Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Happy birthday, Julius!" 

Be composed, Julius reminded himself as he received the wish with a smile. It strained at the edges, he knew, but what else was to be expected after thanking strangers for saying things they didn't mean, again and again? 

The gentleman who had wished him the birthday shook Julius's hand firmly, his eyes keen on Julius's face. A young lady — his daughter, if their shared smoky aqua eyes were anything to be depended upon — nodded at him politely but distantly. The gentleman clears his throat and nudges his daughter closer. 

Right. It's not the endless, meaningless, happy birthdays and thank yous he's tired of — Julius is the son of a noble; he knows the rules of etiquette, he's a master of them. 

It's that the nobles keep on attempting to endear their children to him.

The tradition of the twenty first birthday meaning being eligible to be knighted was one long gone, but most nobles with large histories still celebrated the Coming of Age Ceremony. They can never turn down an opportunity to call for a large celebration, after all. It had been a few hours since Julius's own ceremony started, and it was sure to go on for hours more. 

The fact that Julius is 21 never seems to stave suitors — or a suitor's parents — off. He's used about every excuse he can think of, but it's hard to reject something so vague, when it's only a why, my daughter is exactly like you, maybe you should spend some time with her instead of the implied marriage proposal that would be so much easier to shut down.

The young lady shifts, clearly unwilling to say anything either. An awkward silence commences, and Julius bows his head, already trying to find a suitable reason to leave the conversation. 

"Ah, my Maria is a little shy," the gentleman tries to say, seemingly sensing that he was losing Julius. The lady, Maria, looks decidedly unimpressed but stays silent. "She admires you a lot, Sir Juukulius." 

"Maria is a nice name," Julius says while trying to think of better things to say.

"Indeed!" The gentleman exclaims with a gleam in his eye. Perhaps he sees an opening. 

"Yes, it's my mother's name," Julius replies. The gentleman visibly deflates. "Thank you for coming to the ceremony—" He pauses as he realizes he didn't know their names. 

"Pauvord," the gentleman says weakly. "Have an enjoyable night, then." With that, he sweeps away. Maria gives Julius one last apologetic look before she is tugged along with his father. 

Julius runs his fingers through his hair, even though his mother had specifically told him to not ruin the elaborate oils and mixtures the servants had slathered onto his hair to maintain the styling. He sighs and forces his hand back down. Okay, just another round in the banquet hall, with a smile befitting the Finest of Knights. Then countless more rounds, but one thing at a time, no? 

"Happy birthday!" Thank you. "Dear, you look lovely tonight." You too. "My child's outfit matches with yours, doesn't it?" That's nice. "Your courage and chivalry are so admirable." There are many others far more deserving of your praise. "If only my son were as humble as you!" I'm sure he's great. "Well, maybe you'd like to teach him in your ways sometime?" Startled laughter, a wave of the hand and an excuse to go. 

"The man of the hour! Happy birthday." Julius tenses himself for another game of push and pull. 

He wants out, and he wants it quickly. His breaths are coming in uneven and his attention is drifting. Even the people talking to him are starting to notice how inattentive Julius is becoming. 

"Julius?" Like a blessing, someone familiar speaks, soft but assured. "Oh, my apologies, Lord Iraliel. I need to speak to Julius for a moment." 

Lord Iraliel, whose name Julius didn't know a second ago, squawks. "Of course, Sir Reinhard! Take your time!" He then hurries away.

"Reinhard… Thank you," Julius mutters as solemnly as anyone could when their head is pounding like a stone absorbing a hurricane — splitting apart, pebbles and dust. 

Reinhard doesn't say anything, just pulls him somewhere. Julius follows; of course he does, even if he doesn't know where he's going and even if it means Julius isn't a good knight because he doesn't know what's happening right now, at all, in more ways than one —

Fresh air hits him, and the hurricane in his head dies down into a blissful trickle of water. 

"It's okay," Reinhard says soothingly. The voice is as normal as any other voice, except it isn't. Because it's Reinhard's. The voices in the banquet hall were just as loud as Reinhard's, but they cut into his eardrums, while Reinhard's voice heals. 

Julius blinks the last of his sluggishness away. Pretty red hair, concerned blue eyes, steady hands, fixed on Julius's arms. Julius pulls away with a jolt.

"I'm okay," Julius says after a beat of silence. "I don't… Sorry, I'm usually better at handling social occasions. A lot better." 

Reinhard smiles at him gently, though he looks a bit puzzled. "I know, Julius. You must be really tired. It has been a long time since the ceremony started. You should take a break."

"Probably," Julius acquiesces. "Thanks for coming, Reinhard." It doesn't quite capture how utterly grateful Julius is for Reinhard's presence, but it works.

"Sorry for being late. I got caught up with some family matters." Reinhard shuffles, angling his head to look at the open air. The balcony Reinhard had brought them to was mostly empty save a tipsy noble sitting on the floor. 

Julius hums. "Want to talk about it?" 

"It's not a big matter, don't worry," Reinhard says. "How are you feeling?" 

It's a deflection, but Julius respects Reinhard's privacy, so he doesn't say anything. "I feel… young. Sometimes I forget that 21 years of age isn't all that much. Our daily lives are filled with responsibility, and I wouldn't have it any other way, but…" Julius shrugs gracefully. "It's striking that so many, ah, hands are being offered. Especially after that inelegant performance of mine, I feel dreadfully young."

"Hands? Oh." Reinhard pauses. "Julius, you're the epitome of elegance." He ignores Julius's objections and continues, "If I were you, I would have gotten overwhelmed with the crowd an hour into the ceremony." 

Now that gives Julius pause too. Reinhard is plenty used to crowds, or at least, he should be, considering that he's… well. Reinhard. Still, it makes sense that someone of Reinhard's personality would be uncomfortable with such scenes. Julius berates himself for not noticing that sooner — how many times had they attended the same functions, and how many times had Reinhard's wishes slipped Julius's gaze?

It was something to think about, but it also reminded Julius of a question. "How did you appear at such a perfect time?" 

"I don't know. I just arrived," was Reinhard's answer. Well. Reinhard's instincts were always complete mystery. 

Julius leans on the wall, observing his friend. There are still many things he doesn't know about Reinhard. Some things he may never know. Perhaps that was the reason for the glimpse of sadness Reinhard had in his expressions sometimes, like he did now. 

What was it like to live as Reinhard? Songs could be spun, have been spun, about the greatness of this generation's Sword Saint, but what about the small things? The daily dullness of waking up with sunshine on your skin and emptiness in the house; walking through town having a perfect posture and eyes watching you; going to events right on time, right as people need you. Never quite alone, never truly your own. 

Was that what it was like? Julius doesn't know, and he thinks that may be the saddest thing of all. To live life with everyone taking but no one understanding. 

"I feel like you're getting lost in your reveries again," Reinhard mumbles. He tilts his head back, just slightly enough for Julius to catch the stars reflected in his blue eyes. That shouldn't be possible, but of course it was. The fabric of the universe would — should — tear itself apart and stitch it just for Reinhard.

Reinhard's cheeks glow with a faint pink. "Ah, was I staring at you?" Julius asks. 

"Rather intensely," Reinhard confirms. "Is there anything I can help you with…?" 

"I'm sorry about my staring. I'm fine, I was just thinking. Reverie isn't the word I'd use to describe it, but I was certainly lost." Reinhard had turned back to the dark sky. When had the sun set? During the time Julius was inside? That was too bad, Julius thought. Reinhard would've looked lovely in the light of dusk. 

"Have you been bothered by many people in the banquet hall?"

"Hm?" Julius thinks about Reinhard's question for a second. "No, not bothered. The guests were just introducing themselves, so to speak. It's my fault I wasn't paying them the proper respect." 

"They were introducing themselves?" Reinhard blurts. "I mean, I wasn't here for most of the ceremony — sorry again — but I've been to enough events that I doubt they truly cared for you."

That was uncharacteristic of Reinhard's usual non-confrontational manner, though it wasn't exactly false. Such was the way of nobility. Reinhard knows that. Were the words how Reinhard wanted to express them?

"What are you concerned about?" Julius asks just to be sure. 

Reinhard winces then shakes his head. "It's… never mind. I'm just worried if they were imposing on you, but I trust you."

Very uncharacteristic of Reinhard. Then again, it was characteristic of him to swallow his words. Julius ponders a second as to Reinhard's true intentions. "Don't worry, my family would not force me to marry so young, no matter how many offers are extended." 

Reinhard's blush creeps down his neck. Julius guesses he hit the nail on the head, then. "That's — good? Well, as I said, I trust you, so it's okay." Julius nods at Reinhard's response, but he wonders, trust him to do what? 

"The stars are becoming clearer," Reinhard points out. It's an abrupt change in topic, but again, he's not wrong. Julius pushes himself off the wall to lean on the railing with Reinhard instead. The stars glitter overhead as the lights in the Royal Capital die down. 

They settle into a companionable silence, observing the night sky. There isn't much to observe — yes, it's pretty, but it's the same as every other day. 

"Have you considered marrying in the future?" Julius asks Reinhard at last. His friend shifts beside him.

"I suppose I'll follow my family's wishes," Reinhard answers, which is not really an answer. To be fair, it was unusual for a noble not to marry, so the true question Julius had wanted to ask was who. Then again, Reinhard's answer would be the same: whoever his family wanted, whenever, however. 

They fall back into silence. It's more awkward this time. Julius thinks about trying to break it.

"You haven't wished me yet," Julius observes.

Reinhard laughs a bit. "I would wish you on your actual birthday instead of a ceremonial celebration, seeing as we meet often anyway. But okay." 

Julius turns just in time to catch Reinhard's soft smile, aimed at Julius. How long had he been looking at him? 

"Happy birthday, Julius."

Chapter Text

Ichor flowed in Reinhard's veins, tinged with red. The Council of Gods had ascended Reinhard not long ago, during his quest to hunt down the largest and most prominent cult in the world, led by the seven Sin Archbishops. He had defeated the sixth, with the help of his friends. It hurt to think about them — and how he left them — so he didn't.

Reinhard thought the main reason for his attainment of godhood wasn't because they were impressed by his skills. It was likely just because fate would not allow a quester so powerful. After all, he had been taken right before the battle with the final — and most terrifying — cultist, and the rest of his friends had remained human.

Admittedly, it's a depressing thought, but he tries to look out for his friends and former partners. A perk of being a god, even if just one among many, many, was that he could see more things. In more ways than one. So he walks alone in the hallway — or at least, one of the hallways — of Olympus, fingers brushing the cool marble as he tries to understand his new powers for the sake of helping his friends.

The scent of wine and grapes reaches Reinhard, and his hand touches the hilt this blade instinctively. Someone behind him chuckles. "I suppose even a god would be hurt by your legendary sword, but it won't do much."

Reinhard ignores the pull of madness descending upon him by the god's presence alone. "Dionysus Aesymnetes, God of Festivity, Wine and Theater," he greets formally. He's not human anymore; he has to act like a god. Though, gods shouldn't be affected by the passive domains of other gods, so why did Reinhard feel his emotions slipping from his control?

"And insanity," Dionysus adds in amusement. "Hello Reinhard, God of Bladework, Heroes, and Humility. You're still human at your core, aren't you?" He raises his goblet and sips.

"I've never been human, not really," Reinhard mutters before he can stop himself. His memories of being mortal were bittersweet. Distantly, he registers that Dionysus' domains might be influencing, no, inciting his inhibited thoughts.

The god in question smiles, and Reinhard thinks it's nearly in understanding. "How sad. Not at home with mortals nor immortals. Never would've pegged you for a sad drunk though." He laughs and drinks again.

"I don't get drunk," Reinhard says instead of acknowledging Dionysus' more serious words. He does feel lightheaded, but not even close to tipsy. The god laughs louder and waves his hand. A mist appears, and within the mist, an image. Dionysus smirks and offers his goblet of wine. Reinhard peers into the image and finds out it's not really an image — it's moving.

Subaru reaches out to a mass of lavender hair matted with blood. Reinhard's heart leaps into his throat, except it doesn't because he doesn't have a heart anymore, his body is only made out of light and gold, but he knows these people, his soul strains to be with them again —

Subaru screams incoherently as Ferris pushes past him to kneel at the fallen man's side. He presses his hands into the body, but they do not glow, like they did whenever he invoked the powers of Healing. Instead, Ferris looks like he's about to throw up on his friend. Reinhard's friend. Julius.

Unconsciously, Reinhard tries to touch them, but the mist dissipates.

"What's the meaning of this, Ἄγριος?" He growls, tone low and threatening, surprising even himself.

"The future," Dionysus replies easily. Reinhard unfurls his clenched palm without meaning to, and Dionysus places the goblet in his hand. "Hm, you're already losing yourself. We'll make a god out of you yet."

The rush of anger dies out in Reinhard as quickly as it came. He rubs his eyes tiredly, trying to return his body to normal.

"It's simpler to just not take a human form," Dionysus suggests. The amused curl in his lips never disappears, as if Reinhard struggling with godhood was entertainment. Perhaps it was, to the God of Theater.

"I don't know how to. No, I don't want to," Reinhard replies. He doesn't feel his heart in his throat anymore, or at least the feeling of it. "The bodies of gods are weird."

"Cheers to that," Dionysus says. Their glasses clinked together. Since when did the elder god summon another goblet of wine? Reinhard doesn't drink out of the one in his hand. Dionysus does. Again.

"You don't get drunk either," Reinhard observes.

"Or maybe I'm always drunk," is Dionysus' cheerful reply.

Reinhard decides to switch the topic to something less meaningless. "That vision you created. What was it?"

"As I said, it's the future. A glimpse of fate, a prophecy, an oracle, a confirmation. Whatever you heroes call it."

"And what do you gods call it?" Reinhard can't help but ask.

"Incompetence," Dionysus laughs while saying, as if sharing a private joke to himself.

Abruptly, Reinhard's anger flares up again. How dare he suggest that the impact of every hero's efforts were equivalent to incompetence? Then he grits his teeth and stuffs the fury down as far as he can and slams a lid unto it, but it burns in his fingertips. Why, why was it so hard to keep his emotions in check around Dionysus?

The god sighs. "Well, I should go. When you need me again, just drink."

What? Reinhard tries to ask, but Dionysus had disappeared, leaving behind only a trace of the smell of grapes. His head becomes both lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter, because for the first time since talking to the God of Madness, he could feel his feelings again. Heavier, because he really could feel them, and all the grief that he had tucked away liberated itself like a panther unleashed from its cage: beautiful and wild and uncontrollable.

Reinhard shakes his head to clear himself of the thoughts. The goblet of wine was still in his hand, for some reason. Dionysus had said to drink when he was needed again — and he had seemed very sure that he would be — but Reinhard was not going to lug around alcohol in his hand wherever he went.

As if spurred by that thought, the goblet transformed into grapevines and curled itself around his wrist. It was less a bracelet and more of a shackle fettered to nothing, though Reinhard could tell it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, even if fought against by force. He prodded it anyways, and it transformed into a goblet again, still sloshing with wine. He tried to let go of it, or put it down, but it clung stubbornly to his hands.

That might get annoying. Or dangerous, depending on Dionysus' intentions of placing a bounded object on the newest god.

However, there were more important things to worry about than an enchanted emergency contact number digging into his wrist. Namely, that concerning vision Dionysus had shown Reinhard.

How do gods teleport? Reinhard furrows his brow and tries to imagine being somewhere else. When he opens his eyes, he's still standing alone. He thinks back to Dionysus' teleportation. Reinhard could sense the pure power of the god up until the second it squeezed and disappeared. He tries to mimic it — crushing his essence into a tiny ball and replacing it where he felt the presence of his friends.

A blast of force, tearing him apart, then nothing. Then the warmth of Phoebus Apollo, except far lighter, kisses his skin.

Someone gasps. Reinhard opens his eyes.

"Reinhard!" Natsuki Subaru chokes out. "You've been away for so long! You look…" Subaru tilts his head. "Well, you look like you, but you feel more powerful. Like you weren't powerful enough already." Subaru laughs, and Reinhard feels a weight on his shoulders that he hadn't realized was there lifting at his friend's familiar rambling.

Julius is the next to appear, having heard the commotion from his tent. Reinhard exhales a breath of relief when the lavender-haired man was not bleeding anywhere. "Wha— Reinhard? I— Uh — Greetings, God of Hope." Julius bows, and before Reinhard can chide him, rises again with a warm smile. "And my friend."

"Subaru, Julius, I'm glad to see you again. Though, I wasn't aware I was a god of hope," Reinhard says.

Julius observes him. "Of course you are. Your name alone inspires hope in the people. It has been tough lately, without you around. But, nevermind that, we should eat together again. I'll fetch Ferris — he's sleeping in."

Oh. Reinhard didn't notice that it was daybreak. Time had become such a foreign concept, especially because gods didn't need sleep. Reinhard tried to nap anyways. It was comforting, even if unnecessary.

"So, whatcha here for?" Subaru asks as Julius turns away.

Reinhard blinks. "To see my friends again?"

Subaru laughs a bit and slaps his friend on the shoulder. "I'm glad for that, of course. But why now?"

"I haven't been able to figure out teleportation," Reinhard confesses, a bit bashfully. Subaru grins.

"That's just so like you."

"But I tried to do it again after I received some… distressing news. I saw a prophecy. Julius will fall, and though I do not know whether it is to death, it seems likely."

Silence meets Reinhard's words before Subaru chokes out a laugh. "Okay, you think Julius may or may not die soon. Typical Tuesday. Ferris was there, right?" Reinhard nods. "Yeah. Good. Ferris can — will — heal anyone from death. He's the best damn healer there is."

"He tried," Reinhard replies. He opens his mouth, but Julius reappears, scolding a Ferris who drags on his feet. The young healer perks up when he sees Reinhard though.

"Rein! How's playing god?" Ferris pokes Reinhard in the arm. "Woah, your body is all weird. Really weird. Nyo, Julius, he's not hurt or anything. Just, godly, I guess? Weird."

Julius sighs. "If you would go and clean up, Ferris, that would be most appreciated. Let's have fun after, okay? Wait, Reinhard. I want to show you something. I found a new sword — take a look at it!"

Reinhard chuckles, but Subaru's expression catches his eye. Then it morphs into something more relaxed. Subaru mouths, I'll tell them later, so don't worry them, okay? Reinhard nods, relieved. Thank you, he mouths back. Please, keep them safe.

Hours later, Reinhard materializes in Olympus again, feeling happy in a way that he hasn't since his ascension. He makes up his mind to visit them everyday, and he does.

Until he can't.

Ferris? Subaru? Desperately, Reinhard reaches out in his mind. Yes, he was a god, but he had formed a sort of patron contract with his former team, caring for them even above. They had a kind of mental bond that Reinhard had learned how to use in order to connect their minds. Julius? Julius.

The prophecy had all but slipped from his mind from the past few days. He had been so happy.

He should've known.

Reinhard van Astrea was never allowed to be happy.

Ferris, please. Where are you guys? Why can't I reach you? Subaru? Julius, Julius, Julius—

He pushes his godly powers, pushes until he sees stars in the corner of his eyes. ANSWER ME.

Then it does, if only partially. His form flickers like a ghost, and he yells warnings but no sound comes out of his mouth.

"Damn, Julius! Break their lines! I'll cover you!" Ferris shouts. They are in the midst of a battle, in a camp of cultists. Reinhard knows. It's a scene he has seen before.

Julius, rainbow light bouncing off his silvery armour, charges inside with determination. No, Reinhard tries to say, behind you—

Julius isn't dumb. He's a good warrior. His spirits appear and shower the ambushers appearing from thin air in light. All of the sudden, the light fails. Julius turns around in surprise, sword already at the ready, concern for his spirits dancing in his eyes. Reinhard admires the kindness of his friend, really, but please, please focus on yourself.

It doesn't matter what Reinhard tries to say in the end.

He can only watch as a curved blade slams itself into Julius's shoulder. Reinhard could feel the curses imbued in the blade even while being in such a weak form. Julius fights back, and the cultist falls to the ground as his heart is pierced by a glowing saber. Glowing. Not brimming with light like it should've been.

The damage has been done. Julius staggers back as blood gushes out from the single wound, far more than should've happened. He tries to staunch the wound, but it doesn't matter. His lovely hair is covered in thick blood. It doesn't matter.

No, Reinhard breathes, and prays to all the gods he knows. He doesn't pray to himself. He knows it's pointless, he knows it doesn't matter, he prays anyways.

"JULIUS!" The guttural scream from Subaru cracks. "I warned you, I warned you, Reinhard warned you for the love of the gods, Julius, you are going to stay awake, and you are going to live."

Ferris runs to Julius' side just then, exactly as in the vision. He places his hands on his friend's body. He doesn't do anything.

He knows it's pointless, too.

"That curse— it— I can't heal—" Ferris' words are in a gasping breath. "Why is he losing so much blood?"

Reinhard wants to turn away. He doesn't. He will see the battle to the end. He will give his blessings and they will win.

It doesn't really matter, in the end.

They fight until the last cultist drops dead, and Ferris doesn't leave Julius' side. Reinhard feels his power ebbing away into nothingness, and he prays over his friends one last time before he is pulled away from the scene.

Reinhard appears in his room. His godly one, not the familiar, ever-changing tents filled with random knickknacks found throughout his journey. He curls inward and cries.

He nearly wants to laugh, but it would come out manic, no doubt. He knew what would happen, and what had he done about it?

A goblet clangs as he slams his fist on the floor. It doesn't break; neither of the objects break even though Reinhard pushed his full power into that punch. Godly items, right?

Wait. A goblet. Wine.

He can't get drunk. Reinhard doesn't know why, Ferris had given some stupid explanation like his body physique and muscle mass. It doesn't matter, it's still pointless.

He tilts the drink back and pours it down his throat.

Immediately, he chokes. Not that the wine is bad — it isn't, Reinhard just can't taste anything other than the ichor in his mouth as he bites his cheek too hard — the sudden smell of grapes is just overwhelming.

"I used to be a mortal too, you know," someone mutters. "Or, well, as mortal as one can be when their ascended is written in their blood and bones."

Reinhard fights back a sob. "Dionysus."

The God of Wine mock bows. "The one and only. Not really, depending on your interpretation of my myths, actually."

"Dimetor," Reinhard mumbles. "Twice-born."

Dionysus shrugs and summons another goblet of wine into existence. "Drink, friend."

"I will not. I cannot sully their memories of me like that."

"I don't get it, but suit yourself." The elder god sips his wine in an exaggerated way. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

Dionysus snorts. "Too bad. I'm the God of Madness, you know. But also of freeing oneself of burdens. You are used to prophecies, aren't you, little quester? You know they can never be prevented. That's why you didn't try harder."

"You are cruel."

"All gods are cruel, friend. That is the meaning of our existence. We long to be what we can never be — free from the constraints of prophecy and fate. But we will watch all that we love fade away, eventually. Even immortals fade from what you remember them as."

Reinhard shudders as he inhales. "And you'll live like that?"

"Until the end of eternity. As shall you," Dionysus replies. "You sure you don't want to drink?"

Ignoring the extended goblet, Reinhard says, "I hate prophecies."

Dionysus hums thoughtfully. "Most people say that, unless they've been living a long time. Then they start to appreciate the prophecies for what they are: a heads-up about how much you're going to suffer in the future." He gives Reinhard a slanted smile.

"No one tries to fight it." It was meant to be a question, but it sounded more accusatory.

"Have you ever?" Dionysus actually laughs. "I watched a bit of your story," he says like Reinhard's entire life was merely a play for the God of Theater to tune in whenever he was bored. "You grew up as a child knowing you are fated to be so much more. You fight alongside people you know you will outgrow. You fight though you know it is pointless, and that your actions are not your own, but rather the orchestrating of forces larger than you. You are a hero. You breathe prophecies, not air, friend."

Reinhard mulls it over for a while. His tears have dried. "I don't agree. That just because it is fated, our actions are meaningless. We do things because we want to, and fate accommodates that most of the time."

Dionysus shrugs again. "Go on living a lie, then. Your soul isn't as frenzied anymore. I shall take my leave."

"Wait." Dionysus pauses at his words. "Thank you," Reinhard says softly. "For trying to help."

The elder god snorts. "One child of prophecy to another. Now, will you sit there and mope, or will you revisit those friends of yours?"

Reinhard smiles instead of replying. The bracelet of grapevine thorns is still wrapped around his wrist. "I think I will."

Chapter Text

"You weren't there."

The words weren't of malice. Rather, they were simply made in exhaustion.

That was worse.

"Ferris—" Reinhard tries, but his words fail him. He takes a breath that he doesn't need, and tries again. "I'm sorry. Gods aren't allowed to interfere too much. I should not have told you about Julius' fate. Fighting prophecies only ever makes things worse."

"Julius' fate?" Ferris asks sharply. "You say that like he's already dead." Reinhard opens his lips but Ferris beats him to the punch. "No. We don't need apologies or explanations, Reinhard. We need help. And we need it quick."

Reinhard clears his throat. "Can I look at him?"

Ferris leads him to the infirmary tent, only pausing to say, "Be careful. He's fighting the curse with nothing but painkillers and his pure will." Then he leaves the god standing alone.

When he enters, he finds Julius laying down on a mattress in the middle of the room. All his other injuries had healed, courtesy of Ferris. Except for a very noticeable bandage covering his shoulder, and his pale face.

"Oh, Julius," Reinhard murmurs as he kneels down beside his friend. His eyebrows are furrowed tightly even in sleep. How much was he suffering? Reinhard puts his palm on Julius' arm, but hesitates to draw on power for godly healing. Healing had never been one of his talents. He knows basic first-aid as a knight, but Ferris was always close by, so Reinhard had never learnt any healing spells.

Still, he owes it to Julius to try. The curse was hard to define, but it seemed to eat away mana. Reinhard would not make any progress with the wound if the curse was not broken first. He concentrates on the source of the curse, and tries to pull it apart.

Julius wheezes and wakes up from his sleep, fist already flying through the air.

Reinhard could've dodged. Godly strength aside, his reflexes are even better than someone trained to the maximum like Julius.

He doesn't. He takes the punch in the face.

It doesn't hurt, even though it feels like it should. His own hands had long been drawn away from Julius, and the cursed wound was all but untouched.

"Reinhard," Julius greets, breathing hard. "Hi."

The god might've laughed, but his nonexistent heart was too somber. "Hello, Julius. How are you feeling?"

"Fine." A dumb answer to an equally dumb question. "Well, not fine," Julius backtracks, "I've been better. But I've also been worse. What are you doing here…?"

Reinhard has to strain his ears to hear because of how hoarse Julius' voice is. "It's okay, you don't have to talk. I was trying to deal with the curse before you woke up. Sorry if I woke you up."

His friend shakes his head. "Ferris?"

"He's not here. I suppose I should've asked him to oversee me trying to heal you, but I get the impression he's not very happy with me right now." Reinhard pauses to think his words over. "Look, Julius, I'm sorry I couldn't prevent this—"

"You tried. Ferris knows that. He'll come around." Julius smiles slightly, but he drops it when he winces in pain.

I didn't, Reinhard wants to say. All I did was give a meaningless warning. He doesn't say anything, though. He knows Julius will argue, and all that talk will just cause him more suffering.

They lapse into silence, the air thick and uncomfortable. Julius is usually the first one to start speaking again, but his teeth are gritted in exertion, though he tries to hide it.

"Let me try again," Reinhard says just to say something, because even before he puts his palms on Julius yet another time, he knows it will fail. Julius' breathing grows more erratic the longer Reinhard tries to find a way to shake off the curse, until it gets so bad he gives up. "Sorry."

How many times has he apologized this conversation? Julius doesn't say anything. "I guess I'll…" Reinhard doesn't actually know what to do. "I guess I'll go."

"Bye," Julius chokes out. He squeezes Reinhard's hand, perhaps trying to say without speaking that he was glad for Reinhard checking up on him.

"Bye," Reinhard echoes, and disappears in a flash of red.

It's only when he stops shaking, he realizes he didn't get a single glimpse of Subaru. Belatedly, he wonders if he should go back, but the Artemis' moon chariot was already high in the sky. So he just sits on the floor of his cold room, shivering; thinking.

He has some awareness that Subaru is alive, but can't reach out to him. Either he was in a place where gods did not reach, or he was deliberately ignoring Reinhard's calls. Friendships between mortals and gods, ones with equal standings at least, were hard to maintain. The god had promised to not invade his friends' privacy, and he kept his promise even now by not forcing his will unto Subaru, even though Reinhard feels worried for his friend.

He thinks of his family left at home. He thinks of Lady Felt, waiting for him to come home victorious. He broke the news of his ascension, and she has ignored him ever since. She never liked the gods. His family would not help.

Ferris didn't want to talk to Reinhard, that was clear. His words earlier had been harsh, but Reinhard knows him well enough to know he's more angry with himself than anything. Doesn't mean he's incorrect, though. Reinhard should have done more for Julius.

Julius…

Reinhard shakes himself to clear his mind. He will find a way to help. There's no way Julius is going to die here. Yet a creeping thought finds its way up Reinhard's spine — what if he's fated to?

That cheery thought just makes Reinhard feel more isolated from his friends than ever.

~

Reinhard walks the winding halls of Olympus. He used to think he had a pretty decent sense of direction, but after wandering aimlessly around for so long, he was forced to face the truth:

Reinhard was utterly lost in the home of gods.

His frustration has been building up for quite a while, and was nearly at the peak. How much of Julius' precious time left had Reinhard wasted? He needs to find something, a library, or maybe a god stronger than Reinhard. Instead, he has spent the better part of the day getting lost.

Running his fingers through his hair only for his hand to fall back down once he remembers who he got the habit from, Reinhard sighs and reviews his location once again. Stone walls and golden pavements, no sign of where he is right now. The same as every single other path Reinhard had walked in the Palace of Olympus.

In the air, he catches a sniff of rams. He had been chasing the smell since forever, hoping to find an outdoor farm or something that could give a hint to his coordinates. Except that the scent just repeatedly led him to empty halls.

Halls in Olympus weren't even supposed to be empty. Gods partied all day. This is so frustrating.

A god is definitely playing a prank on him. Reinhard would pray, but he can't, for the life of him, remember which god is connected to rams. Julius would've known, he had always been well read. The though of his friend makes him feel depressed, so he thinks about the unknown god putting him on a wild goose chase instead. Except for the smell of rams, there were no other clues.

Hmm. Maybe that was a clue in of itself.

The faint sound of laughter chimes all around Reinhard.

Which god would play such an irritating trick? Hades if Reinhard knew. All gods followed their own whims. Who knew which one would be more likely to puppet the newest god around for their amusement.

No, Reinhard did know.

Rams.

"Hermes Kriophoros," Reinhard calls out. "Please, heed me. Have you not yet earned your fill of entertainment? Let me be on my way now, and my friends shall thank you greatly."

For a second, nothing happens. Gods don't really pray to fellow gods, but perhaps as one of the Olympians and a longtime friend of humanity, Hermes expected more?

Before he overthinks it, the smell of rams grows stronger. Wind blows Reinhard's hair away, but he doesn't blink. A smirking god appears, holding a caduceus.

"Follow me, God of Heroes," Hermes intones. "A message has been sent to you." Then the illusion of solemnity breaks, and Hermes grins. He's levitating, Reinhard notices. Reinhard hasn't spent much time around the gods, preferring to stay in the world of mortals with his friends, but Dionysus did not levitate.

Hermes beckons Reinhard, and starts flying somewhere. Reinhard's questioning of whether the god who had just tricked him was really to be trusted was stifled pretty quickly once it was clear Hermes would not wait for Reinhard to catch up.

"You're fast," Hermes tells Reinhard. "I'm the God of Speed, I'd know."

"Thanks?" It's not like Reinhard spent his entire life training the never-seen-before talent that he had since birth or anything. Hermes laughs.

"I hope we meet again, Reinhard. I'd stick around, but I've got jobs to do today, and I've kept my aunt waiting for too long. Farewell, mortal-god!" With that, Hermes disappears into feathers and scales.

Some very interesting statements there, Reinhard notes, but more importantly, where on earth had Hermes left Reinhard? There was nothing in sight for miles—

"I hope Hermes did not trap you for long," a voice says softly. Reinhard blinks and he is standing before a great hearth. Ah, aunt. That's one of Hermes' mysteries solved.

"Goddess Hestia," Reinhard kneels reverently. "Of the sacred fire; of family; of home."

The flame in the hearth glows brighter with Reinhard's words. "Rise, my dear." Reinhard does so, and he sees the goddess sitting by the edge of the fire. The flames do not burn her or her clothes, even though Reinhard can feel the heat searing into his skin from where he stands. It is ancient and powerful; it is homely and hopeful. It is the same warmth that all beings are born with; that all beings serve.

"Hermes does that to all newcomers in the home of Olympus," Hestia says.

"Home," Reinhard mumbles. "Is that what this place is meant to be for me?" Reinhard didn't mean to be so honest, but something in him yearns to please Hestia. She was the oldest of Olympians, and her aura was befitting at that age, but it was also peaceful in a way Reinhard had never known.

Hestia laughs lightly. "It is the only home for most gods. You see, us immortals have nothing but each other to bear with for all eternity. That is why we quarrel so much, and our battles trickle down to the realm of mortals. For that I apologize."

"It's okay," Reinhard answers wonderingly.

The goddess shakes her head sadly. "Your soul does not want to be part of this home. I will not blame you for that."

"I am not welcome down below, either," Reinhard says.

"Is that what you believe?" Within Hestia's eyes is a steady light, one that inspired respect and admiration, but most of all, familial love. It was a walking contradiction: the hearth that receives every grand sacrifice; the home that houses every little soul.

"It is my fate." Reinhard remembers Dionysus' words — Not at home with mortals nor immortals.

The flame of the hearth grow subdued. "My sweet child, you are not between the realms. You are in both of them. You will find family no matter where you go. Will you not rejoice?"

Reinhard thinks the goddess' words over. "Perhaps you are right, but I am not good with connecting with others."

"You find that others are drawn to you instead. It is your power that makes them seek you, but it is your kindness that lets them stay close. You need only have faith, God of Hope," Hestia said with a warm smile that was tinged with sadness.

Huh. "Is that what it's like for you too?" Reinhard asks.

Her smile becomes a bit more genuine. "The hearth is at home with not only the rich officials and famous heroes, but also in the hearts of the smallest and meekest. I will admit, I have lived in this family of gods for so long that I know my faith dwindles from time to time. The Trojan War was not only a tragedy for the warriors, but also between the gods."

Fascinating. The Trojan War was usually described to Reinhard as an epic fight of glory and valor, one that every warrior took pride in being part of. "I think you're my favorite god."

Surprise finds its way to Hestia's face, but she looks delighted. "I thank you for your faith, young one, though I know not what I have done to earn it."

Apart from being the nicest god Reinhard has ever talked to? Some gods were helpful, and some gods weren't, but no god had ever roused such a feeling of hope within Reinhard. He hadn't realized how terrified he had been after Julius got hurt. Though, the second the thought hit Reinhard, he got terrified again.

Hestia must've noticed, for she bade him closer to the fire. Reinhard didn't hesitate though he felt his skin burning. She held him within her arms. "I will send you to Apollo. He will know I did so, and he will help you. Do not despair, child, the spirit of faith within your friend burns strong. The gods will not end his life, but you must be the one to save it."

"Thank you," Reinhard whispers.

"Remember what I said about your family," Hestia says, and presses something into Reinhard's hands. "Go and do what you must."

In a flash, she is nothing but charcoal ash, and Reinhard falls and falls—

He lands in a room with colored light streaming in from stained glass on its windows. The sound of music plays from somewhere. Reinhard's breaths even, though his fists are still clenched tightly.

"Phoebus," Reinhard exhales. Sunlight wraps around his limbs.

"Be still, you are burnt," a voice chides him.

Apollo stands before him, golden and beautiful. He places a hand on Reinhard's forehead and hums.

"Sorry, what exactly are you doing…?"

The God of Healing huffs in amusement. "You are burnt."

"So you mentioned," Reinhard muttered. "But I don't feel burnt."

"Yes, that's because I just healed you," Apollo points out. Reinhard cannot tell what emotions swirl in his eyes. Or maybe that was just the light swirling. He feels a bit overwhelmed by the god in front of him. Apollo brimmed with divinity; it burned through his skin.

As if sensing the thought, the god smiles. "I'm so perfect, aren't I?"

"Considering the amount of titles you hold, definitely," Reinhard agrees. Apollo cocks his head.

"Now that sounded like a backhanded compliment," Apollo says, but he doesn't sound angry. Reinhard isn't sure what he sounds like, except that his voice was the most melodic tune Reinhard had ever heard. Apollo could probably make the most boring mathematics textbook sound enticing. He probably had, as the founder of education.

Wait, why did Reinhard assume that Apollo would sound angry? "That's not what I meant," he exclaims. "It's just, there are so many different stories of you, and you somehow encompass them all while remaining as you. Ah, that didn't make sense. You don't make sense. Uh, no offense." Reinhard winces. He should have thought his words through.

Apollo throws his head back and laughs. Whatever Reinhard was expecting, it wasn't that. "You're funny," the elder god says through his laughter. Reinhard doesn't know what he's laughing at. He decides that the actions of the gods are best to be questioned later.

"I need your help," Reinhard says. He rises to kneel, maybe, but Apollo raises a hand and stops him.

"Speak, then." So he says, but there was a gleam of knowledge in his eyes.

"You already know it, O God of Prophecy and Knowledge. My friend is severely wounded, and I fear that he will not live, without your help, Apollo Acestor."

"The burns of Hestia are worth as much as your word," Apollo muses to himself. "But you are mistaken, friend. Do not beseech me as the God of Prophecy, or Knowledge." He smiles.

What other reason would there be for Apollo to know of Julius' injuries? Reinhard racks his brain for the many domains of the god still standing in front of him. Reinhard has perfect memory and perfect instinct, though Julius far outwits him. It doesn't take long for him to find an answer.

"Apollo Kourotrophos," Reinhard utters. Protector of the young. "Long have you watched us on our quest. I beg you, come to our aid."

"You do not need to beg." Apollo snaps his fingers and a bottle of medicine appears in his hands. "Will you unclench your fist yet?"

With a start, Reinhard realizes that his hands are still balled up. He opens them, feeling a little baffled. On his palm is a lone candle.

"A gift from Hestia," Apollo proclaims. "And now, a gift from me." He puts the bottle into Reinhard's hands. "You will know how to use it when the time comes."

"Thank you, Lord Apollo," Reinhard says, still turning the candle around. "We greatly appreciate it."

"That sounds like you are dismissing yourself," Apollo says with a grin. Like an act dropped, the guise of a physician flies from Apollo, and he just looks like a normal, if extremely handsome, youth. "Accompany me for a while longer."

"I should get back to my friends," Reinhard tries to argue. "Julius' clock is ticking."

"Time is different here."

"Really?"

"Take my word for it."

"Why?"

"'Cus I said so!" Apollo pouts. "Fine, go. But I'll accompany you instead."

"Uh…" Reinhard trails off. Well, no harm done, right? "Sure."

The room brightens and Reinhard forces his eyes shut. "Great!"

"Okay. How do I… leave…"

Apollo laughs loudly. He takes Reinhard by the arm, and then the world is bright brightbright—

"You can open your eyes now," the elder god says in infinite amusement.

"Teleportation is so strange."

Chapter Text

"This is not—" Apollo puts a single finger to Reinhard's lips and shushes him. This is not where Julius and the rest are camping, Reinhard tries to say with his halfhearted glare.

"If we came here, we were meant to come. Now, let's walk."

Walk. One of the most important and powerful gods wanted to walk with him through a bustling city. "Walk. Sure. We're attracting a lot of attention."

Apollo glances at him through the corner of his eye. "I suppose you're handsome too. Fine." His body distorts and turns into a more average civilian. Reinhard looks down on himself to find that he's changed as well.

The sun rises over them. "Don't you have to drive the chariot of dawn?"

"A part of me is doing so. Gods can split their consciousness, after all."

"That sounds painful."

Apollo doesn't answer. He has a glassy look in his eyes.

"What are you thinking about, Apollo?" Reinhard asks.

"Hm? Just watching the common people," Apollo answers. "Don't you think it's interesting how pointless mortal lives are? Gone in a blink."

Reinhard doesn't feel as offended as he probably should, but he defends them anyway. "They're meaningful to us."

Apollo glances at him again. His eyes are bright blue, like a clear sunny sky. Blue is a common eye colour, but it looked so unnatural on Apollo. Perhaps that was why the observant pedestrians paused at looked at the man and saw more than just a man.

He double checks to make sure the illusion is maintaining, and it is. Maybe it's just the way Apollo holds himself, Reinhard thinks. Tall and proud, confident, light steps. Unparalleled gracefulness.

"I forget you've been human longer than god. Your divinity pours out of you, you know," Apollo tells him.

"Funny. I thought the same about you."

Apollo smiles. Something in his personality had shifted since they teleported here. His personality was always shifting, for some reason, but the light in his eyes remained.

"People aren't gawking at us as much as I thought they would," Reinhard notes.

"It's not uncommon for gods to walk through human cities. See that bakery over there? Demeter is a regular. She supplies it with extra good wheat." Reinhard turns where Apollo nods. Even from so far away, he can smell fresh bread.

"Maybe I should get some for Ferris, Julius and Subaru," Reinhard wonders aloud.

"Probably not. You have limited time." Reinhard turns to question the elder god's words, but Apollo mimes zipping his mouth.

They walk in silence until the sun stares down at them.

"They called Achilles Aristos Achaion, Greatest of the Greeks. Perhaps you're the Aristos of this generation," Apollo murmurs. "There. We've reached your destination. It was nice to walk with you. Ah, right, one last thing. Prophecies always come true, but not always the way you expect them to."

The sun burns brighter, twisting around Apollo. His fingers brush against Reinhard's cheeks, and he feels the parts of his body that the elder god had healed reaching out. Light jumps around him happily.

With a final grin, he disappears in a shower of gold.

Reinhard continues walking down the lane. He knows where to go now.

It's easy; far too easy, to slip inside the infirmary tent.

Someone sobs in the middle of the tent, and Reinhard's ichor freezes up. It's too late, he thinks. Julius is already lost.

"Ferris. What's going on." He tries to keep the budding panic from his voice, but the earth itself shakes once Reinhard realizes that Julius is not the only one who is laying slack. Subaru lies beside him, groaning in pain.

Ferris' head snaps up, and his round yellow eyes are puffy and filled with fury. "You," he hisses. "You dare show your face now?"

"I've got medicine from the God of Healing himself," Reinhard says, voice shaking. "What happened to Subaru?"

"He went to the Underworld to find a cure for Julius. Obviously, the realm of Hades is no place for the living. Now Subaru pays the price." Ferris laughs bitterly. "Idiot. Does he think that his life is worth less than Julius'? Not that it did anything, in the end. Idiot."

Reinhard kneels down before the two bodies. To call them bodies made them sound like they were dead, but the truth was, they looked worst than death. "What do you mean by that?"

Ferris sighs. He looks less angry and more exhausted, now. "The cure is incomplete. It needs more ingredients. Except we can't get them, because Subaru put his life at risk but trying to get it, and I have to stay to look after both of them."

Ah.

"Tell me what to do."

Ferris purses his lips. "You are a god. Gods can't interfere. You said so."

It was true, they cannot. Fate bound every being, and gods could see those binds very clearly. That didn't mean they weren't bound. Rather, they were intimately acquainted with their cage.

Still. "I will try."

His friend draws a breath. "Subaru is held by Death. There is nothing that we can do. He must fight it himself."

Reinhard nods. He knows the rules of the Underworld. Hades does not let souls simply leave. Only with the strongest of wills to live again would mortal visitors of the Underworld breathe without the scent of death in their nostrils. Thing is, this was Subaru. Reinhard doesn't doubt his friend, but… Subaru was… he had always been self-sacrificial. Reinhard wishes he paid more attention to it now.

"Julius, though—" Ferris holds up a vial of clear liquid. "Hermes gave this to Subaru—" Reinhard somehow expected this. The god had made his presence known to Reinhard already. "He said that it needed the blessings of four gods — life; death; life and death, and one more that he said would be enlightened to us later on."

Enlightened. The gods sure loved their riddles. Reinhard touches his cheek, exactly where Apollo had made contact earlier. Light bursts out like water from a fountain. Ferris yellow eyes widen in shock.

"That's one way to interpret enlightenment," his friend says after a second. In the glow of golden light, his face looks less burdened, "God of Hope."

Reinhard reaches for the bottle of medicine Apollo had given him earlier. It reflected his light, and he opened the cap.

Reinhard drops the bottle with a gasp.

The light from his body rushes into the bottle, and with it, all the strength in Reinhard's body. His skin is burning. No, not quite. It had already burnt, in the way only immortal godly bodies did. Ichor stems the wound, struggling to ease the injury.

"—ard— Reinhard!"

He is on the ground. Pebbles and torn fabric meets his knees. Ferris cradles his face with a terrified expression.

"Gods," Ferris mutters under his breath. "Never in my life had I felt like such a useless healer."

"Don't say that," Reinhard says back equally subdued. Maybe the reason why he had never pried into Subaru's mental state was because he was surrounded by self-sacrificial people.

Reinhard sighs and opens and closes his palms. Something is wrong with his body.

"Those burns…"

Reinhard glances at his body. The ichor had dried up, and coated a good portion of his skin. Everywhere else was a sore, angry red that crawled everywhere. Ferris prods carefully at the thickened blood, looking grossed out but also fascinated.

Something is wrong in his body.

He holds out the medicine for Ferris, who takes it silently, though his eyes don't leave Reinhard.

"Don't worry, it doesn't hurt," Reinhard tells the healer. "I don't really know how the blood works, though."

Ferris hums. "You look shiny." He turns to appraise the bottle. "This is shiny too."

Reinhard stares at it, feeling something bubbling in his throat.

Gods don't have throats.

Something is gone in his body.

Reinhard throws up ichor.

"My divinity," he gasps, choking on golden blood.

Ferris looks at him with terror. "What do you mean?"

The god (?) tries to summon his powers. Apart from his improved understanding of his domains, gods had general abilities like prophecy and teleportation. Reinhard imagines the same thing as he had done not so long ago — balling his essence up and placing it somewhere else.

He opens his eyes. Ferris is still staring at him.

Desperately, Reinhard uses his fingernails to tear his skin. To his relief, he still bleeds gold. Still a god, then. Just with his powers locked away. Hopefully.

Ferris groans in front of him. Reinhard thinks that his friend has reached his maximum stress capacity for the week. "At least the medicine works," he mutters as he pours it into the clear vial. The vial should overflow, but instead it absorbs the golden light hungrily.

"One god down, three to go."

Ferris groans again. "Please don't say down. It sounds like you died. Anyway, how will you find the gods we need without your goodly power?"

Hermes had said they needed the blessing of the God of Life. There weren't any gods of life, were there? Yet…

If we came here, we were meant to come.

See that bakery over there? Demeter is a regular.

Demeter and Persephone were sometimes worshipped as the goddesses of life. Plus, they had ties to the Underworld; to Hades. The God of the Dead. Not exactly Death, but unless Hermes wanted them to hunt out Thanatos himself, Reinhard should seek Hades.

"Reinhard?"

"I know where to go."

His friend sighs. "Okay. Good luck. I hate dealing with gods. Julius can't hold on for much longer, I can feel his strength weakening. You have to be done in 5 days." He gives back the vial.

Ferris had told him to wash up, and gave him a cloak of his choice. Reinhard had picked the one that smelled like Julius. A reminder that his friend's life was ever in danger, unless Reinhard were to succeed in asking for the blessings of four different gods.

So it was that Reinhard walked the familiar streets of the city. He found his way to the bakery smelling of fresh bread, and entered.

"Welcome!" The attendants called in sync. They hurried about with trays, refilling every pastry that the customers took away like hurricanes. Customers, being mythical creatures. Reinhard supposes that they need food too.

He walks to wherever he feels the strongest pull, and ends up staring at a packet of cereal. Is he supposed to buy it or something? With a shrug, Reinhard purchases it at the counter.

"I didn't expect you to actually buy it," a voice says behind him. Reinhard turns and bows. "Hello, God of Hope. I have been waiting for you."

"Demeter, Goddess of Agriculture, Fertility, and Sacred Law," Reinhard greets.

The goddess smiles, and the room swirls into a field of rice. She bears a slight resemblance to Hestia, Reinhard notices. They were sisters, but he thought gods could change their appearances however they liked. Or maybe the family of Olympians was closer than he thought? Demeter had always been described as a loving mother to Persephone, at least.

"Rarely do people invoke my domain of sacred law," Demeter muses. "Also, you wear the blessings of my sister."

"As in, the burns?"

"What else?" Considering that the burns were, well, burns, they didn't exactly seem like blessings, though it was true that they didn't hurt.

"What do the blessings do?" Reinhard asks Demeter.

"Any god who sees them knows that they are Hestia's. No other god, not even Αἰθαλόεις θεός, marks his chosen ones like that." Αἰθαλόεις θεός, meaning sooty god, was an epithet of Hephaestus, the God of Fire and Blacksmiths. "Do you want them gone?"

Now that he wasn't covered in ichor, the burns didn't look that bad. "I don't mind."

"I do not want to look at them," the goddess decides. She holds out her hand. For a split second, maybe less, Reinhard sees the same burns on Demeter's skin. When her fingers brush his arm, the burns disappear. Both of them.

"She marks all of her family," Demeter answers his unasked question. "Now, to business. What will you give me in exchange for my help?"

"Er." Reinhard didn't think about that. His eternal gratitude probably wasn't enough. What was Reinhard willing to give in exchange for Julius' life?

Almost everything in the universe. "I swear that I will do whatever you require that does not go against my own oaths," Reinhard says.

Demeter tilts her head. "I am θεσμόςam, the legislator. I will not ask you to break the laws you hold yourself to, little hero, but I do not take what is sworn lightly."

Reinhard gulps a bit at the pressure suddenly emitted by the goddess. "I know."

The pressure lifts. "You care a lot about your friends. Then you must understand me." Her eyes flash with light, and for some reason, Reinhard hears Apollo in her. "You must bring my daughter Persephone back to me, permanently."

A feeling of cold washes over Reinhard, turning his ichor into ice, until Demeter's eyes return to normal. He stares at her, wide-eyed, and she smiles grimly in turn.

"Now I send you to the Underworld to fulfil your oath, little hero." Her voice fades into black.

…

Reinhard wakes up with ice still in his veins. He lays on cold stone, with darkness surrounding him. Literally, he can't see anything.

"I see you have awoken," a deep voice intones. It sounds like lost dreams; fulfilment; lamentations.

"Sounds like the cries of the dead," Reinhard mutters. His head hurts.

The voice sighs. "Not the first time I've heard that. To this day, I wonder why my brothers have a voice like thunder and storms, but I don't get the sound of earth."

"Maybe because it's more terrifying to sound like the dead?" Reinhard suggest. "Lord Zeus and Lord Poseidon don't sound like clear skies or calm waves either, right?"

The voice grunts. "Are you going to get up, or will you sink into my earth, godling?"

Reinhard wondered why the gods couldn't just decide on one thing to call Reinhard. Seriously, Hermes had called him a mortal-god, Hestia had called him a child, Apollo had called him the Aristos of this generation, Demeter had called him a little hero, and now Hades was calling him a tiny god.

Reinhard just wants to smile with Julius again. Instead, he is forced to play the games of gods. With a sigh, he gets up and says, "Hades, King of the Underworld, God of the Dead and Riches. I am honoured to be in your presence."

"Honoured, are you? Will you still be honoured when you find out you have consumed pomegranates?" Hades smiles wickedly. With a dawning horror, Reinhard finds that his lips are stained with red.

"What have you done?" Reinhard whispers. "I need to get back — my friend, Julius, he —"

"I know," Hades interrupts. "I know of your little quest, godling, and I know my mother-in-law and sister had sent you here. You promised too much, naive child. She sent you on a hopeless quest. Now you will stay in the realm of the dead forever."

Reinhard grits his teeth, his sleeping powers boiling. How many times will he let a god throw him around? Julius is dying. He's dying, and Reinhard is a useless god, a useless puppet of gods. He thinks back to Julius' pallid face, the unhealing wound in his shoulder. He thinks back to Subaru's groan in agony, his love so strong he travelled to the Underworld to save a friend he argued with every day. He thinks back to Ferris, his anger, his exhaustion, his pain of being the best mortal healer in the world and being forced to watch his best friends die in front of him.

He thinks back to his family at home, never, ever, proud of him. They stitched the fabric of heroic prophecies into his skin and called him theirs, yet shunning him in every way. His grandparents were both heroes; his grandfather hated him and his grandmother was dead because of his existence. His parents were all but dead; his father hated him and was drunk every second of the day and his mother was in a coma because of his existence. The one he called his sister and lady, Felt, hated gods, and he was a god, even though his fellow gods treated him like a plaything.

His family had the audacity to look sad when he had become a god, because his glory was no longer theirs. Or maybe they really did love him, somewhere deep in their hearts, so deep Reinhard could never reach it. That thought made him so angry.

"I refuse. You will allow your wife freedom, and you and your sister will give your blessings," Reinhard snarls. He knows it's a stupid thing to say, but for some reason, he can't control his wrath.

Hades snarls back, baring his teeth. "Do not challenge me, godling. Do you think yourself so powerful that you can beat me in my own house? I would have let you lived peacefully as a pitiful mortal who had been tricked by my sister to cross me. You misunderstand my courtesy as kindness. You shall pay." His eyes paint over with a black as dark as the void.

Reinhard doesn't shirk back to the venom in God of the Dead's voice. His sword is strapped to his side; it never leaves. Reinhard just knows that the legendary Dragon Sword will draw itself against the god. He was the strongest of mortals, and his friend was dying and he couldn't stop it. What else but that love and anger would drive his power to new heights? So what if his godly abilities were locked?

Fight, a voice in him sings. He must fight.

Reinhard freezes.

"Get out of my head!"

His yelp is, embarrassingly, cut off by a sob. Hades' void-eyes blink. "For the love of the gods, I just want my friend to live. Get out of my head."

The battlelust in his veins stops crying out.

"Love of the gods, huh?" A voice says. It sounds suspiciously like his battlelust. "You invoke my love's name."

"Indeed," another voice coos, sweet and lovely. "What business do you have with me, darling?"

"Seriously? How long have you two been following him?" Hades sighs. "I don't have time for this." His shadow absorbs him, and he is gone.

"Brat," the battlelust grumbles. "I bring all these souls to him, and he can't be grateful?"

"He's probably mad that he fell to your teasing, dear," the lovely voice says. "Oh, the shadows are tearing into me. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Aphrodite of Love, Ares of War," Reinhard greets tiredly, even though he can't see them. Rather, their presence surrounds him.

Aphrodite laughs. "How sweet, Ares. The darling addresses the lady first."

"As he should," Ares says, but he doesn't sound as pleased.

"Is there a reason for your visits?" Reinhard asks as politely as he can. He feels drained.

"Poor darling. I suppose we should let you rest." Aphrodite sounds like amused than sympathetic, but Reinhard agrees that he would like some rest.

"Ah, but we must give him some directions first," Ares says. "It is not the God of the Dead that you should seek, but rather Death, and then Life."

Reinhard's exhaustion multiplies tenfold, but he stays standing. Hermes had wanted him to hunt out Thanatos himself after all. "As the prophecy must go, then I shall follow." He wonders where Persephone is. It's not winter, so she shouldn't be in the Underworld, right?

"Good little hero," Aphrodite giggles.

"You wanted to rest, and rest you shall get." Ares laughs with her, and the darkness swallows Reinhard up…

He lies in the embrace of sleep. It's so peaceful. When was the last time Reinhard had truly, completely, rested?

Had he ever?

Or has the burden of being god in human skin always shackled him?

Because he doesn't know rest.

Because even before his ascension, he was not human.

His family knew it, and it had cost them everything.

His friends didn't treat him like an equal, they physically couldn't.

What did he ever owe them?

Reinhard has given so much…

Ferris soaked up his love without ever believing he was worthy of it. He looked so guilty at times, but he was the most honest of Reinhard's companions. His hands of healing had never touched Reinhard in any substantial way, but when he curled into Reinhard, trusting and vulnerable, he had felt healed.

And when he went away, Reinhard remembered that he was not one of them.

Ferris looked at him like he was a god forced to live with mortals, like he truly was, because Ferris was honest to everyone but himself.

Subaru tries to treat Reinhard like an equal. He does it because he knows he would want to be treated like an equal too. Subaru was just like Reinhard, in many ways. So it was easy to accept that simplicity of standing beside someone and not above them. To Subaru, Reinhard was still human, he was bound to the human rules of life and death.

Yet even Subaru understood, somewhere in the hidden depths of his mind, but Reinhard was not.

Subaru looked at him like he was already dead, Subaru's eyes were dark in mourning, because he knew Reinhard was a walking tragedy that could not be human with him.

And Julius…

Julius?

Julius shouldered the burdens of being a hero willingly. He took it from Reinhard and wore it like a second skin. He knew he was inferior to Reinhard, at least according to his beliefs that gods were superior to mortals. Reinhard hated it, Julius was far greater than anything Reinhard could ever be. Reinhard was a fake, his oaths printed into his blood instead of chosen like Julius chose.

Reinhard knew that Julius was the only one who could let Reinhard go when he ascended. Ferris treated him like a mortal god, Subaru like a mortal. Julius like a god.

Reinhard would never be at home there.

Julius looked at him like he was a god, and he still loved him. It wasn't a romantic love, or a brotherly love, or even the way a priest loved their god.

It was just love.

Love he didn't deserve.

Love that he couldn't repay.

Love that he would never understand, love that would die before he did. Love that didn't have a direction, that did not know what monstrosity it was aimed at.

Reinhard could not be at home there. How could he? He was a monster, a god. All gods were cruel.

But here, in the solace of sleep, he could believe he was in a dream. He could pretend he was home. He could pretend he had a family.

(Silly child.)

He could pretend…

(Why pretend when you can just reach out with your bare hands?)

Hands?

His hands were on fire.

Reinhard wakes up screaming.

His hands were still on fire. He tries to put it out.

"This is the first time my cave has seen light," a sleepy voice rumbles. Reinhard is so surprised by it that he momentarily forgets his hands are burning, which makes him realise the flames weren't hot.

"Hypnos," Reinhard says, still reeling. "Am I in the Land of Dreams?"

"Yes, and you're sleeping on my bed," Hypnos replies. At least, Reinhard is pretty sure he said that. Maybe it was just a snore. Reinhard looks down, and sure enough, he's sitting on a bed of ebony.

Wait. "How long has it been?"

"You have slumbered for four days," Hypnos informs him.

By the gods. It's the last day. It's Julius' last day!

"You were tired, so I let you sleep. The light is burning my eyes. Isn't it burning yours?"

"No, it's just burning my hands." Reinhard looks at his hands. His fingers are curled tightly around a candle. Hestia's candle. The wax melts around his index finger like a ring, the fire like a gemstone.

Hypnos sighs. "I suppose you should go on to your quest, no?"

"Really?" Reinhard asks in surprise. "You'll just let me leave?"

"You never truly leave Sleep."

"Thank you, Hypnos," Reinhard says and rises.

"Do not thank me yet. By leaving, you head to Death, my twin Thanatos. You will forever be changed." The voice pauses. "Or you could stay in the Land of Dreams. You will have all that you want. You will have peace at last. I am not like the other gods, I have no glory or advice to offer you. Only eternal rest."

Reinhard sways on his feet. Sleep flutters in the corner of his eyes…

It would be so easy. He's already fallen, he could just lay down…

"I cannot," Reinhard says softly. "I have a friend to save."

"Even if he is destined to die?"

"Even so."

"Even if he is saved, and dies before you of old age?"

"Even so."

Hypnos sighs, or perhaps it is a laugh. "You are full of love, valiant warrior."

"Can I go?"

"Go whenever you are ready."

Reinhard gets up and leaves.

He doesn't know how long he walks, only that the candle in his hands keeps burning. He goes wherever the flame is brightest. He knows it will lead him to its family.

"Hello, deathless one."

Reinhard stops walking. "Thanatos."

A being of death appears. Reinhard does not know how to describe it, but he is not scared.

"Of course you are not scared of your Death," Thanatos says. "You will not die, neither as a mortal nor a god."

"Neither as a mortal nor a god. I feel that often," Reinhard murmurs.

"You must accept that part of yourself, or you'll never find peace." The being flickers, and it turns into Julius, pale and in pain. "The one you seek is on the doorstep of Death. Will you ask me to forsake his soul?"

Reinhard takes a deep breath and faces Thanatos. He clutches the candle wrapped around his index tightly. He has to face the fact that all his mortal friends, family, will die, and he will not. He feels tears prickling in his eyes, but stares at the god's eyes.

"I will not ask you to forsake him. But it is not yet his time to die. Please, let him live to the end of his lifetime. Then you can take his soul, as you must."

"Death is merciless," Thanatos says.

"And I do not ask you to show him mercy. Death is the end of all natural things." He looks into Thanatos' yellow eyes, or rather, Julius'. "This death of his is not natural."

Julius disappears and the form solidifies into Subaru's. "How about this man?"

Tears drip down Reinhard's face. "If— If he cannot fight for his life, then he must die," Reinhard chokes out. The candlelight flickers sadly.

Thanatos tilts his head. "You will not beg." It should sound like a fact, but it is questioning instead.

"No," Reinhard says. "If he dies, his soul is yours to take. He took to trip to the Land of the Dead, and that is the price he pays. I will not beg. But—" he shudders. "But I want him to live."

"And still you will not beg?"

"Death is merciless, Death is natural."

The form melts again, and this time, it stays as Thanatos. The being does not smile, or offer respect, but when Reinhard holds out the vial, it shimmers with shadows.

"I will send you to the Queen of the Dead, brave one."

Reinhard opens his eyes to see a familiar stone floor. He wipes his eyes and sniffs, then walks. He feels like he is being watched, but he cannot bring himself to speak.

Maybe he should've begged Thanatos to spare Subaru after all.

What if Subaru dies? It will be his fault.

The feeling of being watched increases.

Perhaps Thanatos did not send him to Persephone, but rather a den of monsters, and they will tear Reinhard from limb to limb until Thanatos collects him.

Then again, Thanatos called him deathless.

Perhaps he was being punished for all of eternity, then?

Because his friend could die, and Reinhard would let him.

He is a god before anything else. It was written in his bones. The tales are carved in his heart. It is what he is meant to be.

Yet Subaru had treated him like a mortal.

I'm sorry, Subaru, Reinhard thought. I cannot, will not, save you from Death. You must save yourself.

Right as he thinks those words, the watchful eyes disappear.

"It seems you respect the laws of death even more than I do." In front of him, flowers bloom and wither, and a lady takes form.

"Persephone," Reinhard greets with red eyes. "Goddess of Spring and the Dead."

"You have prevailed in the trials of the Underworld," Persephone acknowledges with a smile. It looks out of place in the darkness of the Underworld, but her sincerity makes the air seem a bit light. Though, it could've just been the scent of flowers.

"I promised your mother that I would bring you back to her permanently. Will you turn me into a flower if I try to fulfil that promise?" He's completely serious. He doesn't want to be a flower.

Persephone laughs, and the Underworld lights up in spots before the shadows return. "I fear that is impossible to do so, even for you."

"Yes, seeing as I am stuck in the Underworld too." Reinhard sighs. "But I will not give up."

The goddess blinks and the flowers wither beneath her feet. "You are stuck? Who told you so?"

"The Master of the Dead?" Now Reinhard is confused. "He fed me pomegranates while I was asleep."

"Did he, now?"

"Yes, my lips are still stained with its red," Reinhard says. Aren't they?

"My child, you are pale as a ghost, bloodless and burnt, but you have not consumed any food of this realm," Persephone tells him. "It is true that your lips are stained with pomegranates, but you have not licked your lips even a single time since your descent."

Huh? "So Hades didn't force-feed me. But how could I not have touched my lips since I fell?"

Persephone looks at him strangely. "Godling, do you usually eat your mouth? Trust me, the pomegranates have not reached your tongue."

"Ah…"

"You truly did not know." The goddess sighs. "You thought you would be stuck in the Underworld forever, and you still went through all that trouble to get some medicine for your friend?"

"I… would try to figure out something?"

"Brave, foolish godling," Persephone says as she reaches out to wipe the red away from Reinhard's lips. "You fight so hard for the ones you love. I pity you so much that I will try to help."

Reinhard blinks. "Thank you? Will you return to your mother forever, then?"

"As I said, that is impossible. You must, as you said, figure out something." She smiles. "Then I will try to cooperate."

Reinhard racks his brain for something, anything. Did Demeter say anything else?

…No, nothing at all.

What about the way she said it?

"My lady, why did your mother sound like Apollo when she told me what to do?"

"Apollo? That Sun God? I'm not sure what you mean. Maybe you imagined it?"

Maybe, but Reinhard wasn't convinced. "If you believed that I hadn't, how would you explain it?"

Persephone taps her chin thoughtfully. "Apollo sounds like Father, since he's the Speaker of his Prophecies, and my mother is Father's sister. They would sound similar. Or, hm, maybe, she was prophecizing that you would complete the quest, but you took it as her assigning the quest."

Reinhard winces at the family tree. Seriously, Zeus? Well, he already knew it, but to hear it spoken so plainly. Prophecies, though…

Prophecies always come true, but not always the way you expect them to.

Was there any loophole in Demeter's prophecy-quest?

Reinhard sighs. Julius and Subaru were the ones good at finding loopholes, not Reinhard.

"Is there any metaphorical way to interpret return?" Reinhard asks Persephone.

She shrugs. "Your quest, no?"

Reinhard stares at the flickering candle. To be honest, he keeps forgetting it's there. Persephone didn't comment on it, but her eyes narrowed.

Reinhard knew why it was flickering. "You're wrong," he mutters. "I don't fight that hard for the ones I love."

"You mean you accepted that your friend's life was in his hands?" Persephone asks boredly. Oh. Is he losing her interest? If he doesn't find a way soon, she might just leave.

Instead of answering, he tries something risky."Do you? Fight hard for those you love?"

Persephone stares at him. "I am a god. I see no reason to love. Either something dies as you blink, or is there until you die yourself. And there is no point in loving something that will exist regardless of whether you care for it or not."

"You see no reason to love," Reinhard mutters softly. "But you still love, don't you?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"I think your mother didn't realize how much she took you for granted before you were gone. I think she didn't realize how much she loved you, and I think she's fighting hard for you now."

Persephone's cold eyes stabbed through him. "And how do you know that?"

"Because my family is the same. Except they didn't fight. They just watched me go."

Her eyes become warmer. "And your friends?"

Reinhard takes a breath. "I would fight from Hades and back for them."

"But you will not fight Death."

"Death isn't something to be fought. It is the balance to life, it is necessary."

Persephone smiles. "What does that say of us immortal gods?"

"That you should learn to fight for what you love no matter for how long."

Persephone laughs, and in the distance, Reinhard can hear the laughter of War and Love, too.

He holds out the vial. Persephone takes his hand instead, and they disappear into flowers.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Reinhard feels the light of Phoebus Apollo.

"My daughter," a familiar voice says softly.

"My mother," Persephone answers.

Beneath Reinhard's feet, flowers bloom and grass hugs them back.

When he blinks, he is back at camp, and the vial shimmers with the scent of plants.

It is not yet time to return to Ferris. He has one more god to find, one more blessing to earn. The one of Life and Death.

Rebirth. Twice-born.

Reinhard holds the burning candle to his bracelet of grapevines.

"That's mean."

Madness pulls at his gut. "Dionysus," Reinhard greets. "Friend."

"I am Dionysus, a god that died, and rose. I know the human rules of life and death." The god steps closer to Reinhard, smelling like grapes. "You who are neither human nor god, you who are bound to prophecy, you seek something of me. What do you offer?"

How dramatic, Reinhard thinks with a smile. Befitting of the God of Theatre. "I offer a correction. I am both human and god. I realized it during the hunt to save my mortal friend — I have a place in the realm of gods, and I would do so much for mortals."

"That's not much of an offering," Dionysus remarks.

"I remember when you called prophecies incompetence," Reinhard recalled.

"What of it?"

"You weren't saying the heroes were incompetent. You were saying the gods were."

Dionysus snorts. "That's right. What, you gonna do something about fate?"

"Not fate," Reinhard replies. "I'm just going to live with my family. Whatever date throws at us, I will stay with my family."

The god quirks a smile. "Not your blood ones, surely?"

"I will try."

"You are hopeless," Dionysus says, but his smile widens. "Utterly foolish."

"Then be foolish with me, brother."

"Gods are cruel."

"Then I will teach you kindness," Reinhard says firmly. "I will teach you how to hope for better things."

Dionysus sighs. "You've changed so much."

Right, Hypnos did tell him he would change after meeting Thanatos. All prophecies come true, in the end. Just not in the way you'd expect.

Reinhard, for the last time, extends the vial to be blessed. It glows gold again, just like the first time it was blessed.

He walks to the infirmary tent.

"Good, you're back. I was starting to think you'd just not show up." Ferris glances at him and sighs as well. How much has Reinhard worried his friends? "You went to the Underworld, didn't you."

"Yeah."

Ferris sighs again. "Subaru made a recovery. He's starting to shake off the influence of Death."

Reinhard smiles in delight. "I'm glad. Here, Ferris."

His friend shakes his head. "You do the honours."

He nods and kneels down beside Julius. He barely has any colour left, and he's sweating a lot. His chest moves only a fraction, like he isn't breathing.

"My friend, you are destined to be so much more. Rise again." Reinhard pours the liquid into Julius mouths. Rather than the man drinking it, it seems to sink into his heart instead, light pulsing and healing.

Gradually, his colour returns. When Reinhard pulls the bandage on his shoulder away, it is just skin.

"Like it never even happened," Reinhard says, amused.

But when Julius breathes deeply and opens his eyes again, filled with health and hope and tender, fragile love and fear, Reinhard knows the journey happened. Reinhard's godly strength returns to him. His family is safe.

The candlelight burns at his fingertips, and in his heart.

Chapter Text

[image ID w/o spacing:

i fear you are thinking of me like a fantasy, love given too freely for what is not real.

i fear you are falling for what is not real.

i fear i love you,

i think im a fantasy,

not real.

forever.

end ID]

Chapter Text

[1: No grave can hold my body down.]

"Dying must have been such a horrible feeling. I can't imagine it."

"How are you doing? Especially after your encounter with the Archbishop of Greed…"

"Thank you for your efforts, Sword Saint-sama. Your sacrifices are worthy of eternal tales."

"I'm glad you were here, my family and I have felt so much safer knowing you would save everyone!"

Reinhard blinks and tries to go through the repetitive motions of speaking. He chokes out a thank you or something like that, but not a single one of this true thoughts comes to light.

Dying didn't feel that bad. In fact, it was nearly peaceful for a second, without any of his five senses picking up on anything. It was truly quiet for the first time in his life. Reinhard had paused in that blanket of bliss for just a second before he pulled it off.

He felt fine, that was the truth. If he doesn't answer the clawing thoughts inside of his mind, it's easy to forget that he died at all. Physically, he is completely unchanged, and, well, everyone knows his body was perfect before, anyway. So he's fine.

(Except, when he closes his eyes, he can imagine the silence still.)

Sacrifices, though?

Other people have sacrificed so much more than him.

Subaru had held Emilia so tightly after she had been freed, and Emilia had flinched, terror in both of their eyes. The wives of Regulus had no emotions in theirs.

Reinhard could not save everyone.

(Blood, blood on the floor.)

The very fact that he was here, in an evacuation center helping Ferris treat the wounded was a testament to that. He tries to smile, so that they can still have a glimmer of hope, even though their city had been destroyed.

(Grandmother? No, no, it was not her. It was just her blood on his hands. No, not her.)

He could taste the ash on his tongue. Why was he allowed to live, when others had sacrificed their lives?

"I can't imagine anything worse."

Eyes of pity followed Reinhard, mourning a death that had already been undone.

There was worse; far worse that had been permanently set in the bloodstained stone of Priestella. Reinhard wishes he could take those burdens. What was the point of all that power in his hands if he could not?

"Reinhard, I'm done here," Ferris says. His eyes are a clammy yellow, but they were hardened. They had seen too much blood, Reinhard thought, as he offered his hand.

"Close your eyes," he says, but Ferris already had. After all, they had been skipping around the city finding evacuation centers for most of the day. "We're here." So they were, in yet another room of terrified and injured people.

Ferris set to work immediately. "Bring the green bottle to me." Reinhard picks a random bottle from Ferris' medical bag — whichever bottle felt right — and handed it to his friend without even looking. It would be green, and the exact one that he wanted. It always was. Reinhard shuffled back so that he wouldn't interfere. Magic always went weird with him around.

"That's the Sword Saint, isn't it?" Someone, a feminine voice, whispers. Reinhard hears it, but he doesn't turn his head. He finds that people usually don't want their whispers heard. He just ensures that there is still a smile on his face. "I heard he died."

Someone to the left of the feminine voice snorts. "He's the Sword Saint, sis. He can't die."

"Obviously, 'cus he's right here. Angela must've been lying."

"Such gossipers, you two. Don't make fun of death like that. It's scary. Not something you can come back from." Unless you're not human, is the unspoken conclusion.

"Reinhard, is there anything left in the box? The one that's sealed," Ferris interrupts. His eyes are still on the young man, who lies unconscious.

Reinhard glances at the medical bag. "There isn't. I can try to find some, if you'd like?"

Ferris curses under his breath. He's been doing that a lot. "No, I already searched for all the remaining ones. If there isn't, I'll just make do without. You should go, though. I'll be here for a while. Pick me up in twenty."

"Okay, I'll see what I can find." Reinhard hesitates, then asks, "Do you want to take a break, Ferris?" The healer snorts, and it sounds a bit hysterical. "There are other healers."

"If I'm not productive, I'm going to go crazy," Ferris mutters, then that's the end of that conversation. "Just go. Avoid the purple-hair guy. He makes you feel sad."

Reinhard opens his mouth to object, then thinks better of it. He does feel sad whenever he thinks about Julius. However, no matter how hard he tries, he just can't remember anything about him. He feels extremely guilty, to have forgotten about someone who looks at him with such pain in his eyes. With a sigh, he walks out of the room faster than sound.

He appears in an empty part of the city, keeping an eye out for any civilians. He knows he shouldn't have left his post like that, but when he breathes without the smell of blood and sweat in the air, he feels a bit better. Did Ferris sense his growing unease and send him away? His friend was considerate to everyone but himself.

He still doesn't feel quite real yet, and he can't remember the feeling of being real, either. Maybe he was always like this, watching a film from in the clouds, unattached to everything, a mere echo of a being strapped to the ground.

Reinhard had barely done anything in the fight, yet he was alive and other people weren't.

(Was he? He can't remember the feeling of being alive.)

(But he can remember the silence of death.)

[2: Caught in a Net]

There was a trader from Lugunica who had traveled to Priestella just before the Witch Cult had arrived. Julius knew that trader. She had given him a a basket of fruits as thanks for helping her. He had tried to reject it, saying that to help the people was his duty as a knight, but she had laughed and pushed it into his hands anyway. Ferris and Reinhard had both been with him at that time.

It had been so long ago, Julius doesn't even remember why they were there, what they had done, or even who the trader was — but the fruits had tasted sweet.

The trader lay amongst the countless dead. Victims of the battle.

What had they ever done to deserve this?

Burials for the dead were necessary, but there were so many of them, and so little people. Be it the lasting impact of Lust or Gluttony, or just injuries from collateral damage thanks to the fights, there wasn't a lot of manpower left. Julius had volunteered to help the understaffed funeral parlor just to occupy himself.

How many people has he buried, he wonders? How many stories lined those dead bodies, how many people grieved for them, how many dreams had been lost? How many of those broken hopes, with his fragile, calloused hands, had he put to rest?

(His very own.)

"You're a good worker, young man." The person next to him sighs. Their hands were covered in grime. "If only we had a couple more of you," they lament. Julius doesn't manage a smile, not even a fake one.

"Would you care to listen to old me?" Julius nods his consent to them. "My son, he was going to be a knight in a faraway city. Said burial work was too depressing. I told him it was needed; the cycle of death never ends, and if he became a knight, death would reach him all the sooner. He said, as long as it was clean, he didn't mind." They sigh again. "His corpse, it was covered in blood, and I—"

The person coughs and looks at their hands. "I wasn't strong enough to bury him, but my hands feel like his grave all the same."

Julius wonders what to say. Condolences had slipped from his lips so many times just today alone, that it no longer had any meaning. Perhaps it never did.

"You would've been a good knight," the person tells Julius, voice trembling like a leaf. "You're brave and kind. Just like he was."

(Lost dreams; broken hopes. A net of grief: the only thing left behind.)

"I was a knight. They've all forgotten." A hollow pang in his chest makes Julius clench his fist tighter. The net of grief is the last thing that strings together an echo of a past life, and it captures them, heart and all, into its protective embrace. Julius isn't dead yet, but he grieves himself all the same. Who else will? "No one, no one else remembers me," he whispers to himself.

When he sees the person's face, Julius wishes he didn't say anything. He had only caused them more pain.

"Go take a break. Better you don't come back anytime soon, you look like the dead, too."

Julius leaves, and doesn't. There is no leaving the graveyard in his hands. There is no leaving the memories behind. Not like everyone else left theirs of him.

He hopes the person didn't see his tears. He doesn't realize he had bitten his lips until he tasted blood. How long has it been since he last drank water?

Eventually, he arrives in front of a building. Julius hadn't meant to go anywhere in particular, but it seemed both cruel and right that his feet would bring him to this building.

He steps inside and finds himself next to a familiar bed.

"Hello, Joshua," Julius says to someone who would never hear him. He doesn't know whether to feel happy or not, that he had forgotten his brother, so that he did not feel the agony that would be his own blood-brother forgetting him instead. As soon as he thinks it, he wants to tear his heart out. How selfish.

He brushes away the familiar purple locks on Joshua's face. He looks so peaceful.

(Don't you wish you were like that, too? A voice in him whispers.)

Julius shuts it out immediately. Suicide was the coward's way out, and Julius was many things, but he was no coward. He had built his dreams one stick at a time, and he was not going to let them burn just because no one remembered that he had any.

(All these victims, all the same. At least they have people like them, asleep beside them. At least they don't walk in a world adapted to their nonexistence. At least they get to be at rest, unaware of everything. Of everyone. Of the way there is a missing part in the universe that no one else sees.)

(But no one remembers them, he whispers back. Not even their own big brother.)

He wonders why he got to keep his consciousness when everyone else didn't. Then again, why did Subaru remember him and all victims of Gluttony? Not that Julius was not grateful. He would never be able to repay the debt of Subaru telling him of his little brother.

(I am going to find a cure.)

Breath touches Joshua's hair, and Julius knows it's his. He cradles his little brother's face. Strange, how perfectly they fit. Stranger still, how Julius still remembered how to love that which he had forgotten.

Only Joshua could bear witness to the cynical smile on Julius' face.

Would his friends, his family, remember that of Julius, too?

[3: Medical Restraints]

"You should take a break, Ferris," a man murmurs gently.

"Go away, Reinhard."

The man shifts. "I'm not— I'm not Reinhard."

Ferris pushes a hint of water magic into his pounding head, and his vision clears up. "Ugh… Ah. Julius, is it?" He asks as though he hadn't spared so much of his precious time trying to figure out who he was. "Something I can help you with?" It was likely a plead to help him. Ferris was no strangers to the victims of Gluttony. After all, he was the first person everyone turned to when it came to comatose or amnesiac people.

(Such lovely green hair, such a kind face. "I'm sorry, who are you?")

Ferris grits his teeth and pushes the memories away, but they keep coming back like an annoying insect.

(Insects, like what Lust created with a wicked smile. Dragons, dragon blood—)

(Matted green hair, corrupted veins, Ferris couldn't do anything about it. Useless, useless, useless.)

"Ferris?" Julius asks softly. He knows what Ferris, or Felix Argyle, prefers to be called, and actually respects it, unlike most of stuffy knights. As well as nobles. (Green hair—) "Are you okay?"

Ferris shoves the memories until his head burns. The person he was healing gasps. Dammit, how could he let himself ruin his focus during such a simple healing spell?

When he finishes healing the person in front of him, who murmurs a thanks, Ferris turns to the man. Dirty hands, like, really dirty, although Ferris' gloves were covered in even more disgusting stuff, so he couldn't judge. Yellow eyes, a shade lighter than Ferris', dragged down by eye bags, and Ferris thinks he sees a smudge of red underneath, too. No visible wounds. He's fine — and still waiting for an answer. "Well. You were the one that approached me."

"No, I'm fine," Julius says at length, but he's lying. "I just wanted to see how you're doing." That was a first. Ferris was a healer, he of all people would be fine.

"I still don't remember you." It's a bit cold, so Ferris adds, "Sorry."

Julius' lips twitch up in a sad mockery of a smile, and Ferris thinks that it would've looked pretty if it were genuine. Ferris likes pretty things. Normally. He doesn't like anything right now. "Don't apologize. I was the one who fell to Gluttony."

"Doubt nyou could've done anything about that," Ferris says, letting some of his accent slip back in. He feels a bit better after healing himself, but it was also true that talking reminded him that not everyone was dead or dying. "That's the cruelty of Gluttony's powers. Anyways, if nyou don't need healing, help me with healing others."

Julius joins him happily. That was probably why he came — to distract himself. Ferris couldn't blame him. He was also distracting himself. It was his actual job, though, so it's fine.

"Hm. Does your affinity lie towards water?" Ferris asks. Julius applies ointment for the less serious wounds that don't need Ferris personal attention, and bandages it skillfully.

"My contracted spirits — used to handle the casting of magic for me," Julius explains, ignoring the way he paused. "If I used magic, I guess it would? Or perhaps wind."

Ah. Now that Ferris looks for it, he can sense the bubbles of magic hanging around Julius. "Nyou handle bandages well."

The ghost of a smile returns on Julius' face. "Yes, you taught me. After you scolded me when you realized I focused too much on fighting and not enough on after the fights."

Ferris' mouth forms an O, but he doesn't really know what to say.

"Sorry," Julius says eventually. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with my reminiscing. It must be weird for you to have someone speak of experiences you don't remember."

He wonders why the man was saying sorry for that. "Nyo, really," He continues his previous thread of thought. "If the Archbishop of Gluttony wanted to make you suffer, you can do nothing about it."

"Be that as it may, I was still weak. That Ricardo lost his arm because of me…"

Yeah, it sounds exactly like something Reinhard would say. Ferris huffs in amusement, and Julius looks at him in surprise. "You must be really strong."

Before Julius can reply, a patient shrieks. Any feelings of joy on Ferris' face disappears as he runs over, with Julius on his heels.

The patient's hands fly about, nearly punching a child beside them, who looked close to tears. "I don't — I didn't do anything, I swear! I just tried to hold mama's hand—"

"It's okay," Julius soothes. "We're here." He places a hand on the child's back as Ferris checks over the patient's body.

"There's nothing wrong," he reports.

"Nothing wrong?" Julius questions incredulously. Her eyes are bloodshot and dart around the room.

"No—" Her fist collides with Ferris' head before he can dodge. "Julius, restrain her, will you? I need to get closer." A bunch of other healers hover around them, drawn by the ruckus. Ferris shakes his head at them.

Julius pats the sniffing child's head once more before his hands quickly subdue the woman's. She thrashes about underneath him. Ferris places his palm on her cheek. Truly, there was nothing wrong with her physically. It was a purely mental thing, probably an instinctive response to what her mind had perceived as someone attempting to harm her.

"I'll just put her back to sleep," he says.

"No!" The child blurts. "Please, mama just woke up." The lady squirms and kicks Ferris, who winces.

"She'll wake up better," he promises.

"She'll be okay?" The child's eyes are so round. Well, Ferris isn't sure about okay. Victims of heavy trauma tended to never be okay again. That one was not a promise he could keep. He could only lie.

"Yeah, so be extra nice to her so she gets better faster, 'kay?" The child sniffs again and nods. The woman falls slack in Julius' grip. When he removes his hand, there are faint prints on her wrist, but it doesn't leave a bruise for Ferris to heal. He doesn't say anything, just watches them sadly.

"C'mon," Ferris mutters. "We've got lots more to do."

[+1: Pinned to the Wall]

"Ah."

Julius stands awkwardly. Reinhard shifts on his feet, just as awkward. Ferris sighs.

"Hello, Julius," Reinhard continues after a pause.

"I'm glad to see you in good health, Reinhard," answers Julius. His eyes flit to Ferris, then to Reinhard, before they find the floor. "I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable. It's okay if you…" He clears his throat, apparently realizing that they weren't doing anything in particular. What should he say? If they don't talk to him? Their knightly virtues wouldn't accept that. If they can't do what he wants them to do and remember him? Pretentious. "I can go," he says instead.

"It's fine, we'd like to know you better again," Reinhard tries, but he looks to Ferris helplessly.

"Ferri-chan is gonna spend the night here. Might as well do it together, nya?"

"It's really okay, I don't want to impose," Julius mumbles.

"Is it? You're not okay. As a doctor, I insist you stay so that I can check up on you." Well, Ferris would not stop Julius from leaving. He really doesn't care all that much right now. Still, his presence might distract Ferris again, and it would make Reinhard feel better. Maybe. Maybe not.

Perhaps Julius senses that Ferris mean his words, because he takes a singular step backwards.

With a speed that hurts Ferris eyes to track, Reinhard pins Julius to the wall. Reinhard's crimson hair falls on Julius' cheek, fluttering to the beat of Julius' breaths.

Ferris wishes he brought popcorn as he observes Julius' neck turn a rather concerning shade of red.

"With all due respect, Julius, you look like you're going to cry at any moment. I don't know what we've been through together, but even without memories of you, I really want to help, okay? Will you let me?" Reinhard asks — begs. Julius' gaze turns from embarrassment (?) to shock on those words. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry that I have all the power anyone could ever hope for, and I still can't fight against the power of the Witch and remember you. I really am. It must be hard for you even more than it is for me. But I want us to be friends again."

I'm here too, by the way, Ferris thinks about saying, but he'd rather amuse himself with how the red creeps up to Julius' ears as he realizes how closely Reinhard is pressed into him. Seeing from Reinhard's jolt — and his subsequent crash into the adjacent wall — so does he.

"Sorry—" Reinhard ends up in a stutter of apologies.

Ferris laughs, and the two men turn their eyes to him instead of each other. He laughs so hard his knees give out. Reinhard and Julius both make to Ferris to catch him, and thus neither of them move once they notice the other had. Ferris' knees meet the ground, and still he is giggling. He distantly wonders if all the water magic his gate had pumped out was finally getting to him.

Reinhard and Julius share twin looks of exasperation, and Ferris feels his heart flooded with an emotion.

It's happiness, Ferris realizes.

"Well, as Reinhard so passionately displayed, nyou're welcome here, Julius," Ferris says. He really means it. The last couple of days had been hectic, horrifying, and if Ferris were to be honest, draining. He needed that laugh, and he needed the calm composure Julius had even after being forgotten by everyone he knew and loved. It was not like Reinhard's act of valor, or his nervousness that only Ferris — and Julius, his mind whispers — and other people close to him were privy to. It was a balance to Ferris' fury and Reinhard's comfort.

It was real. The steadiness, the earnestness, the grief in Julius' eyes, they were honest.

Ferris wasn't honest; he was a liar.

He wasn't angry at the others, not even Subaru. He just hated himself, and hated himself for hating himself. He just grieved.

Julius gives him a concerned glance. The man was perceptive.

"Nya, just thinking that we would've been close friends." Ferris doesn't use the word friend lightly. The mood sobers, and Ferris decides that he wouldn't allow that. "Seriously, if this is how you two act all the time, it's a wonder Ferri-chan doesn't have gray hairs yet."

"Yes, they are surely a huge burden," Julius plays along with a smile. His eyes are watery, but the smile is genuine.

"They'd ruin Ferri-chan's cuteness!" Ferris agrees, purring slightly.

"I have a few gray hairs," Reinhard says defensively. Ferris narrows his eyes, which is all the warning he gets before Reinhard receives an armful of Ferris poking at his hair.

"I don't believe it," Ferris mutters. "Wouldn't nyou have a Divine Protection to fight against that?"

"I do too," Julius points out. "Have grayed, I mean. Not the Divine Protections." Ferris wrinkles his nose. Maybe he needs to pick a fight with Marcos about the knights' schedules, if it was that strenuous. Then again, Reinhard and Julius were the type to volunteer for extra work. Meanwhile, Ferris exempted himself from the many patrols, as a healer and knight of Crusch.

"Hmph! Nyou two could be bald and nyou'd still be attractive." Ferris stretches and dismisses himself from the search for Reinhard's gray hairs. "Soo~ Sleepover?"

"Okay," Julius says a bit too quickly. When Ferris looks at him, he looks away.

"Okay," Reinhard echoes, though Ferris isn't really sure what he's agreeing to.

He grins, baring his teeth like an evil overlord. "And don't think I'm going to let nyou get away with whatever that was."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." To his credit, Julius has a good poker face. Reinhard does not. Reinhard flushes and mutters under his breath. Too bad for him. The Divine Dragon itself could come down and blast Ferris to bits, and he still would not stop teasing them.

"Oh? Would nyou like Ferris to act it out?" He pounces at Julius with the vehemence of a mabeast, who only sidesteps it gracefully. "But I want us to be friends again!" Reinhard was weak to his puppy eyes. Time to see whether Julius was the same.

Julius' eyes don't look as burdened when he smiles innocently at him, and Reinhard's eyes don't look as depressed when he coughs with a deepening blush. In fact, he looks nearly happy.

As much as Ferris was.