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Chapter Text

 Perseus sat at his loom within the Sun Palace, the ocean-like threads crossing seamlessly with thread like clouds. Bronze hands passed the weft, packing the threads tight. Choppy, abyss dark hair brushed the curve of his spine as the floor length white chiton draped artfully across his frame.

 Yet, his fingers shook minutely, and the glowing of his being was faded as his dark curls hung limper.

 Weakness clawed its way through his body, a slow but steady poison which had drained him, bit by bit. His lack of access to his domains do not help, the strained connections with the Oceans and the Rivers a stabbing pain when the worst comes to hang over him. Gold clinks like chains where the bangles clash as he weaves, the noise fitting for his current situation.

 Even as a god, his being strains and bucks beneath these controls his husband set for him after the last shouting match about his increased infidelity. He had decreed he would remove them after a decade below him. Perseus lost hope after the rules hadn't headed around the twenty year mark.

 That had been almost five centuries ago.

 The weakness had set in after two of those five centuries.

 Clearly, Apollo enjoyed the prize he had gained all those millennia ago from that deal with Poseidon. The Perseus of Ancient Greece hadn't known what to expect after their first century ended, but the immediate amount of demigods sired after hadn't been something he had considered. Truly, past him was foolish to expect anything less from the Olympians.

 Their own children had long fled into the world, with only a few returning to lecture him upon the forgiveness their Father deserved. Yet the golden, silken sheets of their marital bed had long been cold form the lack of the Sun.

 The nymphs often enjoyed whispering, gossip about the newest scandal or up and coming hero often reaching his webbed ears before they spotted him. He moved like a ghost within this cold Palace which had ceased to be his home sometime during the roman empire, where his name, his very existence- had been scrubbed, reduced to the nameless husband of Apollo. The lack of respect had him cursing every roman which dared set foot near any temple he had a domain close to, which might of helped their fear of the Sea and Death.

 Thread wove between thread as he lost himself in his thoughts, crafting the tapestry as he drifted. Eventually, he reached the end of his woven canvas, and his mind sharpened, locking onto the weave.

 Dull, was his first though, but every craft, from metal work to threading turned dull in his hands now. A sunken ship, with glittering gold spilling from its hull. The columns of the decrepit Palace within the Mediterranean glinted in the dark waters, and longing bubbled up for the safety of his domains.

 Instead, he pulled the tapestry off the loom, handing it out of the way as he left his only sanctuary within this cold Sun Palace.

 Sandals tapped lightly over marble as he wandered its corridors, hoping to enter his garden before any servant or god could accost him.

  "Papa!" A loud voice called. Damn, no such luck, then.

 Turning, he spotted his son. Herod, the god of heroic poetry and music ran towards him, golden curls shining in the Sun Chariots light. Golden skin and a musicians from, the only thing inherited from him was the Ocean-swirling eyes. Yet they were coloured with gold as he stopped in front of him, eyes kind but clearly ignorant.

 "Father was looking for you, y'know. He sent out Marinos, Fotis and Aella to search the Palace for you." He explained, hands gesturing like he was conducting. 

 Pointed ears covered in feathers twitched behind his curls, and Herod's ink-stained hands dripped as his feet left blooded footprints as he led Perseus through the grand halls. His own claws were curled by his sides, and his scales were flaky and cracked where he had scratched during a small bout of mania.

 They had made it through the lavishly decorated halls of the Sun Palace and wound up at one of many meeting rooms within. Before he could touch the door, Herod held him back, a pensive look on his furred face.

 "He's unhappy, so please don't make it worse. Just... let him talk at you before asking for the removal of the curse."

 Perseus looked as the boy he had sired, once believing, Hoping that his marriage would last. Hope, what a funny thing to its god.

 Nodding once, he turned to the ornate door, the solid gold gleaming dangerously as he opened it. His husband paced the length of the room, Hair a fiery gold halo, blackened feathers bushed up where they decorated his jaw and fluffed his wings. His own hands, that of an archers, poet, musician were bathed in red and gold, as sun-bright eyes glared harshly at the burnished marble. Antlers dyed silver grew laurels as he wound round the room, silken white chiton wrapped around his thighs as its held loosely over one shoulder by a sun pin.

 Perseus simply stands their, strength waning as he sees Apollos anger. A small touch and he knows its about one of his demigod bastards. Loyalty wails and tears and the Patron yeans to hold his charges below. But he can't, bound as he is by his husbands ruling.

 "He's dead, Perseus. Killed, and for what? Your pride? He prayed to you and you did nothing! Speak, husband, before I beat it out of you!" He screams, plagues dancing between his fingers. He marches forward, anger a wildfire which will soon cool.

 Then cruel hands grab his shoulders, burning through his scales as claws tear into his skin, ichor dripping from open wounds.

 A pained cry leaves his mouth as he stumbles back, arms and face burned by Apollo's rage. His feet collapse under him and he hits the floor, body quaking. The room cools suddenly, and the golden figure rushes to him, but all he can see is burning pain cracking his scales and wounding his skin.

 He flinches back at the outstretched hand, and Apollon freezes.

 They wait there, suspended as his body works to heal him, his eyes the first to finish when the new film slides away. Apollo looks both uncaring and angry where he stands, one arm still outreached.

 Once assured of his continued healing, he turns, clearly fighting himself.

 "You shouldn't of ignored him, my child asked for your help." Is all he dares to say.

 Anger bubbles beneath his calm facade, a mask of calm waters rather than the ship-sinking storm he wants to unleash.

 "He didn't pray to me," He whispers, voice raw from lack of use the the slowly healing burns. "And even if he did, your rules prevent me form doing anything."

 Apollo doesn't look back, shoulders tense from where he stood like stone.

 "Rules?" he questions, and the accusation burns. Apollo's ability to forget how he cursed his spouse to be unable to wander freely outside the Sun Palace without his permission wrenches at something deep within him, and a bitter feeling bubbles up.

 "I cannot move freely without your permission, Remember? You never released the curses hold on me, and so i have been unable to leave this...wretched ... Palace."

 Cold, gold eyes stare at him, before he waves a hand, the chains flowing off him like water. Yet anger still brews beneath is skin, and his eyes tear up with pearls.

 A himation is draped over his form and his husband moves past him to the doors.

 "Cover those burns, we've been summoned to Olympus for a celebration." He states uncaring as he strolls through the grand doors. All four of his children wait outside, but only Aella stays, rushing forwards to his prone form. Her darker bronze skin gleams with water as her webbed hands direct water over the mass of red lumps; the burnt, pealing skin and dripping ichor.

 She cradles his face as he feels the inaction he had been forced into weigh him down in a way he knew should worry him, but he simply couldn't care. Eyes closing, he wonders how long he'll last before his skin turns to foam.

 Something buried in his gut says he doesn't have long.  

 ~~~ 

 Apollo storms through his Palace, sun burning through his veins as he reaches his garden buried deep within the marble walls and golden mosaics.

 His hands feel unclean, the ichor which had stained them burned off yet still flashes quickly in the corner of his eye.

 Three of his children had followed him, but never went anywhere close to the garden so the had petered off as they aknowledged where he was going. The green setting didn't help as the image of Perseus - Loyal, strong, kind Perseus - sprawled across the marble, Ocean blue-green scales broken and cracked, ichor dripping onto the pristine white silk of his modest chiton.

 Their webbing had burned, and his choppy curls had shrivelled at the ends.

 He felt sick, an odd emotion for a god, but didn't stop him from heaving onto the clear floors. He wanted to take an arrow and stab his heart because why, why would he cause such harm to the one he loved. 'Because you don't really love him. After all, look at how many bastards you have sired.'The voice taunted.

 Part of him was looking over all his demigods within his cabin, just one short. The voice poisoned the calmness at seeing the rest of his children safe. He wanted to deny it. He loved Perseus, but he dared not touch him. Their last child together had been Aella, but her birth had came with difficulties which caused a deep rooted fear. 

 "What if I hurt him," He had whispered in his head a justification. Yet again, he was proven that his touch was harmful. The image reappeared, Perseus on the floor, blood pooling across his shoulders- He shook his head violently, gagging as if vomit would choke up his throat. It didn't.

 He wished it would, so this sickening feeling would leave, spill onto the floor like blood dripping from a wound.

 He wondered when he had forgotten his Husband, fled the happy times together for the minimal bursts of pleasure from the mortals below. When had he started to talk over his beloved, avoid his name as if it would stop the shame curled in his gut. When had the adoration faded until the only time his husbands name spilled from his mouth was to lessen him. A millennia, he was sure, but it didn't stop the ill feeling to spread. Something felt off, but he no longer knew his Dearest as he had once, and could no longer judge anything about his Dear Perseus.

 Instead, he resolved to address it after the party on Olympus. Apollon yanked his pain and hatred and shoved them deep down into the pit which hadn't stopped growing.

 ~~~

 Perseus stood still as marble at the edge of a crowded street in the City of the Gods.

 His limbs still shook with residual pain and his daughter Aella was still close by, supporting his weakening body. He hadn't wanted to burden her, but his stubborn whirlpool refused to leave, gluing herself to his side.

 She was worried for him. His youngest wasn't wrong too.

 The moment the curse had slid away, his domains had come rushing back like a tsunami, flooding his consciousness. The bindings which held him together, the threads which tied him to his domains was frayed and distressed. Too distressed.

 Some had fallen limp, most of the twine broken and snapped as he was tied to the Sun Palace, away from where any of his purposes lay. He was fading, and he couldn't stop it. His very name was relegated to nothing, and his domains seen as nothing. His father didn't look for him, he noticed, as Poseidon walked around the great halls of Olympus unbothered to the lack of two of his children. Those two children he had promised he would love forever.

 'Has he forgotten me as well?' Perseus couldn't help but wonder.

 Then his very being wrenched in pain as he saw his Husband cuddled up to a gaggle of Nymphs, equality flirtatious expressions all around.

 Aella whispered something in his ear, but the blatant unfaithfulness broke something deep inside him.

 At the same time, Loyalty started to fade from the minds of man.

 His sweet girl half carried him through the glistening white and gold which only remind him of the dreaded Palace in which he was imprisoned. No one stopped them, Hades! no one even noticed them as they stumbled through the thinning crowds. Slowly his vision blurred, black spotting his sight as he trembled. Perseus could barley feel his limbs as he swayed, his complexion becoming worse as he fell, body finally burnt out. He hit the marble with a thud.

 Light breezes and the smell of the sea was how he awoke.

 His body, his very essence ached fiercely, a throbbing pain which wouldn't stop. Hushed conversation faded quickly as he groaned, desperately trying to move yet his arms which had once cut through giants and armies couldn't even hold his weight.

 Familiar hands helped him sit, and he stared, shocked, into the eyes of his older sister Kymopoleia. 

Chapter Text

 Perseus looked on in shock at his sister.

 He skin was pale as porcelain, and her hair was the blue-black of the abyss, tendrils like jellyfish tentacles, swaying and curling around the vast cavern they were holed up within. Glowing green eyes stare at him, a lure buried within her widened eyes.

 Gills flutter upon her neck, fins stretching out from where ears would be, framing her face as danger. The peplos she wore hung only from one shoulder, and the soft weave was silken and artful in how it draped around her form. It exposed the violent gales and swells which decorated her hands where they rested, sharpened claws curled by her side, yet her hands seem more muted.

 His core twinges at the thought, and a glance down confirms his own complexion is no longer the brass of sunken bronze, but instead sickly, greyish and clammy. 

 Where once turquoise webbing connected his digits, now weakened and frail, covered in small tears and flagging scales. His own markings and riptides are dull, a light slate blue compared to the vibrance of the ocean.

 He felt both stronger than he had in centuries and weaker than before, an odd contradiction which had his head spinning, but he ignored it for now. Instead he scanned the rest of the cave. Water created a small pool of clear, crystalline liquid, under which was a tight tunnel downwards, the sharp, jagged pole of a wrecked ship just visible further down the passage.

 His power sang to him, and gold glinted upwards from the tide pools and their depths.

 Shifting oceans met stormy skys, as his daughter stepped forwards, tears pooling in her slate eyes as she rushes forwards, scaled arms so very gentle yet fiercer than any howling winds. Her sobs rack her frame, the feathered wings which encircled her head rustling and shivering as the spiked fins running down her scaled legs warbled beneath her sorrow, yet she is silent. All Perseus can do is hold Aella, his dearest daughter, she who embodied him the most despite protests.

 A third presence looms within the shadows, and as his teary eyes take in this place of rest, he glances past broken pillars until he alights to a statue he has not seen in three thousand years.

 Its of him and Kym, their likeness striking and vibrant, the water pools and tides never truly touching the marble and the vibrant paints. It shows the chthonic aspects long erased by humanity, sealed below in a cave no longer easily accessible to man.

 It saddens him how much they lost too time.

 Lady Styx emerges from from the shadows of the forgotten temple, a hateful expression twists her features until her very face wars with its anger. Her Chiton is crafted from her waters, its baleful currents and littered trash swilling within. Its pinned by bronze, a gift when he had been younger. A wreath of blackened roses and bronze dust, the blood of poppies a crimson splash against her monotone colour. 

 Her eyes are the blackest of hate, and the oaths sworn and broke on her river etch themselves along her tongue. She smells of rot, of wrongly spilled blood and the cruelty of kings and lords. Fitting.

 Perseus lowers his head, a murmured "My Lady Styx." falls from his lips like the whispers of loyalty.

 She looks at him, not softly, but maternal. She had played the part of mother for a stretch after his chthonic domains reared their head, and both he and Kymopoleia had studied and grown under her watchful eyes and brutal methods. Her approach was swift, and though she didn't embrace him -he hadn't expected her too- her blackened and clawed hand still cradled his jaw. She studied the failing health of his features, and the dimness of his essence and her bloodless lips curled into a snarl.

 "Such disgrace, these Olympians dare to show my charge. How dare my river and waters be diminished so that our chosen starts to fade." Lady Styx snapped, her inky locks lengthening, becoming the rushing, violent waters of her river, her face sharpening and hollowing. The features of a hateful, skeletal being gnashes her sharpened teeth.

 "A truth well spoken, my Lady." The Goddess of Violent Seas and Storms agrees. "My brother should be respected, his name a terror for those Oath-Breaking sky gods. Yet, his domains and titles have been forgotten and erased! I remember a time when the Queen of the Heavens once sought out my dearest sibling. How she talked about the support they must show as Loyalty and Marriage, only to forget such a conversation so she could place her frustrations at her Husbands infidelity on him!"

 Perseus watched as the two Goddesses fired their complaints, grievances and anger at the Gods of Olympus.

 He shuffled, drawn and desperate for the sunken shipwreck and its treasure, to be able to submerge into at least one of his neglected domains. Aella noticed, silently supporting him as they shuffled to the rocky pool.

 Unbidden, his glassy, ocean blue eyes darted up to take in the two of them. He himself held his λεκάνη (lekáni), all five of the rivers carved as pouring out of the bowl. His face was veiled, and the wreath of coral and pearls held the marble silk in place. His long peplos was painted a rich hue of ocean colours, and the himation tied over his shoulders was black, decorated with red poppies and Greek Fire where it fell across his entire body. Similarly, Kym held her ασπίδα (aspída) high, its bronze surface aglow with her might. Waves were carved surrounding her feet, and her chiton was short and flowing, half of her torso exposed by the single shoulder. A himation made of a Fishermans net encircled her, broken planks and the souls of sailors caught within the rope.

 Tang of iron and a crimson dye where a carved bowl was evidenced the spilling of blood, and treasure and offering crowded the alter. Yet, the gifts were old, and long lost meaning or true worship.

 Steadily, both he and his youngest made their way towards the oceanic entrance before sinking into the brine of the deep.

 His gills fluttered to life, inhaling and exhaling the salt water of the bottomless depths below. Upon opening his eyes, he realised that he had woven this shipwreck just days before, a dull, dark tapestry with had inspired longing.

 His meagre power sparks, and his chiton fades, replaced with his tail. Its a long, elegant and fierce appendage, with turquoise colouring his skin and the base of his tail, the scales ombreing into an abyssal blue.

 Webbing flowed and drifted in the current, the membrane alight with the oceans power and layered with their families bioluminescence. Similar webbing rose between his fingers and his claws lengthened and sharpened.

 A splash next to him revealed his dearest sister, skin glowing as she swam towards him before cradling his battered, fading form. His nose was jammed into the crock of her neck, scenting the smell of churning brine, rain heavy clouds and salty caramel. She felt like home, a battered ship carried by a fading storm, the cradle of the possessive ocean as it swallowed ships and their treasure whole.

 "I am fading," He whispers, the flutters of the wings of Hope, a fading sound.

 She stiffens.

 He feels as her essence coalesces elsewhere, reining storms over the violent oceans, anger fueling her craftsmanship, creating cruel, Father-worthy storms which carve her refusal into chalk cliffs and devouring sandy shores.  

 "I will not let you," She shoots back, the violence of the rising wave- "At least not alone." -before it sinks back into the ocean. 

 "Me and my Husband might share prophecy, but even Gods cannot disobey the fates." Perseus spoke, sadness coating the words like oaths.

 "But you have not faded. Surely, we could find a way to restore you" He interrupts, "Us, Kym."- "To you're former glory. But how..."

 The silence extends, a problem without solution. Perseus refuses for his sister to suffer the same fate as him, and resolves to somehow grab the attention of their Father, to hopefully bring her existence back into his light before she starts to follow him into this spiral of despair.

 "A quest! I could order a quest! After all, the demigods surly wouldn't refuse if its for their Patron." Kymopoleia exclaims, the start of a hurricane echoed within her voice. "Ive got a few possible demigods in mind as well, and they'll-"

 Perseus cuts her off, pulling her off balance.

 "I haven't been able to actively tend to and care for my domains, including my station as Patron of Demigods." He says bitterly. The God of Loyalty allows his body to sink, hopelessness weighing him down at the truth of his new situation. He twists, curling his lithe and sickly body through the torn holes with the wreck, settling within the piles of gold and silver.

 Kym follows him, and he spots his Whirlwind, she too with a lithe, healthy tail, speaking to the Lady Styx.

 His dull, sea-green eyes return to his beautiful, kind and rough sister as she too settles. They curl together, tails twirling around each other as they shelter with the safety of the sunken seas which their family avoided.

 "Then i'll explain." She whispers, her voice one of waves meeting riptides, both powerful forces joined as one. "Say you were imprisoned, and need help returning to your power, so you can protect them again. It isn't untrue, after all."

 All Perseus can do is consider. He stares at the fading, translucent pallor of his skin, and how every movement feels like one more step towards becoming sea foam, to fading into the waves and abandoning his children, his sisters and brothers and Father and Mother. And though he contemplates wether most would care about his passing, his loyalty to his dear sister Kymopoleia and his typhoon of a daughter, Aella, prevents him from truly loosing hope.

 A small nod of his head, and Kym lights up, the luminescent patterns of their family glowing in joy.

 Her arms wrap around him fiercely, squeezing him with pure strength before she dated away in a shower of bubbles.

 Her presence fades, but another catches his eye. Their form is dark, and they slip away before he can truly catch them. He shoves the intruder out of his mind, swimming upwards to his long forgotten temple, his daughter now alone as she follows him up into the tunnel.

 ~~~

Alexius darted away from the wreckage, the two gods he had spotted crowding his mind, their conversation looping within his head.

 His Lord Poseidon had been searching for His children over the last century, an age old worry, the protectiveness and possessiveness of the Sea once more rising within Him. His King had scoured the Shores, the Reefs, the Depths and even requested aid from Oceanus and Tethys.

 Surely, though, these two powerful gods were not so very close to death. It couldn't be.

 Yet his eyes had kept wandering to the inflamed gills, the sickly pallor over their skin and scales. Even their presence, once heralded as the true terror of the ocean, were dulling, their power fading as mortals and gods forgot them.

 His armour weight him down, the glittering metal and streamlined weapon a reminder of what he and their people had failed to do. The very thought that two of their Kingdoms gods fading, their life force draining away as the world moved on was a horrifying thought.

 Taught muscles propelled him through the water, an essential part of him noting the old power of the area he had just left.

 His tail stuttered before speeding up. He had just left a temple, an old and unused one, yes, but a temple most likely dedicated to the two gods, Kymopoleia and Perseus.

 Open ocean stretched before him, and his desperation would prevent him from stopping, for fear that one small break would delay the possibility of treating the Sea Prince and Princess, of revitalising them so they once more shone with the power gods should carry. 

 He zoomed through the water, desperate to reach Atlantis.

 The King and Queen would be overjoyed at the finding of their children, after all.