would ppl be annoyed if i posted all of my stupid random thoughts about my muses
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the lampad is pleased with the compliments, so much that even the dark purple of her eyes shimmers akin to starlight.  the warmth of his body envelops her, making her shudder.  some might only know this son of war as his fatherâs copy, a warrior with bloodshed and the call of war in his veins.  to thyxia, this son of war is a gentle god and an even more gentle lover.  he must be made of light and fire, otherwise thyxia cannot explain how it is only him who can face the darkness in her without cowering.Â
focused on his lips on her skin, thyxia follows enyalios into the centre of the clearing.  her fingers curl into the material of his red robes, feeling the soft material, much more intricate than the ones she wears, woven by her sisters.  she does not envy the luxury that enyalios lives in atop the holy mountain, rather she thinks it suits him as good as blood and dirty covered armour does.  â âŠÂ on your feet? â  sheâs surprised, eyebrow arched at enyalios.  â iâm going to assume that is not how you olympians usually dance up there.  if it isâŠÂ â  the sentence hangs in the air, finished by thyxiaâs grimace and sly smile.  she holds onto enyaliosâ shoulders as she stands on his feet,  body flushed against the warriorâs.   â i would like to see your twirl with me on your feet, my soldier. â
enyalios chuckled at the sight of her dubious expression. â to show you the steps ! â he explained. â itâs not common, but . . . i like being close to you. â the softness he so often tucked away deep within himself bloomed so easily in her presence. the slight addition to her height, however small, was just enough for him to wrap his arms around her all the more comfortably. with their chests pressed together, enyalios could feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat, so regular and comforting compared to his own fast - paced rhythm. â my grandmother, lady hera, taught me this way. â the memories alone filled his expression with fondness as he guided her through the steps, careful to move slowly so that neither of them stumbled. â well, before my father gave me proper instruction. â
with her on his feet . . . a mischievous smirk momentarily took the place of his gentle delight as he suddenly moved to hook one of his arms underneath her knees. he lifted her to his chest and spun her around, the steps momentarily abandoned for the sake of humoring her challenge ( even if slightly modified ). enyalios, of course, couldnât help but laugh in the face of her shock â she was secure in his arms, but he expected an earful nonetheless. â howâs that, my darling ? â
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adding a new test muse mayhaps đđ
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âNo, there is nothing all my own in that regard.â The question seemed so strange to him, so out of place, innocent through it was, of course. âPassion cannot survive for long if it is not shared, and love is not real unless it is returned. I am not meant to be alone.â There was another twinge of grief at the edges of his words, an old and horrid wound he could never quite forget. Anteros had rid him of that horrible loneliness that had persisted for an age of this world, after his banishment from the newly created Underworld. He had been peerless until then, really, without love returned (quite literally). Since then, he had never wished to be alone again, not even for a brief time.
He used his other hand to tip sweet Hymenâs face up toward his own, his touch gentle on the otherâs chin. âI would that you were to go to wherever it is that makes your heart sing. If it is not here, I would not have you pretend it to be otherwise, no matter how I might wish it.â He could only nurture passion, and if this island did not bring that feeling to Hymen, Eros could only let him go again. âThough no matter where you go, I would never wish you to again become a stranger here. Visit us at least, my darling, wonât you? Unless⊠of course you should choose to stay?âÂ
erosâ response sent a slight warmth to his cheeks â he should have expected a different answer, and yet he assumed he desired his own space, just as the muses and nymphs did amid their hours ( sometimes days ) of communal singing and dancing. they retreated to their private glades and meadows, and even he had a patch of soft grass and wildflowers to call his own when his voice grew tired. for eros to want constant company to share his abode with, he briefly wondered why eros was so particular about his presence. although his visits were brief and far between, there were some erotes who resided in the palace for far longer periods ( he personally could no longer count the times he had soothed pothosâ heavy heart in one of the countless gardens ), not to mention the many mortals grateful for ( or at least aware of ) erosâ patronage.
hymenâs tilted his head to meet erosâ gaze, his own unflinching. â i want to stay with you. â the answer came easily, and he did not doubt it because he knew it was honest. in fact, that wasnât the part he wrestled with : he didnât feel he belonged in either place. â i just ... i wish i felt that this was my home as much as i know it is. â he was neither born from the goddess of love nor was he quite similar to his fatherâs numerous other children. if he did not belong here with those the most like him, then where ? who else would welcome him, love him, as much as eros and his fellow erotes ?
he exhaled and forced himself to release the growing tension in his shoulders he had been entirely unaware of. â iâm sorry. â it felt wrong to not appear enthusiastic now that he was here and made to feel so welcomed. â perhaps all i need is more time here with you and my companions. then things will finally feel right. â it seemed only logical that a place would not feel like home if he did not make the necessary effort to visit or stay as often as he wished. â please ... please let me stay. â
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@cyperos :  â there is no replacing your presence. i felt that before we ever met, and now i know for sure. â  / hades.
thank the fates for enyalios,  zagreus finds himself thinking.  he hadnât voiced his insecurities to his best friend and brother but the other must have seen them in how zagreus kept himself closed off today, much like a flame starved of oxygen.  this modern world is a labyrinth of isolation, so he hears the hearts of mortals cry out even when they themselves cannot put it into clear words.  this modern world somehow manages to isolate the gods, too.  thanatos is busy managing the other death deities,  megaera is working overtime punishing oath breakers,  and even zagreus is finding himself hearing more mortals calling for his aid â whether it is children seeking escape from their homes, adults who cannot remember why they fight, all of those riddled with illnesses that his blood could cure.
the prince slumps against his brother,  tired and drained.   â .. iâm glad you think that. â  zagreus says quietly, eyes shut.  â i think the same. about you, i mean.  iâve got many people around me who i love and call family, but none quite understand me like you do.  i swear we should have been brothers by blood. â  he laughs lowly, then sighs.   â actually, nevermind.  olympian siblings are too much. â
enyalios draped his strong arm around zagreusâ shoulders in a protective hold. â i wouldnât wish that on you either. â olympians prioritized competition and glory over love and affection : he witnessed it among others and fell victim to the same trap with his half - brothers. he was lucky to have harmonia in his youth, and he was lucky to have zagreus now. sometimes, he almost envied how zagreus never dealt with such an environment, but enyalios could see ( could feel, really ) the way his particular isolation weighed him down. â though . . . i think iâm quite happy with what the fates have given us. i wouldnât have it any other way. â certainly there was a certain twinge of longing for a deeper blood connection, but he could never forget how the three sisters brought them together : the way enyalios offered his encouragement whenever zagreus chose his fatherâs blessings, how for the longest time he recognized the underworld prince by voice alone, and the immediate connection when they first laid eyes on each other that fateful day. the flame of love that burned bright in his chest for zagreus, after everything they had endured together . . . enyalios would not trade that feeling for the world.
this moment reminded him of those times in eons past : he was there for him then, and he would be here for him now. â hey . . . how about i take you to one of my favorite quiet places ? my treat. â
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@cyperosâ » hymen presents a [  bouquet  ] đ„ș
Eros has only smiles for his youngest Erote and an affectionate touch for his cheek at the gift he is presented with. The flowers are beautiful, perfectly arranged and wonderfully fragrant. âOh.â His voice is soft and warm. âWhat a lovely surprise. Thank you, my darling.â The touch is followed by a gentle kiss to his cheekbone and an arm around his shoulders, leading him, not inside, but to the gardens behind the palace. âI have a surprise for you too, in fact. Your timing could not be more perfect.â It had been ready and waiting for him for weeks, but Eros would rather let him think it was only finished this morning, as he needs no more guilt for his many absences. It isnât much, but Hymen is one of his few Erotes who asks for nothing, who wants little and expects even less. The gardens are different now, more overgrown and wild, more like the places Hymen is used to than the cultivated gardens of last time. âI thought perhaps you would be more comfortable here.âÂ
He leads him to chaise situated beneath a vine-covered tree and sits down on it with him. Absently, Eros takes some of the flowers from the bouquet and begins to weave them into a crown in Hymenâs hair. âI have missed you so, sweet one. I wish to hear about all that you have been doing while you were away. Come, tell me everything. Are you happy? Are you well?â
even as an erote, hymen was not easily excitable ... still, a certain light filled his eyes when eros uttered the word surprise. â what is it ? â he wanted to ask, the words hot on the tip of his tongue, but he remained silent and allowed eros to draw him close ; he settled his own hand on erosâ back, anything to return the comforting touches his loving master always gifted him. he attempted to study his face as they walked, as though something subtle in his expression would betray his secret.
he abandoned his endeavor as soon as he laid eyes on the garden, now transformed. he knew it was the same place he saw last, if only for the familiar fountains and sculptures that still dotted the space. but the foliage, the flowers, the moss ... hymen stood dumbstruck for a moment as he soaked in the sight, but it wasnât long before a smile illuminated his gentle face and an elated giggle bubbled up from his throat. he quickly lifted each foot to slip off his sandals before he darted forward with a quick beat of his wings. he laughed as his feet sank into the green carpet of grass and wildflowers ; he never thought he would have anything like this away from the mountains of apollo and the muses.
his smile did not fade when eros guided him to their seat. â i was answering all who called to me in thessaly, â he answered as he turned his attention back to eros and his handiwork. all of the flowers he gathered, in fact, were from the region, gifts from the grateful brides and grooms. being away from home, from eros and his fellow erotes, was difficult, but knowing that eros missed him and that he would do something like this for him ... he didnât think it was possible to feel more loved than he did before. â iâm so very happy ... i donât know how to properly thank you. â his gift paled in comparison to erosâ generosity.
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damnedsels â cyperos
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Eros struggled to answer so innocent a question. No, he should have said, and yes. But the words lodged in his throat. His sweet Hymen deserved better than silence, but he found it difficult to reply until the boy was nestled against his shoulder. His hand came to cradle the back of Hymenâs head, his other pressed to the bed behind him to support their weight more comfortably. Only when Hymen began to panic did the god find he could answer. He pressed him gently down, keeping him where he was, though Hymen barely fought to rise. âShh.â He hushed him softly and tried to soothe him, though dulling the fear was harder than dulling passion. It wasnât strictly his domain, only a byproduct of itâfear did not exist unless one cared to begin with.
âShe is safe. She is well. I could not bring her here, but be at ease, my dearest. No harm will befall her. She is well protected.â He gave Hymen a minute to process that and let relief fill his breast before he tried to speak again. âAnd you are not dead⊠But you were, my darling.â The grief in his voice was overwhelming, and he struggled to hold it back. âI have bargained your life from my sisters, but⊠you are not entirely as you were. It was the price you had to pay.â This wasnât how it was meant to go. âI could not let you die so young⊠before you had ever lived. But you are⊠almost an Erote now.â His sorrow only grew. Hymen was supposed to have had a choice, and now that choice was taken from him. He would become one after death no matter what he wanted. âYou may return to her once you are recovered. And may return as often as you wish untilâŠâ Until he died again. But he doubted that would matter as much as the next part. âEuphrasia will not be parted from you forever, my sweet. Do not fret. After her natural demise, I will be able to bring her here also, as long as your passion for her survives. She will be spared the Underworld.â It felt like a consolation prize. âIâm so sorry, my darling. There was nothing more I could do.â
hymen sunk his weight into erosâ frame as his body filled with relief. he shoved the quiet flutter of panic at the back of his mind that briefly questioned where she could be : was she back in athens, forced to reconcile with her now - uncertain future and clean up the unintended mess he left behind ? or was she somewhere in argos, his native city but for her a foreign territory, alone ? before his mind could race too far ahead and his mouth could open, erosâ next words slammed into him with the force of a massive stone thrown into a deep well â parted lips pressed closed into a firm line and he clenched his jaw tight as tears welled in his eyes. dead ... he had been dead, and he couldnât recall what that was like at all. part of him wanted to be thankful that he had no memory of the river styx or the underworld ( if he even made it that far before erosâ interference ), and another was terrified to wonder just where his soul, his consciousness, had been between the pain of the arrow and his awakening in erosâ palace.
his head swam with the revelations, his anxiety now replaced by regret. â then what am i ? â eros spoke as though he was no longer human ... his flesh crawled at the thought, and he shuddered in response. as his mind turned, his fear and confusion bled into anger. a voice in the back of his mind whispered that erosâ choice was selfish : â nothing more ? how dare you ! â the voice screamed. even if he was a god, who was he to twist his fate and deprive him of his humanity as a consequence ? but hymen didnât want to feel bitterness toward the only person who remained by his side even in this latest trial, and so he forced that emotion to fade as quickly as it came. he was left with so many questions he feared eros couldnât answer, but there were some he had to ask, one at a time. â return ... i canât stay with her ? where will i go ? will she be alone ? â
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The Fates tended to work in weird ways, Nico learned that long ago, and nothing could have been weirder than Mrs. OâLeary, the friendly hell hound, almost jamming her entire person into the Hades Cabin to get his attention, whining miserably. Mrs. OâLeary only whined when it was time for dinner, which Nico knew not to be the case at that moment, and he reluctantly set down the polishing cloth for his sword to see what she needed. One shadow travel later and he found himself abruptly at the edge of the Styx, stomach rolling a little if only from the suddenness of the travel. And there was Hymenaois, looking decidedly out of place in the Underworld, soft glow around the Erotes a reassuring sight in the usual gloom.Â
âI guess I am,â he answered after a confused beat. Someone wanted him to be there anyway, and he really wished that someone asked him about it first. He liked Hymen though, so he wasnât going to complain too much.âWhere do you need to go?â
hymenâs wings stilled as nico approached. a quiet laugh bubbled at the back of his throat when he caught the confusion in his voice â was this really a coincidence, or had eros arranged this ? hymen had only expressed his fondness for the boy to him once, but even once was enough. he allowed his weight to fully sink into the dark earth, then shivered as he felt the deep cold settle into the balls and heels of his feet. â iâve been called to elysium, â he explained and cupped his palm around the back side of the torch. â there are two shades that have asked to be wed now that theyâre reunited. iâve agreed, but i donât know how to find them. â with a soft puff of breath, the torch suddenly roared to life with a white - blue flame. the upturn of his smile briefly turned sad â he would have married them sooner if not for their unfortunate fates. â you must know i havenât seen much of the underworld . . . if you could even just point the way, i would be grateful. â the last time he visited, after all, was for the marriage between nicoâs father and queen persephone.
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Eros smiled warmly when his Erote settled close to him and felt some tension in his own being release. He ached to be away from any of them for too long, if only because he adored them so much. They were pieces of himself, really, of his domain. To be without them was like missing limbs. Eros was not known for his kindness or his forgiveness, but it was different with them. He could never stand to cause them distress or misery of any kind, and could never feel it was deserved. His other hand momentarily cupped the back of Hymenâs head and pulled it forward enough that he could plant a kiss against his hair. Eros glowed more brightly golden then, like a star regaining some of its own light.
âOh no, never. You and your kind have only ever eased it.â He had never felt that loss and despair as he once had, not since the birth of Aphrodite even. But that was altogether different from the Erotes, his namesakes, his most beloved. Next to them, only Psyche compared in terms of his love, and he had insurmountable adoration and devotion to give.Â
The barest hint of surprise crossed Passionâs face, followed by endearment. âOf course, beloved. Nothing here is forbidden to you. This is home to you, whenever you should wish to claim it. I would deny no one the full extent of their home, least of all you.â He sighed softly and glanced around. âThough I suppose this looks so little like your home. You were raised among the fairer folk, the nymphs and dryads, were you not? Perhaps better accommodations might be found. A courtyard to call your own, perhaps. But later. First, come with me.â He led him out of the room then, through the gilded and golden halls, showing him everything they crossed. âIt used to be much simpler than this,â he explained, âbut some of your older brothers thought decadence was in order, and I can deny them nothing, Iâve found.â He smiled wryly, affection in his eyes. âA weakness of which they take advantage daily.â
hymen remained close to erosâ side as they passed by each room, each one as ornate as the last. if eros asked, he would readily admit that everything seemed to blur together into one grandiose maze. he couldnât even identify the private chambers of his fellow erotes ( or, as much as he could glean from the decorative choices of their doors ), which only further embedded the slight feeling of unease in his heart. he nodded in response to his question ; â with the muses, yes, â he murmured as his neck craned back once again to stare at the elaborate frescoes that adorned the ceiling above each doorway. the thought of a courtyard comforted him, if only slightly : the open sky over his head, soft grass under his bare feet ... he felt a pang of guilt for longing for something so familiar in the place he should call his true home.
erosâ fond expression returned the gentle smile to his face. â my brothers ... â he echoed, the phrase foreign on his tongue. he considered anteros his closest companion and he loved frolicking with the others, but he was the one unrelated for them, save for their shared belonging to eros. hymen kept his fingers threaded with erosâ as he leaned forward to peer up and down yet another massive hall. â but ... surely thereâs much thatâs just for you ? â he could hardly imagine that the entirety of the palace was dedicated to the expensive demands of the other erotes. if this felt like home to eros, then ... perhaps it could be his home too.
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thyxia struggles to hide the way her body involuntarily and naturally leans into enyaliosâ, so much warmer than hers. they are way past pretending now, way past thyxia smiling knowingly and testing the olympian godlingâs intentions and heart and way past enyalios trying to impress the torch-bearer.  she wants to kiss him here, under the moonlight, but she behaves for the sake of spending as much quality time together as they can. before the sun will rise, before the underworld will call for her. she will save it for the time they will have to part â kiss him quite insane, leave her dark mark on him as a souvenir. Â
â is it because i am as dreadful as the winter season? â  thyxia teases, running her thumbs running over the skin below his eyes. she cannot look away from their beauty and she cannot help her growing smile. never had she thought anyone would be able to reach so deep into her soul and soften the anger it holds. no - enyalios did not soften it. he understood it, admired it even when she pushed him away before she allowed him to hold her.   â show me, then. i want to learn. â  she speaks as if stuck in a daydream, her touch soft on his cheeks and chest closely pressed to him.
â as formidable and bewitching, â he corrected, eager to tease in equal measure. the weight of her body against his chest was yet another comfort â here, he did not have to don his armor, even if he kept his faithful weapons at his waist. here, he could embrace her cool skin against his scarlet robes, let his white hair spill down his shoulders, array himself in the gold jewelry gifted by his father, sister, and chthonic brother : vulnerable. safe. â allow me. â
enyalios slipped one of his hands under her palm and threaded their fingers together. he rubbed his calloused thumb across the back of her hand, comforted by how easily they fit together, by how his intense warmth bled into her constant chill. he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a long kiss to her knuckles before he guided her to the center of the clearing. â you twirl so beautifully with your knives . . . this dance has similar movements. â as he spoke, he settled her hands on him in their proper places. â now, would you prefer to stand on my feet ? â his playful smile returned at the thought ; it would not be the most graceful, but he could hold her all the closer.
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so instead of doing drafts, i thought a bit about names for things important to enyalios!!
his horses. enyalios owns two immortal horses that draw his chariot : áŒÏÎ·ÎŻÎžÎżÎżÏ ( arÄĂthoos, â swift as ares, swift in battle â ) and ÏÎčλÏΌαÏÎżÏ ( filĂłmaxos, â loving the fight, warlike â ).
his xiphe. enyalios owns two magic - enhanced xiphe : áŒÏÎčÏÏÏΌαÏÎżÏ ( aristĂłmaxos, â best at fighting â ), a gift from his mother, and áŒÎ»ÎșÏÎźÏ ( alktážr, â one who wards off, protector from â ), from his father.
his chthonic companion. a gift from the goddess nyx ( @warnsyou ) in the shape of a hound, given to him while chained among the spartans. he named his companion áœ
ΌαÏÏÎčÏ ( hĂłmaspis, â fellow - soldier â ).
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@sangerosuâ : affection isnât always the easiest to express for the god of war . . . for his children, however, he would push through it. instead of the casual arm rub that he gives enyalios upon meeting him, father war wraps his son in a warm embrace, one hand on little warâs back and the other at the back of his head. â welcome back, son. how did the underworld treat you ? â
enyalios was always content to receive whatever tenderness his father had to offer. even the most simple touch, such as when he adjusted his grip or his posture during one of the many hours of their constant training, filled him with so much love. he was prepared for a touch just as fleeting when he dismounted his chariot and handed the reigns to one of the nearby attendants, his smile forever betraying how delighted he always was to be in his fatherâs presence.
the full embrace brought his world to a temporary halt. for a moment, he stood silent and motionless, then eagerly encircled his arms around his fatherâs chest and splayed his hands between his strong shoulder blades. welcome back. a soft chuckle escaped him as he nestled his head on his shoulder â he didnât intend to leave father warâs arms until he pulled away first. â very well, father. prince zagreus took me to elysium again to introduce me to the shade patroclus. and then i visited thyxia in asphodel and we went to . . . â little war, of course, could recount his adventures for hours. the warmth of war, after all, would always be his home.
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ananke did not know her sister as well as she should have. she knew her daughters, the moirai, better than her as their preceptor, and even some of her other children as they flitted throughout the cosmos attending to their duties. to wait just within the confines of the underworld after such distance between them ... it was strange. all the same, it was an encounter she was prepared for.
â thanatos. â truthfully, she had expected charon. even so, his name slipped out smoothy, as though spoken thousands of times before. she could not say sheâd ever met him face - to - face in the eons of their shared existence, but she knew his domain all too well â death, after all, was one of lifeâs many necessities, and therefore forever under her careful ( albeit distant ) observation. â iâve come to see your mother. is she here ? â / @atomancy, for thanatos.
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đđđđđđ.
the moon sheds its light on the lampadâs frame as she dances, movements precise and fluid like the waters of the sea behind her.  one dagger in each hand, she moves through the darkness and performs for the war god,  face stern but dark eyes glimmering with joy. the night sings for her, mother nyxâs presence everlasting, the sea murmurs â and when the lampad ceases her movements, folding her arms over her chest with the tips of the daggers pointing towards the dark sky, silence follows.  thyxia steps back into herself,  a subtle smile forming on her lips as she finds enyaliosâ gaze.   â i showed you mine,  my soldier.  what olympian dance will you teach me tonight? â  the daggers are tucked away into the bandolier ( its dark colour contrast with the bright, pure ones of the robes heâd given her, made of the finest olympian silks ) and she steps towards him with light feet,  hands already seeking the warmth of his cheeks, unable to keep herself away from touching him.   /  @damnedsels (thyxia&enyalios)
breathtaking was the easiest and first word that came to mind whenever he watched her dance. enyalios refused to take his eyes off of her for even a moment as she twirled in her latest dress : a luxurious peplos of lilac fabric delicately embroidered with flowers of gold thread. when she smiled, he couldnât resist returning one of his own, and he eagerly leaned into her cool touch just as he had done countless times before. with a slight turn of his head he pressed a kiss to her palm and hummed in thought as he settled his hands on the curve of her waist. he could always demonstrate the unbreakable bond between himself and his swords again, but . . . he had other ideas.
â how does a partner dance sound, my nymph ? â the returned pet name rolled off his tongue easily, and for that he smiled all the wider. the two could never dance together upon olympus, but he could still entertain such a dream. â thereâs one we save for the end of winter . . . i think it would suit you quite beautifully. â
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đđđđđđđđ.
Achilles knew all his men at least by sight if not by name. His father had been preparing him for this moment all his life, and it was one of the few things on which his parents agreedâknow your men before you ask them to die for you. This one, however, he knew heâd never seen before, camping with the Myrmidons as though he was one of them. Achilles did not ask why he was here out of hostility, but curiosity. Most of the leaders of this war knew they needed him personally, but would not have sent one of their own to him. He was too young, too inexperienced, too feminine, too shameful. He hadnât had time to make them eat their words yet, but he would. So this little soldier who radiated the bloodthirst of the gods stood out more than anyone possibly couldâve.
âEager is an interesting choice of words.â As he said it though, his sea green eyes glimmered with mirth and his mouth curling into a smile. âWhy this camp? Why choose to fight for me? Not quite so simple a matter as fighting for an oath or to stand with ones own people.â Why choose the most feared and dishonored camp at once? That was the real question of interest.
enyalios found it rather easy to settle among the soldiers â there was a certain anxious energy he was drawn to, one that he knew he had the power to alter. he spent his afternoon among the tents and around fires, eager to listen to their apprehensions and polish their blades when their own trembling hands couldnât. of course, there was the added thrill of knowing he was doing something forbidden ; you are not ready, his father warned, but enyalios refused to remain on olympus when the greatest war of mortalkind was on the cusp of beginning.
his question made him chuckle. after all, he couldnât be entirely honest : i can feel the potential of your men in my veins. â i followed my feet, â he replied with a noncommittal shrug ( which, to a degree, was true â enyalios prided himself on his avoidance of lying ). â but you could say iâve always favored the underestimated. â he stood from his place on the grass, then turned to gaze out over the camp. â some of your men are truly terrified of whatâs to come. please, let me fight with them. â normally, the young god wouldnât be so particular about such an incredible opportunity â war was war, carnage and courage were plentiful no matter the side one chose â but heâd overheard enough of the whispering on olympus about thetisâ son. he had to fight alongside him, even just once. â i promise iâm more capable than i appear, if thatâs your concern. â
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hymen was, quite literally, a light in the darkness. aside from the embers of the ceremonial torch in his left hand, the silver woven throughout his feathered wings shimmered, emitting a soft light as he fluttered onto the shores of the river styx. visits to the underworld were few and far between, unlike his frequent sojourns to even the most obscure areas of the mortal realm. for a moment, he appeared uncharacteristically lost : a faint, unmoving beacon of olympian luminescence with head tilted up toward the vaulted stones. his worried expression relaxed at the sight of a familiar face. â nico, â he called out, his bright voice loud enough to generate a gentle echo as he approached, â itâs wonderful to meet you in your domain at last. â it wasnât a situation he expected at all ; either his appearance was a coincidence, or he knew exactly why he was here. â iâm only here on an assignment. are you by chance my guide ? â / @stygicniron.
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