Chapter Text
«««««««« ─────── · I · ─────── ««««««««
As with most of life’s biggest changes, it takes a long time to start and then everything happens all at once.
Zagreus had always been acutely aware of his difference, his wrongness; always caught stumbling against the mismatch between himself and expectation. Wherever he failed to recognise any of his shortcomings, his father had been quick to correct him.
Still, the note—its tangible confirmation of his suspicions—was one blow too many to the rotted foundations of the life he’d grown so uncomfortably accustomed to.
I can no longer tolerate my life here in this place. So, I am leaving, even if it kills me.
The words—his mother’s words—stuck fast in the pit of his chest, caught the embers of his blood, beat in time with the emptiness of his own heart. His feet hit the floor without thought, without feeling; Nyx’s apologies slicked off his skin like water.
It was no better in his room, pinned down by the books he’d read until they were worn, the trinkets he’d collected and tired of, the bed he had no true need of. How much hollowness could be squeezed under one roof? The room was too small, the silence now too crushing in the wake of his mother’s words.
If there is a place where I belong in this world, it must be somewhere between heaven and hell.
Zagreus ran for the courtyard. He had to reach the surface.
He had never intended to cause harm. Zagreus hadn’t even planned to escape, not really. It had been bearable—if the cold, repetitive discomfiture of life in the House could be called bearable—until it wasn’t. Not after the note. Not after the lies.
Zagreus had never intended to cause harm. But as his feet hit the floors of Tartarus, rippling the stone from the force of his landing, he knows that he will.
It doesn’t matter, he can’t stay. Not even if leaving kills him.
Zagreus straightens, glancing over his shoulder for one final look at the flickering lights of the House—the only place he’s ever known—then darts forward, into the darkness.
In the hazy green light of the chamber ahead a looming figure more than twice his size is shambling toward him, hammer raised. A wretched thug. Gripping Stygius tight, Zagreus steps forward.
Fear is for the weak.
«««««««« ─────── · II · ─────── ««««««««
The walls of the House glimmer with gemstones and gold against the dim candlelight, a gaudy sight in sharp contrast to the dusty, peeling paint creeping in at its corners. After such a prolonged stint above ground the darkness of the House and its still, earthy air would usually be a welcome calm to Thanatos. Unfortunately, nothing at all is as usual.
The first of the discontented rumblings from below the surface hadn’t caused him any alarm. It wasn’t unheard of, after all, for there to be upset or violence in the underworld.
But then came the summons.
“...and it is of grave importance for the security of the House that if at any point you encounter him you return him here immediately.”
Thanatos watches Lord Hades expectantly, awaiting the twist. Outside of his usual barbed sarcasm Hades had never been one to jest with him, but the alternative…
Hades glares down at him. On top of the desk, his hand is clenched so tight it’s white.
Around him the room blurs out of focus. Thanatos holds his expression tightly in place.
“Of course, my lord.”
“Utmost importance,” Hades repeats, eyes scanning his face before he sighs and leans back rigidly. “You are dismissed.”
Thanatos is gone in a flash, flicking through the shadowy chambers at a pace to compete with the pounding in his chest.
Zagreus was unhappy, Thanatos knew that. But had he really been so caught up with work that he hadn’t realised the extent of it?
It comes unbidden: the listless manner Zagreus had the last time Thanatos had seen him, before the fresh outbreak of war above the surface. The bored way he’d drawn, redrawn his bow, the arrows arching haphazardly away. How do you stand it, Than? If I have to try and order one more file—if I hear one more thing from him—
Thanatos had thought the administrative work would do Zagreus good, at the time. Give him something to work toward, a sense of direction, especially after Meg. He’d said as much.
He’d never considered that Zagreus, the same Zagreus who overslept when he had no need of sleep to begin with, who couldn’t commit to learning the most mundane of tasks, could act so decisively, so recklessly.
He’d never considered that Zagreus wouldn’t have told him.
There.
Thanatos pauses, taking in the shattered vases, the burnt footsteps, the greens of Tartarus a stark contrast against the splash of red, so out of place: blood. There was only one being in the underworld to bleed in such a way. Thanatos leans forward, reaching out to touch the liquid before freezing at the last moment, fingers trembling. He glares, forcing his hand to still, and straightens.
Zagreus.
It rises up quick, quicker than he knows how to manage: the sharpness in his chest, the ringing of his ears. Before he can draw himself back under control, Thanatos is shifting forward, forward, chasing the silent traces of him.
When he finds the chamber, there is a certain edge in the air, the whisper of a soul. He glances across the room, taking in the destruction. Then he sees him.
Thanatos is next to Zagreus before he can think, even though he had known the instant he entered the room. He is too late.
Zagreus is far smaller in death. Blood is pooled around him, still flowing lazily outward from the gore of his abdomen. Thanatos has seen worse. It shouldn’t bother him. He’s seen so much worse.
A wretch shuffles into the corner of his vision. He kills it without so much as a glance.
Instead, Thanatos forces his gaze upward and lets out his breath. Zagreus could be sleeping from the chest up.
Thanatos fidgets with his scythe. Rage isn’t an emotion he has felt more than a couple of times, but it is one distinct enough, distressing enough, that he ought not to have forgotten the feel of it. Yes, it is rage he feels.
And yet.
Thanatos can’t stop himself when he reaches out this time, brushing his fingertips across the rise of cheekbone before pulling back with a shudder. Zagreus is almost warm.
It should be good: Thanatos doesn’t need to worry about stopping him—or, rather, not doing so—it’s already been done. He should feel relief.
At his feet, the pool of blood creeps ever outward.
He should bring Zagreus back to the House. It is what Lord Hades ordered. It would be no ask of him. It is what he ought to do.
Thanatos pauses. Pictures the feel of Zagreus in his arms, cold. Pictures returning him to the walls he fled so determinedly, for whatever fool reason he’d had. He clutches his scythe close, the cool metal a welcome grounding force as he weighs his options.
It is all wrong.
A noise at his feet grabs his attention.
Around Zagreus the ground has begun to open in a swirl of lapping red. The noise leaves him before he can stop himself. “No—!”
Thanatos clamps his mouth shut as soon as the sound is uttered, shaking. His body. What is happening to his body? Thanatos needs to leave, he needs to regain control of himself, but he can’t move, can’t take his eyes off of Zagreus as he is drawn lower and lower, until he is a torso, a head, a finger—gone.
He hears rather than feels the sound that passes his lips for the second time in fewer minutes. He stops himself. Takes a breath. Irons the emotion from his face.
Then he is gone, returned to the House, hovering at the balcony overlooking the Styx.
The river is as it always has been: cool, steady. As he needs to be. Thanatos waits, eyes fixed to the bloody waters. The familiarity slows his pulse enough to formulate the thought: It is over.
Thanatos knows his shape when it appears below, knows the spark of his soul as he is reborn. The air grows thick, tense, as the first of his footsteps hit the floor of the Great Hall. Thanatos hangs on their nearing sound.
The baritone of Hades’ voice cuts through his focus. “I see you’ve returned already.”
“I'll just be on my way again. You can’t keep me here.”
“Is that what you think? Stupid boy. You’ll be back here again soon.”
His grip on the scythe would snap a lesser material. Again? And still, no word?
Then so be it.
Before Zagreus can enter the hall, Thanatos shifts. He shifts and shifts and shifts, finding himself back in the chamber, back with the sickly flicker, the cold stone, the blood. He drops to the ground and draws his knees to his chest. He hides his face and lets his expression break.
«««««««« ─────── · III · ─────── ««««««««
The walls of the Hall stretch almost out of sight, yet still the ceilings bear down with a heaviness that crushes the air from Zagreus’ lungs. At the end of the Hall waits his father, still as stone.
Shaking the blood from his hair, he steps forward.
Hypnos shoots up in his seat. “You got chomped on by a numbskull? Ha, that must really bite!”
“Ha ha ha, very clever Hypnos.”
“Thank you! I think I’m getting pretty good at this whole greeting thing. It’s all in the care and personal touch, you know?”
“Right.”
“See you next time!”
Next time. Zagreus shudders. Surely three deaths is enough.
He slows in front of Cerberus, who lowers his head for pats. As Zagreus scratches at the coarse fur of his chin, his father leers down at him. “Learn your place, boy.”
“Oh, I will.”
“And leave the dog be!”
Zagreus glares at the ground, turning to the West Hall. Achilles nods solemnly as he rounds the corner and Zag straightens. “Hello, Achilles sir.”
“Good to see you lad. I hope you’ve remembered your training?”
“Fear is for the weak.”
“And the pain of death is but another obstacle.” Zagreus grins, but can’t quite bring it to his eyes. Achilles watches him gently. “You can do this.”
Zag pauses. “Do you really think so?”
“You’ve never seemed one made to sort paperwork.” Achilles glances furtively toward the Great Hall, before adding, “It’s clear enough to me that’s not your place, though it may not be my own to say so. That said, it’s no easy task even attempting to leave what’s familiar, no matter the circumstances. It’s an act of bravery, lad, and it’s that bravery that will see you through.”
Zagreus warms, softening as the air falls from him. “Achilles—thank you.”
“Good luck, lad.”
Zagreus glances to the empty balcony at the end of the hall, then darts back toward his room.
Again.
«««««««« ─────── · IV · ─────── ««««««««
Thanatos can’t say how many times Zagreus repeats the cycle after he leaves: running, dying, reforming only to start the whole pointless sequence again.
That is a lie. Zagreus breaks out of the House six times. He dies every single one of them. Thanatos never receives so much as a word from him.
He works and works and works. Meg sends a message that he is being is lauded in the House for his efforts. He does not respond. Flashing between frozen farmhouses, the barren spaces between battlefields, he catches sight of Ares in the distance. He shifts away.
It’s impossible to lose track of Zagreus now after such a focused pursuit, the vibrant life of him so bright against the dead.
It’s become a morbid entertainment, tracking his rise, his fall, if one that only brings Thanatos misery.
He flashes from soul to soul without pause. He tries to fade into the feel of shifting; the quick arc of the scythe.
Then: the still form, small and curled, dark hair lingering over the rise of cheekbone. It only takes a fraction of a moment for Thanatos to recognise his mistake—the young man scarcely resembles Zagreus in the slightest—but his heart is already stuttering at the back of his throat.
The soul trembles. You are…Death?
Thanatos softens, unable to avoid a flicker of guilt. He has been too hurried, of late. There is a reason he is the only one suited to his role. “I am Death,” he says, holding out a hand.
You’re different than I expected.
He smiles, silently wondering whether he ought to take offense. “Come, it is time. You must be tired of this cruel place.”
A shiver. Please. I can’t leave yet. My family needs me here.
The words sink into his stomach and Thanatos turns them about uncomfortably. He pauses, recalling the lukewarm feel of smooth skin under his fingertips and has to stifle his own shudder. “They always do. I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. You cannot stay.”
Will they be ok?
Thanatos repeats the words he always does. “I’m afraid I cannot say. You must trust in them, and in the Fates. I can only help you move on, when you are ready.”
What’s it like, on the other side?
He smiles gently and holds out a hand. “Come, let’s find out.” The soul quivers, then slowly moves to his arms. “It is time.”
He brings forward his scythe.
«««««««« ─────── · V · ─────── ««««««««
The room is cavernous, stone walls lit in the weak light that slithers through the cracks. Pillars support the ceiling unsteadily at the corners, framed with deadly traps.
In the centre of it all is Meg, tense and horrifyingly luminous.
“What are you doing, Zagreus? Don’t you understand? I’ll just kill you again and again, as many times as it takes for you to get this sick, masochistic idea out of your head.”
Fear is for the weak.
Zag grins. “You’ve always known just the right thing to say.”
“You’ve never thought for one second about how this affects anyone else here, have you?” The air grows dark and sharp around her. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
“I can’t live here anymore, Meg.”
“Then die.”
He draws Stygius in front of him. “If I must.”
Zagreus is familiar with Meg’s movements now, her tells. He steps back as she raises into the air, the cut of her whip tearing in front of him. She readies for a dash and he shoots to the side, slashing at her back as she passes.
Zagreus swings again as he turns to face her, blade arcing through the air—
The burst of energy orbs catches him in the opening at his chest, leaving him gasping for breath. Zag pivots quick, rolling away as Meg’s whip lashes the space where he’d been a moment before.
As she draws the whip back, he sprints forward and brings Stygius heavily across her side. She swears, raising wretches from the earth around her; they solidify in writhing yellow light.
“Do we really have to do this Meg?”
Zagreus sidesteps a lout; it rushes past him.
“I would kill you here even if we didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t.”
Zagreus lunges to the side as Meg brings back her whip. “That’s why you’re going to die.”
He is too slow. The whip catches Zagreus heavy at his forearm—he nearly loses his grip on Stygius—then again as he falters, this time cutting a sharp line across his brow. Zag rushes back, wiping at the blood that begins to blur his vision.
Meg leans forward in preparation, and Zagreus runs. The air from her whip burns hungrily at his back. Darting behind a pillar, then away from the spikes that spring from the trap at its base, Zag draws out a blood stone and shapes it into an arrow. As Meg rounds the pillar, he shoots.
She flinches as the blood arrow connects with her shoulder, honed and solid as any metal, and again as the trap catches her feet. Meg looks up, pulls back her arm—and Zagreus brings the sword down.
Meg coughs, wide eyes shifting from him to the gash at her abdomen. “How—? You—?”
Zagreus steps back as she sinks to her knees in horror; his own stomach aches at the sight, at the haunt of their many vicious hurts. “Sorry Meg.”
Her face contorts. “You’ll never get out of here Zagreus, and it wouldn’t make a difference for you even if you did. I know you. The pathetic nothingness that you are.” She coughs again, bringing up blood. “See you soon.”
Her eyes dim as the ground opens to draw her down into the Styx. Zagreus watches the spot for a long moment, Stygius heavy in the trembling hollow of his hand.
He forces a laugh finally, swiping the back of his hand at the blood blurring his eyes.
“Well, that’s that.”
He stretches, steadying himself. Tightening his grip on Stygius, he turns to the chamber door.
«««««««« ─────── · VI · ─────── ««««««««
Zagreus has died nine times, sweeping through Asphodel to enter Elysium, when Thanatos decides to disobey Lord Hades.
That is another lie. Thanatos had disobeyed Lord Hades the instant he saw Zagreus on the stone floor of Tartarus—disobeyed him in spirit the very moment the order was given—and has been doing so ever since. Rather, Zagreus has died nine times when Thanatos decides that disobeying through inaction is insufficient: he will actively abet him.
Charon stares when Thanatos appears at his makeshift shop. Though it is not unheard of for Thanatos, or others for that matter, to buy from him, it has been a particularly long stretch of time since he last did.
Thanatos?
“Hello, brother,” he murmurs, choosing not to acknowledge the question lilting in Charon’s own greeting.
Thanatos glances over Charon’s wares, uncertain of what exactly it is he’s looking for: cyclops jerky, knotted twine, violet shards of darkness, then, there—
The centaur heart beats in front of him, coursing with warmth, with life. There would be a certain irony to that, wouldn’t there? And, he supposes, a certain…self-indulgent, symbolic quality. Thanatos passes Charon the coin, pointedly ignoring the arch of his brother’s brow.
“Thank you, Charon.” For keeping this secret, he doesn’t add. He doesn’t need to.
Charon sighs. Be careful, little brother.
“Tsk. I’m always—!” The words crumble against the sick memory of chains. He has not always been careful.
Charon’s eyes crinkle, expression softer than it ought to be. You are careful. He is not.
Thanatos stares at his feet. “Am I really so transparent?”
Charon laughs, but it lacks any edge. Go, Thanatos. The gift—it is a good choice.
Flicking at his hair fretfully, Thanatos tries to ignore the gold that’s been steadily creeping up his neck. “Thank you, Charon.”
Casting his senses across the underworld, he finds the spark—the life—so foreign to Elysium. Thanatos draws in a breath and slowly releases it. Runs through the many things he could say, the words he’s been going over since he watched as Zagreus was first drawn down by the Styx.
Then he shifts.
«««««««« ─────── · VII · ─────── ««««««««
The air in Elysium is sweetly cool after the burn of Asphodel; the mossy greens soft against feet and eyes alike. The burble of the River Lethe is almost lulling. It really is a lovely place. Zagreus almost feels bad for the black scorch marks and rubble that trail behind him. Almost.
He sidesteps, the spear narrowly glancing off of Aegis. The brightsword withdraws, pulls back and—
The shield collides while the warrior’s arm is still in mid-motion, knocking the soul from its body. The movement is natural now: Zag readies himself till the power pulses through him, then surrenders to the hungry pull of Aegis. The soul fades.
Zagreus spins on his heels, casting his eyes about the chamber and catching only still air. He drops his arms and takes a deep breath. Ignoring the shake of his legs, he enters the next chamber.
He is immediately disoriented by the flash of green, the gong, the changed feel of the air. Zag draws Aegis back to his hands as he scans the chamber. Something is very, very amiss.
When Thanatos flickers into being in front of him, hovering above the ground with a determinedly dissatisfied expression on his face, Zagreus nearly laughs at the sullen theatrics. He would, if not for the grim realization building in his chest. How very like Thanatos. Is he more intimidated or disappointed? It is difficult to say.
“…thought you could just get away from me, did you?”
Disappointment wins out. Zagreus glares. “Thanatos. I figured it was only a matter of time before Father sent you after me to do his dirty work.”
Thanatos’ eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and when he speaks his voice is hollow. “Zagreus. Is that really why you think I'm here?” Zag looks from his face to the wicked curve of his scythe and back. Thanatos sighs before continuing, “I’d thought to see how it was you made it all the way out here. So why don’t you show me?” He pauses, catching Zag’s eye before pointedly adding, “Unless you'd rather I bring you back.”
Zagreus stares, unsure how to respond, and finally gives Than a quick nod. He ignores the sudden prickle threatening his eyes.
“You’re on, Than,” he mutters.
As the warriors shape and writhe into existence, Zagreus tries to sink into the feel of his body: the tense, the pull, the release. But, from the corner of his eye, he can’t help but watch Than. It is effortless, the way he moves, the wind and twirl of his scythe so smooth, so quick, he scarcely looks to be in motion at all. The slightest of movements and warriors are marked, another and they simply disappear. Zag’s gaze is drawn back to Than: as the wretches disappear around him he chuckles, dark and low, yellow eyes flickering.
Untouchable.
So, this is Death at work. How terrifying. Zagreus shivers at the warmth, the excitement, that tightens his chest, so odd, yet—
An energy projectile slams clear into his stomach, knocking his breath away, and Zag fumbles to deflect the following blow.
“Be careful!”
He flushes at the rebuke. Than would see that. Never mind.
He hurtles himself forward into the centre of a group of warriors that Than had just marked, knocking their souls from their bodies before the Death Sentence can be completed.
“Don’t play dirty!” Than grumbles from behind him.
Zag grins. For a moment they could almost be young again. For a moment he is having fun.
Zagreus is still smiling when the last warrior disappears. He turns to Than and it fades.
“Well. That’s all of them,” Than mutters, already back to wearing his usual sullen reserve.
Before he can respond Thanatos shifts across the meadow, leaving Zag to chase after him.
Than looks away as Zagreus slows to a stop in front of him, fidgeting with his scythe before seemingly settling on a decision. With a quick turn of his wrist, Than summons a centaur heart into the space between them.
Zagreus stares, mouth going dry.
“It was a tie,” Than mumbles, as if it were sufficient explanation.
The heart thuds, the beat of it audible even over the sudden, inexplicable pounding of Zag’s own. Past the centaur heart Thanatos continues to look pointedly away.
“Thank you, Than,” he finally manages.
Thanatos gives no response save to flick at his hair the way he always has when nervous, but something quick and tense flashes across his jaw as Zag draws the heart into his palm.
It is still warm and wet, something Zag doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. Nonetheless, he draws it to his lips and bites into the flesh as politely as he can manage. As he swallows, power—life—settles into his stomach like a heated weight, coursing through his blood, strengthening his pulse. Greedily, he draws out more, more, until his skin is flushed and electric with the glut of it.
What a gift, he thinks absentmindedly, to be offered up by Death.
Looking up, Zag freezes. Than is staring at him, yellow eyes trained on the remains of the centaur heart where Zag has brought it to his lips, emotions shifting so quickly across his face as to be altogether unreadable.
Zagreus hurries to cast a wrist across his chin, embarrassed by his own rudeness. Than’s frown tightens and he glances up, eyes widening when he meets Zag’s own.
“Khh.” He turns away sharply again.
Zagreus stuffs the remainder of the heart into his mouth, the power hot in his cheeks, and flicks at the blood on his hands before giving up and rubbing them on his chiton. It will only get bloodier by the end, one way or other.
“You left.” Zag turns his attention back to where Than is now watching him, tense and cool. “Without so much as telling me goodbye. I suppose you knew I'd catch up with you sooner or later, is that it? No escaping death, and all?”
Zag’s head spins as he shapes the words. “I had to go, Than. I hoped—I hoped you'd understand. I can’t stay there anymore; I have to do this.”
It sounds stale, insufficient as the words roll off his tongue. True though they are, the withering look Thanatos gives him is nearly enough for Zag to take them back. “You don’t have to do anything.” He pauses, and for a painful moment the meadow falls silent save for the murmur of the Lethe. “Khh, fine. If you won't say it, I'll say it. Goodbye, Zagreus.”
Zag flinches at the bite of his own name.
“Than, wait—!”
But Than is gone, leaving nothing behind but a fading green light, the echo of his gong, and the bloody stains on Zag’s hand where it extends in front of him, grasping at the empty air. Zag blinks down at his hand, ears ringing. His fingers are shaking. He drops it with a sigh.
Zagreus had expected Thanatos to be angry. He had expected Than to drag him back to the House, if he’s honest.
But what is he supposed to make of…that? Of all of them, Zag would never have expected Than—diligent, strait-laced Than—to come to his aid, let alone so brazenly. Zag thinks again of the yellow glint in Than’s eyes as he watched him eat the centaur heart. You left. What was that?
Zag shakes the thought away with a shiver. Anger. Anger is understandable. He should have told him, only he’d never thought…
He groans. That’s it, isn’t it. He’d never thought.
Pathetic.
Zagreus turns to the doors in front of him dejectedly. With a final glance around the chamber, he continues ahead.
«««««««« ─────── · VIII · ─────── ««««««««
Thanatos slumps against a pillar, vision dizzy and blurred by the sudden brightness, the chill of the topside. What had he expected, anyway? For Zagreus to turn around and go home? At least now he’s said his part.
Thanatos carefully pulls on an expression of calm disinterest; freezes it to his face. He shifts forward into the grief, to the mourning, pleading souls. He brings what comfort he can before severing them from their mortal forms.
He shifts and shifts.
It should be enough for Thanatos to pull himself away, to fall into the familiar repetition. Yet now he can’t cast the memories from his mind: the lightness of Zag’s grin amidst the swarming wretches, his fluid bend and curve, so much cleaner in motion than Thanatos had thought him capable of. How easily Zagreus stole from Death. The wide-eyed way Thanatos caught him staring back. The hunger of him.
No, he can’t cast aside the flicker of life below the surface, rising, rising, then—
Gone.
Thanatos flashes into the House, to the balcony, before he knows what he’s doing. As though he’s no longer his own. He can feel the souls call and protest above but he ignores them, turning instead to the curling red of the Styx.
He waits.
When Zagreus arrives, Thanatos knows him by the shape of his soul, the collective intake of breath, the impatient slap of his feet. Zagreus is rounding the corner before Thanatos is fully prepared for it. He keeps his gaze locked on the Styx. He shapes and reshapes his words.
The footsteps slow to a halt behind him.
“Wasn’t sure I’d see you here, Than.”
Thanatos turns sharply and still startles at the sight of him, clean and flushed, followed by the sweet copper scent of blood.
It is all wrong.
“Leave me, Zag. You weren’t meant to come back.”
Zagreus sighs. “Sorry Than. But you know—that was the furthest I’ve ever gotten.”
“Khh.” Than knows.
“Besides, it was—is—good. Seeing you.”
Zag looks up at him, eyes soft and guilty, and Than holds himself still, ignoring the churn within his ribcage, the rolling constriction at the wickedness of it all, until he can’t. He glares and snaps, “Always happy to oblige.” For you. “Especially when it causes me to risk my station.” For you. “To risk everything I've worked for.” For you, for you, for you.
Zagreus darkens and it is wrong, all wrong.
As he opens his mouth to retort, Thanatos shifts away.
He regrets it immediately: the outside air is sharp, cool, refreshing, and so very full of lack. Thanatos draws the empty stillness within himself, tries to carve the bitter tangle of Zagreus from his throat, but in the quiet the thoughts of him only grow until Than’s hesitant to open his mouth for fear of what new wrongness, what new betrayal, might fall out.
Below, Zagreus rises, falls, rises, falls. Thanatos lets him.
In a moment of weakness, he times a check-in with Hypnos to coincide with Zagreus rising from the Styx just so he can breathe the same air. When Zag moves to approach him, Thanatos shifts back to the surface, to the deaths and deaths and deaths, a small part of him pleased to be the one to leave without acknowledgement.
It is not his finest moment.
It should be easy to disappear into work. Death, it would seem, was a better business than ever, what with the long winter, the famines, and the nature of the mortals themselves. It never ceases to baffle him how very easily they can slip between loyalty and cruelty to one another, for beings with such short, delicate lives. How horridly similar, how horridly different to gods.
The thought sets beneath his skin like rot. Below, Zagreus falls and falls and falls.
«««««««« ─────── · IX · ─────── ««««««««
Zagreus has died fifteen times when Thanatos returns to Charon. This time, his brother doesn’t so much as raise a brow.
He has met the Minotaur.
Thanatos blinks, the words flying out before he can contain them: “Did he win?”
Charon does raise an eyebrow at that. You assume that he might have?
Thanatos closes his mouth, blushing gold.
His brother laughs. No. No, he did not win.
“I see,” Thanatos mumbles, handing over his coin and taking another centaur heart without meeting Charon’s eyes.
You will help him again?
“And what are you doing?”
Charon grins openly at that. I am profiting.
Thanatos clicks his tongue in disapproval but says nothing.
I hope you also find what you seek.
Thanatos glowers. “I’m not seeking anything.”
He shifts away as Charon laughs and laughs.
«««««««« ─────── · end of chapter I · ─────── ««««««««