Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The little doll looked up at Persy curiously, and the soft pink haired woman giggled with excitement as she tucked the small figure within her robes. Almost there, she thought eagerly to herself. She then brought her bright pink stare to the countless buttons on the elevator. The temptation to press every single one of them was almost irresistible, and she wrung her hands while watching the needle journey to the right as the elevator made its ascension to the top floor. Her familiar, Valefor, chirped in her ear with enthusiasm as she spread her avian wings in a large stretch. Persy petted her small companion affectionately. “I think he will love it too,” she mused as she nudged her nose into Valefor’s beak.

The final ding made her heart skip a beat and she gracefully hopped out of the elevator. A melody came from her lips, while her hands traced the edges of the hallway, mimicking the flight Valefor had now taken from her shoulder. She looked outwards to the giant windows that served as a wall to the tall skyscraper. Amaurot seemed so little to her up this high. We’ll be flying over it soon enough. Golden geometric framework around a polished black metal door finally greeted her, and she shook her thoughts away while knocking to the beat of her song.

Hades was never one to make her (or anyone) wait, and opened the door promptly. “Hades!” she exclaimed while practically throwing herself at him. Dainty arms wrapped around his neck while her fingers gently curled into his medium white locks. “I missed you,” she murmured against his lips, practically teasing him.

Hades hated being teased. She knew this all too well and he forced his lips on hers—demanding immediate compensation for her taunting tricks. Then with reddened ears he released her. “Azem,” he said politely while clearing his throat. “I wasn’t aware you were stopping by. You are to leave today, yes?”

She rolled her eyes as she walked past him to gain entry inside his sanctuary. “Must you really call me that even here? In your own quarters? When we are alone?” Valefor trilled in agreement at the man and he let out a discontented sigh.

“It’s called ‘discipline’. We are both members of the Convocation now and we both need to address each other appropriately.”

He gently clicked his door shut and snapped his fingers. The opened room around them illuminated with a beautiful, but somber light. Gold, brass, and onyx all lightly reflected and sparkled in Persy’s rose colored eyes. Everything was pristine, as it always was. As it always will be. She pursed her lips while scanning his living area—not a single thing was misplaced. The sleek black couches looked as if they had never been sat on, coasters stacked perfectly as if they were never used, and plants that she grew just for him stayed chillingly still, as if they were asleep. They appeared to be watered but it was clear the dim light and coldness of the room had left them in a permanent slumber.

“Hades,” she said with a big smile while turning to him. “Lighten up.” Persy snapped her fingers and it was as if the air itself lifted. The dull lights now flickered blissfully and her plants stood taller, their flower buds now waking. “It’s too dark in here, these flowers will never bloom if they are confined like this.”

His brows raised in awe and soon after his expression became somewhat sheepish. “I… see. Regardless, do try to use ‘Emet-Selch’ when you address me.”

Persy brought her hand up to her chin to ponder for a moment. “Hm. I don’t think I will, Hades,” she said with her smile growing.

Hades pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Azem—”

“Ah, ah!” She put her hand up, blocking his face from her view. “Say my name and then maybe we can continue our conversation.”

“Azem—”

Just then, Valefor swooped down and cawed into Hades’ face, as if she was also chastising him. He attempted to swat her away, and when that didn’t work, moved past the bird-like creature.

“Look here, Azem—”

But his words just sent Valefor into a frenzy, and she began to squawk at him louder while pecking lightly at the ends of his hair. His jaw clenched as his patience had all but vanished. “Persephone!”

Persy laughed and finally looked at him. “Now was that so hard?” She extended her arm, and her familiar whistled in approval before pulling one more lock of Hades’ hair for good measure. Valefor then returned to Persy where she perched on her shoulder, tucking herself under the woman’s long pink braid.

A long, tired exhale escaped his chest. “Between you and Hythlodaeus it’s a miracle I have not returned to the star prematurely.”

She giggled at that and with alluring eyes said, “You love us.” She started to walk back towards him, with her arms behind her back. “But I digress, I came today because I have a gift for you!”

Hades' face slightly flushed at those words and he crossed his arms carefully. “Is it a new plant? Perhaps something from Elpis this time?”

“Mmm, I’m sorry it’s not.” She watched his face dip with slight disappointment and she felt her heart swell. Hades had established a rather strong reputation for being the ‘cold and stern Emet-Selch’ but she knew underneath that mask he was a warm and loving man. “But it is something better,” she said with her lips quirking upwards.

He was now curious, though also wary. “Well, what is it then?”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

“Persephone, are we suddenly children now?” he chided.

Persy clasped her hands together. “Oh, please most eminent Emet-Selch, please hold out your hands for me.”

Hades’ face had completely turned scarlet and his brows knitted together with fury. “B-by the star. Here!” He extended his hands outwards, palms facing upwards.

She reached from inside her robes and pulled out the doll she had been hiding. She then placed it gently in his hands, making sure it was facing him. “Okay, open!”

Confusion was the only thing on Hades’ face as he stared at the doll awkwardly. Not even a fulm in height, the big pink-eyed doll peered up at him. Her little pink braid mirrored Persy’s and she even dawned black robes like both of them. “This is…”

“Me!” she giggled. “I made her myself. Isn’t she adorable? I leave today and will be gone for a while. I assumed you would miss me and I thought she could keep you company until I returned. And she does more than just look cute.” Persy then touched something in her ear, and the docile doll suddenly came to life, echoing her personality and movement. “She’ll repeat anything I say! I can talk to you this way from anywhere on the star. Much better than letters, don’t you think?”

“Persephone… you don’t think that this is… a little much?” he asked dubiously.

“Oh not at all. In fact I even submitted it to Hythlodaeus at the Bureau. Imagine if everyone in Amaurot had their own ‘mini-me’!”

“Absolutely not,” he scorned while handing her back the doll.

Another click came from Persy’s ear and the doll reverted back to her meek demeanor. She frowned, but Persy never accepted defeat easily and a mischievous smirk started to then creep at the corners of her mouth. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing Hyth is the chief and not you.” She waited for Hades’ scowl to challenge her and she placed her miniature counterpart on the untouched couch. “I do have one more surprise.”

Before he could object, she snapped her fingers once again, and another doll instantly formed in her hands. Except this one looked perpetually grumpy with a heavy brow. White hair dangled in front of large golden eyes. She smiled as she watched Hades mimic his doll’s expression. “You… did not.”

“I did,” she said with her grin widening. “I needed a way to hear your voice too. Anyways, these little puppets will make great assistants. I need you to test her and so you’ll be taking her with you when you fulfill your Convocation duties.”

He gaped at her. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am! Hyth said he needs more than just the concept to consider approval.”

“I am not taking this thing with me anywhere, let alone the Convocation.”

Persy simply rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.” Valefor let out a small cry and took flight from her shoulder. “Ah, it is time, isn’t Vale?” With melancholy eyes she brought her gaze back to Hades. “Unfortunately I must go, my love. Take care of Little Persy for me, alright?” She kissed him on the cheek before making her way towards the door.

A pull came from behind her, and Hades grabbed her wrist unbeknownst to her. In seconds she was coiled within his arms and he hugged her tightly. His lips found hers and he kissed her with a newfound heartache. Carrying out her duties as Azem was always hard on both of them and he did very well at hiding it, but goodbyes always exposed the cracks in his stoic facade. “Be safe, and remember us,” he whispered into her ear.

With a loving smile she looked up at him. “Always.”

Hades was never late to anything. He was in fact, early on most occasions. But he found himself cursing under his breath as he frantically dressed himself. Persephone had used this new construct of a doll to contact him in the middle of the blasted night—no doubt forgetting that it was day for her but nighttime for him. Being woken up by and talking to a small borderline-sentient thing that looked like his lover was not something he imagined he’d ever agree to, but here he was, tired from humoring her and staying up most of the night conversing with her. In truth, it was good to hear her voice, but his eyes quickly flicked over to the pink eyed doll and he scoffed. Really could do without her though. Why on the star did Persephone have to go this extreme? He shook his head and continued to curse when he couldn’t find his iconic red mask. “Where the hells is it…” he muttered in frustration.

A quiet shuffle came from behind him, and he felt a gentle tug on his robes. Looking down he saw his red mask with Little Persy struggling to hand it to him. Stiffly he reached for it. “Alright then…” He cleared his throat awkwardly, and stepped over the doll. “I’m off.”

He fastened his mask around his face before looking down at Little Persy, his golden and bright eyes shining down on her like hot sunbeams. She looked at him almost expectantly and took tiny steps towards him.

“No,” he began curtly, “I realize your creator has led you to believe you are to accompany me, but you shall stay here and not touch a single thing.” He pointed to his immaculate couch. “Sit. I will be back before dusk.”

Little Persy simply stared at him for a moment, before her glossy eyes followed his hand and then to the couch. She pivoted, scurrying over to what was her new destination. He watched her not so gracefully scale the furniture, where she then sat perfectly still, now carrying out her new duty of waiting. A bothered sigh left Hades’ chest as he went to exit. His hand raised, ready to snap his fingers to turn off all lights, but he hesitated—remembering Persephone’s words about her beautiful flowers. A quick glance back at his new companion and he dropped his hand, shutting the door softly behind him.

The duties of Emet-Selch were endless just as the Aetherial Sea, and he had no time to be distracted by silly thoughts of worrying what-ifs. But what if she doesn’t heed my instructions of waiting? What if she breaks something? What if she somehow escapes? How would I find her? He clenched his fists tightly as he got closer to the giant aetheryte crystal that was to take him just outside of the Chamber of the Fourteen. He turned away from the crystal for a brief moment. His eyes scanned the building he called home, settling on the window that acted like a tiny beacon with its light on. He hated wasting aether, but for some reason a semblance of guilt pricked at the edges of his mind when his topaz stare caught a glimpse of that accursed construct sitting quietly and alone. It will be fine. The plants need light anyways. It’s not wasteful. Finally finding the resolve to use the aetheryte, he lifted his hand up, letting his essence flow through the aetheric stream of the star.

When he could see again, he dusted himself off. “It will be fine,” he muttered aloud without realizing it.

“What will be?”

Hades startled, then slightly flushed when he saw the white robes flash by his eyes. “N-nothing. Hello, Elidibus.”

“Hello,” the young man said back with a warm smile. “Are you ready for today’s meeting? Though it is a shame Persephone will miss it. Sometimes I really envy her.”

“Azem,” he corrected. “And yes, ‘tis a shame. Though she rather enjoys being excused from these meetings.”

Together the two men walked to the grand entrance of the Chamber of the Fourteen. Its beautiful radiance was unmatched; the gilded framework and intricate design exuded an elevated elegance from all the rest of Amaurot. Though for Hades it always seemed dimmer without her presence. He walked by her seat—empty, just like he knew it would be. A small wave of loneliness crept over him and for a second he wondered what Little Persy was feeling before gawking at himself. She’s a doll, she doesn’t feel.

“I do hope this meeting doesn’t last all day like last moon’s did.” Elidibus lamented. “I had to weigh in heavily, do you remember, Emet-Selch?”

“Aye, though it is your duty,” he reminded him.

Elidibus chuckled. “Yes, indeed it is,” he mused. “Do you know when Pers— Azem returns?”

“Six moons.” Hades continued taking his steps towards his own seat and hoped the idle chatter between him and the emissary would conclude. His jaw clenched as he could still hear Elidibus’ footsteps behind him, and in moments he was practically rubbing his shoulder with his own.

“That is most fortunate to hear. I feared it would be longer. I know she is clearly the most suited for it, but I worry that she will get lonely all the same.” Elidibus then tucked his long white locks behind his ear, his crystal blue eyes piercing into Hades’ from behind his own mask. “I worry also for you, my friend.”

Hades returned his stare with a small glare. “You do not need to worry about me, Elidibus. I am perfectly fine, and so is Azem. I assure you that whatever personal relations we may have outside of the Convocation, it will not affect our duties. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

He took his seat and crossed his arms, letting the emissary know he was done talking. Elidibus shrugged and then smiled at him before he went to take his own seat. He said something that irked Hades: ‘I worry that she will get lonely all the same.’ Lonely? His mind then wandered to that damn doll. It’s just a puppet and nothing more. But the endless what-ifs returned plaguing his mind. He didn’t inquire if she had any magical abilities. What if she can manipulate aether? What if the building is on fire? What if she destroys all of Amaurot? She is an experiment afterall. And I was supposed to watch her. Frustration and paranoia started to worry his brows, and he hadn’t noticed the meeting had even started.

“Emet-Selch?”

Confound it. “Yes, my apologies.”

Elidibus’ lips quirked upwards. “Then let’s get started, everyone.”

It was just past dusk when Convocation finally agreed to let out for the evening, and Hades all but raced to exit from the doors first. He ignored his fellow members and hurried to the aetheryte. It’s been several bells. I told her I’d be back before dusk. Dammit.

When he got a glimpse of the tower that was his home he noticed the light he left on was still lit. A good sign hopefully. He dashed inside the building and made his way towards the elevator, cursing that he just had to live on the top floor. The needle toyed with him, ticking ever so slowly and as it crawled to the right; making his ascension painfully sluggish. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot, anxiously waiting for that damnable ding.

Ding.

He was practically sprinting now, his hand desperately searching for the knob to his door. In a rush he threw his door open, expecting and fearing the worst. “Where are you!?” he yelled as his eyes frantically scanned the room. With his heart now beating out of his chest his eyes finally focused on a small figure, sitting still and in the exact same way as she had before and in the same spot he left her: his perfect couch. He slowly removed his mask. “You… didn’t move? At all?”

She looked at him with a head tilt, as if she was confused by his question. He took panted breaths, trying to calm himself down. He could feel his cheeks pinkening. “Thank the star Persephone and Hythlodaeus aren’t here,” he said with a hint of embarrassment. Hades moved towards her, sinking down into the couch beside her. His nerves were shot thanks to this infernal thing and he could not be bothered to prepare supper or even change into something more comfortable. “I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment,” he spoke aloud.

It didn’t take long for sleep to find the exhausted Emet-Selch. And while he didn’t give her any new commands, Little Persy observed him intently. He wouldn’t realize it until he woke up, but a small blanket had been pulled over him and in his lap resting peacefully, was the little doll who had been the sole reason for his sleepless night and anxieties. He wouldn’t remember it, but he held her gently, no doubt wishing it was her creator instead.

Chapter Text

“What do you think the color of hunger is?”

Hades whipped his head towards the once dozing woman, who was now sitting up and brushing out strands of grass out of her long, soft pink curls. “What?” he asked, bewildered.

Persephone leaned back, her hands feeling the warm earth below them, and smiled playfully back at him. “I said, ‘what do you think the color of hunger is?'”

A quick roll of the eyes. “What an absurd thing to ask. Hunger has no color.”

“You think? Well, I disagree.”

His brow twitched with annoyance. They had been assigned as partners for their current project practicing and executing creation magicks. And while he took his studies seriously within the Akadaemia Anyder, Persephone did not. She’d much rather lay about and daydream all day. And think of silly and meaningless questions.

He ignored her with a huff, and returned his focus on his creation. It was more mechanical than what he’d normally produce, but he wanted to stand out from his peers. And what’s better than offering the unexpected? Because of his diligence, Hades was consistently at the top of his class, with his friends constantly being in the middle of the road. How can they be satisfied with that?

“What about you, Hythlodaeus?” Persephone called out to the man on the other side of Hades, who appeared to be sleeping with his white ornate mask covering his eyes.

“Hmm…I suppose I would say…red?” he replied.

So he’s awake after all, and humoring her foolish whims.

“Red!” Persephone exclaimed. “What an interesting choice. Why red, Hyth?”

“Have you ever seen a minotaur hungry? It’s quite a sight. I’d say the only thing they see is red.”

“Good point,” she giggled.

“That’s because they are mindless, raging beasts who need to constantly feed themselves due to their uncalled-for gigantic size,” Hades growled. “A waste of creation, if you ask me.”

The lazy pair both tilted their heads at Hades, before looking at each other and chuckling softly. He felt his ears flush. Why had he chimed in? He had better things to do than discuss this ridiculous nonsense. But he couldn’t help but want to argue a point—his point. Hunger had no color. He bit his tongue to keep from speaking further.

“I don’t think anything is a waste,” Persephone said. She began weaving small braids within her hair. “I think everything—everyone is simply just different. And that isn’t a bad thing.” She winked at Hades.

“So what is the color of hunger to you?” Hades found himself hissing at her and was shocked that the words fell out of his mouth so easily.

A devilish smirk touched Persephone’s lips and she pointed to Hades, specifically to his eyes. “Gold! Just like your eyes. Because the hunger in you is something that can never be sated. I’d argue it’s even fiercer than a minotaur’s!”

Suddenly heat filled his cheeks and he scowled at her. “W–what does that even mean?”

“Hades, hunger doesn’t have to be so literal,” she teased. “Though I am not surprised one bit that you took it that way.” Another giggle came from her soft rose lips and for a moment it was hard for him to focus on anything else.

He wanted to curse her for embarrassing him, but instead his heart fluttered. Why was it that one look from her managed to shuffle his thoughts? One smile from her with those perfect lips and he’d completely fumble? “How else is it supposed to be taken then…” he grumbled under his breath. “And you still didn’t answer the question.” His gilded stare broke from her bashfully.

True adoration sparkled in her eyes. “It’s a compliment, I promise. Sometimes I find myself even a little bit jealous. Your drive is inspiring.” She scooted closer to him, adjusting the pristine and polished white mask that was fastened to his black robes. “Never stop being hungry, Hades.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with colors.” He sighed in frustration while his cheeks continued to redden, and he desperately tried ignoring the fact that she had touched him so casually. “None of us here have even experienced what true hunger is either, so your question can’t be really answered when you lack crucial data.”

More laughs echoed around him faintly, and he shot a nasty glare at his longtime friend, Hythlodaeus. “Hades, I think you’re missing the point,” Hythlodaeus mused. He removed his mask, and two radiant violet eyes narrowed on Hades. “Sometimes we just ask questions for fun. You should try it sometime.”

“Bah,” he grunted dismissively.

It would be better for him to just go back to concentrating on his work. The framework of this mechanism looked to be fairly unique compared to the typical aesthetic of something Amaurotine, and he smiled at that. Its slate gray and red plating was sleek in design, and held the aether powering through it protectively. One could say it even looked like a hand, and maybe it was. Man’s hands were capable of doing anything, of creating anything. It felt poetic to create something with his hands that looked like one, at least in a somewhat abstract way.

His brows dipped with focus while his eyes studied the contraption, suddenly forgetting the conversation he wanted to disappear from. He carefully poked the ‘palm’ of the hand, and its small appendages flicked it in every direction, convulsing like an insect’s legs.

“I think it should be bigger.” Persephone’s voice broke his attention. “Who needs a small mechanical hand when we have two capable fleshy ones? Ones that allow us to cast endless magicks, I should add.”

He frowned at her. “And pray tell, what would making it bigger accomplish?”

Without hesitating, she reached for and held his hand. “For holding things! But it should hold much larger things. Because things like this,” she raised their clasped hands, “are already perfect.”

The touch of her delicate hand made his heart race and everything in him told him to resist her grip. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to squeeze it tighter. His hand decided to compromise with him, and instead he followed her lead, reciprocating her touch.

“I suppose that could be useful…” he muttered shyly. “But really, you should be focusing on your own work instead of critiquing mine.”

Just as quickly as she grabbed his hand, she released it, but he noticed there was something in place where her warm touch had been. A large bulbed flower rested in his palm—looking like it could bloom at any moment. He looked at her, confused.

Persephone leaned forward, resting her head on her hands. “‘Tis my work. I finished ages ago.”

“You did?” he asked skeptically. “What is it?”

“Well, I was going to wait until class for the big reveal. But why not show it now!”

She snapped her fingers, and the bulb levitated from Hades’s hand. Its petals opened slowly and gracefully, revealing a beautiful plum colored flower he’d never seen before. Resting inside of it was a tiny avian-like creature. Colors of deep purples, bright oranges, and brilliant reds painted its feathers; it reminded him of a sunset frozen in time. It stretched its wings and let out a tiny squeak, before taking flight and landing on Persephone’s shoulder.

“That’s a—”

“A familiar, yes! I’ve always wanted one, and this was the perfect opportunity to create one. I think I’ll call her Valefor.”

He looked back to his creation. He had a lot of work to do if he was going to compete with the perfection he just saw Persephone achieve. She had this hidden all along? Perhaps I have underestimated her…and her abilities.

“It’s…impressive,” he finally managed. “What about you? Are you hiding your project too?” He poked the lavender haired man, who had laid back down on the lush grass.

“Oh! Yes, but I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, so you’ll just have to wait.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Hades said with a sigh.

He wanted to go back to his work, but he could feel Persephone’s stare on him. Begrudgingly, he tilted his head back in her direction, and locked eyes with her. Her contagious smile grew mischievous.

“You still haven’t told us what you think the color of hunger is.”

“You’re already back at this? I told you, it’s not any color.”

“That’s no fun!” she pouted. “C’mon, there has to be at least one color that comes to mind? Hades?”

“Hades?”

“Hades?”

“—es?”

“Si—”

“Sir?”

The sounds of metal on metal, gunfire, and troops grunting and shouting while completing drills filled the large ivory canopy tent. Golden eyes stared at nothing, having been lost in thought.

“Sir, Legatus Galvus, sir?” a slightly nervous voice called out.

Solus snapped his attention to the duplicarius, who was almost shaking in his boots. “What is it?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I–I have brought your rations, sir! They told me you haven’t eaten in over two days…and my orders were to ensure that you clean your plate. I’ve been informed that tomorrow our stock of food will finally be—”

“Leave it on the desk behind me and go.”

“S–sir? I have my orders…sir,” the soldier meekly offered.

Solus’s angered stare made the man turn pale in the face. “If you make me repeat myself…”

“Y–yes, sir! Sorry, sir!”

The duplicarius rushed to the other side of the tent, and clumsily placed the meager tray of food down on an old worn and tired desk. He then saluted, and quickly took his leave.

Slowly Solus arose from the cot he had been sitting on and trudged over to the desk. His gaze was full of disgust as he looked at his plate. Stale bread and cold soup the color of something he’d rather not think about. Despite this, it made his stomach growl, and he could feel the anger and hatred roil alongside that annoying hunger within his belly. How pathetic was this flesh of his? To grovel before some expired food like it was a king? He cursed hunger, and he cursed that he understood what real hunger was now.

Plans of his annexing Ilsabard’s northern provinces had hit a bump in the road, and his army had been stranded for a week. He underestimated the locals, but it was nothing he couldn’t fix. Like whipping a dog, they would eventually break. He just had to be patient.

But it came at the cost of running low on food, and most of his soldiers had gone the past several days with only one modest meal a day. He took it upon himself to offer his own plates to his troops, for hunger was beneath him. Or so he thought.

“What do you think the color of hunger is?”

A question he forgot was asked. A question he never truly answered. A question he finally understood and one he could answer now. Though he was curious to know what Persephone would think of his verdict.

The answer was rather obvious. Had it always been, he wondered?

The color of hunger was a spectrum; a prism that showed the ugly version of every color to exist. And he had bled every single one of them over the millenia. They drenched him, consumed him, and morphed him into something he didn’t recognize; morphed him into something he hated.

Hythlodaeus had been right, red was rage, and he knew this one intimately. He had felt it over and over, and found it incredibly ironic that those he slaughtered always spurted the same red all over his boots.

Yellow was desperation. A tiny thread of hope that one clings to. Or perhaps it was denial. The driving force of panic he first felt intensely when the world he knew was fractured beyond repair. When he believed it couldn’t be real.

Green was like a snake, obsessed with its mark. Always hungry. And nothing ever is enough. It unhinges its jaw, to take what it shouldn’t. Greed and lust. These despicable beings were often this color, but Solus had partaken in this gluttony alongside them—to drown out what he had lost.

Blue was a cold and numbing hunger. The feeling one feels just as they are about to succumb to starvation. Countless had suffered this one. But none who gave into that permanent slumber could ever tell this story. Except for Solus. He had given into it several times over the years. When it all felt futile. When he longed for that gentle sleep. When he longed for happier days. When he longed for her.

But the true color to shine was black. For he would grow so bitter, so angry, and so lonely, that all the colors would swirl together—tainting each other irrevocably. It swallowed everything in its wake like a black hole, and it would never be sated.

“Because the hunger in you is something that can never be sated.”

She didn’t know how right she was.

“Never stop being hungry, Hades.”

And he never would. Not until all these offensive reflections were shattered and his world made whole again. Not until she was in his arms once more, smiling at him with that perfect smile with those perfect lips.

Chapter Text

He sat alone at the edge of the dock. His feet dangled just ilms above the frozen water. It was dawn, but the sun hardly brought any warmth to this hard, cold, and desolate land. How long had it been now, he wondered? Did it even matter? What was time to someone who existed outside of time itself?

Solus pulled his face covering down, letting the harsh chill of Ilsabard kiss his pinkened cheeks. He and his army would march soon, but when he found this old and forgotten dock hanging over an icy lake just outside of the small village of Hayward, something about it called to him.

Quiet moments were rare for him, especially now. But his subjugation of this small province proved to be child’s play, and instead of pushing further north, he dismissed his soldiers telling them to celebrate the victory with whatever the meager village could offer them. What that meant, he didn’t care. But it did ensure he’d have some sort of peace at least for a day.

He reached in his pocket, pulling out something small and bright and orange. Her crystal was radiant, even now, all these years later. His gloved thumb swiped over the etched symbol of Azem, and he didn’t realize how hard he was grinding his jaw.

Her stone was the only one he ever kept on his person. The rest of the Convocation’s stones were scattered somewhere in his underwater memory, including his own. They didn’t matter anymore, and neither did hers, really. But it was something he couldn’t ever let go of, no matter how many times he tried forcing himself to cast it aside.

Anger was a curious thing. Left alone, it can grow into something worse, into something even dangerous. Solus was no longer simply angry—he was resentful, and there was only hatred that flowed through his ice-cold veins.

Why him? Why Elidibus? Why Lahabrea? But more importantly, why him?

He lifted his gaze outwards to the somber and murky frozen water, and abruptly arced his arm, ready to hurl the orange crystal out of his grip. Hesitation weighed his hand, however, before he cursed and brought its smooth surface to his chapped lips. “Why, Persephone?” he whispered into it.

There was no answer. There never was. He derided himself for that miserable plea, and suddenly found the resolve to send the crystal flying away from him. Moments later he heard the clink of the tiny stone ricocheting off the thick ice that remained unmoving. His eyes squinted when the waking sun tried using its light to reflect her crystal’s shine back at him, and he pulled the hood of his durable Garlean winter coat around him tighter.

Though time ultimately was nothing to him, flipping that coin revealed its ugly side, and the truth of it all was it was unbearably lonely. Lahabrea was insane. He only ever tolerated him before, and now he’d almost wished he was sundered like the rest. The boy was a sadder story. Elidibus had lost himself. He, Emet-Selch, had tried multiple times reminding him who he was, that there was more to just being the Emissary. It was all in vain.

So he left them to play his own chess game of sowing chaos, which would bring them one step closer to home. And his plan was working and would continue to work for decades, for generations. The world would crack and break from the seeds he’d plant today.

Solus leaned backwards, until his back rested against the aged and faded planks of the dock. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Sleep sounded nice, but he didn’t want to just sleep for the day—no, a century-long nap was much more appealing. But he couldn’t leave his fields unattended just yet; he’d have to cultivate for several years before he’d be able to reap his harvest.

A quiet and delicate breeze swept over him, trying its best to make him shiver. He ignored it, but the words that followed caused a wave of tremors to crawl down his spine. “‘Tis a little cold to be sleeping outside, no?”

His golden eyes pierced the thick clouds above him. Any person’s presence he would have sensed immediately, but this wasn’t a person. “What are you doing here?” he growled. “I did not wish for your company.”

“Oh? Did you not whisper into my stone just now?” Persephone’s ghost chuckled. She stepped closer towards him, her hollow steps not making a single sound on the rickety dock. “You dropped this.”

In her dull-lit hand sat Azem’s stone, and Solus begrudgingly turned his head to look at her. Her beautiful face was covered with a sleek and black veil that was Azem’s mask. Pink locks were pulled back under a large darkened hood. He scoffed, remembering that Persephone hardly ever wore her mask properly nor kept her hood up, but seeing her shade standing over him now, she looked like a common phantom. “I threw it,” he corrected. He now turned his gaze away. “Leave. I wish to be alone.”

Her shade moved ethereally past him, and sat next to his reclined body, letting her spectral feet and robes dangle alongside his own tangible legs. “That’s not true, Hades. In fact . . . it’s quite the opposite, isn’t it?”

He brought his arm over his eyes, using everything in his power to will her away. When the sundering happened, he would cling to her ghost in his lost and hidden city on the First. She comforted him then, despite him not being able to feel her touch. He’d pretend her words were real—that she was real, and that she wasn’t just a memory. It was comforting at first, but slowly it drove him mad. And anger was a dangerous thing. He would not become what Lahabrea became.

So like her stone he just threw, he also cast her shade to the depths of his heart and soul. Not to be forgotten, but to ensure he wouldn’t lose his focus or purpose. “There is nothing you can give to me, for you are just a shade of someone who once was.”

The ghost studied the crystal in her hand. “Another untruth, for I can give you a lot of things. Things you will deny you want, for with them comes real truths that would crush you and your endeavors.”

Curiosity commanded Solus to remove his arm and sit up, his gaze now looming over the cowled shade. “Pray tell, my dear, what real truth could you speak that would crush me?”

Persephone’s shade had never spoken to him in such a way before. It was peculiar. The defiance in her tone almost made him believe it was really her talking.

“We were creators and givers of life. We cherished it. But now you abhor it. You burn it without even blinking. Millions of lives—reflections of our loved ones, gone as quickly as they came. Persephone would hate you for it.”

A low snicker came from Solus, before it grew loud and thunderous. “It seems you really are just a half-wit shade. You know nothing about whose face you wear.”

She touched her ghostlike mask and hood, removing both. The gray hue of her spectral body warmed, and colors reminiscent of the real Persephone started to show through. A long pink braid fell over her shoulder, and rosy lips and cheeks smiled wistfully at Solus. But it was those captivating and brilliant fuschia eyes that hypnotized him. She brought her gaze back down to the stone in her palm. “Part of her essence resides within this stone. ‘Tis why you continue to carry it . . . and also why I can take on this form. My words are her words, Hades. Do not let anger and bitterness consume you more than it already has.”

Heat warmed his face with both frustration and abashment. “I don’t need some ghost chastising me. The real Persephone would agree with me. She would stand with me.”

Persephone’s shade now looked to the still cloudy sky. The sun was trying its best to break through the thick wall of white wispy shrouds. “Is that so? Then why do you think she left the Convocation?”

The heat in his face began to burn with wrath, and his scorching stare now attempted to melt and dissolve the woman in front of him. “How dare you. I—” He went to retort, but in truth he still didn’t know why Persephone had left during the Final Days. She had been secretive during those terrifying times, and demonstrated conflicting feelings. She carried such hope in her eyes, but her face always looked absolutely heartbroken. It was as if she knew something he didn’t. Something she so desperately wanted to tell him, but never did.

“Why did she leave?” he whispered with a hoarse voice.

Solemn eyes flickered over to Solus. “Because she wanted a different answer.”

“And did she find it?”

“No.”

He sneered. “So it was all in vain, then. Well, I refuse to work in vain. I will bring back everything that was lost.”

“But at the expense of life.”

“What life?!” Solus yelled. “Use her eyes, and look around you. What you see is an insult to life.”

While her hand was pale flesh in tone, Solus did not feel her touch when she placed it upon his clenched fist. “That’s precisely what I’m doing, Hades. And do you know what I see? Beautiful and precious life persists despite being completely broken and destroyed. It’s not the same, but it doesn’t have to be in order to be deserving.”

“You speak of it so easily, but you have not lived countless millennia as I have in this blighted prison. These despicable beings deserve no mercy, yet I grant it to them still by quickly silencing them forever. How can you even be a fraction of her, spewing this nonsense?” he said with disgust.

“She changed, Hades. As did you. Even in this place, Ilsabard—a beautiful white blanket of snow and ice crystals, is now painted red with the innocent blood of all those you’ve silenced. Do you truly believe that she’d forgive you knowing the atrocities you’ve done and will continue to do in order to restore paradise?” She lifted her hand and placed the stone next to his fist. “If you do, then you are a foolish man.”

Solus relaxed his hand and moved it towards her head, as if he was going to cup her cheek. A devoted smile curled on his mouth, and her countenance softened at his would-be touch. But anguish soon swept over her perfect face when Solus parted his lips and said, “Then I’m foolish.”

Quickly he retracted his hand and picked up her stone she had returned to him. He pushed himself to stand, now done with this frustrating moment that was supposed to be a quiet one. “Thank you, my dear. This talk was quite insightful and a beautiful reminder of why I do what I do. Worry not, for Etheirys will be restored. And you will love me for it.”

Cold and heavy steps made the dock creak underneath him as he started his journey back towards the small village. He didn’t look back as he left her, knowing that her all too believable face of Persephone would haunt him, and certainly would crush him with the sorrow that fell over her expression.

Perhaps the real Persephone would hate him for it. Perhaps she would resent him entirely. Perhaps she really would feel something for these mortals, and believe that they should have a chance. He could even feel it in the stone he carried, its faint glow flickering like a pleading candle about to go out. Foolish man, it whispered, and he halfway believed it.

But he also believed in fulfilling his duty. For his star. For his people. For her.