Chapter Text
The Underworld had always been a place of shadows, a land where silence reigned and the cries of the lost souls were nothing more than whispers in the wind. Nagi, the King of the Dead, was its master, his presence commanding and unyielding. His role was simple: he governed the forgotten, the lost, the souls who drifted in the darkness without purpose. And yet, for all his authority, Nagi felt... empty. Distant. It was a kind of loneliness that gnawed at him, but one he had grown accustomed to over millennia.
That was until he saw him.
But before Nagi could meet Reo—before he could fall prey to the soft pull of something beyond his control—he had to endure another battle with the god who always seemed to drag him into chaos.
Isagi was no ordinary god. He was Zeus, king of the gods, ruler of the skies. And he and Nagi had always had a… complicated relationship. They were both powerful, both proud, and both had a tendency to clash—often violently. Today had been no different.
Nagi was covered in bruises, his normally impeccable cloak now disheveled from the scuffle with Isagi. The god of thunder had a way of turning every argument into a battle, and Nagi had been forced to defend himself against a lightning strike that had nearly shattered his ribs.
Nagi’s silver eyes glowed faintly in the twilight as he walked through the desolate field, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was still irritated by the fight, still angry at Isagi for provoking him—again. But the battle had been won, as it always was, in his favor. Isagi may have been the king of the gods, but Nagi was the master of death itself.
With a flick of his hand, Nagi dismissed the blood that stained his cloak and the bruises that marred his skin. It was a simple thing to heal himself, an effortless command that barely required any thought. But as he walked away from the battleground, a strange restlessness still lingered. The tension between the gods had only made the emptiness in his chest more apparent.
He needed to be alone. He needed silence.
That was when he passed by it. A garden on the edges of Earth, touching the skies.
And in the center of it all was a figure—a man, no older than twenty, bent over a patch of flowers. He was humming, a soft melody that seemed to blend with the wind itself, his hands gently tending to the blooms. Nagi’s silver eyes locked onto him instantly, unable to look away.
The man was beautiful.
Nagi stood still, his eyes fixed on the figure before him, as Reo continued to tend to the flowers with effortless grace. The world around them seemed to quiet, the usual sounds of the Underworld fading into the background. All that remained was the soft rustle of the leaves, the occasional hum of a gentle breeze, and the rhythmic motion of Reo’s hands as he worked.
The contrast between the garden and the realm from which Nagi hailed was jarring—almost cruel in its vibrancy. The Underworld was a place of stillness, where time seemed to lose its meaning, where life had no place. And yet, here in this little corner of the world, life was thriving. Flowers bloomed in rich colors, their petals soft and fragile in the cool air. The fragrance of jasmine and roses filled the air, their scent a sharp reminder of a beauty Nagi had long forgotten.
But it wasn’t the garden that held his attention. No, it was Reo.
The way he moved, the way his presence seemed to weave seamlessly with the earth itself—it was like watching the very essence of spring come to life. Nagi had always been a god of the underworld, his existence bound to death, to the end of things. But Reo... Reo was a living, breathing embodiment of something else. Something far lighter. Something beyond his reach.
For the first time in millennia, Nagi felt yearning. A sharp, desperate desire that caught in his chest like a painful, beautiful twist of fate.
But Reo didn’t seem to notice Nagi’s gaze. His attention was completely absorbed in the delicate task of pruning the roses, humming a soft, lilting tune under his breath. The sound was almost like a lullaby, a melody that echoed softly in the air. It was hypnotic. It made Nagi ache in a way he couldn’t explain.
His gaze softened. Every flick of Reo’s fingers, every tilt of his head as he focused on his flowers, every gentle sway of his figure—Nagi was captivated by it all. He was entranced by Reo’s beauty, the kind that was not just skin deep, but that radiated from him like light itself.
Nagi had witnessed beauty in countless forms over his existence. He had seen mortal and divine beauty alike, the finest works of art, the most awe-inspiring creatures of the world. But none had ever affected him the way Reo did. There was something otherworldly about him—something pure and innocent, like a flower blooming in the dead of winter. And Nagi knew, deep down, that it was impossible to possess it.
For a long moment, Nagi stood there in silence, his thoughts swirling, caught in the storm of something unfamiliar, something dangerous. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He simply watched, entranced.
And then, just as quietly as he had appeared, Reo straightened from his work, wiping his hands on his pants. His soft lilac eyes glanced around the garden, as if ensuring everything was in place. And when his gaze passed over Nagi, the two locked eyes for a fleeting moment.
For a heartbeat, everything seemed to stop. The world seemed to hold its breath.
And then, without a word, Reo turned away, taking one last look at the flowers before he began to walk toward the path that led out of the garden.
Nagi remained frozen, watching as Reo’s figure grew smaller with every step. There was no final glance, no parting words. Reo simply disappeared into the distance, the soft rustle of his footsteps fading like the last echoes of a dream.
And Nagi stood there, his chest tight, his breath shallow, his heart pounding with an emotion he couldn’t quite name.
He hadn’t spoken a single word to the man. No introduction. No explanation. They hadn’t exchanged pleasantries or even looked at each other for long. The encounter had been brief, almost too brief to leave any lasting impression. But to Nagi, it felt like a moment that had shifted the very core of his existence.
He was the King of the Underworld. A god who ruled death itself. He had walked among mortals, gods, and creatures of every kind. He had seen empires rise and fall. He had been part of countless battles, wars, and schemes. And yet, he had never experienced anything like this.
This desire. This feeling of wanting something so innocent, so unreachable. It was as if he were a mortal again, watching life pass by from the sidelines, helpless to touch it. Reo—Persephone, as Nagi instinctively knew he was—was a living thing, a part of a world Nagi had long been separated from. And yet, there he was, standing in front of him, like a glimmering star in the dark.
A god of death should not long for something as fragile as life.
Nagi let out a slow breath, clenching his fists at his sides. This was madness. He had no claim to Reo. No reason to desire him, no right to touch him. Reo wasn’t part of his world, not truly. Reo was a being of the living, a being tied to the earth itself. A part of the natural cycle of life and death. And Nagi? Nagi was the end of things.
But still, something tugged at him, something in the deepest parts of his soul that whispered, You were always meant to be here. With him.
Nagi closed his eyes for a moment, his silver eyes darkening with the weight of his thoughts. There was no logic to what he was feeling, no reason for the way his heart had clenched when Reo smiled, when Reo hummed that soft, sweet tune. There was no sense to it. But that didn’t stop the ache.
When Nagi opened his eyes again, Reo’s figure was no longer in sight. The garden was empty, the peaceful atmosphere now tinged with the ache of something missing.
The king of the Underworld exhaled slowly, a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh leaving his lips. He wanted to move, to leave this place, to return to the depths of the world he knew. But his feet remained rooted to the ground. His mind could not rid itself of the image of Reo—the way he had moved, the way he had tended to his flowers, the way he had smiled so effortlessly.
And for the first time in centuries, Nagi felt the gnawing pull of something he could not ignore.
He was beautiful.
But that beauty, Nagi realized with a pang of longing, was not meant for him. It was not meant for a god of death.
Still, as the wind blew softly through the garden and the flowers danced in the breeze, Nagi stood there, unable to move. This want - this need, would not leave his heart.