Chapter Text
Escape, finally. After years of being chained up Aster can finally see the outside world. They clutch their damaged wing close as they emerge from Tartarus. Bright lines of light on either side of them as they make it to the surface. The sky is dark, Atlas’ stars and Artimis’s moon hanging above.
Loud sounds echo from all around them, they stare with blank wonder at a car that drives past them. They adjust their damaged and tattered shirt and re-cradles her wing. A loud bark travels down the alley they stand in, a terribly familiar sound. They quickly scurry deeper into the interconnecting web of alleys, resting their free hand on their stolen weapon which fades out of the shadows with their touch before disappearing again.
Cold wind whips at their exposed skin beginning many foreign smells with it and whisking the smell of the underworld away from them. They’re free and sure as hell not going back there willingly. They quietly yelp as a piece of sharp metal cuts into the sole of their foot. Their back presses to a wall as they sit down to remove the metal, blood dripping onto her fingers. No longer do they flinch or recoil at the sight of blood as that was beaten out of them years and years ago, well as far as they can remember.
A few shaky deep breaths rattle through their ribcage as they sit, head resting against the hard brick wall behind them. Footsteps travel through the alley and to their ears, her muscles tense as they grab their scythe and stand, ready to attack if needed. After a few tense moments someone rounds the corner with a flashlight before stumbling back in surprise.
A short man stands there, dark hair and scruffy beard with light, chocolate brown eyes. His weight rocked onto a cane carved from wood and one foot held slightly off the ground.
“Oh, um, hello there.” He stutters a little, they don’t react or respond. To them the words are just foreign sounds, not even recognizable as a spoken language. “Hello?” He repeats himself in a slightly softer tone and takes a tentative step towards them.
They take a step back, wincing when their weight shifts onto their injured foot, “Stay back.” They say forcefully in Greek.
He nods and smiles as if something just clicked and clears his throat, “It's ok little one, I won’t hurt you.” he says in perfect Greek, their eyes go wide in surprise.
Their mind starts to whirl with all too many thoughts. The most prevalent being, how does he know that? They take another step back in their confusion and back into a chain link fence, practically screaming from surprise and the flickers of pain as cold metal touches still bare wounds and scars on their back.
The scythe they were holding falls to the ground next to them as they sink to the concrete, wrapping their wings around themself. Sadness crosses the man’s face as he steps closer to them, limping heavily on his left leg. They squeak in fear, their left wing’s feathers puffing up a little defensively.
He kneels in front of her and offers a hand, his other still resting on the top of his cane. “It’s ok, you're safe now. I won’t let anything hurt you.” He speaks slowly and soothingly; her wings lower a little bit, but they still stare at him with a deep distrust.
“How can I trust you?” They ask simply, their voice gaining a young childlike fear.
He sits there for a moment, his hand still out, offering to help them up, “You’re just going to have to, it’s not safe for you on the streets and I know somewhere that you can get cleaned up and have some food.” Gently and slowly he rests a hand on their wing, dark, greasy, and unkempt feathers seeming to be permanently ruffled and horribly damaged crease under his fingers.
“Promise?” They ask, sitting up a little more and wincing once again as metal touches their tender back.
He smiles kindly, “I promise.”
They rock themself on to their knees ignoring or not fully knowing why he was holding his hand out, before standing up and grabbing their dropped weapon. He stands and takes off his jacket, gently placing it over their shoulder to hide their wings and to help protect against the cold.
They stumble over their words, “T-thank you.”
“You're welcome, come on. It's a bit of a walk but shouldn’t be too bad.” He beckons them with a wave of his hand as he starts to walk.
Aster follows, still keeping a bit of distance from him, “Where exactly are we going?” They ask quietly.
The small man chuckles, “I’m taking you to a friend's house tonight so you can get cleaned up and get some food. Then hopefully tomorrow you’ll be on your way to what will hopefully become home for you.” His eyes fall back to look at them, catching them right as they stumble over a particularly sharp and pointy piece of gravel.
The word home feels almost foreign to them, like they know the word and have heard it before, even knowing what it means but they have never understood the concept of “home”. Their mother said that Tartarus was their home, but Aster had always struggled to believe anything their mother said.
“What do you mean by “home?”” They tip their head after asking to try and hear his response better over the growing noises from all around.
He turns around, sadness burrowed deep in his expression, “You don’t know what home is?”
They try to speak but at first the words don’t come out, “Uh, I know the word and the basic concept but not much else. Mom always said I was home, but I never believed her, is home supposed to hurt like she said?”
His expression falls even more, “No, no it's not. Gods above, who’s your mother?”
“Nyx.”