl by heart and body - and all of this was too overwhelming for her. Overreaction was completely understandable coming from her.

“I have favored your family for generations, and that I shall remain so,” Athena replied, “But before that, I am my father’s right hand, and I will not defy what he had commanded to unfold. There are simply things beyond my allowance for intervention.”

Athena had thought this conversation would end like that: upon her words of finality, Penelope would lower her head and silently retreat to her chamber like she had done every time the goddess demanded to put an end to whatever topic they were arguing about. But this was not like any of the previous times. Even in the face of the seed of divine wrath, Penelope held her head tall to the point it bordered blasphemy. In that very moment, all of the childishness were shed from her young face, all were replaced by a bitter coldness.

“Were you, too, not our Soteira?” Penelope’s response was barely above a whisper, yet harsh as a winter’s storm, “For what crime must a child commit for you to forsaken her simply by your father’s command?”

Chapter Text

The kick to the stomach from Achilles was harder than he’d expected. Patroclus was sent flying back and slammed against the wall with a sickening thud, sending bits of stones crumbling down around him. The browned-haired man crumpled to his knees, coughing violently as he inhaled the dust.

Achilles watched him hack and retch like he was about to cough up a lung, his face still a mask of cold indifference, his voice clipped, “Had enough yet?”

Patroclus, ever the stubborn fool, spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground and let out a hoarse laugh, “Not yet.”

Achilles didn’t bother with a reply. He launched forward, fist raised high, a blow meant to end this long-standing squabble. But Patroclus twisted away just in time, leading Achilles’ punch to land onto the wall instead, cracking the stoned surface, and a thin stream of blood could be seen seeping from between the demigod’s knuckles. Achilles didn’t care. Without a second thought, his arm swung again, but Patroclus slipped out of reach once more.

The moment Achilles saw his attack miss, his leg snapped up in a kick aimed straight for Patroclus’ ribs. But the other was half a step quicker, ducking low and grabbing hold of Achilles’ supporting leg. He didn’t anticipate Achilles’ hand to suddenly yank his hair back, jerking his head up and throwing him off balance. Both of them tumbled to the ground in a messy heap.

Achilles recovered first, driving a sharp kick into Patroclus’ stomach to shove him away before scrambling to his feet. Yet just as he steadied himself, Patroclus swung his leg out in a wide arc, sweeping Achilles’ feet from under him, and the demigod fell flat on his back with a loud crash.

Patroclus pounced onto Achilles, straddling him, his hand flying straight to Achilles’ throat only to catch a brutal uppercut to the jaw.

Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth, but Patroclus didn’t flinch. If anything, the pain seemed to thrill him. He smirked, not caring at how his lips stained red and the cut on the side of his mouth stung, “That hurt.”

Achilles bucked, twisting and shoving to throw the young man off him, but Patroclus clung to him like a vice, fingers tightening round his throat, even cruelly crushing onto Achilles’ windpipe, a deliberate chokehold meant to cut off every last breath. It was a dirty trick, a move designed to trap your opponent with no escape, no chance to strike back.

But Achilles only laughed, a rough, strangled sound, as though each chuckle cost him a breath. Even as his air intake grew thinner, even as Patroclus’ merciless joy blazed in his eyes, Achilles grinned back wildly and unyieldingly, “You bastard.”

Chapter Text

Hera set her wine chalice back on the marble table as she spoke, “It’s not a coincidence your mother is called The Sickle Bearer.”

Persephone stopped tilting her chalice, the dark red wine barely touching her lips. Now intrigued, she, too, set her drink down.

“Isn’t it because she’s the goddess of the harvest?”

“That was a later reason,” Hera replied, her eyes aloof, “She earned that title during the end of the Titanomachy, much long before she gained her domain over agriculture.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard her talk about it,” Persephone leaned forward with her arms folded on the table, her question was only a little above her breath, “How did she earn it, auntie?”

Hera turned her gaze back toward the younger goddess, the daughter of her sister, the near-exact picture of a younger Demeter before the prophesied tragedy befell on their family. The Queen of Olympus closed her eyes as memories flooded her mind, all still too painful for her to bear, and she would like to keep it inside her rather than frighten her dear niece.

“During the final battle, your mother was the only one out of us six Olympians to take a blow from Kronos’ adamant sickle and still manage to stand her ground.”

That was a whiplash to Persephone, shaking her from within. The mental image of her mother, back then a goddess not older than she was now, facing the tyrannical Titan King alone was terrifying enough, and she had to take a blow from the very same blade that bled Ouranos of the Sky? Persephone couldn’t help a shudder.

Hera continued, “Her weapon was knocked off right before, so she grabbed onto the blade with her bare hands to momentarily stop him and give the rest enough time for a decisive attack. Perhaps it was her selfless and reckless act that had helped us finally overpowered and defeated Kronos.”

“She took it by her hands?” Persephone exclaimed, unbelieving. Then a thought occurred to her and sent a chill down her back, “Is… Is that why there’s a long scar on both her palms?”

“Yes.”

Persephone had wished Hera didn’t nod so soon. She started to babble out of horror and dumbstruck, “I didn’t know… I didn’t know any of this! She didn’t tell me anything.”

Shen then looked back up at Hera with delirium, “None of you told me!””

Normally, Hera wouldn’t take such an attitude from people talking to her, but right now, she had kept her composure and forgiven her niece for her misgiving - an understandable reaction, might she add. It wasn’t something Persephone could take in as easily, especially when it had happened to someone she loved so dearly.

“It wasn’t something Demeter wanted to talk about nor let others know, so it shall stay as such,” Hera said softly, “But I figured you’d want to know.”

The Queen recollected her chalice and brought it up for a sip.

“Demeter had always been strong-minded,” Hera commented, seemingly out of nowhere, “She was also the first of us six to heal from the scars caused by our predecessors, and perhaps the only one, until date, to manage to lead a better life after it all.”

Hera let out a low chuckle, eyes shifting to Persephone with unhidden fondness, “And she raised you well, better than any of us could with our own children.”

The confession from Hera was unexpected. It threw Persephone off balance for a second, before she resumed her own smile. The sight only softened Hera’s heart, she was pleased to see she had somewhat driven the dark cloud away from her.

“I know you’ve tried your best for your children as well,” Persephone told her, “But, yes, my mother was all I could hope for, I love her with all my heart. She’d never let me get hurt like she was before.”

A slight hint of regret and struggle filled her eyes, “But… I feel like I’m a careless brat for never knowing about her pain.””

“Little one, your mother wouldn’t want you to carry the burden of knowing what had happened to her,” Hera lowered her eyelids, reaching out her free hand to hold Persephone’s resting one.

“I just… want to do more to help her,” Persephone admitted.

“Worry not,” Hera comforted her, “The best you can do for your mother is become the best version of yourself that you can be. You had every part of her in you, the strong-will, the determination, the endless love to give. I’m sure you will make her proud, you yourself are already a balm for her heart.”

Chapter Text

Apollo watched Hyacinthus carefully write down the military formations of the Spartan army, or the yearly harvest quota, or perhaps just verses of poetry he had composed. Truth be told, Apollo didn’t care much on what it was that Hyacinthus was writing, his entire attention and admiration were fixed on the young man’s handwriting.

“Your handwriting is magnificent,” he praised while leaning gently on Hyacinthus’ shoulder.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Hyacinthus replied with a smile, while his hand was busy crafting lines of letters as smooth as a painter’s brush strokes. “It’s from years of being punished by my mother with endless writing.”

Apollo chuckled, “What did you do to make Clio punish you so harshly?”

“I was an active child,” Hyacinthus replied leisurely. “Too active for my own good and often causing trouble. Every time my mother busted me on one of my schemes, she would make me sit in a corner of the Grand Library and hand-copy several books appointed by her. As I got older, she started picking books with more foreign or archaic language. Every time I was punished, I’d have to write until my hand was sore.”

This time, Apollo couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He traced his fingers along Hyacinthus’s arm and murmured through chiming breaths, “To be punished enough for your handwriting to be trained into becoming this beautiful, you were indeed a troublesome child.”