Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Life as a sea serpent was utterly boring.

For one, he had no hands. He’d tried of course, but the resulting form had even his mother looking him over in curious apprehension. As it turned out, having a noodle body and attaching two spindly arms to it was not their typical style. No, that privilege belonged to those of the East and apparently, it would send the wrong message if the Queen were to appear in public with a Loong wrapped around her crown. Something about overstepping.

Personally, he was of the belief that if anyone thought his little serpentine form was comparable to those benevolent protectors of the East, they needed to get their head checked. 

He digressed. 

That did, however, spark a new idea. Swaying slightly atop his perch on a particularly warm boulder, he uncoiled his body to stare impishly at the Goddess of earth. 

“Mother.” She stiffened, likely sensing the mischief in his voice but only hummed in reply as she continued her survey of the lands in front of her. He broke his train of thought to cheer while she weeded out yet another drought, tilling the soil into fertility in accordance to the most recent set of prayers she’d received. Then as his mother withdrew her control over her domains and directed the full weight of her gaze at him, he continued.

“What if I take a form similar to him at Pytho?”

A pregnant pause greeted him. Even the grain stopped its rustling and he swore he could see their judgy little eyes cursing him out. He did the mature thing and stuck his tongue out at them. 

Distracted by the sudden taste of wet soil and potential growths, he near missed it when she replied. 

“Him at Pytho,” she repeated, voice mild, “As in the same creature who’s been vying with your father for the control of their domain?”

He beamed at her, “That’s the one!”

The sigh that followed his words could’ve fed a mini hurricane. His grin widened. The Sea did so enjoy the occasional chaos, and he had it in good authority that the being wouldn’t harm him. 

Much.

“And why would you wish to assume a body similar to his?”

He shrugged, or at least tried to; his form meant the action was lost somewhere along his scales. A frown crossed him. It really was annoying, this vessel of his. None of the body language he was used to would translate properly, and yet it was the only form he could hold on to for longer than a day. 

He’d been able to collate his essence into something vaguely mortal once and never again, the resulting headache fragmenting his consciousness to the point where his father had to intervene. He’d been banned from trying again, until he could be given a name and present enough to hold a domain. 

Grumbling under his breath about the injustice of it all, he rose to meet his mother’s eyes. “He’s one of ours, isn’t he?” He didn’t bother elaborating further.

Another sigh, this time tinged with humor. “As long as you keep yourself safe.”

He whooped, air thrumming around him as he prepared to bolt straight to Pytho. Experience was much better than second-handed accounts after all, and he was determined to achieve the perfect, hideous form. He was pulling at the water around them when his mother delivered her parting words. “Oh, and dear? If your father asks, you’ll be the one explaining.”

Whatever splutter he tried to get out was lost to the roar of the ocean as his location shifted. Soaked to the scales and filled with dread, he tried to list all the ways he was or wasn’t in trouble. 

One, his father tended to be rather lax with him, some sort of penance for trying to overwhelm him with power and ruthlessness during their first meeting. 

Two, his father was a prideful creature and possibly the only one who could outrank the mortals in their stubbornness. So if he ever caught wind of his son trying to adopt his supposed rival’s form-

Well, it was never too late to start praying?

Lost to his building hysterics, he did not clock the other presence, not until a dark shadow was cast over him.

Shit.

Maybe if he stayed still enough, whatever it was would pass him by.

“Child of the Sea.”

Never mind, that was who he was looking for. His tongue flicked as he set his gaze forward, determined and gleeful, both which evaporated upon being greeted with scales the size of a small house. By the time his sight had wandered high enough to meet the creature’s eyes, resignation had settled into his bones. 

Well, there went his hopes and dreams. There was no way he was ever going to get big enough to compare to the colossal titan in front of him. 

As he mourned another prospective form, the being spoke once more. “Why have you brought yourself hither?”

He tried shrugging, “Curiosity?”

Instead of being eaten like any self-respecting predator would when confronted with prey much smaller and sassier, the being paused to slowly rearrange its long coils. He got the feeling it was more confused than furious. 

“Curiosity?” the creature reiterated, a funny tilt to its voice as sharp hisses elongated some syllables. 

“Yes! Father has described your form as something fearsome, so I wanted to see for myself!” He injected as much pep as he could to his tone, an attempt to cover up the misdirected disappointment.

“Your father?”

Right. 

Right, introductions first. His mom would weep at his manners. Here also lay the tricky part of the encounter: whether or not the creature harbored vicious anger towards them.

He shrugged, faux nonchalance coating his next words. “Oh you know, just the big bad King of the Earth and Seas.” Might as well get the title out there.

A hiss cut through the air and his teeth clacked together with the force of how hard he clamped his jaw shut. Yeah, non-friendly it seemed, but no way was he going down without a fight. Determination in his scales and blood pumping furiously, he relaxed his body and anchored his tail, preparing for the right time to lunge.

But as the seconds drawled on and no sign of attack seemed imminent, he flicked his tongue rapidly. No scent of danger or anger, so that left genuine amusement. As he cycled through his head for other possibilities, his sea green eyes kept those glowing poison yellow ones in sight.

Then with carefully telegraphed movements, like the creature was unwilling to spook him, it retreated. Powerful coils disappeared into a cave that stretched infinitely and its head lowered, tucking the giant appendage through undulating scales. 

He felt as though he had just been judged as prey, and the decision was not tasty. Momentary indignance shot into his veins, but he squashed the feeling just as quick. Sometimes to survive, you had to accept that you weren’t the biggest, baddest predator around. 

He eyed the other once again, taking in proportions and potent venom, the way its form shifted between vaguely serpentine and something more horned, pronounced. Its thick scales glistened like wet stone armor, softening to cracked and solidified mud between blinks. Behind it, the earthy smell of the void and its noxious vapors curled in loose anticipation, as if someone else was peering into their little interaction.

If serpents could snort, the one in front of him would definitely have attempted the vocalization. He flushed; the creature had known he was assessing the threat, and was content to bask as he did. 

“You can open your senses Child. Curiosity, was it?”

It was an invitation, one he immediately pounced on and oh-

How fascinating. 

Possibilities and choices filled his gums, flooded his mouth. Ancient promises and oaths, responsibility and waiting all rolled in one. Inevitably favoured this one and mourned it all the same. Exhaustion, determination, patience, these it appealed to the most. There was no musk like the one that clung to his father, nor honey like the form his mother preferred. Protector, guide and guardian, and so very lonely.

A prophecy set in stone. 

He withdrew his senses, curled in a bit on himself. For a while, no sounds echoed despite where they were.

When he worked up the will to speak, his voice was morse, tired. “You await death,” he whispered.

Soft puffs of air scattered around his form as the other shifted their coils. “Indeed.” Their voice held no malice or despair, simply acceptance. 

“You will not fight it?” he questioned, his very being revolting at the thought.

It almost seemed like he wouldn’t get a response, but then the being crept forward, half his form basking in the sun. “I was made for death. Some, you will learn, are inevitable.”

It’s all the confirmation he needed. “You’re hers.”

“I am of her,” was the gentle correction. 

Silence enveloped them both once more. The persistent nagging of the wind calmed, its duty as messenger fulfilled. A rueful sigh lay at the tip of his tongue. Necessary yes, but never unkind. Still, he could not understand the intention, not fully.

Why was he given this knowledge? He had no power nor domain, no worshippers or friends. His only family were his parents, and one of those he was still unsure around. Eventually yes he would grow into his right, but he knew the other would fade long before his own path solidified.

(Always the watcher, always the witness.)

As he sulked, because his mother wouldn’t call it anything else, a long tail slithered out of the darkness. Fear had long fled, and as he tilted his head, he allowed it to coil around him in a vague imitation of an embrace.

“It will cause you great pain, that bleeding heart of thine.”

He knew. Very well, he knew it. Saw it in the flashes he received, felt it as his family weakened, tasted it in betrayal and battle. Still he lifted his head, would not bend. 

The being coiled tighter around him. A decision had been made.

“Very well. Should you deign to return, I will act your guide.”

He snickered at that, humor finally clawing its way in. There was never a doubt of his return, no. He had already sworn his essence to do so, then pester and befriend. He would carry hope and sorrow all at once, bring stories and tales and entertain. He would make sure of it. (Unbeknownst to him, this had become the first seed of a domain.)

Then again, to truly return, assurances needed to be made. “Do you dislike my Father?”

“Why would I? It is his duty and I will not begrudge it.”

“But you hissed at me when I mentioned his titles.”

“This visit of yours was meant to be hidden, was it not?”

Right. Right.

“You see more than others. Even before we met, you knew I would not fall by earth or sea.”

The reprimand was subtle but clear, as was the truth. 

To gain trust one must trust in turn. But naivety would not help him here, not where all was not as it seemed. He said as much and the air turned acquiescent. Love and kindness did not mean foolishness. Never would, never will.

They’d been talking long enough that the sun had reached its half-way point. He didn't have time then. Melancholy lined his voice as he spoke again. “I cannot stay long, lest my father grows suspicious, and my mother worries.”

The answering hiss was vague, amused. “I suppose. You have about a quarter day-cycle before they come looking, so if you’re planning on it, I suggest you start running.”

His tail stopped its pensive wriggling in favor of staring down the colossal serpent-being-person. “Run? Why would I run?”

“For your valiant battle against the scourge of Pytho?”

Uh, what?

“What?” His voice cracked as he half-yelled the word.

“Well, we have to make this believable somehow, mustn't we?”

That made zero sense and he didn’t hesitate to say as much. He was being messed with, he was sure, as they looked him dead in the eyes and disappeared behind massive scales. “Figure it out yourself then.”

On second thought, maybe he should strangle something. Amber yellow peaked at him rather comically as he contemplated his next step and he took the chance to reply. “We are both well aware I did not come for glory, yes?”

The infuriating thing left him with no answer, no vocalization, nothing.

Hm. A little murder never hurt anyone. Maybe he should- Oh wait.

“Do you have a name?” 

A soft whoosh of air, “No, not particularly. The mortals have taken to calling me Python for lack of one.”

He couldn't help it; he snorted. “Not very original that.”

Before he could tease the other further, the coils around him relaxed as they nudged him away. “It’s late. Go, hope-bringer, oath-maker. Leash peace and restrain violence before you seek me again.”

There was nothing more to be said. He nodded once, and turned away.

Chapter Text

The fondness for riddles seemed to be a recurring theme. 

His new maybe-friend-slash-tutor, his dreams, his mother when mortals made her brow twitch, and notably his father, if he deigned to speak to him at all. 

Speaking of which-

Look, he understood. The first time he met his father, things got a little out of hand. According to his mother, he had committed grave disrespect by not acknowledging the Lord of the Land, dismissing his presence though of good-will, to instead feast his eyes upon the land’s riches. While seeking to correct the mistake, Posedawone had overwhelmed him with the sea’s might, expecting him to be as whole as he felt.

Nope, he was instead a chocolate covered raisin, bursting with power and vitality, but having no tether and thus frail as a mouse. The attempted correction would’ve killed him if his mother hadn’t intervened when she did. 

Since then, his father had removed himself entirely from his presence, only appearing if need be. The thoughtfulness was appreciated, but wholly unneeded, something he wanted to convey but couldn’t because his father kept evading him. 

Any other would have crumbled, but stubbornness ran in his blood. Besides, he knew better. Inherent kindness was hard to imitate. Who else could’ve hand-forged him a set of armour warded against the divine and fit for a mortal being his size, and then once more when he collated his form into something serpentine, the second set tiny and a bit ridiculous but functional all the same. The very person who’d permanently lowered the temperature of the lake he’d claimed his own, after he’d mentioned once to his mother about how he missed the depths.  

Who could remain upset at someone that earnest?

Reforming at his mother’s side, he blamed his musings for noting, a little too late, the new presence beside her. Both froze, each sizing the other up.

He barely held in his exhale upon studying the newcomer’s essence: of the lost and departed, of darkness and beyond, of the terrors of the depths, of maidens and youth. Endless and the End, that which lay below cracked earth, and after mortal span. 

She was the Underworld-Lady and Queen. 

His sister, Preswa.

He’d only heard of her in passing, both from mortals and his, no their, mother. Judging by the glint in her eye as her own assessment seemed to end, they’d recognised each other. Heart warming at the implications, he waved at her for lack of a better option.

With his tail.

Because he had no hands.

Oh come on.

The Lady of the Underworld simply giggled at him. Well, at least that's what it felt like as the temperatures dipped into freezing, and the air crackled with amusement. 

He chirped at the sudden dip, letting the cold wash over him in delight. Something his sister again picked up on, as she raised an arm to let the temperatures drop further.

He couldn’t help it; he cackled out loud. He had so missed the cold.

A sharp click halted Preswa’s arm as she raised it just that bit higher. “Children.” And that was their mother, “As much as I adore this little meeting, the mortals have not prayed for frozen skies or lakes.”

“They’d appreciate it nonetheless.” Her voice boomed. Smooth as honey yet strong as a gilded axe, it cut through the winds and silenced the waters. It demanded to be heard, to be followed and obeyed. He had always wondered, but with a presence like that and a voice as such, there was no more worry of how she was handling the Underworld as its sole ruler. 

Their mother raised a brow at her, to which she was given an incredibly cheeky smile. He felt his own mouth stretch into a grin.

They were going to get along splendidly, he knew. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Mother picked him up, and carefully deposited him onto his sister’s waiting palms. “My Court is still in progress, my dears. I must leave you now. Preswa, I trust you with your brother.”

He felt the smoky tendrils that curled around his sister shift, embracing Mother before they retreated to card through his scales. Mother turned to vanish into a veil of earth and dew as the presence above him shifted to peer at him. 

“I believe introductions are in order. I, Preswa, Queen and Daughter, Sister and Protector. Lady of the Underworld and its Inhabitants. Of Souls and Youth. Overseer and Judge, greet thee.”

He stared. Let the greeting flood his veins along with the claim. Stared some more. 

What exactly was he to say? He had no name, no title, no domains. He existed because of the love of others.

He knew he was being disrespectful, but he also did not know how to be dis-disrespectful. Respectful. Look at that, now his thoughts were all tangled.

“Less tangled, more chaotic.”

He startled, coils tightening at the sudden interruption. Interruption of his thoughts? Was his mind being read? 

A chuckle confirmed that was indeed happening. Uhhh, what was the protocol for a situation like this, he hadn’t gotten this far into Royal Etiquette, where was Moth-

“Calm child. I do not make a habit of rifling through others' thoughts. You seemed worried and no words came forth, so I wished to see what troubled you before you worked yourself into a panic.”

Huh. That was oddly sweet. Wait no, words. He might not have a name, but he had a voice, didn’t he? Dumbass.

“Sorry sister. I did not know how to respond to your greeting,” he finally got out. Gazing up at her, he saw only confusion and a hint of lingering amusement, so he decided it was alright to continue holding his head upright.

She acquiesced the action, tilting her head at him. “You have one, a name?”

He blinked. That was new. Well, in a way, she was right. He had a name but as Percy, a life he had yet to live, and a life he may never get to see. He hadn’t claimed that name as he didn’t feel it belonged to him. Percy was the son of Sally. Not him.

“Is that what you think?”

And she was still reading his thoughts. So she knew. Wonderful, great, marvellous, Necessi-

Before his thoughts could spiral some more, she cut in with a mild, “Are you not Percy?” When he opened his mouth to argue, she added, “A version of him, at the very least?” That he could accept. “So why not use your name? Your mother named you not for fame nor destruction, but for happiness and a fulfilled life. It is a darling name.”

“It isn’t me,” he tried again. 

“But it could be?”

Perhaps. Perhaps.

She could no doubt sense his hesitation, because then came the suggestion of, “Perese. A version of your name, for a version of you. What say you?”

He liked it. He liked it very much. It was a good compromise, and could act as a placeholder as his lifespan went on. Voicing as such gave him an ethereal smile, eerie and a bit sharp at the edges, but laced with emotion. He smiled back. He was right, they would get along well.

“Now, Perese, Prince and Son, Brother and Child-ours, what is this I hear of Father diving into bushes to avoid crossing you?”

Needless to say, his sister was not pleased with either of them. 

“I should lock the two of you in my residence until you’ve sorted yourselves out.”

He chuffed in agreement, “I wouldn’t mind. Anything to have us speak face-to-face for once.”

He blinked as the weight of her ire shifted to him. “Oh? And is your apology ready?”

Huh?

She shook her head at him. “Think about it, little snakeling.”

“One, I am not little, just stuck in this form. Two, an apology would be necessary because I wronged Lord-Father?” The last of his words came with an audible question. She gestured with a free hand, so he tried, “Because that is the right thing to do?”

She flicked him on the nose, transferring him to her crown as Mother had done so with him countless other times. He settled without a fight, lounging in the cold she emitted. They had started moving, so he tucked his head between his coils, protecting his nose and mouth from other smells. Two were enough for a day.

“An apology from you little one, would open the floor for honest conversation. Do you feel sorry for your slight?”

He nodded, replying when he realized she could not see him. “I do. Mother has been teaching me the customs and law, and I realize that I did him and his kingship and domains great disservice with my ignorance, inadvertently challenging him.”

“Indeed. However, that is key. Your ignorance meant you held no genuine ill-will. By apologizing, you vow to do better.”

It made sense. A lot of sense.

“It’s almost as if you do this for a living.”

“Careful young one, before you have to start penning another apology.”

“Right, shutting up now.”

“Maybe in a bit. We have arrived, and it would be such a shame if this opportunity passed you by. Oh, and a word? Call him Father, he much prefers it.”

Tucked as he was, he tasted the brine a little too late. Shooting up right, he came face to face with his father, regal and poised, and very clearly in the middle of his Court. They blinked at each other before Preswa strode forward, glee in her steps. 

“Father,” she called. “I wish for your audience.”

“Oh really, what gave it away,” he hissed at her mockingly, making sure to keep his voice low.

His father had gathered himself, the slight tic to his brow relaxing as he dismissed the Court. He smelled war and wine, winds and wild, death, pastures and home, before they faded away in a whirl of curiosity and bemusement. 

“Daughter-mine. Do you come as Queen or kin?” His father’s voice was a rumble but not displeased so she must do this often, he thought.

“Kin,” she replied, bowing slightly as she stopped in front of his throne, unfortunately exposing him and his curled self in the process. Point to note, he had gone to Pytho in his little snake-fitted armor, just for safety’s and his mother’s sake. Which meant that armor was now exposed to its maker.

“Very well, speak.” Was it just him or did his father sound a tad bit pleased? 

Must have been the wind.

“I am but a mediator,” with flourish, she plucked him from her crown and presented him to his father. “Between a stubborn son, and an equally infuriating father.”

The sigh that followed her words could’ve toppled mountains. A part of him deflated, only to perk up again at his father’s response. “Long overdue, yes. Did you have to intrude upon my court in the process?”

“Oh please, we all knew that your formal court had long been dismissed. That court I intruded upon was but gossip and chatter.”

He blinked. The argument was oddly domestic.

“I cede your point. Now,” he squeaked, just a bit, as he was gently removed from his sister’s palms and placed upon a very-conveniently-summoned raised cushion. “What do you wish to say, Child-mine?”

Seated on the cushion, he could hold himself up and meet his father’s gaze without straining his neck. No doubt another work of his father then. It was what gave him his final push. Preswa had drifted away from them, lingering but not encroaching. He gathered his courage, put on his most polite tone and spoke. 

“Father, he began. “An apology is owed to you. For my ignorance, I ask for understanding, for my disrespect, I ask for mercy. These words I swear by.”

It washed over the three present, the weight of his oath. His father inhaled sharply, a hand twitching by his side in an aborted gesture. Still, he replied, “I accept it, and offer my own. For my brashness, I am guilty, for my misstep, I ask for forgiveness. Will you accept this oath?”

He nodded, something in him loosening and fluttering. Huh. Preswa was right, he did feel a lot better after giving and receiving an apology. (Well, she was the final judge for a reason.)

“Now, with formalities issued and accepted, let us speak, my boy.”

Oh. This was happening. Everyone remain calm, move slowly. This was happening. Contrary to the screeching in his head, his voice came out steady. 

“Must I maintain formal speech?” he asked, to be on the safe side.

“You may do as you wish.” Translation: I’d like it if you didn’t.

Huh. His father was easier to read than he thought, his words betraying true emotion underneath a mask of stoicism. He grinned, completely at ease now. He was given a tentative one in response, almost rusty in fact.

So it began.

“Hello!” he chirped. “I’m Perese, and I’d like it if you could give me two day-cycles of your time, every half-season. I wish to get to know my father myself, not by word of Mother.”

His father rumbled a laugh as if startled by his words. “I can do that, certainly. Now, what is this I hear of my dearest wife spreading rumours?”

The twinkle in his eyes let Perese know he was jesting. And wasn’t that amazing? He grinned wider, letting his fangs slip. “Mother is the best, I’ll have you know. She’s been regaling me with your rule and conquests, and your ongoing rivalry with them at Pytho.”

“You’re taken with the being then, I assume?”

“Yup,” he confirmed, words flowing easy. “They’re the sweetest, though a bit lonely. I’m thinking of returning once I’ve grown a bit more.”

“The company would do the two of you good,” was the agreement. Then hesitantly, “Would you wish to accompany me sometimes, as I travel through my domains and respond to prayers?”

There were stars in his eyes, Perese was sure. He thought he squeaked out an affirmative, but the rest was lost as he was scooped up and deposited over another’s crown. Preswa, it seemed, had decided it was time to step in.

“As adorable as this is, I’m going to steal my brother away. We have lots to do, much chaos to stir.”

He wasn’t imagining the forlornness in his father’s face this time. It pushed him to argue, but as he rose, Preswa dimmed her essence, revealing deep-seated regret. 

“I too wish you were given more time with him, but the Earth has shifted dramatically along the coast, and the mortals are desperate for answers.”

His father nodded, subdued. “I can hear their prayers. Thank you daughter, for reminding me of my duty. Go children,” he continued with a tired smile, “I will see you later.”

The last he saw of his father as he waved, was a returning one and then the steel of his eyes. As the doors sung closed behind them, the picture of his father in regalia, standing tall and wielding his trident, remained imprinted upon his memory.

His sister slowed her steps the moment the floor shook and he felt his father depart. He could feel the faint pain and sorrow drifting off of her, before it was swiftly replaced with cheer.

“Alright little brother. Let us stir up some trouble.”

Chapter Text

It felt like he was being hugged by frozen hands and curious whispers as they moved through a veil of darkness. The shadows wrapped tighter around them, a vague feeling of disconnect and weightlessness startling him before they hit solid ground once more. 

They had reached a mountainside of sorts, all sandy rock and steep ledges. Perese surveyed the terrain in front of him with a critical eye. It didn’t seem like a tourist destination nor an appropriate trouble-stirring one, so he wondered what they would be doing here.

“Why exactly are we here?” he asked from his perch. Preswa, instead of a verbal reply, held a hand out for him to crawl onto. He complied, still confused, and as she placed him on a warm boulder formation, the questions only grew.

“First,” she finally said, “I will have to ask you to shed your form.”

He froze, panic starting to creep along his spine. “What do you mean?”

Her voice remained steady, reasonable. “Which amongst us have you seen maintain a form?” she asked.

None. 

They were all impressions of emotions and domains, power running through veins, a memory and a mirage instead of tangential. He had yet to see even Mother attain a solid form, her’s like a field of barley and tilled earth. His father was stormy waves and muddy pits, his sister, cold shadows and creeping wealth. 

He had assigned human features to them, ones of hands and heads and faces, not as truth, but as small mercies for himself. In reality, he didn’t know how they cradled him or how they looked, only that their essence was what held him; they much preferred being abstract.

Of them all, Perese was the only one desperate to remain solid and present. Even Python hadn’t seemed satisfied with one form; shifting through his many appearances during the short span of their talk. 

Preswa let him think. Then, gently, “Do you know why?”

He shook his head, mute.

“Without a form, we are unrestrained, capable of spreading out and casting our presence where needed. A form too would allow the same, but it takes an extra thought and a disguise. Many of us are of the opinion that such is unnecessary. A form is a mortal concept, we simply exist. Some of us, yes, differ in this, but the most prefer appearing as their essence or their very being. It tethers us to our domains, allowing ready access to them.”

The explanation made him apprehensive. They saw forms as a disguise of themselves, a figment of their trueness. And while he did see the appeal of unrestrainedness, a part of him wished for the mortality of his maybe life.

He shoved that thought far far back, all the way to the recess of his mind. Not worth thinking about right now. Mostly to distract himself, he asked, “What do you mean by unrestrained?”

“Would you like a demonstration?”

He hummed his assent. Preswa hugged him very carefully, then stepped back to spread herself out dramatically.

“Then watch.”

She   s c a t t e r e d. 

Shadows flowed all around him, almost water-like as they flooded the mountain-top and covered every inch of soil present. It was terrifyingly beautiful to witness. Through it all, power thrummed beneath his skin, responding to the casual display. He gasped as Preswa held those waves for a long moment, and then dipped below the earth, disappearing from sight. He could still feel her aura, running below layers and layers of earth, almost playful as she let him track her. 

Then, abruptly, she gathered herself into a solid mass in front of him. He gaped, impressed and a little disheartened. 

He had a long way to go, didn’t he?

She must have read his emotions, for Preswa simply laughed, the echo sounding for miles. 

“That is why we are here, for your training. Do you wish for this?” Ever considerate, ever patient. 

He nodded eagerly. Heck yeah he was ready. Python wasn’t going to know what hit him. (Not literally.) 

Mortals and all thoughts of it were pushed back and firmly locked. For now, he had to learn. The fact that he could barely control seas and its waters, and only feel the earth, was not lost on him. He was, as Preswa said, limiting his access to his domains by expending energy on his form. The realization made him voice it, and her silence gave him all the answer he needed.

Determination seized him, will and want prompting him to say, “Then let us begin.”

It. Was. Brutal.

As he lay panting on his now-claimed boulder, she only offered him an amused glance. “Tired?”

He bristled. The sun had long set, and the night had dipped into freezing. Usually, he wouldn’t have minded, would’ve loved it in fact, but as tired as he was, he could only shiver pathetically. All this while, being told to ‘let go’ and ‘become one with your domains’ and other cryptic nonsense, and now she was amused that the attempts had tired him? How-

Oh.

And there was warmth, flooding his cheeks and grounding him once more. He felt his blood pump, quiet rage fueling his form.

“Your essence seemed to want to scatter. Anger can be a good starting anchor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, “Let’s continue.”

“Almost,” was his reply. He glanced at her, head tilted. Preswa cooed at him, heating his cheeks further, but leaned down and poked him in the scales. 

“Think about it this way. Stop holding onto your form, allow me to catch you if your essence tries to slip away,” she stopped to let him consent and when given, “Once that is taken care of, attempt to become like the waves, fluid, ever-shifting, yet of the same. It will make more sense as you try. Could you trust me with this?”

“Of course,” was his instant reply. “I trust you.” He didn’t have to think about the words, but he had the feeling he mis-stepped as the silence stretched. Perese tried to backtrack, hastily tripping over his own tongue as he tried to explain. His sister watched it happen for a while longer, then shut him up by wrapping him in a loose hug.

“I will endeavor to be worthy of your trust, child.”

Ohhhh. Oh, uh.

“That’s,” he stuttered, “that’s not really. That’s not really necessary.”

She just hummed, releasing him as she spoke. “Ready?”

He breathed, steading himself again. “Let’s do this.”

It took him seven day cycles to finally shed his serpentine form. He almost didn’t realize it had happened, not until Preswa had whirled around and near burst into happiness on regarding him.

Startled, he looked down on himself to see not sea-green scales nor a forked tongue, but gentle, foaming tides and the soft slopes of dunes, as precious as blue coral and silver pearls. He grinned, feeling his own face distort as the emotions took precedence over his form. 

“I did it?”

A hug as she scooped him up and twirled him around was the response.

“I did it!” He yelled this time, feeling his voice ebb and flow through the valleys. His grin widened, realizing that it had taken on a tone similar to his family’s: ethereal and commanding.

His sister cackled with him, his joy feeding hers and making him as light as the winds. Almost immediately, he was yanked back, a cold hand tethering him to her. 

“What is it?” he asked, confusion evident.

A smile could be heard as she answered, “You tried to float away, little one.”

“Oh. Is that bad?”

“I wasn’t planning on telling Mother and Father I lost their child anytime soon, so yes. And if they ask where?” she inhaled adopting a different tone, “Queen-Mother, Lord-Father! He simply floated away on the clouds! Light as rain and pretty as a feather!”

He giggled, the absurdity striking him. “That’s not the right metaphors, I don’t think.” Too late he realized his slip, freezing as the words registered. Wait. Metaphors as a word was probably discovered in the fourteenth century or something, he was leaking his visions and sight, again.

Preswa just swatted at him. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he chuckled nervously.

“Perese, I’ve been in your head.”

Right, about that. “Could you not do that again,” he tried, “Please?”

“I won’t, never again. Now, don’t avoid the subject.”

His replying laughter was tinged with nerves and fright. Preswa must have sensed it, for she took charge of the situation once more. “I have no interest in your sight, if that is what you are worried about. I have sight of my own, you know. It never is pleasant. I wished to ensure your peace-of-mind, no other hidden agenda.” Then she added, as an afterthought, “Also, to make sure you don’t misspeak, family or not.”

His form settled, curiosity winning over. “You too?”

“Perhaps not the same as yours, but you forget, I am Queen in my own right.”

It was easy to overlook, considering Preswa’s sunny personality and laid-back attitude. Her fangs rarely ever came out, and he’d gotten used to the cold that clung to her. 

She was Queen of the Underworld, once and later Persep-

No. Bad thought. 

She was the Final Judge, Jury and Executioner, determiner of the righteousness of souls, finder of the lost and reaper of the unlawful. 

A goddess to be revered as such.

The weight of her domain settled on him, firm, unyielding, yet gentle all the same. She hummed with it, pleased and proud. 

“A fast learner, you are. And yes, I see more than Father or Mother, and have long learned when to intervene, and when not.”

He perked up at that, catching on quick.

“Will you teach me?”

“I cannot,” he deflated like a popped balloon. “Such cannot be taught, but I could guide and advise you.” It was duct tape, and he’d take the offer gladly. Something was better than nothing.

“For now, let us visit a friend.”

That’s new. And a clear distraction.

He hadn’t seen his mother or father in almost a week, and missed them fierce, but he knew they were busy. He’d read between the lines, seen the stress mingling their auras recently. This little training was for them as much as it was for him. He was pretty sure they wanted him out of the epicenter of trouble. 

He couldn’t help but ask after them, despite the resignation. “Has the trouble not settled?”

Preswa paused, taking in his slumped posture and worried emotions. She sighed. “I too forget your sight. It is not quite alright, but the King and Queen are safe and active.”

He accepted it. It was all he would get. For now. Making up his mind, he lifted his arms. “Let’s go then.”

His sister shook with laughter but acquiesced, scooping him up once again. He quite liked it, being held. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy, and his family always obliged him. Well, his father would only hold him for a while, but he sure was going to change that. 

Used to the shadows that curled around him, it was easier to concentrate this time as they stepped into a stretching vineyard of grape and ivy. The air choked with it, the heavy aroma of fruit, wine and madness. In the midst of it stood a young-looking mortal though divinity oozed from their pores. 

They glanced at them, and Perese got a glimpse of bleeding purple eyes, each a pool of rich, dark wine. His hair swept around his shoulders, curled into his face in thick, luscious ebony strands. Between the locks, traces of gold could be seen, as if peeking through and begging to burst free. A leopard, lithe and prowling, lay quietly at his ankles, as if awaiting instructions or pets. Madness, joy and comedy personified, a guide and ferryman all the same.

The God remained as he was, letting them drift over to him. He seemed amused, if not a bit distant. As Preswa approached, he tilted his head in a bow, his circlet of ivy dancing in greeting. Perese waved from between Perswa’s embrace, feeling a bit off-kilter.

This was not the pale, drained and frail director and guide he was used to. The one in his memories smelled of misery and exhaustion, insanity lining his eyes while this God? He was vitality and life, resurrection if he willed. A tight reign over madness, and drunk on good wine. Power flowed off of him and through him, and the music that faintly played far away danced in tune to his smile.

It was a pleasant change, though a shock, and he couldn’t help but smile back. 

“My Queen.” He spoke, voice youthful and melodious. 

Preswa hummed in response, assuming a bit less abstract of a form though wild still. “I come as a friend, Diwonusojo. Will you listen to my request?”

This caught his attention, as the vines that were creeping towards Perese retracted gracefully. 

“I’m listening,” the other replied.

“I present Perese, Prince and Son, Brother and Child-Ours, of the Tides and Gentle Dunes. Of Pearls and Coral, and all things Precious to the Sea.” He flushed as he felt his first titles take root and accept him as he had accepted them. Diwonusojo eyed him like he could feel the change, but said nothing of it. Instead, he greeted him in turn.

“I, Diwonusojo, Lord of Wine, Fertility, and Madness. Of Mortals and Courts. Leader and Guide. Greet thee, little prince.”

He dipped his head just a bit as his sister had done, assuming he had a similar status as he carried the title of Prince. It was the right thing to do, as Preswa glowed beside him, something which Diwonusojo noted, if the smirk he gave the two of them was any indication.

“Formalities aside,” Preswa cleared her throat, “I ask you to help him with his mortal form, dear friend.”

Diwonusojo was not the only one to startle, though his was an eyebrow raise as compared to the incredulity flooding Perese’s head.

“Why?” Why indeed.

Preswa laid a hand on his shoulder, calm, grounding. “This one is particularly fond of mortals, and one day wishes to roam amongst them. His divinity cannot keep up so I wished to find him a temporary tutor. Who else but you? You who adore mortals like your own, who listens, ever so patient as you guide their souls to me?”

Oh. He loved his sister. So very much. She might not have understood why he wished to cling to mortality, but she supported him all the same. For goodness’ sake, she found him a tutor. 

A bit teary eyed, he gazed mournfully at Diwonusojo, mentally willing him to accept. This was an opportunity, and he wasn’t going to question why it seemed so rushed, though he had a faint idea why. She loved him enough to keep him safe, and that was enough.

Diwonusojo looked half-pleased, half-incandescent. “Anything but an impossible task, my cruel friend. It is too early, not with-” As Perse watched, wide-eyed, the other cut himself off and seemed to have a silent conversation with his sister. He wiggled impatiently, wondering why the air was spiked with tightly restrained sorrow.

“I see,” was the reply after a long silence. “Very well. It is our duty, and I do not mind a new mentee.”

“Yes!” He cried, accidentally yelling as excitement got the better of him. He quietened down as the two of them turned to him, twin looks of exasperation (or well, emotion in one case) directed at him. “Sorry,” he murmured, smile too wide for it to be sincere.

“Brat, aren’t you?” It felt playful, accepting, so Perese stuck his tongue out. Somewhere in the process, he had collated into a snake once more, and it was easier to express physical reactions like this. Unfortunately for him, Diwonusojo, mischievous as he was and quick as a viper, reached out and grabbed his tongue. Gentle, but startling, the touch lingered for one quick second before Diwonusojo pulled away with a slight yelp.

He gaped, tongue still hanging out limply as Preswa looked at them both sharply. “What is it, Diwonusojo?”

A cackle was their answer, loud and hearty. “Oh this is going to be fun. Friend, this little pearl is venomous!”

He found his voice, frowning slightly. “I didn’t bite you though?”

Diwonusojo shook his head at them. “A regular snake controls their venom actively. You however, are snake-like, and therefore, not fully aware of your own form. I’m guessing by the hints of divinity trailing around you, you had settled into your first domains very very recently?”

Preswa replied for him. “You are correct. I assume then, he’s simply leaking venom as he’s unsure of his form, or-”

“It could be a possible domain,” Diwonusojo finished. “For now, it's too weak to actually be of any use,” he turned to Perese, “At most you can take down a mouse or two. No human can be harmed, and certainly no God.”

That was a bit reassuring, though he wondered about this potential domain of his. What is because of his visions? Was he subconsciously preparing for the future?

Before he could ruminate further, Preswa sighed deeply. “And here I was hoping we only needed one tutor.” Guilt flooded him, but his sister ran a hand down his spine in comfort. The words were not meant to hurt, simply a thought. He relaxed as discussion began once again.

“Why do you require more tutors?”

“To control his form means to achieve fluidity. In a sense, control over poisons and water will come easy after that, and here you are to help. I am meant to tutor him on divinity, essence and the earth, though Mother has expressed her wish to help. We thought father could train him to fight, but the Atlantean style is focused on fluid weaving, solid footing, offense over defense. If he is to use poison or venom,” she trailed off.

“He needs to have an adaptable style, with tricks and light footing. With a bit more focus on defense, though that can easily be adjusted.”

Made sense, though he couldn’t contribute to the conversation due to Diwonusojo’s presence. His style before, was unpredictable, adaptive. It changed with circumstance and terrain, and very rarely was he unable to be resourceful in a fight. 

Preswa could be second best, right after his mother, he thought. She seemed to understand him quite well. Or maybe that’s because they were siblings, who knew.

As he was lost in his thoughts, conversation had ended above him, and Diwonusojo had turned away but not without a cheeky wave.

He looked up at Preswa in question. 

“We’ve decided it would be best if you learned from Are. It wouldn’t be right if I left you here training and went to bargain hours with the War-Spirit without first introductions. So will you come? Meet your third and hopefully last tutor?”

Are. Ares. He wasn’t quite sure about that one, but even Gods were capable of change as seen so evidently in Diwonusojo. 

He trusted Preswa. He nodded.

His sister smiled at him, “Good, I’ll ask Diwonusojo to summon him here. Are is needed elsewhere, so you will only meet a fragment today, but in time, you should be able to train for a day cycle every season under his tutelage.” 

If the rumors of the fish were true, the fact that Are, War itself, would spare some time away from the battlefield to help, already elevated him to a status higher than Ares. This would be alright, he’s sure of it.

Steeling himself, he got maybe a second to breathe before the air drummed with the arrival of another.

Dust-storms and trickery, rage and bloodlust, chaos-blessed, fate-loved. The shrieks of the dead followed the God-Spirit, eerie and mournful as they cried their final words. Gold dripped from his chin, flowed into his ankles. Victory and balance chased at his heels, and carnage haunted his steps. War, indeed.

Contrary to the violence in his breath and restlessness in his essence, Are dipped his head in greeting, alert and at attention. Eyes drifted over Perese’s form before snapping away. A soldier and a General, all in one. 

“Are, I greet thee as a friend.” His sister spoke first.

The voice that replied was much softer, lighter than he expected. It sounded youthful but as his words continued, it shifted to something mature, anguished, deeper. “And I greet thee, Queen of the Underworld, as your friend.

“You have a request, I heard?” he continued.

“Indeed. Brother, little pearl.” She raised her arms slightly at those last words, a signal. 

He took the cue for making his own introductions, straightening and letting his gaze flood with the confidence and pride in his bones. “I, Perese, Prince and Son, Brother and Friend, of the Tides and Gentle Dunes. Of Pearls and Coral, and all things Precious to the Sea. Of Poisons and the Depths. Hope and Oath. Greet thee.”

The last few domains came to him naturally, as it was always meant to be. Are’s essence rippled in interest as he in turn replied, “And I, Are, Lord of War and Wild. Of Mortals and Death. Of Victory and Loss. Leader and Soldier. Greet thee, wild-child of the sea.”

Introductions done, Preswa quickly explained their situation, mincing no words and straight to the point. Are drummed his hands in thought, regarding him for a moment. 

“It can be done,” he finally said. “No other surprises? Apart from the venom?”

Perese snorted, “Not that we know of.”

A glint followed his words as he felt Are’s attention shift fully onto him. He didn’t bow his head, let no weakness slip as violence rested its heavy hand on his scales. It retreated after a brief pause, Are’s form seemingly pleased.

“Then I’ll prepare as such. May I be dismissed, old friend?” he asked Preswa who nodded her assent and he disappeared in a whirlwind of quiet chaos.

Left alone together, the pair of siblings regarded each other.

“Thank you,” he said, not elaborating further. She picked up on the laced meaning either way, smiling genially. “Nothing between family. Now, do you wish to speak of your newly proclaimed domains?”

He frowned. “I don’t really know. The domains simply came to me, and I accepted them as I spoke.”

She nodded, “Poison, Diwonusojo discovered. The depths is where I’m guessing your birth-place to be?” He thought for a minute and returned her nod. He did remember waking up, and being brought to the surface by helpful currents. “That leaves Hope and Oath. Odd phrasing that too, as if the words implied you are Hope and Oath.” The last bit was a trailed off question, and she turned to him in startled amazement.

“Are you? Or, do you know of this?”

Perese did not, but he suspected it had something to do with his visions, once again. He voiced as such, and she paused before recollecting herself. “Would you give me a moment to check my memories of you, the first time I peered into your thoughts and essence?”

It was nothing she hadn’t seen, and it wasn’t like she was asking to read his mind again, so he assented.

They stood like that for over an hour as Preswa glowed in the falling darkness. Like this, the stars in her form were visible, each glittering with subdued dimness. He wondered what that was about, but before he could ask, she spoke again.

“You were once a bearer of hope, an acolyte.” Preswa frowned as if rifling again through her own memories. “Somewhere, that changed. I suppose you must have pleased the cosmos for you were made hope, and born again to us. I suppose a similar incident must have made you Oath.”

Once, when he handed Hope to the Hearth and Home, and the other, when he swore upon the Styx and fulfilled every oath. 

It made sense. Wild to wrap his head around, but it made sense. So much so, that he half didn’t know what to do with it. 

Preswa, beloved sister of his, simply flicked his snout and ended the conversion. “We have nothing to do about it. In due time, your path will reveal itself. For now, let’s go find Mother, yes? She must be worried.”

As the two turned away from grape and ivy, walked towards sea and earth, Necessity closed her eyes, and went to rest once more.

Chapter Text

It’s hard to say whether he would’ve done anything different had he realised what little time he had with them.

Preswa changed as the months flew by, subtle but change nonetheless. Where before she would fill a space with a mere mention of her name, now she grimaced as she struggled to simply hold her essence together in a way he hadn’t ever seen before. Not from her, not from Aperjone who was the spread-out and far-reaching, not even from their own father.

It was not excess power — it was a lack of it.

Something was wrong.

(Something was waking.)

Then, she started growing pale, weak. In such a state she could no longer reside over her domains and train him at the same time, so the duty came to rest on his mother’s head. She did not mind, not one bit, but there was worry in both their eyes as they watched from a distance; Father had yielded most of his control of the Underworld to his sister, hoping that the domain expansion might strengthen her. 

It halted the progression of the miasma, they’d taken to calling it, and Preswa remained in stalemate — not deteriorating but not improving either.

His mother did her best to keep him occupied, though they both knew the other could barely breathe through their worry. Still, they practiced their mundane tasks, hoping that it would be okay. 

Task one was control over his domains of sea and land; Damate and he were both Wild, and she knew well how to tame rampant chaos and curb potential destruction. He was to be taught both either way, but it was important to never let his control slip.

He bloomed under her tutelage, learning of the waters first and later the earth. They bent to his will, ceased their quakes at his command and gently cradled him as he entered their domains. 

Earth and Sea, two powerful domains in their own right, unstoppable combined. He earned his epithet as Earth-Shaker mere two years into his existence, the second to do so after his father. 

Diwonusojo was a strict teacher, contrary to his easy-going demeanor. 

He had to be, for Perese lacked a functioning attention span, one needed for form-shifting, and had the control of a newborn infant. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d failed to transition between forms — one hand, one other hand, a few toes and a good number of the strands of his hair. Needless to say, he sucked terribly.

Diwonusojo was equal parts helpful and cryptic, suggestions of feel it collect and gather your domains were about as useful as his non-existent pinky. He’d also tack on things like your nose is missing or those eyes are a snake’s or notably you have no hair. More helpful but he couldn’t solve it if he didn’t understand the problem. 

(It made him a bit sad, that he was once mortal and now no longer - to the point where he struggled to even appear human.)

His breakthrough came when Diwonusojo had suggested a mental exercise of sorts. He was to picture a silver mirror and what he saw as his reflection. Then, he was to slowly, piece by piece, match his form to the image he wished to become.

Perese had thought of sea-green eyes, dark windswept hair, a lithe yet powerful build and tan, almost bronze skin. 

As he concentrated, he could feel his essence shift to match his expectations. When he finally opened his eyes - his human, physical eyes - his tutor stood before him, a pleased smile on his lips.

There was no hesitation as he mirrored the smile with his own, the same smile he’d received from Sally Jackson.

The downside was that his form reflected his growing divinity. Which was a long way of saying he was a toddler.

Cherub cheeks, fluffy hair, and potato fingers capable of nothing but go-go-gah-gah.

Ugh.

Preswa and Are would never let him live this down, though judging by the smirk on Diwonusojo’s face, he wouldn’t either. 

He had a long way to go before he could effectively fight in a mortal form.

In spring of his seventh year, he would go on to spar with Ares, something about festival season and a lack of bloodshed. His form had grown into adolescence, and combat training had to begin.

Spars were fun though challenging. Jabs met with jabs, blows for blows, taunts and sneers matched in good spirit. A blade, a spear, even a bow though he didn’t have much luck with that last one, as expected. Then, a trial of fire against water, icy sharp blades meeting molten ones. Water dancing as throwing knives to his tune, to match the flaming shield the other had summoned.

It was exhilarating, freeing in a way.

He knew he wasn’t the only one who looked forward to their sessions, Are waiting with a grin and a snarky one-liner every time. He’d only roll his eyes and quip back with his own retorts. They had somewhat of sibling-animosity going on, something that infuriated him and pleased him all at once.

Are had once thrown in a comment about how he’d rather enjoy sparring with him in about fifty odd years, a sort of affirmation of his potential to match the War-Spirit. It sat in the corner of his heart, right along with Mother’s praise of his gentleness with animals of her domain.

When it came to the nitty-gritty, Are had a preference for practicality — sparring as if it was not a scenario but actuality. It made for some interesting sessions — a notable one where Are had assumed the form of a boar mid-fight, only for Perese to shift into his serpent form and land a bite on his heel. 

Ironically enough, Are had bled ichor from the wound, a mirror of a time to come.

Trickery and wild-cards kept him on his toes, a sharp parallel to the intensity of Diwonusojo’s training.

(It made sense. If he was to walk among mortals, he could not accidently blind them with his unrestrained power. If he wished to do so, he had to put in the work. Fighting on the other hand, war, was etched into his bones.)

Mastery of form, basic weaponry and combat, and control over his major domains, allowed him to move onto more advanced skills. Among those were poison, sea-stones and the wielding of a trident, his father’s symbol. 

Poison, he restricted himself when he did practice, not out of fear, but out of concern that there was no one to cover for him if things went wrong. Aperjone was the ideal candidate to neutralize his poisons, but just like Preswa, he was being stretched thin lately and Perese did not want to add another burden. So far, he could only summon his own venom and control it after, much like he could water. He hadn’t tried ingesting it, not willing to test the fates without a safety net.

Ill she might have been, but Preswa made time for him, ushering him in and hugging him as tight as she could, when she could. (They didn’t speak of her fading strength.) It was during one such visit that they came to realize he could make his sea-stones.

Pearls came from his human mouth, all it took was a thought and a droplet of water. Coral he could fashion as needed, living and dead, while jet and diamond only needed a slight pressure and heat. Blue calcite remained his favorite, a shell and water required for its making, though serpentine was a close second. 

The trident his father taught, taking an extra day each season to walk him through the motions and point out comparisons in technique of sword and spear. They’d spar the whole day, during which he’d use the time to regale his father with his day and the events leading up to it. 

They’d both been mildly disappointed when they realised he was a quick learner with his father’s weapon, picking up the skill with familiar ease. It meant less time with each-other, but Posewadone radiated pride in equal measure so he had licked his heart-wounds and beamed a smile.

In his tenth year, his form had grown into a teenage body, enough that he would be visible among the streets of his father’s city. 

It was time for his introduction to the city and their residents. 

It was hard to describe the sheer magnificence of the sprawling fort. Towering walls of obsidian and sea-foam, gates of gold and bronze, intricate yet walkable pathways inlaid with cobblestone and trimmed ivy. Music rang in every corner as crafts took up centre stage, only competing with forge for attention and demand. Gemstones of every kind graced doorways and entrances — entrances with these large ornate arches allowing for a transition between spaces.

It was beautiful, glorious, utterly gorgeous.

Atlantis, a safe haven for lesser daemones and deities. His father’s pride and joy, and the primary land residence of their family. 

This far he had stayed in an outer palace, pleasant but nothing breath-taking, while he settled into his new life. Now, he was to prepare to meet the people.

The days leading up to his public address were chaotic. Swathes of fabric in all shades of blue and green were debated over, jewelry and armor were designed for him, and a chlamys of seafoam, pearls, inlaid flowers and black, wisp-like trims, with a small boar motif and grapes draping off the side, was gifted to him.

He’d shed a few tears after receiving that last one. A physical proof of their love for him. A visible claim as family and kin.

When it became time for his announcement to the general public, he hardly held himself back from bolting or, say, shitting himself. Nerves shot, feet cold and clammy, hands shaking, he stepped up to the threshold portico. He didn’t let those show, straightening his spine and taking measured breaths before raising a hand to allow them to their feet. 

His father stepped up, his signature trident raised as he spoke. “I present, Perese, Prince of the Earth and Seas, Heir to the throne of Atlantis, Hope and Oath, of Poisons and the Depths! Hail!”

A cry went out from the crowd, flowers tossed in the air in celebration in varying shades of blue and green. Someone had started a tune, one carrying through the square, and if he listened closely, singing of his introduction to the world.

He blushed, and much to his embarrassment, both his parents and Preswa cooed at him. Preswa remained seated, but Damate came up, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

No words were needed.

(Later, this would go on to be recorded as one of the only public appearances of the Prince, beloved by the King and Queens, claimed by War and Madness, yet lost to time as all those of that era were.)

For now, they celebrated.

Chapter Text

By the time he hit twenty, he was a bonafide monster whisperer.

Courtesy of Are, together they had hunted down every possible myth, every dark-lurking presence. First, he practiced his diplomacy: could they please terrify another piece of land, not one so close to mortals? 

If the monsters seemed non-negotiable, boom, trident to the gut. Else, they would be blessed and peacefully herded away to a land far North. They had an agreement, see, with the Inuit Pantheon. Always in need of helping hands, the other Gods had agreed to host the monsters as long as they remained true to their vows. Otherwise well—

The Inuits too were excellent hunters.

Most monsters they encountered had the sense to bow to War, and negotiate with Hope, but the rest? Well, they made for good sparring practice. Lethal ones, but practice nonetheless.

He’d gained a second Epithet, Negotiator, through the course of this leg of his journey. One he was proud to hold onto, as it served as a symbol that he was not all of violence, he was more Hope and Oath.

Leash peace, restrain violence, indeed.

He was long overdue a visit, but the time was not right, he knew. Perese still had ways to go before he could hold his head high while seeking mentorship from them at Pytho. So, he continued his hunt, ever watching, ever protecting.

When he tired or grew restless from lack of contact with his other family, Are would hold out his palms. Perese would huff and puff but gratefully shift into his snake form, curling around the mortal-shaped crown of his brother-in-arms, nipping his ear in thanks. 

They made good partners. War and its Negotiator.

(Another myth, another story.)

In the summer of his thirtieth, five years after he had earned the right to be Heir to his father’s throne, not just of Atlantis, he donned his chlamys and set off to Pytho. 

Most might have forgotten but his first oath had lingered through his twenty years of training, remained as a warning. Hope-bringer, Oath-maker, the old sot had called him.

Why did prophecy have to be so cryptid?
 
Grumbling under his breath, he journeyed by foot, willing to take in the sights of the mortal world as he wandered. He met many in his travels, children, babies, adults and elderly all eager to welcome him into their homes. 

From dunes to beaches, mountainsides to lakes, he visited settlements, blessed those who needed one and helped those he could. A leaking roof once, an upset horse another, even a tiny bit of carriage-pulling after one had broken down. 

He’s not sure they knew. He was veiled, an easy cover for his most distinguishable feature — his face and his eyes — and he had ensured his divinity was under lock and key. Perhaps they were more perceptive than he had given them credit for, or maybe they wished to host the man who had helped one of their own, for most places he received free lodging and meals, an odd sort of reverence in their language.

(They knew, how could they not know the Negotiator, Peace-Bringer? He who smelled of sea-foam and the Wild, with a voice like honey and pearls along his ears.)

Through it all, he kept away from the main cities as he had been warned against. He couldn’t even try — the smell violence and bloodshed, mortals and rage would flood his periphery before Are or Diwonusoju would appear to herd him away.

Every. Single. Time.

He could help, but he wasn’t allowed to.

It was part of the reason for his journey. He wanted to aid his family, be useful in some way, and Python could have some answers for him. That counted as tutorship, didn’t it?

Anything was better than sitting around. And if he could start with the people, the mortals, then he would start there.

His voyage took him nearly a year to reach its end, filled with his various side-quests and greetings. 

He knew the other would’ve seen him coming, seen his delay, yet as he meandered towards the two rocks of Mt. Parnassus, he couldn't smell the other’s presence. 

Wary and alert, he drew his trident and readied his stance as he crept towards the cave. He still couldn’t smell anything, nothing at all, as if the earth were the only thing to exist.

The earth.

The earth.

He scrambled back, knowing when he was beat, when to retreat. Then, before he could go any further, a wisp of green shot from infinite darkness, wrapping around his ankle.

Child, he jumped as the voice of Python echoed through his head before he could panic further. Go quickly. It is no longer safe. 

He didn’t need to be told twice but—

“And you?” he demanded, “What can be done for you?” How can I help, went unsaid.

Nothing, came the soft hiss. I’ve already been consumed. All that remains is a warning, for a disciple and student of mine.

“But you’ve never—?”

Silly child, they said again, laughter in their voice. My sayings remained with you did they not? What else is that but mentorship?

He’s not going to argue, though a thousand arguments lay on the tip of his tongue. He only huffed a laugh, now safely away from the empty cave that was once an abode. A thought occurred to him, sudden and startling. 

“If I had come earlier, would I have made it in time?”

Silence before there were more whispers. No, it was already far too late for me. As if sensing his hesitance even now in this reduced form, Python continued, She will not harm me. I will not fall by earth or sea, remember child? 

He did. 

Go. You are needed elsewhere.

He went.

He quickened his pace, flying through the slopes before he reached the nearest water source. There, he took his essence and scattered it all over, looking for his sister, dreading in his bones a truth he knew had been scrawled in stone.

He spotted her in her gardens, seated in the midst of them all, eyes closed in final peace.

Preswa faded on a bright sunny day, spring honoring her passing as flowers of all kinds withered in mourning. 

Perese did not know what to do.

He would no longer feel the cold of her essence nor hear the quips she’d like to trade with him. He would not have anyone to cling to after a long day of sparring with Are, no one to listen as he rambled on and on about inconsequential things of the future-past. She particularly liked his descriptions of daffodils, he knew. He’d planned on surprising her with a bouquet of metal flowers of the same, forged by his own hands under the guidance of his father. 

The bouquet was put to rest on her memorial instead.

Lost and disoriented, he shadowed Diwonusojo, following him around as a snake curled into his crown. When the newly-dead began to show restlessness at the presence of the son of their king, he left to curl around a chlamys Are had taken to wearing. A gift from Preswa apparently, when he himself was introduced to the Pantheon almost millenia ago.

When war beckoned Are further towards bloodlust and strife, he travelled to his mother’s side, curling around her in quiet companionship. And when his mother grew weak just like Preswa once did, he broke down.

The scream he had let out levelled several mountaintops and shook the sea-bed to the core. He did not care. They took one, they were going to take another. He raged, his cries echoed through days and nights, haunting in its anger and mourning. 

He was Inevitablity’s blessing and scourge. If he couldn’t do this much, how could he protect anything? His sister—

He sobbed, and for the first time, he prayed to Necessity. Cried and wept and asked her not to take them away from him. Why give them to him in the first place if they were going to leave so soon? He was only in his third decade, still a young godling. His family were only a few millennia old, why cut their essence short?

Why?

He received no answer. 

His mother held him when she could, quieting his sobs and carding her hands through his hair to calm him. It only loosened some of the ache. Destruction followed his mood, tearing apart plains and creating new terrain, all attributed to his fluctuating emotions. 

Through it all he hoped. Hoped for Necessity's answer, hoped that Preswa would return, hoped that his mother would not suffer the same fate. He clung to that hope as if a lifesaver, refusing food and drink in favour of praying to his patron. His vigil remained steadfast for ninety days.

Then, he was answered.

A lone breeze drifted into his seclusion, drawing him out and towards the waking earth. He eyed them both, breeze and earth, exhausted but trusting.

The breeze nudged him forward, past the earth, to a field of wheat that hadn’t been there before his vigil. He stalked through it, parting crops and weeds, led by an invisible string. Then, a clearing.

In the middle, a sole pomegranate sapling swayed in the wind, frail, barely there. His breath caught, hope reignited with a passionate flame. Hesitantly, he moved his feet towards the plant, unwilling to disturb its quiet serenity.

The breeze ruffled his hair, curled around his shoulders. He inhaled the sweet smell following it, and smiled in thanks.

He would need a glorious sacrifice. His beloved chlamys, symbol of their love for him, would be perfect.

There, at the foot of the little tree, he placed it, and sprinkled salt water and earth on it, placing his palms flat on the ground and then raised to the sky as he gave his thanks. Then he rose, and went to his father.

Posewadone had wept when he’d seen the plant, salt and dirt flooding the air as his essence shuddered. 

A firm hand wrapped itself around Perese, and he leaned into the comfort offered and taken. Mother had already been by, the evidence seen in the little bouquet of metal she’d brought to the sapling. 

Another shudder brought him out of his quiet grief and joy, and he looked up in concern. Father gazed back, love and heart-break in his expression.

(A plan had been made.)

Before he could protest the glint in his father’s eye, he was steamrolled over. 

“Son. Listen well and listen close.”

He nodded, though reluctantly. He wasn’t going to like this, not one bit.

“Son, Gods will return. You, however, might not.”

Wide-eyed, he looked up for clarification. The breeze floated towards him, embracing him in sorrowful confirmation.

“You are a child, a godling not grown into your powers. Given another decade, you might ascend fully, but now?” He shook his head as if trying to clear the thoughts. An action so clearly human and so clearly inspired, that Perese had to choke back a sob. “None of us wish for that to happen, so we have decided upon a plan of action.”

Us?

“Your family, my court, and some others you have charmed with your innocence and goodwill.” He accepted it with a blink, knowing he needed to question it later, but also desperate to know about this plan that made his father so sad.

“What is it?” he questioned.

Here, his father hesitated, saying, “We put you to sleep, offering Atlantis to Inevitability as a sacrifice for your continued existence.” 

Atlantis-? His father’s city? 

He gaped at the magnitude of the words, trying to get out words to point out how insane the idea was. The breeze had tightened around him, hugging him almost. It too seemed desperate. He acknowledged it, then questioned his father again.

“What about its residents?”

“All in favour of it, for their little Prince.”

“But they just met me,” he murmured, unable to wrap his head around the thought. His father only nudged him with a reproachful yet proud hand. 

“And in two decades, you’ve done more for them than we could ever have thought of, mortals and gods both. You have acted as messenger for the children and the poor, you have prayed to Aperjone for the sick, called to Ereutija for the mothers, and Are for those at war. You have negotiated, sworn oaths, believed in those we had disregarded in our arrogance. Gods, mortals and even monsters listen to you and your sacrifices, and you make sure to make every prayer count. You are adored, son. For your kindness and pure heart.”

His face flamed, but he did not deny the claims. He had done so, and he was proud to have loved them so fiercely. To see it reciprocated in kind was almost overwhelming.

“And the land,” he asked finally. “What of the land with all its love and riches?”

“Do not fret. I had called that land from the sea to build my palace and city. It is only right that I return it to the sea-floor.”

He nodded. It was thought out. Insane but well-planned. The breeze was clearly in agreement, seeing as she drifted to his father in greeting. Father startled, as if just realising the presence. He offered a bow, then the breeze sent one last warning look at him and disappeared. 

How did breezes even have expressions?

Perese had a final question. “Mother? And the others?”

“Waiting to bid farewell. None too happy about it, but it is necessary.”

His seashell, the one he was born in, was chosen as his anchor, and the remaining time was spent carefully carving wards, motifs, love into its delicate frame. They all had a hand, just as they did for his chlamys, except this time Gods he had never met before – but had heard of – too had appeared. Aperjone, Ereutija, even Diwo. They all carved their own symbols of protection; it seemed Father was taking no chances.

He did not protest it. His parents had just seen a child fade, and it would be a long time before she returned. They were bound to be protective of him. He accepted the hugs, the quiet murmurs of reassurances, even Are’s gruff worry.

The city was evacuated, most of its residents already gone to some unknown fate. It made him want to weep but he gathered his strength for those remaining. This plan was not just to ensure his survival, but also of theirs. 

Perese was to be an anchor. Of Memory.

He would carry the role with pride.

His seashell was placed in the throne room, at the heart of the city. Runes of tridents and pearls were carved, offerings of peace placed. To whoever might find him, they needed to appeal for his safety. Thus the city, if it survived Necessity, would be the offering to his future rescuers. 

Privately he hoped not to undergo such a scenario, but that depended upon his consciousness. He hoped he would be aware enough to carry out his plans. 

He was Inevitability’s blessing and scourge and she would guide him, he was sure, through the new Age. His duty was Change, and such he would bring. 

In the thirty-third year of his existence, Perese returned to the sea floor, curled in the same seashell that had housed him first, cradled by the city of Atlantis and the love of ones he called his.

He would remain so for millennia, asleep and yet aware. Safe. 

The watcher, ever the overseer.

He who witnessed what transpired.

It started with the earth cracking, splitting the soil in two, swallowing their people in one fell swoop. It creaked, groaned, and stretched as Posewadone wrestled control from it, raging as it disobeyed. 

He closed the chasm after seven days of a battle of resolve, Damate by his side. 

Then, almost as in retaliation, the next wave struck.

Damate faded to the winds, carried by earth and grain. The vitality of the land left with her, parching crops and killing the green. There was no time for loss or a memorial as Are was soon lost to the madness of bloodlust — ichor scattering over bloodied fields as he made his final stand in the midst of invaders. His death wiped other life, protecting the land for their people’s return. 

Diwonusojo disappeared one summer, madness in his scent leading to a lake flooded with wine and brine. His nymphs and daemones were quick to follow their master, unable to exist without his divinity as their anchor. 

One by one they were picked at like vultures in the desert, until all that remained was two.

Posewadone stood, accompanied by his ever-faithful advisor. Defiance in his being, he roared and fought, wrath crushing the earth as it tried to swallow him. He would not go down, would not dishonour his family. 

The earth switched her tricks. She haunted him with dreams of them, of their happiness. She followed him like a hound on a scent, until finally, one day as he held Damate among fields of wheat and his children ran around their feet, the earth crept around his ankles and swallowed him whole. 

Diwo was the last.

He stood strong, held out for a few long years. Every time he was to be erased, he cursed the earth, ancient long-forgotten power in his veins. 

Inevitability favoured this one too, her loyal little messenger. To the best of hers, she shielded him, until at last the earth reached for the sky and shattered it.

As he gazed at the remnants of his family from his cage in the ocean, a blessing slithered its way to him.

Final, damning.

A hero’s journey.

He knew what to do. He always did, but could never acknowledge the pain. 

Ages came and went, and theirs was over.

The Earth had awoken.

If she wished for destruction and creation, she would thus receive. 

For now, it was time to plan.

Chapter Text

The Earth stirred with slimy, grimy, creepy little fingers expanding their domain, dipping her feet in all sorts of corners. Unfortunately for her, her influence did not extend beyond certain boundaries, other pantheons forcing her shift into different, more conscious forms. She retreated, gnashing her teeth at the denial. 

In the end, she was confined to a corner of the world, aspects of herself working in order to limit her reach. To Perese, it sort of felt like they were being forced to babysit a power hungry toddler who wanted everything yet nothing really belonged to her. 

He digressed.

After the Earth came the Void, Khaos, yawning as she emerged. Sleepy, unrestrained, disinterested. Darkness, Erebos and Night, Nyx, her children came after, born of her and nothing else. They took to the skies, making their home there together with their children. 

After them was Water, Hydros, stirred by the conflict and wanting no part with it. He played his role and went back to sleep. From him, Inevitability, Ananke and Time, Khronos took form, each equal parts Water and Earth.

Of those emerging without a maker, the Abyss, Tartarus and life, Eros came last. He watched the two, numb in his gaze as he recognized the former as one who frequently stalked the periphery of his visions. 

He turned his gaze away, then, knowing what was to happen, what had happened. Ouranos, a mother’s pain, a son’s vengeance, Kronos, a repeat of what was to happen.

Here he turned towards them again, wishing to watch as the first Titanomachy unraveled. He smiled as his family, different now and more, came to exist again. He laughed as Zeus, young and bloodthirsty, tricked his way to get his family out of their bonds. 

Ten long years lost, as they fought their way to reclaim their throne. Poseidon stepped aside, as did Hades, both willing to let their younger brother, guide and cause of their life, take the throne, debt and gratitude in their hearts.

(Perese wondered why, and remembered Diwo’s final stand.) 

Then, the others. Triton came first, first-born, ever proud. Then, Ares, his War-loved brother, Eileithyia and Hebe, and later Hephaestus born purely of Hera. It was during this time they joined forces and unified their stance among other pantheons. With Triton’s union to Libya, personification of the River Nile, a mediator between Greek and Egyptian pantheons was appointed. Others were quick to follow negotiations, the most common method being of unions. It started somewhat of a fad, marriages left, right and center. Poor Hera was run thin, splitting herself constantly to be at two places once.

Unions led to one thing, led to another. 

Children. So. Many. Children. 

(Eileithyia and Hebe at least, seemed to be having quite a lot of fun.)

Ares, taken with Hephaestus and Aphrodite, had Harmonia, Deimos, Phobos, and finally Eros with them. That wasn’t even mentioning Zeus’ countless ones, then those of Poseidon — like his own sisters —, along with those that emerged from Titans and their children.

It seemed as if love was in the air, and Perese had to turn away from palaces and rooms so many times that he began to grow quite done with his apparently extremely horny family. 

Like yes, the kids were necessary and all products of Love and Passion but really? Even bunnies didn't fu–

Annoyed as he was, he missed it when Pallas let out her first cry. The sound startled him, drawing him back quickly. There, right in the midst of an unfamiliar hall, Libya held a newborn with startling sea-green eyes, just like the seas. 

Delight filled him, knowledge of what was to come lifting his spirits once more. 

In the year of Pallas’ twentieth, Athena sprang, fully grown, from Zeus’ head; Wisdom, given to another once more. Still, she was a child and who else to raise her, other than Triton? Pallas had been the only one among them to grow as a mortal did, slow and then frozen in time, so it was deemed that her parents foster Athena until she could reside over her domains with confidence.

It was time for his move on the board.

A month before Athena was to enter the Sea, Perese asked Ananke for her blessing and pried open his shell.

Now, he didn’t do anything drastic, not really. Simply changed his form to one not easily recognizable, spread a few rumors and sat back to wait.

It took five days for the fish of the deep to spread their gossip up to the surface and near his father. Tales of a city long lost under the waves, of metal and gold, stone and forge. Tales of a city abandoned by a civilization long gone. A sunken city of old.

On the fifteenth day after he had left his seashell, his Father arrived in a chariot of hippocampi and crabs, his consort and Queen, Lady Amphitrite by his side. They were accompanied by a dozen of their finest warriors and three excellent scouts. 

It took them an hour to cover the seafloor of the Mediterranean, each nook and crevice searched until rumors began to give way to truth.

The Gates were the first to be discovered. Then, with a mighty wave of his hand, Poseidon cleared the rest of the sand away.

Atlantis had been found.

He watched as they explored the place, felt the sea and the land respond in kind to its new ruler, and grinned as Father realized the city as the gift he’d meant it to be. It was curious when they finally found his seashell surrounded by coral and pearls creeping along the floor it was seated on. Poseidon had paused for a long moment, eyes flashing gold, before he had declared his son missing.

Triton had turned, tails swishing in confusion as he very visibly remained by Father’s side. 

The King faltered, then spoke again, this time clarifying that his other son, younger than all present, was the one who resided in the seashell before they had discovered the palace. The trident rune in front of it was a clear gesture of an offering of the city, but Poseidon was more interested in finding his child who by his approximations had been born only thirteen days ago.

It was mostly true. He had remained asleep as his first family had met their end, remained asleep through the Ages of the Primordials and the Titans, and was born anew — awoken — only fifteen days ago.

Impressed, Perese watched as this version of his father claimed him in front of his own retinue. Instead of displaying annoyance and anger, he was pleased when Amphitrite and Triton took Poseidon at his word, nodding solemnly in accordance with his order.

Well, now it became a little complicated. He was confident that they would not be able to find him, knowing that they would be looking for a son of the sea.

He, no, she had her ways.

Plans were still in motion, she couldn’t afford distractions. It was time for a strategic retreat.