Work Text:
Κήρυκας του θανάτου
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Castorice trudges through the frozen plains of Aidonia, shivering slightly as she heaves her bag closer against her back. It’s quite a strange sight, really- a young lady, slowly braving the frigid chill so infamously associated with the city, itself entirely devoid of human presence, unnaturally still. She continues walking, never once glancing back even as the constant snow begins to bury her footprints, the paths she once maintained vanishing under the white. She walks towards her hopes of a new life, occasionally fidgeting with the black gloves on her hands, crudely made but well-worn before focusing on the endless terrain ahead, flat and unassuming.
Over time, legends begin to tell of a violet-haired girl, travelling to tiny villages and helping them with any task they needed, asking only for some food in return before setting out again. In one such village, a wise elder asks the young lady, “my dear, why are you seemingly always travelling? Don’t you have a home to return to?” Castorice just shakes her head softly, the tiniest hint of a smile gracing her lips. Still, she herself knew that this was no way to live- too temporary, too unstable.
“I just want to find somewhere to settle down, “ she murmurs. “I… I’m searching for something.” The elder smiles too, warmly suggesting she travel to the holy city before heading out once more.
“It is the land of eternal dawn, hope radiating even past Kephale’s protection,” she exclaims, trying to pass her a warm coat even as Castorice gently declines.
“I’ll just… go now,” she tells the elder, accepting her well-wishes before heading off, finding her way through the countless wheat fields she’d helped to tend to.
The rumors reach Okhema before she does, as she finds a young maiden waiting for her at the city gates, casually sitting on a bench as if expecting her. “Hello there, would you be Castorice?” She asks, flaming red hair catching the breeze. Judging by Castorice’s shocked expression, she must be the one, chuckling before she continues, “My name is Tribbie. I apologise if I startled you, but Agy- Aglaea would like to see you in a moment, when she’s a little less busy. Would you like to follow me? I could serve you a cup of tea- the journey here must have been long and arduous.”
Tribbie smiles brightly at Castorice, beckoning for her to follow even as she notes how the violet-haired woman takes in the surroundings, regal and grand and bathed in sunlight. Soon, she’s led through one of Janus’ passages, several water curtains, and even up an elevator- This must be a maze for the unfamiliar, Castorice thinks even as they end up in a bath house that can only be described as extravagant, the two the only ones present. She disrobes, wrapping a towel around herself before stepping into the bath, her weary muscles relaxing as she takes a seat, warm water swirling itself around her.
“We’ve heard so much about you,” Tribbie begins, brewing the tea in a conveniently placed teaset. “Yet, none of us know who you are. If I may ask, where are you from?” She straightens the teacups a little, making sure they were perfect on their saucers as she gives Castorice the space to respond.
“I am Castorice,” she answers after a moment’s hesitation, “and I was the Holy Maiden of Aidonia.” She stares down at her hands, realising she hadn’t taken off her gloves. No matter, I can switch them for the spare pair I have later.
At the mention of Castorice’s homeland, Tribbie turns to face her, her expression one of pleasant surprise that no doubt concealed some deeper emotion. “Aidonia?” She echoes. “I see… I do hope all is well there.” She knows immediately from the slight wince her words elicit that that was very much the wrong thing. “I apologise, Castorice,” she begins to pour the tea, making sure to serve it to the young lady before her. “Don’t worry. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it now. Okhema welcomes you!”
The two make some idle chatter for a while, from the landmarks in Okhema to even the nature of the baths- the one they were sitting in right now being supplied by golden ichor. Still, Tribbie has to go, the Holy Maiden of Janusopolis rising from the waters and waving goodbye to Castorice. “Don’t worry, Cas,” she calls out, “Agy will be here soon!”
Castorice barely has time to let out a chuckle at just how comfortable they’d become with each other before she catches sight of another woman striding purposefully toward her. Immediately, her hair is the first thing she notices- a shade of blonde she could only describe as gold, similarly golden decorations perched securely upon it, not to mention the deeper tone on the underside of her hair, barely visible-
“Ah, you must be Castorice,” The woman chuckles, watching as Castorice scrambles to her feet, trying to hide the blush on her face. “My name is Aglaea, Dressmaster of Okhema.”
“Castorice, Holy Maiden of Aidonia,” she volunteers, and has to shift slightly when Aglaea takes a seat next to her, uncomfortable with the close proximity of their bodies. “Oh, I forgot- my apologies, Castorice,” Aglaea offers with a chuckle, pouring herself tea. “Would you allow me to explain why I so urgently wished to meet with you?”
Over the next few quints, Aglaea explains everything to the young maiden- her search for the twelve Coreflames, her own experiences with Mnestia- it felt natural to her, being able to talk to and laugh with Castorice. Still, the Goldweaver is more than observant. Castorice reaches for her teacup, gloves making the softest rustle. “Are you wearing gloves?” Aglaea asks with a soft hum. “If you would allow, I’d like to take a look at them.”
Castorice obliges, taking off one glove and leaving it on the table, where Aglaea gently examines it, hands running slowly over the fabric. “Beautiful material,” she muses, “though rather worn… Such an aesthetically designed accessory… did you also learn how to make this during your travels?” The Holy Maiden’s soft chuckle makes her smile, even as she senses through her golden threads that she seems rather shy. “Yes,” Castorice murmurs, “I wanted… farewells to be more formal.”
Aglaea offers right then to teach her how to sew, to repair and beautify the material gracing her fingertips. “After all, I would have loved to become a teacher,” she chuckles, not even letting Castorice refuse the small place in which she had once lived. “Feel free to stay with us, and join the Flame Chase Journey if you so desire,” The Dressmaster offers, even as she regrettably stands up and announces that she had to go. “It’s been nothing but wonderful chatting, Castorice. Okhema welcomes you.”
—
Castorice had agreed to support Aglaea and Tribios- it was certainly a shock to see so many people, nearly identical. The Flame Chase Journey was important, after all, especially since she’d long since known she had the same golden blood that flowed through the veins of the two demigods. She was particularly fond of Trianne, almost child-like in the carefree way she’d run around the city, only stopping after some new problem had come up. She found herself reading in the Garden of Life, Trinnon nearby listening to her read it out loud, lulling herself into peaceful slumber. Whenever she was free, Aglaea would drop by, giving her updates and generally chatting even as she carefully taught Castorice all that she knew.
She certainly treasured all the friends and companions she’d met (or hadn’t- she’d yet to put a face to Cipher’s name), but on those lonely hours on her bed, holding a chimera plushie to her chest, thinking about the next poem she’d write, she couldn’t help but be struck by the question- What is death?
She recalled the happiness of each waking moment with her friends, trying to avoid noticing the light streaming in behind her curtains. She recalls the grin on Trianne’s face after she’d pulled off a rather tricky prank, the warm smile on Aglaea’s when she’d finally made her first chimera plushie, yet something in her heart refused to thaw, cold and unyielding even after all that had happened. Her mind drifts to her time in Aidonia, locked in the palace for most of her days, made to hold the hand of people that recoiled from her touch. She’d hated every moment, the knowledge that she had to kill everyone in a death-obsessed land.
Thoughts morph into dreams, Castorice turning unconsciously in bed. The day that the Dawn Device fails, the black tide surging into Amphoreus and snatching everyone she held dear.
Tribbie, wishing her a cheerful goodbye even as she knows that only a plush toy will ever make it back.
Mydei, after centuries in battle, the wails of the dead too much for him to fight the pull of the River of Souls any longer.
Her teacher, Anaxagoras, finally able to embrace his death, theories proven.
Phainon, Deliverer of Amphoreus, struck down in a mighty blow by a monster beyond comprehension, eternally marred.
It hurt the most watching Aglaea slowly fade away. Every thread tethering her to life sawed through, trying to hide the pain that so clearly overwhelmed her-
“Cas?” A gentle, soothing voice cuts through the discordant noise like scissors through fabric, even before the numbness in her hands makes her shudder. She opens her eyes to see Aglaea peering concernedly at her, hand twitching as if manipulating golden thread. “Are you okay? The thread detected a disturbance here, so I thought I’d come over to check on you,” She explains with a warm smile. Castorice sits up, making space for the Goldweaver to follow suit, picking up the chimera plushie that had fallen to the floor. “I do hope I’m not intruding,” she murmurs, even as Castorice shakes her head vehemently.
“No, no, Lady Aglaea, it’s… just a nightmare,” Castorice mumbles out some excuse she can’t recall, hearing the Goldweaver chuckle amusedly in response. She almost puts her hand onto Castorice’s lap, withdrawing the moment she hears a small gasp and a shift.
“Would you care to tell me what happened?” Aglaea is careful to phrase it warmly, very much a request Castorice could choose not to fulfil. She feels the threads quiver slightly, the Holy Maiden tightening her grip on the stuffed chimera.
“I could,” Castorice finally begins, slow and hesitant as she finally lets out the burden on her shoulders, recounting her childhood for the first time to the Dressmaster, who just sits patiently, gaze fixed on Castorice. She lets the golden thread weave itself around her, barely hovering over her skin as the Holy Maiden breaks down, crying and sniffling into the plushie. Aglaea finds herself regretting being unable to pull Cas into a tender embrace with the tattered remains of her humanity, golden thread only circling closer to the girl before her, body shaking with sobs.
Aglaea listens to the slow executions in Aidonia, some people more willing to go than others. She can imagine Cas’ aimless journey across Amphoreus, through bitter fields and ruined villages, unable to bring herself to accept any help. A golden thread can’t help but wrap around Castorice’s wrist, Aglaea herself feeling the slow effect of death creeping up on it. She whispers soft comforts into the air, sweet nothings that gradually calm Cas down.
The golden thread has no choice but to detach itself from Aglaea’s web, falling from Cas’ wrist. “I’m sorry, Lady Aglaea, I- I don’t know what came over me…” She mumbles into nothing, curling up in her bed once more, hands buried inside her body. She felt them tingle and ache, only reminding her of Thanatos’ curse. “I’ll leave if you want me to-”
“Cas, it’s okay,” Aglaea answers, wishing more than anything that she could properly comfort her, give her a moment of peace from what must feel like endless torment. “We will always have a place for you, no matter what your brain says.” She shushes Cas’ rambling excuses, the ones that never come from a good place. “Ill stay here until you feel better.”
When Castorice wakes up, Aglaea is still sitting on her bed, head leaned against the wall. “You’re up,” She offers simply, watching the Dressmaster chuckle and offer her the fabric in her palms.
“I made a pair of gloves for you while you were asleep,” Aglaea responds. “I hope they’ll remind you of me when you feel down again.” The unspoken words hang in the air even as Cas accepts with a soft “thank you”, running her finger over the intricate patterns, invisible against the black material.
—
Countless years pass.
Castorice sends off innumerable souls to the nether realm, mourning each one in her capacity as Okhema’s mortician. She heads to the Grove of Epiphany for a while, studying with Phainon. She takes Anaxagoras’ History in Mythology course, resenting every one of his teaching methods much like the other students. Through it all, she wears Aglaea’s gift daily, sending it back to the Dressmaster on occasion for repairs. It always finds its way back to her nightstand the next morning, restored to its pristine condition.
Aglaea continues in her duties as the Dressmaster of Okhema, though maintaining the World Wound Web and eventually stepping up with temporary leadership leaves her with little time for tailoring. Still, she makes sure to carve out time for the baths, often joined by Castorice.
“Lady Aglaea?” She’s greeted with that soothing voice, shy as ever, on a particularly draining afternoon. Castorice slips into the water, taking a seat next to Aglaea, knowing she wouldn’t mind. The Dressmaster just hums, even as a Garmentmaker hurries over with a cup of hot tea, setting it down on the table.
I… I would like to head to Styxia,” Castorice begins, enough for Aglaea to open her eyes and sit up. “Professor Anaxa, he… He found out where it was.”
“Anaxa?” Aglaea asks, curiosity glinting in those eyes, unseeing as they were. “I suppose you asked him about Thanatos’ Coreflame then,” she chuckled, “I did want to know the nature of that conversation.” She takes a sip of tea, savouring its earthy flavour as Castorice mirrors her. “Convince me. Why should I let you go now when you’re needed here in Okhema?”
The question hangs over the air like a shroud, only serving to make Castorice shift uncomfortably. She thought back to the events of the past few hours, Aglaea having watched her walk into the debate at Dawncloud on Elder Caenis’ side, feeling the golden threads recoil away from her in an instant.
”I know you don’t have to trust me, Aglaea,” she finally mumbles, hesitant. “The things Anaxa showed me… I had no choice. He was telling the truth, even if it’s impossible to prove…” Castorice looks up at the Goldweaver, her mouth pressed into a stern line, imposing and downright scary. “I need to head to Styxia and find Thanatos’ Coreflame, otherwise I would have waited until everything else was done before asking.”
Cas is met with nothing but silence, in itself the greatest pressure to keep speaking. “I- I know the Century Gate is unstable, and I don’t want to use Janus’ power up. I just need to get there somehow- Stelle’s life depends on it.”
She waits for the longest moment, sensing golden threads wrapping around her, and Castorice knows that the entirety of the World Wound Web must have been searched to provide the data for whatever Aglaea was doing to her at this very moment. Finally, she speaks. “Very well. Go with Stelle in a few days. I’ll get Cifera to take you there.”
True to her word, Cipher is… there, at least. It takes suffering through a number of tricks, but Castorice makes it, even with the steep cost. They end up in Styxia, where the thief disappears into the endless night.
Together, both journey into the forgotten city, bearing witness to the River of Souls, the endless march of time eroding all of its former glory. They reach its top, ruins scattered around them even as bone-like structures protrude out.
They awaken the deceased Pollux, and ask it to take them to the nether realm. Halfway through, Castorice feels the golden thread fall away from her, unable to protect her any longer. She murmurs the softest prayer, letting it be carried away in the wind.
The nether realm is a surprisingly calming place, flowers covering the ground as far as the eye can see. A broken moon hangs in the sky, cracked and bleeding, and Castorice can sense the sorrow in the air, heavy and mournful.
A young maiden awaits her, and though they’d never met, Castorice feels a pang in her heart, as if longing for connection once severed. The maiden introduces herself as Polyxia, and that same heavy air dissipates in an instant.
Castorice wheels her into another clearing, the shattered moon closer this time, just enough for Polyxia to finally share her- their story.
“We are sisters, Castorice. I do hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive me- it must have been so long. I hope you’ve lived a fulfilling life.”
It feels both too short and like an eternity, the weight of her words resting on Castorice’s shoulders, the burden passing on to her. The duty of maintaining the nether realm, to let naught but the purest souls through to find eternal peace- it scared her more than she’d like to admit.
“You do have quite a backlog, seeing as Pollux has been blocking the River of Souls all this time,” Polyxia lets out a chuckle that makes Castorice yearn for more time. “I’m afraid you’ll be busy for a while, dear sister.” She turns the chair around, carefully standing up. Stelle rushes to her side, supporting the frail demigod.
“It is time. I only wish I could have known you for longer, dear sister.”
The two embrace, the softest gasp falling from Polyxia’s lips before her body relaxes into Castorice’s grip, already fading into a shower of petals that spread into the distance. She finds tears rolling down her cheeks, the solidness slipping away far too quickly.
Still, the Coreflame of Thanatos lies in her hands, warm yet mournful, soothing as an empty abyss. There’s a sharp ache in her chest, one that yearns for her sister to return to her side, to guide her along what must now be a solitary path.
It takes every hit of resolve to turn to Stelle and ask her to walk away. “I’ll bless you so that you can survive Oronyx’s Curse and return the Coreflame,” she murmurs, trying to still her trembling fingers, flexing them uncomfortably. “I… I must stay here in the nether realm and carry out Polyxia’s work.”
Stelle nods solemnly, and turns- Castorice only fidgets with her hands more, the feeling intensifying. It seems to only occur when you feel… rather down, she hears Aglaea’s soft murmur in her head, and her hands clamp down on each other, heart yearning to return.
Still, she murmurs a gentle prayer, unable to watch as Stelle’s steps slow, almost halting before she finally, thankfully keeps going.
“To Stelle, inheritor of Oronyx’s will, outlander not of this world, may the blessing of Thanatos, ruler of Death, protect you always.”
Pollux swoops in to carry her away, just as it once did with her own fragile body. She keeps her eyes tightly shut, trembling until the beating of its wings fades away into the distance.
Are you scared, Cas? Don’t be. Thank you for all you’ve done. Aglaea’s voice murmurs within her, and though she knows that the Goldweaver cannot reach her, Castorice embraces the warmth it brings anyway, lying on the sea of flowers until the first souls drift towards her.
—
It feels like it has been years. Time works differently within the nether realm, Castorice able to grant each wandering soul peace with a gentle touch. Somewhere in her mind, she’s dimly aware that it must have been merely weeks or months, but it’s not like she could leave, in any case.
She listens to elders’ stories, plays with children once more, and soothes the fears of even the most mature adults.
“Oh Thanatos, thank you for granting us eternal slumber,” she hears from the last few souls of Styxia and Aidonia.
“By the Titans above, perhaps Thanatos isn’t entirely cruel,” others murmur before fading away, reduced to lavender petals that float away on an imaginary breeze.
As much as it pains her to see it, she wipes away the tears of multiple children, ones who must have been in unimaginable pain and the ones who just want to return to the living.
Still, she’s alarmed when a soft sob echoes through the realm, familiar red hair practically sprinting towards her. “Cas!” Trianne shouts, though it’s not one of happiness. She screeches to a halt before her, sniffling uncontrollably as Trianne offers her the contents in her hands.
The sight of a golden, shimmery butterfly and nymph makes Castorice’s heart shatter. So soon, she can’t help but suppress a few tears herself.
“Lady Aglaea?” She calls, expecting no response, but the two creatures stir nonetheless, as if awakening from a deep slumber.
”Thank you, Teacher,” the butterfly speaks first, “for bringing us here to the nether realm.” It flutters into the air, hovering around the two Chrysos Heirs.
”And thank you both, for fulfilling your duty as Flame-Chasers,” the nymph follows, though it remains in Trianne’s trembling hands.
Castorice can’t help but watch the butterfly flit around, every movement somehow elegant beyond measure. Something catches her eye- “Aglaea, why is the butterfly so… transparent?” Castorice asks, and Trianne’s eyes widen for a moment before she breaks out into more sobs.
”Trianne, don’t cry,” Aglaea murmurs, the butterfly coming to rest on her shoulder in an effort to comfort the poor girl. “You could call the nymph my divinity, and the butterfly my humanity. After all these years, something had to give.” Both chuckle at that, the nymph scuttling up to Trianne’s other shoulder and pressing itself firmly against her neck.
“What happened?” Cas’ voice breaks, even as Trianne sits down on the ground, tears ebbing gradually. “What happened to you?” She’d never felt so powerless before, not even able to touch the two creatures before her, resorting to gently stroking the fabric of her gloves instead.
The butterfly lets out a soft laugh, wings fluttering freely. “I let Caenis assassinate me, so as to advance the Flame-Chase Journey. What else?” Aglaea answers so casually, as if talking about the weather, that it only makes Cas break down crying once more. This time, the butterfly perches next to her, wings producing a soft beat that gives Cas something to ground herself with.
For a while, Cas’ quiet sobs echo through the nether realm, the nymph lulling an exhausted Trianne into temporary slumber. “You didn’t have to go so soon,” she cries out, “and particularly not to Caenis of all people-“
”Ssh, my dearest Cas,” the butterfly murmurs, coming to rest on top of the nymph, scuttling over. “I promise you, I’ll be okay. I made some preparations for the rest, too- they’ll be fine.”
”I can remain here for a while longer, but what’s left of my humanity will disappear soon- and my divinity will soon follow.” The nymph nods solemnly, as if it made the situation any better. “If it helps, I am but a mere fragment of Aglaea’s divinity. The rest is with Phainon, in an amulet.” Both creatures let Castorice slowly recover, though only one catches on to the discomfort.
”Your hands, Cas- do they still hurt?” The butterfly takes flight once more, its ghostly form hovering around trembling, gloved hands. Its wings slow, and a slow hum comes from Aglaea, making Castorice smile.
As if triumphantly, the butterfly swoops up, flying around her head once before landing back on the nymph’s back. “It worked, didn’t it?” True to their word, the pain is gone, and Cas can’t help but laugh along, her heart soaring. “Thank you, both human and divine Lady Aglaea. You’ve comforted me in more ways than one.”
“We’ll be here until you rest, Castorice,” the nymph tells her matter-of-factly, “feel free to take a break for now.” The butterfly flaps its wings in agreement, the two creatures next to Castorice, who’s starting to feel drowsy, drained from all the work. “I shall, Lady Aglaea. Please, rest well too,” Castorice mumbles.
The herald of Death closes her eyes for a moment, and allows herself to drift off.
When she next opens them, Aglaea is gone.
—
In the lodging of the recently departed Mortician of Okhema, there is a lavender-coloured diary resting in a locked drawer. In it lies a record of every person that Mortician has ever attended to, even those who were nameless or unrecognisable. Written in nothing but the neatest cursive, its obvious that the ink has been touched up in some places, or has had later alterations and notes added to it- sort of like an updated logbook.
When opened to the last page, there appears to be a letter, seemingly penned by the Mortician herself.
“Should you read this, I simply want you to know how much you mean to me. I am grateful beyond words for everything you’ve done in the past millennium- to help me settle down in Okhema, and giving me a purpose as both a Flame-Chaser and a mortician.
Above all, I want to thank you for being my partner for so long, even when it must be excruciating amidst such turmoil. You have always accommodated my needs and given me the best times I can remember.
Life is always sweetest with you, so please, keep smiling and leading with the unending warmth and comfort you exude."
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