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Vincent watched the elderly couple as they walked through the town. Despite his interference decades ago, the two remained together. They tried to make it work. He saw the distance between them. No glances at each other. A presence that each tolerated. He pulled his hood up and walked after them.

It was easy for him to slip between the crowd. The couple continued to walk somewhat together. He got close just as they started to drift apart. Each of them focused only on their own interests within the market. Careful to dodge the threads of others in the crowd he grabbed the tied off ends from the couple. Then brought them together, the knots he tied undid themselves as the threads reattached. He backed away just as the two jumped from the change.

Vincent did his best to disappear into the moving crowd. As he passed by the two he saw them lace their fingers together. Both focused on each other, the stalls already forgotten. He smiled to himself. They were the last ones that he’d interfered with. The last alive at least. That stupid god of love told him when any had died.

He heaved a sigh as he made his way out of the market. Vincent had a choice to make now. Go back to Delphia and the gods. Live out a life there, whatever that life could be. He hadn’t aged in a long time. It was safe to assume he’d live at least as long as Del already had. That didn’t mean he was ready to subject himself to whatever the gods wanted.

 At the fountain where the road diverged he paused. West would lead to travel. To experiences he never tried to imagine. Maybe odd jobs that would keep him in villages now and then. As time passed the threads that came from his soul would fade. He’d be disconnected and alone. Just like before, but free from the greedy zealots of the past.

East would take him back to the gods and Delphia. The threads of his own that reached each massive being. Not a single one had acted as he expected. They offered him kindness. East would lead him back into that unearned kindness…

The meeting with each god played through his mind. The threads from them were unique; a look specific to each domain. It made him start to believe Delphia was right. He could matter to the gods. At least to all of them except the one that mattered to him.

Vincent squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. That should be enough to make his choice… Not just should it was . He turned west. Away from all the kindness that would lead to heartache. Even if the gods were kind, he was a passing fancy. Leaving was his best option.

He tried to keep his pace steady as he left. Off on his first adventure ever. This would be the first time he had any freedom. It felt worth it. Even if he already had the image of the god of love’s face in his mind. Worry that slowly creeped into his expression as Vincent never arrived. At least that was what he wanted to believe would happen.

As he left the town those feelings forced their way into his mind. Over the years the god of love grew on him. The way the god looked while he slept. The earnest concern any time Vincent returned hurt. The way his voice sounded when he thought Vincent was asleep. Deeper than the one he normally heard. One that made his bones tingle. That was something he’d miss from choosing to go west.

It was better this way. Better not to have that pain from the act. The god of love would get bored sooner than the others. Their thread didn’t even exist anymore. It was supposed to be eternal. One that neither could sever. It was gone and yet the god kept coming back. Kept offering his blessing for Vincent to finish a selfish mission. Now that was over. He shook his head and made his hood fall.

Stupid god of love and his stupid cute face probably wouldn’t even be there. Vincent would arrive, wait for days, and the god would laugh. The little mortal who thought they had a connection would make a good joke. He was stupid to ever think the gods would care for him. To hope that there was a chance he could reach the god of love with his own feelings.

“Sir!” a voice called from behind him. It reminded him of where he was. Vincent chose to keep walking. “Sir, I have a question for you!”

He sighed. The clothes he wore made it seem like he had money. Beggars stopped him a lot. If it wasn’t for that it was someone hoping to marry up. He wasn’t interested. Now of all times he wanted to keep moving and ignore them. This person apparently didn't like that idea. She grabbed his arm once she grew close enough.

“Sir, I said I have a question for you,” she panted. Vincent sighed again. He glared down at the woman. This was the last thing he needed.

“What?” he snapped. 

“A long time ago did you live in a church? Did you play matchmaker for whoever paid the most?”

Vincent narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’ve been looking for you.” Vincent tried to pull his arm free. The girl was stronger than she looked. She acted fast too, pulled a dagger from her side and stabbed him in the heart. “You’re the only one I’ve seen with these scars. Let’s see if you die.”

Vincent’s vision faded. This was still less painful than going east…

For once death didn't bring him to an empty void. He met memories that he'd long since buried. The day his mother left and the thread they shared crumbled. He'd thought the two things were unrelated, until he cut the already fading thread between himself and his father. As much as he hated to admit it, there was relief in his father's eyes that day. The life that continued after where all the threads around him faded or crumbled. He was always on his own. It was the best way to be for someone like him. He’d known that by the time they turned on him…

His eyes snapped open. The sky had the colors of dawn. Those memories had him for at least half a day. It took a few minutes for the feeling to return to his body. Once it did he realized that he was restrained and that the sky was moving. Rather he was moving. He tried to find the source, but his only view was the back of someone’s head. Despite the restraints he tried to sit up. Bells jingled in response.

“I started to think I’d killed a normal person. That certainly would have hurt my payday,” a woman said. It was the same voice as the one who stabbed him.

“I could probably pay you more than them if you let me go,” he said. Del would give him what he needed. Although he didn’t actually have a way to reach her without going back.

“That place has been offering a big sum for you. Our guild has been preparing to find you for years. We always lost you after you left that city, now we have you and aren’t letting you go any time soon.”

Vincent glared at what he could see of the woman. Of course that damned church never gave up on him. He resigned himself to whatever came from this. At some point she'd make a mistake and he'd run. For now, he closed his eyes. It would be better to sleep than risk more of those memories surfacing.

***

Rhys sat outside the house waiting. Vincent had completed the last bond reparation. He might not come back. The god of love stared at the horizon afraid for the future. Afraid the human would go off on his own now. He couldn’t interfere, couldn’t even voice his wishes. Not after his selfish choices… If Vincent left he’d be forced to live with it, for eternity.

***

A bump in the road pulled him from sleep. The sun had reached near the middle of the sky. He was officially late for meeting the god of love. A part of him was hoping something would happen. That he’d be looked for or contacted. They had ways to do that. Nothing happened though. The cart he’d been tied down on slowed to a stop and the sky remained absent of any impossible beings. The world stayed silent of shockingly kind voices. He was on his own… like he wanted.

“Now, how do I make sure you don’t try and escape,” the woman said. Vincent sighed. It seemed like she wanted to play some kind of game with him. If he got a moment away from the restraints he’d run and she’d never find him. He’d finally be alone. The cart shook as she left the driver’s seat. “Well, we’ll go with the easiest method. We need to try all these weapons anyway.”

A flash of light and a pain settled within his chest. Shakily, he managed to tilt his head. A faintly glowing spear stuck out of him. The woman’s hand had flecks of his blood on it. She ripped it from him and the glow died off. A brilliant silver tip drenched in his blood sat within his vision. He could faintly see odd symbols where it had dripped clean. As the edges of his vision turned dark he sent out a wish into the world. Anything but more memories …

The world ignored his plea as hazy moments crowded his limbo. The day he got his scars came through. Still images of himself hiding and scared, but determined to survive. The pain when his own father gleefully tried to cut out his eyes. The fear when the knife only cut his skin and more tools were brought. The relief as he felt his heart stop beating.

It was a blessing when the memories disappeared. Even though he felt his hands tightly bound by rope behind him. His legs too. There was an ache in his chest where the spear had stabbed him, but other than that it was mostly fine. Vincent opened his eyes and found the woman standing at a table with two men. In front of them was a pile of weapons, some he’d never seen before.

They picked ones up to inspect slowly. When he squinted he could just make out strange symbols on each one. Some of them made him shudder. For once he didn’t have a quip or snarky comment at the ready. These people intended to kill him over and over and over. Unless it stuck.

One of the men picked up a set of gloves and slipped them on. Vincent held his breath as the others walked towards him. The one with the gloves stood back, a sick grin on his face. He tried to push away the thoughts of the weapons as hands forced him to sit on his knees. Tried to focus on the bonds between the three, how he could abuse them. They were auburn, destined to fade. Gloved hands gripped his head and roughly jerked it to the side. A sickening crack and the world went dark.

A memory filled emptiness again. Of course because of his focus at death he remembered that fake church of love. Loyal to the former god and hated by the new one. Happy to make use of the cursed man brought to them. Happy to give him a choice, die in perpetuity or do their bidding. Happy to isolate him and let him die for months. Vincent was only too happy to oblige after that. He knew he wasn’t a monster, but he’d do as the real ones ordered. At that point he wanted to feel anything besides death.

“Do you think any of these will really work?” one of the men said.

“It has to, I want my payout,” the woman said. She turned towards Vincent with a new dagger. In a fluid motion she slit his throat.

Faces now. Years of faces. Ones seeking a selfish match. Others begging for the return of a love that left them. Some he knew had been lost due to his own actions, most unable to accept the fickleness of bonds. People who tried to help him only to run in fear when shown he wouldn’t die. More of why he hated the bonds. Why they were pointless. Why he was better off alone. Until a woman with pale skin, black hair, and emerald eyes arrived. The light in her eyes nearly blinded him. Followed by words that were etched on his soul, “Don’t let go of me. I’ll get us out of here.”

“Del!” he cried out as life returned to him. He tried to reach towards the fading image. The action led to a sword slicing at him. His head was cut off, death was instant. 

That strange girl who saved him. The memories of Delphia. The house that she happily gave him and their bond. The one he could only recently admit he caused. He wanted someone, anyone, who could understand him. See the pain that he’d lived. She saw it all, and accepted him. Their bond was permanent once he stopped her from dying. The burning fear that she wouldn’t come back if it happened. In the present they were close, but he’d decided they were family that day. No matter how much he tried to pretend it was her that got too attached.

When he came back the world felt empty. This time he didn’t hesitate to open his eyes. There was a pile of weapons on the ground, separated from his captors. The pile was small enough he could make out each one. Each that had failed to kill him for good. Attempting to hide that he was back, he turned his head slowly. The pile on the table looked to hold at least a dozen more. That meant at least a dozen more deaths.

For the first time in his life Vincent started to fear death. Not that it would stick. Not that it would even be painful. No… he feared the memories he’d seen. So far they’d been in order. A longer version of a normal mortal's life flashing before their eyes prior to death. He would relive the memories piece by piece. The pain of his past was easy to face, it was where those memories wanted him to reach that he hated.

One of the men looked at him. There was a flurry of movement before a new weapon, a scythe, was lifted off the table. The woman stalked towards him. Desperate to avoid what he’d remember next he looked from his captors to his threads. Let him relive those events instead. Skip the next part of what brought him to this very moment.

The woman lifted his head. It didn’t make him change his view. Those threads. The ones to the gods. His only hope not to face the memories that brought him more pain. The ones that consistently broke his heart when he relived them. She positioned the scythe at his throat. In a quick motion his life was snuffed out. A part of him hoped this one would stick…

A night at the house where he couldn’t sleep. The god of love had long gone, but Vincent chose to remain. He thought the guaranteed safety would help him sleep for the first time in months. After a few hours of nothing but his own thoughts in the darkness he stepped outside. The stars were more interesting than the ceiling. He’d spent years staring at one already.

The peace of the evening was disrupted as a massive being appeared in front of him. It wasn’t the god he knew. Dark hair covered in flecks of white to match the stars. Eyes that offered a living version of the night sky. Vincent scrambled back as a hand came near. It was more surprising when it stopped.

“Sorry, I thought you might be cold,” the god of the night sky said. Shockingly, his voice was soft and nervous. “I’m Luna. Rhys talked about you. He said you weren’t sleeping well. I… I thought maybe hearing the stories of the stars might help.”

Vincent took a deep breath and sat on the ground. It wasn’t as if he could run from a god anyway. Plus Del had mentioned the stories Luna told and some sounded interesting. The god smiled high above him. As the stories started Vincent remembered the children in his village. Before they hated him he would read stories to them. It wasn’t so bad to have this now and then. A bond that shimmered like the stars connected the two just as Vincent’s eyes grew heavy…

Alive. Only a few moments before something killed him again.

Days after Luna the other sky twin visited. Her blonde hair was as bright as the sun, but her eyes mirrored a cloudy day. Her massive hand actually made contact with him, but at least didn’t grab him. He tensed, waiting for what would happen next. She pulled back and set her hands on her lap. At least he was almost the size of her fingers.

“Sorry, I forget I shouldn’t grab mortals sometimes. Rhys said you were scared and we have to make sure not to scare you,” she said. Vincent’s eyes went wide. One of her fingers came to rest in front of him. “I’m Sola. Luna said he met you so I wanted to meet you too! Can I show you how I make the clouds?”

“Uh… sure,” he said. The goddess started to reach for him again. Just before she touched him she stopped. Vincent jumped as the goddess turned and dropped to the ground with her head next to him. Much more energetic than Luna.

“Great! I’ll show you lots of pretty clouds.”

With a hand raised to the sky, she used a single finger to create a line. Slowly the clouds came into shape. Images of the gods’ faces, the world, even Vincent himself. Somehow he found them beautiful, more than all the clouds he’d seen before. Hours after she left he noticed the thread leading from him colored to match a blue sky with fluffy white clouds.

Stabbed.

Months after the sky twins Vincent had been rudely awakened by knocking on the roof. WIth a sigh he made his way outside, fully expecting the god of love. Instead he met a deity with black skin, shaved brown hair, and dual colored eyes. Lakes and forests. Nature sat in front of him. Their stern look made him freeze in the doorway. 

“I…” they started. Vincent’s heart was pounding. This god would kill him. “I have come to apologize for our initial meeting. My flower has explained you are like her. I… I realize you may face hardships as she has as well.”

Vincent shrugged. It was easy enough to assume the flower was Delphia, but he didn’t know about her struggles. She avoided talking about her past. The god leaned closer. Their movements were small, but still caused him to stumble. Enough that he wound up out in the open. One of the hands came close. A single finger hovered over his head.

“I… would like to give you a boon. A token of my sincerity. I would have to touch you,” their tone made Vincent’s blood turn to ice. He had to trust that the gods wouldn’t harm one that another claimed.

“Go ahead,” he said. Vincent grit his teeth as the finger pressed against his head. He waited for the pain to come. Some punishment for his hubris in attempting to sever one of their bonds.

“Little mortal, with this boon nature shall aid you on your travels. I cannot grant you the same control as Delphia, but it will give all a mortal needs to survive.” A warmth that Vincent could only describe as safe coated his body. In moments the warmth was gone. As was the finger on his head. The trees surrounding the small house shook as if greeting him. The world felt… less lonely. “You may call me Ash. Should you have need of aid merely tell nature you would like to reach me. It will only guide me to you then”

“Thanks, I guess…” The god disappeared. In their place sat a thread coated in trees of all kinds. It connected directly to Vincent.

Head bashed in.

As he walked up to the house two fingers pinched Vincent tightly. He was ready to go off on the god of love as soon as he was pulled from the ground. The familiar face didn’t appear nor did the strawberry breath. A god with a stocky leaning chubby build met him. Short black hair, beige skin, golden eyes, and a glare that made Vincent want to die. Prosperity had him in his grasp.

“Hmm, Rhys wasn’t wrong, these clothes are the wrong size for you,” the god sighed. Something like perfume met him and made Vincent cough. The god dropped him into his other hand. “This house isn’t quite right for you either.”

“W-what?!” Vincent managed to shout. The god narrowed his eyes and sighed again. The perfume scent was at least a bit more manageable from here. The hand that once held him snapped and the clothes on his body changed. They fit better? “P-Prosperi-”

“Felix. I go by Felix. All the clothes you’ve been given from me should fit perfectly now. Now be patient while I make the house more suited to you. According to the others this has become yours now.” Another sigh as Felix turned away. “I don’t see why they did this. I could have made one from the start.”

Vincent stared at the god. A strange look of pain sat on him. The slightly pudgier hand was soft. The intimidating glare lost its ferocity. Felix looked almost dejected. Against his better judgement he was worried about the god. Wanted to comfort him.

“The house is fine. There’s no need to change it,” Vincent said. Felix looked at him again. Something soft in his eyes.

“There’s no repercussions, little mortal. It’s for your comfort,” Felix sounded kind and lonely. The first god that Vincent couldn’t bring himself to doubt.

“It’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with it. Nothing special that would be added if you changed it. Besides, Del stays here too.”

“I see. I will visit again to see if you have changed your mind.”

Too fast to think Vincent was set on the ground and the god was gone. A new thread had been born, one covered in brilliant gems.

Throat slit.

Miles from the house was the spot of the next meeting.  When he’d been dragged out for some crime he supposedly committed. Left in a field to die, a shadow of a being too big to be mortal fell over him. A part of him had hoped it was that stupid god of love’s shadow instead.

“Little mortal, I will take you somewhere safe,” the god said. It wasn’t any that he knew so he tried to get away. “Do not run, you’ve fought a valiant battle and I merely hope to treat your pain. I am only passing by due to a war nearby. You alone have not brought me here, but I shall aid you.”

In his mind Vincent cried out for help. The god of war’s hands only grew closer. He scrambled back, but it did nothing to deter the warrior from his prize. Fingers blocked all his escapes and he prayed to anyone listening for help. He’d even take it from the stupid god of love.

A bright flash of light nearly blinded him. He had some hope for a moment that it was the war god taking pity on him. Instead his vision cleared to reveal a goddess he’d seen once before. One he’d pissed off too. The night sky hair hung near him as she leaned closer. He waited for that same animosity from before to appear in her warm brown eyes. The rosy skinned, chubby goddess only looked sad.

“Ryder, what are you doing?” she said. It would only take a few seconds for her to convince the war god to leave. Then she could punish him for attempting to break the bond she shared with Delphia. A punishment he’d been waiting for.

“Ah, Alessia. Perhaps you can help to calm the little mortal,” the war god, Ryder apparently, said as he pulled his hands away. Vincent did his best to back away. Put any distance possible between himself and the massive deities before him. Alessia crouched down, her hair fell close enough he could grab it.

“Wait… aren’t you the one Delphia found?”

“This is the little warrior’s friend?”

“And if I am?” Vincent managed to squeak out. He hoped the fear was missed and it came out as more of a snark. The dual frowns told him the fear was loud and clear.

“Then nothing,” Alessia kneeled down. “I know you’re scared. I was mortal at first. I know what a god looks like to you. Sometimes I forget just what that means.”

“You’re safe little mortal. I preside over war, but take no pleasure from violence. I pray you allow us to take you to someone to aid you.”

“No.” 

Vincent could hear the confidence in his voice. Something he didn’t expect. The gods shared a look, but neither made a move for him. Alessia actually sat back. A wry smile settled on her face. It didn’t suit her.

“I wouldn’t want to trust us either. Especially if you were taught even half of what Delphia and I were taught. If you’d like I can offer you protection. A promise that someone will save you should you ever need,” the goddess said. She turned away with a sigh. “I will warn you it will mean I can always find you. It would be impossible to hide.”

“No way in all the hells,” Vincent shouted. The goddess nodded. Like she expected him to refuse.

“If you ever change your mind the offer remains.”

“At least allow me to give you a weapon. Blessed in ways that will only aid you, that it will always be yours,” Ryder said. Vincent stared at the god dumbfounded. “What weapon do you  wield? If there is not one, we can test all that come to mind until one feels right.”

He was stunned into silence. The god of war offered him a blessed weapon. All the stories told of the sacrifice it took to earn the god’s favor. He was just… giving it to Vincent. Then Alessia, goddess of whatever used to be mortal and knew Delphia back then. All of it was too much. He reached for the scissors usually strapped to his thigh, but his hand met only his clothes.

“My scissors,” he muttered. A clap that should have shattered his eardrums drew his attention upwards.

“Scissors, an unorthodox choice. Though the little warrior has proven small weapons more than capable. Scissors it is then.”

As the two gods animatedly discussed what blessings he’d need, two threads formed. One coated in chess pieces for war. The other was covered in golden armor for the human turned goddess. A new set of bonds for himself…

Beheaded.

Vincent dragged himself to his room at the inn. It was one of the rare times he was glad Del constantly gave him money. Just as he collapsed on the bed something warm touched his back. He stiffened, but it passed. Another attempt to relax, but the warmth returned.

“What in the hells?” he hissed as he jumped out of the bed. His body ached from the effort.

“Little one, please rest,” a soft feminine voice said. It sounded both right next to him and far away.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Mmm, I would rather not tell you.” Vincent backed towards the door. The warmth touched him again and sent him rocketing deeper into the room. A sigh chased him. “I see I can’t hope to calm you without that though. I believe mortals still call me Lady Death, I would be honored if you called me Dabria.”

Vincent’s blood ran cold. Death had found him. He couldn’t escape her. It didn’t matter what Del or the god of love told him. Whatever kept him alive snubbed Lady Death’s embrace. She would hurt him, maybe kill him permanently. For once he didn’t want that.

“Little one?” 

Another warm touch, but this time he shrank back. There was no escape now. The warmth left again, but he couldn’t begin to recover. Lady Death was here and here for him.

“Oh, Vitus,” Lady Death whispered. “I fear I’ve scared him. Please help.”

“I told you we should leave him be,” a masculine voice said. Vincent swore he could hear the world shattering steps of what had to be Lord Life. “Vincent, you’re safe under our gaze.”

There was nothing to say. No quips or snark even at the edge of his mind. These were the gods that could snuff out what meager life he had. The ones who controlled the things that made the world turn. He was dead. Warmth surrounded him again.

“Vincent,” Lord Life again. It felt odd to hear his name from such powerful gods. “You face no danger from either of us. You suffer for sins of a past you played no hand in. I’m sure you know of me as Lord Life, but please call me Vitus.”

Vincent let out a shaky breath. His voice wouldn’t come. He couldn’t bring himself to beg, plead, even fight. It wasn’t like the others. Something told him these gods alone made a world of difference that he couldn’t begin to imagine. The warmth around him pushed at him. Guiding him closer to the bed. His body followed it, there wasn’t anything else to do. He swore he heard some kind of shuffling.

“Dabria, don’t-” Lord Life’s words were his only warning before the wall in front of him changed. Warm red eyes bore down on him. The massive woman shifted, ebony hair fell to hide pale, rosy skin. Her face actually looked kind. It wasn’t what he expected of death.

Those thoughts were forgotten once a hand blocked his view. He tried to run, but the warmth that had guided him near the bed held him fast. Fingers more than twice as long as he was tall snaked between himself and the phantom warmth. They closed in, now a visible barrier between him and escape.

The digits closed in until he was trapped in a fist. Warm, soft skin made his own crawl. This wasn’t like when the god of love held him. This didn’t feel safe. The muscles around him tensed before his feet were pulled off the ground. A whimper wound up as the only noise he could make.

The fist turned on its side. He waited for the dizzying speed that would signal his trip to the realm of the gods. It never came. The fist barely moved before the fingers trapping him opened. He was nudged gently by the thumb until he’d been dropped on the bed.

As the hand retreated he saw another face almost mimicking the way Lady Death had placed herself. Skin ghostly pale, green eyes more piercing than Delphias, and hair a stark white. Lord Life had made his appearance. The glare on the god filled Vincent with dread. Somehow Life being cruel made more sense than Death being kind.

Lord Life’s pale hand replaced his view. It stayed as a fist as it neared him. Horrible images plagued his mind, but it stopped a few feet away. A single finger was held out and placed on his head. It moved back and forth as if ruffling his hair. At the same time a different kind of warmth filled his body.

The hand pulled away with a dizzying speed, but he managed to squeak out a, “What?” at the gods’ actions. Lord Life and Lady Death… Vitus and Dabria both softened.

“We witnessed the fight you were in. I wanted to comfort you, little one,” Dabria whispered. Her voice took the edge of fear from his bones. As if he could trust her.

“Rest well, Vincent,” Vitus’s commanding voice carried a promise of safety. “You are safe. When you wake your aches will be gone…”

Vincent fought his eyelids as they grew heavy long enough to see threads snake from himself. One coated in ravens which connected to Dabria. The other in dozens of beginnings which reached Vitus. He had formed a bond with the embodiments of life and death…

Alive. Alive enough to think. To look for new memories. Failed escapes. His family. The village. Anything other than- 

Something pierced his heart.

Vincent stood outside the house with Delphia behind him. In front of him sat a being he’d only heard of in stories. One he tried to convince himself didn’t exist. Tan skin, eyes that were currently lavender, salmon hair tied loosely and left to rest lazily over his shoulder. A build that looked soft to the touch, but promised something clearly different as the truth. Sharp features which came together in a sad smile. All of it that made up a god. Specifically, the god of love.

“So you’re the one who sees bonds?” a voice that sounded like music to him. That at the time filled him with a sense of fear and longing that made no sense. Deep enough to rumble through his chest. Laced with something darker. “My name is Rhys, the god of love. You’re Vincent, right?”

He was back. Sooner than usual. Pain stayed where he’d been stabbed. He hadn’t healed enough. The memory ate at him. Yet he still whispered the name he’d been told, “Rhys…”

Killed again.

“It’s fine, I won’t hurt him,” Rhys’s voice echoed in his mind as Vincent fought against the limbo that tried to pull him in. “Looks like we’re connected now. Could we talk, please?”

Alive. More pain. Another whisper, “Rhys…”. Dead again

“I don’t think it’ll cut, Vincent.”

Alive. It hurt. He wanted it to stop. He kept whispering the god of love’s name. “Rhys…” Dead.

“No, so I get to make sure you know you’re safe.” Conviction Vincent chose to ignore at the time. His doubts about what he’d always believed to be true had already begun to creep in.

“Rhys…” Dead.

“Don’t do that.” Massive fingers that erased his own. Honest care for his life. Too much for a man who had been rejected by everything.

“Rhys…”

“I’ll give you a blessing.”

“Rhys…”

“You’ll need to come see me every few days.”

“Rhys…”

“Don’t go yet,” Rhys’s whisper from the time Vincent found him sleeping. He’d been terrified the god had been hurt. Terrified that the kind words and those gentle fingers would be gone. Terrified that those eyes would never look his way again.

“Rhys…”

“Just let me look at you for a little bit.” Gentle fingers maneuvered Vincent. A too big face came close. Eyes full of something he couldn’t let himself understand. Not then.

“Rhys…”

“I don’t think I ever said how sorry I am that you were hurt for your gift in my name.” Vincent’s walls moments from cracking that day. It felt like someone had found him after all that time. Someone could care about him, see him. Maybe even love him.

“Rhys…”

“Stay with me, for just a bit?” Vincent gave in. Started to accept that he felt something, until he noticed what was missing. The god’s multitude of threads had none with gold. When Rhys had fully fallen asleep Vincent checked his own threads. Just Delphia. The thread of fate was gone. 

All of his hope died. Of course a god would find a way to destroy a thread of fate. Of course he’d do it when bound to love a mortal. Of course Vincent was on his own. He always had been. Yet…

“Rhys.”

Eyes changing colors to show his emotions. The god had learned to control the colors a little. Enough his true thoughts hid.

“Rhys.”

The way the god spoke when he thought Vincent was asleep. Deep, dark, hungry. Something that spoke to another side of him. Something that made Vincent hurt more knowing he’d never understand.

“Rhys.”

The hungry look in his eyes. When they went pitch black and he thought Vincent was distracted. The want of something. The want that terrified and excited him. Maybe the god had some interest in him after all. 

“Rhys!”

That damned breath. Always sweet. Always coating him and everything around them. Encompassing him. Intoxicating him. That damned-

“Strawberry…”

Vincent’s energy was spent. He was alive at least. It took effort to open his eyes, but when he did he saw something strange. Pink petals the size of humans. His captors took no notice. If he saw it they should too. His mind had decided to play an awful trick.

With some effort Vincent lifted his head enough to see the god above the trees. Not the man’s face though. There was something else that caught his eye. A brilliant gold thread that came from the god and ended above them. He never considered that a god could control his own threads. It had been a way to subdue Vincent from the start. He should have known. He should have caught on before his own feelings blossomed.

“None of them worked…” One of his captors said. He couldn’t tell who. Noises felt muffled for some reason. 

“None of what worked?” Rhys’s voice was loud. Louder than Vincent had ever heard it The other mortals fell to the ground with their hands at their ears. It was lessened for him… “Well?”

Cruel, loud, unconcerned with the mortals clearly in pain from his words. This was what Vincent had expected of gods. After a deep breath he managed to lift his head up and up until he found the eyes of the god standing over them. A deep, dark color met him. Black, but with a tinge of blue. His captors started to stumble over words. Clearly no one had an idea of how to appease the god.

Eventually the woman climbed to her feet. The confidence she’d carried was gone as she said, “I-I’m returning the power he stole from you?”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed. He licked his lips before bending over. With his height it was easy to block out the sky. Become everything that the mortals on the ground could see. Become the biggest threat any of them had faced. One they couldn’t hope to escape. “Are you now?”

In a movement faster than Vincent had ever seen, Rhys’s hand shot out and grabbed his three torturers. They completely disappeared behind fingers that had always been gentle towards him. Their screams filled the world as the hand was lifted up. Rhys stood to his full, dizzying height. His hand rested just below his face.

“Who said you had the authority for that? What part of my -” Rhys shook his hand as he spoke- “domain do you control?”

The hand moved up to Rhys’s lips. Another bout of awful thoughts entered Vincent’s head. A quiet voice argued that the god wouldn’t do that. That he knew the real god of love and this was not him. This… this was an act. That didn’t stop the screams of terror from his captors.

“I-I-I-It was a church of love!” one cried.

“I see…” Rhys’s voice carried a threat with it. His hand was lowered until it rested at the same level as his chest. The world held its breath in fear of the furious god’s next move. “I’ll deal with it and you together.”

The god was gone. Pink petals faded long before they hit the ground. Vincent wanted to escape. Avoid the wrath of this version of love. His body didn’t agree. He ached everywhere they’d injured him as he fought his memories of Rhys. His speed could have worn out the rope on his hands, but it wouldn’t answer. He was at the mercy of the god or anyone else who came along.

Left tied up and alone there was only one thing to occupy his mind. That damned golden thread. How it mocked him and what had grown in his heart. As he glared at it his vision began to blur. Assuming tears were brimming in his eyes, he closed them to fight the pain down. He cursed that golden thread.

“ He’s mine!” Rhys’s voice made him snap his eyes open. Vincent remained alone. The voice was too real, but nothing could have formed it. Unless the thread had something to do with it. His exhausted mind fed into the idea. Slowly, he closed his eyes while focused on the painful shade of gold.

Vincent’s vision filled with a place he’d never truly gotten to explore. A place that had happily used him for what would have been eternity. At his feet sat the church that had kept him prisoner. The spire that probably should have reached at least his mid calf was gone. Bricks with cracked gems sat in its place.

Despite how small it looked he could still make out the gems that had outlined every opening. All of them cracked as if some loud sound had come through… He knew the loud sound, the very shout that he’d heard. The shades of pink and red that decorated the building lost their shine. Unless it was the shadow cast on the building that dulled them. The most notable difference was the roof. It had been removed completely and apparently Vincent- or rather Rhys- held it.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Rhys’s voice rumbled through his chest as though it was his own. Through the god’s eyes he watched the roof be placed carelessly to the side. No check for the presence of any mortal… “You wanted the old god, I'll treat you like they would.”

Vincent’s vision swam as Rhys kneeled. The impact caused the already ruined spire to crumble more. He watched humans fall to the ground from the impact. He was foolish to think he could matter to the gods. Not even a full finger to most of them. A little mortal would only be fun for so long.

A scream dragged his focus back. Rhys’s hand had reached into the church of love. The nailed down golden pews were easily knocked aside and crushed. With a single finger he destroyed the door that had trapped Vincent for years. The tapestries that depicted both the former deity of love and bonds were shredded by the god’s nails. The hand paused for a moment before the fingers stretched out and caused the walls to come crumbling down.

Vincent prepared himself for death amidst the destruction once the hand receded. Instead every human was safe, even his captors. With the god’s eyes he could tell there wasn’t even a bruise on any of them. Vertigo made him bite his tongue as the god returned to his full height.

“ Next time, ” Rhys’s voice was dark and cruel, “ I’ll do more than destroy a church that I ignored for too long. ”

Vincent forced his eyes open in time to watch the pink petals land around him. In front of him were the very hands he watched casually destroy a building. Threaten others with no hesitation. He did his best to muster a glare as he turned to look up at the god’s eyes. 

The inky black made his heart freeze. The flecks of pink made them a horrifying sight. As if the darkness was snuffing out the color he’d come to consider the god’s neutral. The eyes darkened as he fought to move his tied limbs. Instincts made Vincent curl up to hide himself.

“I won’t hurt you,” Rhys whispered. The ferocity and darkness had completely disappeared. If he didn’t know better he’d think someone smaller than a human was talking.  “I’m gonna bring my hands closer to you. When you’re ready I’ll pick you up and cut the ropes.”

Just as he was told the warmth of the hands grew closer. It was comforting after the pain of untold deaths. Vincent let minutes pass without movement. The hands stayed still, not even inching closer. Eventually he managed to uncurl himself. The giant hands were shaking horribly.

“Can’t hold me like that,” he mumbled. Strength from the warmth that fed into his body helped him push himself up. “Bring a finger close and I’ll cut it myself.”

The shaking hand turned into a fist. A single finger came closer and sat just behind Vincent. He shimmied as close as he could. Stopped when the nail touched his clothes. With an awful amount of effort he managed to push himself to a full sitting position. He raised his arms until the rope touched the nail. It broke with barely any sawing.

As he stretched his arms the hands pulled away. Absent-mindedly he reached for his thigh. The scissors he always carried offered a sense of calm when he held them. Of course he grasped at nothing. They took the supposedly blessed weapon. It made sense, the clothes were ruined too. He'd lose everything the gods gave him.

The hands came near him again. Both shaking. This time, just before getting close, Rhys used one to stabilize the other. Palm up and resting in front of him Vincent saw the reason. His scissors. The exact thing he wanted sat on the tip of Rhys’s finger. Reminiscent of the time they first met. With his own trembling hands, Vincent reached for the tool. As soon as he grasped the scissors the god disappeared. He’d think he was alone if that mocking thread didn’t sit above him still. It made his heart hurt and that soon switched to anger.

The anger could fuel him through this. It was better than exhaustion, fear, pain, and the one emotion he couldn’t say. Anger he was used to. It fed him through so much of his life. Sometimes it felt that something wanted him angry, encouraged it in him. For once in his too long life he listened to that part of him. A voice that screamed in anger at the gods, a part that urged him to share his pain in ways only he could. For now he used it to yell, “Why are you here?!”

“I don’t think you’ll like the answer,” Rhys whispered. A voice everywhere and nowhere in an attempt to hide. They both knew it wouldn’t work. In the heavy silence he cut the ropes around his legs. They shook like a newborn fawn’s as he stood. A sigh came with the smallest hint of strawberry. “You called my name…”

“So what, you were waiting here watching them kill me this whole time?” 

Venom filled his words. It was easy. The anger pushed all the pain he’d felt around this stupid god out. All the fear and loneliness that sat in him. It didn’t stop him from conjuring images of the god flinching back. They were blown away as harsh winds knocked him off his feet. The crack of wood echoed around him as the god came back into view. Those inky black eyes right above him. Easy to destroy him.

“No,” Rhys’s voice was loud, thundering really, but painless. Strawberry breath filled Vincent’s world. He stared at those dark eyes. There was no pink left in them. The sudden move left his heart racing, but he knew well it wasn’t from fear. “I would never willingly let you suffer.”

“Where were you?” Vincent said. The anger roared in him, but a hope had started to overshadow it.

“The gods’ realm.” Just like that the hope and anger fizzled out. Fingers did come closer, a breath away from contact. “You didn’t come back… I thought you never would. I waited at the house for over a week. Felix and Ryder dragged me back, told me… told me I couldn’t neglect my role forever…”

It felt like a fist held Vincent’s heart. Any moment it would squeeze and end him. If not he’d wake up. Still in the basement altering bonds. At the house alone. Tied up and being killed over and over again. One of the fingers ghosted his skin. A burn sat where that little contact happened.

“They ruined your clothes,” a breathy whisper from the god. “Felix will be upset, it shouldn’t have been possible. He’ll want to fix them as soon as we get ba-”

“I’m not coming back,” Vincent said the words on impulse. It was what he’d wanted when he turned west at the fountain. When he chose to leave behind the life Delphia presented him. Leave the gods and the kindness they offered. Live with loneliness and nothing more. It was easier than waiting for the embodiment of love to grow bored of him. To toss him aside and crush the heart that had only started to beat again after meeting him.

“I’ve scared you away then? I deserve as much. When you last called for me I thought… I hoped… I felt your desperation, that you wanted to see me. I.. I am what you always feared, aren’t I? It’s never changed.”

“As if you care what I feel.”

Vincent could barely breathe as the god’s eyes changed. They started to brighten. Red slowly bled in from the edges of the iris. Small cracks formed all throughout them. Ones of a pinkish white. For a moment he thought the color itself would crack and fall on his comparatively small form. The cracks shifted until they almost looked like scissor blades.

“When have I ever acted as though I don’t care what you feel?” Rhys whispered. Those fingertips ghosted across him again. They teased him. Left him begging for what he couldn’t have. The golden thread sat at the edge of his vision, mocking him. “Where did I make you doubt me?”

“When you did what the old god didn’t,” Vincent hissed. The color changed again. A new darkness, one that felt suffocating. Any moment it would fall towards him. End him. The scissor blades took longer to fill, as if they were begging for more like he was.

“What do you mean?” For once the breath around him lacked scent. The comforting strawberry was gone. That only made the cold, dark tone of Rhys’s voice worse. For the first time in decades Vincent truly feared the god of love. “What did I do?”

The fingers twice his height came closer. Started to move him. He froze at the contact, which apparently sent them away. Vincent tried to keep his eyes on the god’s. That smothering darkness made it nearly impossible. It was too much, he had to look away. Turning his head to the side showed the hands of the god, shaking.

“Are you afraid of me again?” Rhys’s whisper was barely audible. Might not have been if he was the size of any mortal. Vincent tried to face the god again, but that heavy dark color hadn’t changed. It was still too much. He brought his gaze back to the hands that had always been gentle. That even now he trusted. He tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t work.

 “Vincent, you know I haven’t hurt anyone right?”

‘You hurt me though,’ Vincent thought.

“I only scared the three that were hurting you. Even my voice, I know it was loud but it would only be painful not cause injuries. I… protected you from it. I wouldn’t hurt a mortal.”

‘You already have.’

“If-if you’re worried about that church to the old god of love I didn’t hurt anyone. I destroyed the building, but I was careful about the mortals around me. I didn’t kill anyone.”

‘I know you didn’t. I saw what you did.’

“Felix was there. I felt him nearby. I destroyed it because he was there. I gave him the roof after I ripped it off, he’s going to fix it or make them something new. It’ll give them a god who deserves worship.”

‘You deserve it. The only god who should be worshiped, the only one who tries to be like the mortals of this realm.’

“Is that what you meant? That I killed? I know the old love only toyed with mortals.”

‘Of course you didn’t kill. You’re too kind. All of you gods are…’

“Vincent, please. Tell me what you meant.”

‘Stop saying my name. Stop pretending I’m more than the friend of the mortal you consider your little sister.’

“I can take you there if you want. You can see that no one is hurt, that Felix is fixing it.”

‘I’ll break if I get in your hand. If I get a taste of what will never be mine.’

“Vincent, how can I prove I’m different? What did I do?”

“Ended our bond,” Vincent choked out.

Silence settled over them. He waited for the god to sit up. Abandon him now that the words were said. Now that Vincent pointed it out there was no need to pretend anymore. Rhys had surpassed the old love. As the silence dragged on he forced himself to face the god, to meet those eyes. Again the color was changing. That pinkish white from the cracks earlier broke apart the oppressive darkness.

“No, I didn’t.”

Just like that Vincent cracked. He tried to scramble away from Rhys. A finger pressed down on his legs to stop him. The eyes continued to change. The pinkish white took full control of the irises above him. All his struggles were ignored, Rhys had apparently stopped worrying about his fear.

“Fuck off, stupid god,” he yelled. Rhys sat back enough Vincent could watch him grab the golden thread that continued to mock him.

“Vincent, this is our bond,” Rhys said.

“Fuck off, it can’t be a bond when it connects to nothing!”

“I hid it.”

Another crack in Vincent. He stopped struggling and stared at the god. The eyes were so far away now. Still colored that pinkish white. “Why the fuck would you do that!?”

“Because it hurt me to see it.”

The finger that held him still was gone. Vincent watched the god stand. The world was quiet and unmoving as the massive man moved. He actually thought Rhys might leave. Believed it was possible as the god stepped away. Then Rhys kneeled. 

He tore his eyes from the god to the spot in front of him. A lot of trees. Ash would be upset, but apparently Rhys didn’t care. His hands landed on the ground just in front of Vincent. He watched the trees bend as the god lowered himself. He thought the cracks would scare him, but they only served to remind him just how unbelievable all of this was. Rhys set a cheek on the grass to stare at him.

Vincent couldn’t trust this was real. His body still hurt. The aches hadn’t gone away, if anything they got worse. That should mean he was alive and awake, but the limbo for death had changed. He chose to believe it. Chose to take this one chance to possibly reach the god of love…

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Do you think I liked seeing how much you hated me whenever we met? To see that my own feelings would likely never be returned?” Rhys said. A finger came near him. As if asking a question. “I didn’t want it to push you to change either.”

“I saw it for a while after we met… When did you do that?”

“The first time you caught me sleeping. I’d had another dream of you and you were so angry… I couldn’t keep watching your thread and hoping it would change.”

“So that’s how it works for you? A thread tells you who to love and you do it?”

Rhys turned his head. Set his chin on the grass to stare down at Vincent. It made him smile a bit; the cross-eyed look was funny on the god. Apparently that made the god smile too. The strawberry scent had come back to his breath.

“No,” Rhys said. “I didn’t care at first. A golden thread didn’t mean I’d ever fall for you. Then… then I watched you. I wanted to see what you did, maybe make the blessing better.

“Each time you went to that village you were kind. I watched you aid those that other humans ignored. How you used the threads to give advice. Connected ones that were struggling to reach their other end… Then I started to dream about you.

“We were together, happy. The same though. Humans sometimes, elves, fae, then it stopped. I woke up to you calling my name. I saw the spiteful color of your thread and hid it without thinking. I hid it because I’d wound up falling as the thread predicted and couldn’t deal with the knowledge you’d always hate me.” 

“How does that help when you can feel what I’m feeling?” 

Rhys furrowed his brows, “I can’t, at least not easily. When I’m here all emotions hit me at once. Sometimes I can focus, but it takes a lot… I’d only been able to when we met because I’d just entered the mortal realm.”

“But… you’re the god of love. God of emotions. How do you not just feel what I feel? Even Del can do that!”

“Because she’s mortal. Her power is limited to the area she’s in. I only have moments of clarity. The threads are how I know most of what’s happening. I see more changes in them, subtle ones that can say something.”

“Like when a thread reacts to its other end being brought up.” Rhys nodded. “So… when were you going to return our thread?”

“...I wasn’t going to. I thought we could talk when you came back this time. I could focus and find out how much it would hurt me to see it.”

Vincent stared at the god’s eyes. Still pinkish white. He licked his lips. This was the time something changed. He could say he still hates Rhys, still hates all the gods. Leave and never see them again. Run into Del now and then. Maybe she’d seek him out. Or… Or was enough.

“Show the thread,” he said. His voice sounded confident. He hoped that it stayed. Hoped that he was right and that’s what Rhys felt. Hoped he’d been wrong this whole time about his chances of reaching the embodiment of love.

“Are you-”

“Show it, stupid god!”

“...ok…”

He watched the thread that had sat near the god this whole time. A shimmer happened at the end and a plain thread was attached. There was no color of any bond on it. Vincent doubted his own feelings then. He’d never had someone like Rhys before. 

For the third time he noticed the god was shaking. His own eyes closed, clearly afraid. Vincent stepped forward. Kept going until the god was in front of him. This was the same. They were both scared. Nervous of what the other felt. And he was sick of it. 

Sick of threads that constantly controlled his life. Sick of doubting the people he wanted to trust. Sick of the fear he’d cut one of his few threads in his sleep. Sick of all of the things that brought him to now. Except… except for Rhys.

“Who cares about these fucking threads,” he said. “I don’t need those to tell me what I feel.”  Another moment of hesitation. A deep breath. Then… Then he touched Rhys’s face. “Thanks for saving me, Strawberry.”

Vincent leaned forward and kissed the god’s chin. That smallest bit of contact burned him. Made him crave more. The silence made him think he’d gotten it wrong. He tried to find a way to backtrack when the god moved away. Now he hoped this was a dream. At least until one of Rhys’s hands surrounded him.

There was no time for him to move. The hand knocked his legs out and he fell onto a palm. He was dragged towards Rhys's face. He dug his nails into the hand that now held him. The movement stopped with him directly under the shadowed face. Then… then it came closer.

He was pressed against the warm palm by soft skin. That strawberry breath was all he could comprehend. The scent, the taste, the feeling. All too soon it was gone. Only a few seconds passed before it came again. This time he pressed his own lips back in response. The burning came back and this time he welcomed it. Loved it even.

“I can’t tell you how desperate I’ve been to do that,” Rhys’s voice rocked through him. It had never felt like that before. Vincent liked it, wanted more of it. His body didn’t agree. The warmth of the god soothed his aches, but his mind was slowing down. “Are you… still not coming back?”

“You gonna make me if I say no?” Vincent couldn’t stop himself from saying it. Testing the god, his god.

“Depends… Would you hate me if I did?”

‘ Stupid cute god-’ Vincent started to think. He paused and smirked to himself. “And if I said I would hate the stupid god of love and his stupid cute face?”

Rhys pulled away with a smile on his face. The god’s entire body shook as he fought back a laugh. Vincent kept his smirk even as the god pushed himself up. For a moment he focused on the thread and closed his eyes. Just like before he saw through Rhys’s eyes, saw how he looked. Heard something he didn’t expect. A thought not from his mind, but the god’s.

‘Amazing… I’ll wake up soon. I know I will.’

Without hesitation he took the scissors that had never left his grasp and stabbed the palm beneath him. Rhys yelped from what was probably a pinprick, but it was enough. Enough for Vincent to get his full attention. Confusion and curiosity sat in the god’s eyes.

“Stop worrying, Strawberry. Can’t be hurt in a dream. Now you know you’re awake… I do too,” Vincent said.

“How did you…” Rhys shook his head. “Nevermind, we’ll talk about it later. Can I take you to the gods’ realm? At least to rest?”

“Might as well. Maybe you can get Felix to set up a place in your room for me.”

Rhys pulled him close. Held him against his heart. Vincent smiled to himself as he leaned into the steady beat. It seemed weird that gods had hearts. That they cared about the mortals. Loved them even. These gods were weird, but he liked that. Liked that it brought them within reach.