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Neutral
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Feo’s movements were slow, deliberate as he glanced around the train car. His tired eyes swept over the remnants of hay and corn scattered across the floor, the corners of the boxcar dark and dingy. With a few quick movements, he began to sweep the debris into the corners, clearing space in an attempt to make the floor just a little more bearable. His body ached, the strain of overexerting himself catching up all at once. - The exhaustion weighed on him, deeper than he would have liked to admit. Sleep had been a distant memory for far too many days, and his mind had been running on fumes for far longer. The constant shifting between forms, the draining magic of creating multiple versions of himself, and then the fight—it had all left him physically spent. But even as he tried to focus on making their surroundings more comfortable, the fatigue clung to him, dragging his limbs with every motion. - As he shuffled the last bits of hay into the corners, his vision began to blur at the edges. Feo’s legs felt like lead, and suddenly, without warning, he crumpled to the floor of the car. The harsh, wooden planks felt like stone under him as he sank down, his body giving out under the weight of his exhaustion. - He barely had the strength to move, his back against the side of the train car, the rhythmic hum of the train settling in his ears. Feo exhaled deeply, a shaky breath that echoed just how drained he truly was. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the faintest hint of sleep teasing at the edges of his awareness. But the weight on his chest—the nagging pull to keep moving, to stay alert—kept him rooted in the present. - Still, he couldn’t help the tension in his muscles as he laid there, struggling to fight the overwhelming desire to just rest, even for a few moments. His chest rose and fell steadily, but the discomfort of his body’s protest to his constant activity gnawed at him. His fingers twitched in his lap, a half-formed response to Lucius’s words stuck in his throat. - He’d heard the apology, had listened to Lucius’s quiet admission of guilt. Feo’s heart twinged, but the fatigue was like a barrier between his instinct to comfort Lucius and the reality of how badly he needed rest. - “Stop,” Feo muttered softly, his voice hoarse and tired. His hand moved, brushing weakly through his hair as he let out a soft groan. “Don’t apologize for this.” He paused, his mind still swimming in a haze of exhaustion. “You don’t... have to do better. You’re already trying. And that’s enough.” - It was all he could say, his words lacking the usual fire but offering a glimpse of the care he felt for Lucius, even if his body refused to cooperate. Feo couldn’t hold back the faintest sigh, one that mixed both relief and frustration. It was too much to process right now. Too much to deal with. He just needed... a moment. A few minutes to breathe without the weight of the world pressing down on him. - He tried to sit up again but stopped halfway, his strength failing him as he sank back down, staring up at the ceiling of the car. The darkness beneath his eyelids threatened to pull him under, but even as his body begged for rest, he forced himself to stay conscious, to make sure Lucius was okay. - To make sure Lucius wasn't as strangely cold as Feo was right now. |
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Lightbringer
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Lucius whipped his head upward at the sound of Feo sinking to the floor beneath him. He scrambled over, unsteady with the movement of the train but worried nonetheless. "Don't--don't move," Lucius pleaded with the Norse demigod, sliding beside him and gathering his shoulders as best he could, shuffling back against the wall of the train car. His hand took hold of Feo's and paused--it felt unearthly cold. Not that Lucius really had much experience with things like this but he carefully removed the tunic, draping it over Feo's shoulders as a sort of makeshift blanket. "It's okay," Lucius whispered, pulling Feo closer. "I'm okay. We're going to be just fine. It's okay to rest for a few hours." It'd take at least three to get to Garden City. After that, well, it would be a little more up in the air. But for now, rest was alright. Lucius glanced out the door of the train car, watching the fields rush by. One hand, carefully, began to card through Feo's hair, brushing through as gently as he could. If he came to a knot, his fingers carefully worked it out, cautious to not cause any pain. The rumble of the wheels against the rails and the rails against the wood was rhythmic. As much as Lucius didn't want to admit it, he had started to think about... a different end to the plan. He had wondered about how to make sure that Feo was by his side for the rest of who knew how long. But the thought came back to him. Just one campus? If he wanted to keep an eye on the gods, why not rule them? There was one god that Lucius knew who was still a bit bitter over the fact that he never really had a set pantheon. He never got that rise to ultimate power and instead was passed around like a substitute teacher in a school. He had a crown that could pull the essence of gods, the crown of Ptolemy. Had, being keyword there, was the main issue. Lucius didn't know if he still had it or if he had any clue where it was. But if they had the Cestus, the other gods would be clamoring over to just get a little bit of his attention. The hours to come would be good, enough time for him to plan and readjust his plans. But even still, the little thing with Atlas had rattled him a little bit. Feo had attacked Atlas with little thought. But, while he was adamant about letting Loki try, Lucius was not so adamant. A woman--a mere sight of something vaguely familiar--had tipped his senses. Would he really be able to bring up that same fire... to Loki? Or would Lucius have to really try and do some smooth talking to get out of a situation with the god? |
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Neutral
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Feo lay still, his body a silent weight beneath the softness of the worn cushions, the world outside seeming distant and irrelevant. Lucius moved beside him, the subtle brush of his presence a reassuring anchor in the storm of exhaustion that threatened to drag him under. The contact of Lucius’s hands, gentle but purposeful, was both a balm and a tether. It grounded Feo, reminding him that despite the weariness seeping into his bones, he wasn't entirely alone. The warmth from the tunic draped carefully over his shoulders was a small comfort, like a fleeting whisper of kindness in the cold, even if he didn’t possess the strength to do anything with it. The fabric felt heavy, but in that moment, it was a weight he welcomed. - His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, each one a struggle against the ever-present pull of darkness. His chest felt tight, as if the very air had become too thick to draw in properly. The last remnants of his energy were slipping away, flowing out of him like water through a sieve, and his mind was growing foggy. His body screamed for rest, for release, but his thoughts—sharp and unyielding—refused to quiet, stubbornly clinging to the events of the past few hours. - Lucius’s hand in his hair felt like a quiet lullaby, slow and rhythmic, a soft promise of comfort amidst the chaos that had so recently consumed them both. The sensation of Lucius’s fingers weaving through his tangled locks was unexpectedly soothing, as if the delicate touch were erasing the jagged edges of his thoughts. Each gentle tug at the knots in his hair, though small, sent ripples of relief through his otherwise aching body. It was a tender kindness, an unspoken care that allowed Feo to let go, just a little, of the vigilance that had gripped him for so long. He let himself lean into the moment, allowed his body to surrender just a fraction more to the embrace of the train’s gentle rocking. - His tired eyes fluttered, never fully closing, always hovering on the brink of unconsciousness. The weight of the exhaustion was immense, but Lucius’s presence, his touch, was like a thin thread of safety, offering a brief glimpse of what it might feel like to be whole again. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Feo allowed himself to feel a flicker of security, a fragile sense of peace that, despite everything, still lingered somewhere deep inside him. - But there was no escaping the sharpness of the thoughts that gnawed at the edges of his mind, relentless in their pursuit. The recent hours had been a whirlwind of chaos, violence, and confusion. His body had been tested beyond its limits, drained of magic and strength, but his mind was still too alert, still too sharp. His thoughts refused to let go of the moments of chaos, of Atlas and the threat that had only just been narrowly avoided. He could still see the tension in Lucius’s eyes, the way his hands had trembled ever so slightly as he’d reached out to help Feo. There had been something in Lucius’s expression, something that Feo had caught fleetingly, a flicker of uncertainty that had rippled through him in the aftermath of the confrontation. It was as if Lucius himself had been shaken, the calm and composed exterior momentarily crumbling under the weight of the danger they’d faced. Feo’s exhausted mind could not fully process it, but the instinctive knowledge lingered. He could feel it in the air, in the very space between them. - Yet, despite the swirl of questions and emotions that threatened to overtake him, Feo remained still, focusing only on the sensation of Lucius’s hand moving through his hair. The quiet, steady thrum of the train beneath them was a constant, a soft rhythm that seemed to carry them away from the dangers they had just survived. - Unable to fight the overwhelming fatigue any longer, Feo shifted slightly, his movements slow and deliberate as he buried his face into the crook of Lucius’s shoulder. The warmth there was a balm to his aching form, and he pressed closer, the sensation of Lucius’s breath against his skin anchoring him to the present moment. He inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of him—something earthy, comforting—and it made him feel a fleeting sense of safety, like a long-forgotten memory returning to him. - His eyelids fluttered once more, the world spinning in a haze of comfort and exhaustion, and he could feel the weight of sleep pulling him deeper. As his body gave in, a soft, almost imperceptible whisper escaped his lips, so quiet it was barely audible. "Love you..." The words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything he had been too tired to say before. A final, fragile confession before his body surrendered completely. - His head grew heavy against Lucius’s shoulder, his breathing slowing as he drifted fully into unconsciousness, the last thought slipping away like smoke into the night. Lucius’s presence remained, steady and unwavering, as the train continued its journey, carrying them both into the quiet unknown. Feo, at last, was at peace, the world outside fading as he let the darkness claim him entirely. |
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Lightbringer
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Lucius swallowed back his own worry, which wasn't terribly hard to do. That was a habit he had spent ages perfecting. Push his needs and wants behind, focus on others. He could figure his own out at a different time and, luckily, Feo was too out of it to tell him not too. Which was absolutely perfect. "It's okay," Lucius whispered, noting each of the uneven breaths that shook the demigod's shoulders. There was a weight on his own shoulders, a reminder that he had to be far more careful than he had before. But that was a different thing. Lucius knew how mortals thought, how they reacted and everything. It was easy to have the upper hand there but he was reminded that mythological beings did follow those same subtle rulesets. They had a different style and set of rules and--if they had any--morals. That was something that Feo had far more experience with than he did. Feo grew up around the mythical beings but Lucius really hadn't. He'd... pester him for information later. The more he knew, the better it was. Not to mention the fact that Lucius now saw the need to be armed most--if not all--of the time. But that had been the closest that Lucius had ever been to really being harmed by another being. Sure, the feather picking prick back at the school but that was really nothing compared to the cold feeling of a blade against his throat. The feeling lingered, as if the blade had seared itself into his skin. But finally, the demigod had shifted his movement and sank down into his embrace. The young man let out a small and relieved noise, almost clutching Feo closer than before. But his entire chest froze at the two mumbled words. It was the words he had wanted to say so badly but hadn't--worried he would scare him away. But there, in the faded breath of the demigod sinking into sleep were the words he had held back on his tongue for a few hours. The weight of everything sank onto his shoulders again. The plan--he'd have to readjust... everything. It wasn't fair to Feo to just go along with what he had already planned--Lucius couldn't bear to put him through that heartbreak. He had planned to at least see if the Cestus would work. If it hadn't...? Go down in the blaze of glory or succeed. There was a reason for the order. But now? Now it was different. He had something more to hold onto, he had someone else holding onto him and Lucius couldn't bear to let that go. He had to adjust his plans--some of them at least. Lucius still was determined to head down into the underworld, get to the River Styx. Though it was less about becoming absolutely indestructible and much more about not letting Feo have to worry as much about him. After that, however, he'd need to adjust plans. That would mean headed back to the library to figure everything else out. And back to campus. |
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Neutral
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In the dream, Feo found himself standing in a vast, desolate wasteland—an endless stretch of cracked earth, where the horizon was swallowed by a sky that flickered with strange, violet storms. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur, and the wind carried a faint whisper of something that felt almost like a warning. The emptiness around him was suffocating, and yet, there was a familiar weight pressing down on his chest, as if the very land itself knew who he was and awaited his arrival. - He could feel it before he saw him—a presence, darker than the storm, looming at the edges of the barren landscape. His heart skipped a beat. And then, there he was. - Loki. - His father stood there, cloaked in shadows, his long, silver-black hair billowing like smoke in the wind. His eyes, cold and piercing, locked onto Feo’s with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. Loki’s smile, sharp and knowing, was something between a threat and an invitation, a twisted, familiar expression that Feo had seen countless times in his nightmares. - "Ah, Asrifeon," Loki’s voice echoed across the wasteland, low and smooth, like a serpent's hiss. "You’ve finally come to stand up for yourself. How long has it been? A lifetime? Perhaps two? Not that time means much to me." His eyes gleamed with mischief, and something darker lingered beneath the surface. "You’ve grown… or perhaps you’ve only become more like me. It’s hard to tell." - Feo’s chest tightened, a mixture of anger and sorrow swelling in him. This wasn’t a place of comfort; it was a stage for old wounds, the place where the past never truly left. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, but his voice felt weak, distant. - "Why did you leave me?" Feo finally managed, his voice rough but steady. His fists clenched at his sides, and he could feel the magic that lay dormant in his veins stirring, as if it too recognized the presence of its true parent. "Why did you abandon me, if I was ever even yours to begin with?" - Loki chuckled darkly, taking a step forward, the ground beneath his feet cracking with each movement. "Abandon you?" he mused, as if the very idea were absurd. "I gave you everything you needed, child. I gave you power, a destiny far beyond the reach of any mortal. And still, you think you were abandoned?" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "You were never meant for weakness. You were meant for greatness. You’ve always been mine." - The words struck Feo like a physical blow. He wanted to recoil, to run, but his feet were rooted to the spot, trapped in the gravity of the dream. He could feel the weight of his father’s gaze upon him, the pressure of those cold eyes like chains wrapping tighter around his chest. - "You’ve always been a disappointment," Loki continued, his voice softening, almost affectionate. "You never quite understood, did you? You never understood that I was preparing you for something greater. The world is yours, if you would only let go of this pathetic attachment to—" He gestured vaguely toward the landscape, toward the distant memory of warmth and safety Feo had clung to all these years, to the golden-haired, bright blue eyed Asgardian boy, drenched in blood and withered by famine. "—to those who will only hold you back." - Feo’s breath hitched, the sharp sting of betrayal piercing through him. His father’s words twisted in his mind, each syllable a cruel reminder of everything Feo had never asked for. "No," he whispered fiercely, though the words felt small in the vast emptiness. "I don’t need your greatness. I don’t need you. I’ve already found my own path." - Loki’s laughter rang out, a hollow sound that echoed through the barren land. "Your own path?" he mocked. "You think you can escape me? You think you can escape your blood?" His figure seemed to grow taller, more imposing, as if the very air around him bent to his will. "You are nothing without me, Asrifeon. You will always be a part of me." - The wind howled, swirling around them both, and Feo felt the magic within him surge, uncontrollable, responding to the raw presence of his father. His heart pounded in his chest, but this time, it wasn’t fear he felt. It was defiance. - "You’re wrong," Feo said, his voice gaining strength, a spark of clarity burning through the fog of the dream. "I don’t need your magic. I don’t need your darkness. I’m my own person. And I will never be your puppet again." - For a moment, there was silence. The storm seemed to quiet, the winds stilling as if the world itself was holding its breath. Loki’s face darkened, and his eyes flickered with something close to rage. But it was fleeting, vanishing as quickly as it came. "You are foolish, boy," he spat, his voice low and venomous. "But I will give you this… a glimpse of what you’ll never truly understand." - Before Feo could respond, the dream began to unravel, the edges of the wasteland disintegrating into a blur of shadows and light. His father’s form faded, his presence becoming a distant echo that was slowly drowned by the weight of Feo’s own resolve. - As the dream collapsed, Feo woke with a start, his breath ragged, his chest heaving as though he had just fought an invisible battle. The remnants of the dream clung to him, but they faded in the waking light, leaving only the quiet pulse of his own heartbeat and the lingering echo of his defiance. He wasn’t his father. He was his own person. And no matter what Loki said or how he tried to manipulate him, Feo would never be his puppet again. |
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Lightbringer
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How did one become more than what they had been set to become? Lucius rested his head against the wall of the train car, looking up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. This plan, this... renewal of everything was now starting to feel like the plan of someone who was supposed to actually be smart. Lucius wasn't anything close to that. It had been proven time and time again--it had been more than proven with the incident with Atlas. A smart demigod, like Feo, would've figured that out early on. Lucius walked right into it. But would he have walked into it if Feo didn't have the gold on him? There would've been a shift, a change in the air right? Or did Lucius need to add something more to his plan? Those were the deeper questions that tangled up in his head and his chest. He couldn't cast spells, he didn't have any fancy shifting abilities or illusionary skills like other demigods. He only had the wings. Which, granted, they were a blessing of sorts. But at the same time, they also provided a sense of fragility. If the gods did choose violence, Lucius had no real way of fighting back. It was a toothpick attempting to take on a tree. That was the issue. But the other part was that Feo was there and Lucius felt his heart twist in his chest. He had to have a plan that would keep Feo safe--as safe as he physically could be. Lucius let out a small sigh, shaking his head. Zephyrus had no fancy weaponry, nothing fancy in items--aside from the wind bag that Odysseus had so kindly destroyed--he was a mere minor god and Lucius was lower than the rest of everybody else because the only thing he had gotten from his godly parent was wings. And now he was hiding them. A small burst of frustration welled up in his chest at the thought. A lot of good that did him! What was he supposed to do with wings? Fly? That was a lot of good when he couldn't take anyone with him, he could just toddle around them. His lips pulled into a rather sour frown as he tried to piece through a better plan. Styx, yes. After that? Then what. Find a god? Not that it was hard but he needed to test and see if the Cestus even worked. If it didn't? Then what. How was he supposed to get out of that situation? Probably claim it was for a school project for the library. That they didn't have accurate information on certain godly items. But if that didn't work? Well, that would probably be the end of him and his little escapade. He'd be back to campus, under watch and probably far away from Feo. That hurt. That thought really hurt actually. It had Lucius wincing even as he shook the thought from his mind. But it clung on like slime. And if Loki came for them--that was less of an if and far more of a when--Lucius had to just hope that they made it to Styx before then. But it wasn't like the god knew where they were, right? He was stuck in the cave and Feo had gotten rid of that little spying golden snake. Lucius knew what that little thing was, it was a babysitter from Loki so he could keep an eye on him. Besides, Loki wouldn't be coming to Kansas of all places and even if he did, they were headed to a private collection full of mythical artifacts. Some of which, Lucius knew what they did. Others? Who knew. Lucius startled slightly as Feo seemed to jump awake, looking down for a moment. "It's okay, I'm still here, we're still here, it's been... uh... y'know we're probably getting close--" he paused to take in a breath, "are you okay?" |
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Neutral
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Feo sat upright in a jolt, his chest heaving as the weight of the dream clung to him like damp, suffocating fog. His hands trembled as he pushed his damp hair out of his face, heart racing like it was trying to break free from his ribs. For a moment, the room felt unreal, the shadows too deep, the distant creaks of the train too loud. His father’s voice still echoed in his ears, venomous and mocking, and Feo couldn’t shake the sharp edges of it from his mind. - Panic flickered in his chest like a flame desperate for air. He swallowed hard, trying to chase it back down. Slowly, he glanced to his side, where Lucius’s steady breathing was a quiet anchor against the storm still raging in Feo’s mind. Without thinking, Feo leaned back into him, letting his head rest lightly against Lucius’s shoulder. The solid warmth of his presence was grounding, the reminder of something tangible and safe. - Staring up at the ceiling, Feo tried to piece himself back together. He didn’t know if what he’d just experienced was some manifestation of his own fears—or something worse. Loki’s presence in the dream had felt *too* real, too visceral, for it to simply be his imagination. But he had no proof, and the thought of his father somehow slipping into his dreams left a sick knot of unease curling in his stomach. - “Gods, I hope it was just a nightmare,” he muttered to himself, the words too soft for anyone but him to hear. He sighed, letting the tension bleed from his body as best he could, even though his nerves remained taut as a bowstring. For a long, quiet moment, he just sat there, staring at the ceiling as the train rocked gently beneath them. - The train bumped slightly beneath him, just enough to pull Feo back to the present. Feo hesitated, his voice faltering for a second before he managed, “Yeah, I’m okay.” The words came out in a quiet mumble, not entirely convincing, but he wasn’t ready to say more. He closed his eyes, the exhaustion still tugging at him like a relentless tide. “Just… weird dreams,” he added, though the understatement left a bitter taste in his mouth. - When he opened his eyes again, they landed on Lucius. In the dim light of the train car, Lucius’s face was calm, his features softened by the shadows. There was a certain ease about him, even in sleep, that Feo envied—a steadiness that Feo desperately wished he could cling to. For a moment, he let himself admire him, taking in the quiet details: the curve of his jaw, the way his hair framed his face, the faint crease in his brow that remained even in rest. - But then, like a cruel snap of reality, the image shifted in Feo’s mind. He saw Lucius as he’d imagined the other before—frail and broken, drenched in blood. His stomach twisted violently, the sick, cold feeling clawing its way up his throat. He tore his gaze away, staring instead at the floor as the nausea washed over him. - He clenched his fists, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered like a poison, its grip unyielding. The idea of losing Lucius—of failing him, of being powerless to protect him—was unbearable. Feo exhaled shakily, closing his eyes again, as if he could force the nightmare back into the corners of his mind where it belonged. - He wished, more than anything, that he could slip into sleep without the fear of seeing Loki again. Without the fear of seeing Lucius hurt. Without the weight of his failures looming over him like a shadow he couldn’t escape. But for now, all he could do was stay here, in this fragile moment, and try to hold onto the warmth of Lucius beside him. |
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Lightbringer
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Lucius kept one arm around Feo, his own heart skipping a few beats as he sat upright and flurried around for a few moments before settling back against him. His arms tightened around Feo for a brief moment. Weird dreams. Somehow, Lucius knew that was a lie. But he didn't want to press on it. Not yet. It seemed more like a thing they could discuss behind closed doors and not on a train car in the middle of nowhere. Lucius tilted his head to the side, scanning Feo's features for a few moments. One hand lifted up, brushing a lock of dark hair out of his face. But the other looked down at the floor instead and Lucius sighed softly. Traveling was... okay. It wasn't his favorite thing to do, if he was being honest. At least not by rickety train car. He'd spent most of the time feeling slightly sick but not sick enough to actually feel bad enough to do anything. But he didn't really know how much of that was actually ... just the rush of being attacked. He wanted to help him, someway and somehow. His mind wandered, drifting toward the Egyptian spell-book he had read through. There was a thing, he vaguely remembered, about dreams and the soul leaving and whatnot. He'd have to search the library. Sure, it was a minor side-quest of sorts but it was one he didn't mind taking. It was going to be something that would hopefully help Feo get some meaningful sleep. Something he knew his newfound partner hadn't gotten in a while. There was exhaustion that lined his features, dulled the sparkle in his eyes and kept his hands slightly trembling. But it really depended on if Lucius could actually get the spell to work. If he wasn't naturally infused with whatever Egyptian magic there was, could it actually work? His mind adjusted, taking hold of another thing his mother used to have. A circular piece of wood with string and twine carefully crafted into a pattern and, on the bottom, a few feathers that hung down from the wood. It would hang up in a bedroom or something of the sort. Maybe, he could buy the supplies and on the flight home, work on it. "Y'know, a circle bed is much more comfortable than a square bed," Lucius broke the silence, deciding to ramble about whatever had come to mind first. "It allows more space for you to move around, gives you more room for comfortable sleeping and, my favorite, you can have a lot of pillows. You can't get that on a square one. Plus, as we've seen, you're more likely to fall off." A dreamcatcher. That was what it was called. Lucius took in a breath and let it out. "But I've been thinking about what to do if this whole thing doesn't work. Haven't really come up with anything too solid but, definitely, our next step is finding the River Styx." |
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Neutral
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Feo leaned into Lucius's touch as he brushed the stray lock of hair from his face, the gesture calming despite the restless storm still brewing in his chest. He listened to Lucius ramble, the familiar cadence of his voice grounding him in a way nothing else could. The topic of circle beds was unexpected, and a quiet huff of amusement escaped him as Lucius described the virtues of having extra space and too many pillows. For a moment, it was enough to keep Feo tethered, his mind soothed by the normalcy of the conversation. - But then Lucius’s tone shifted, just slightly. The casual thread of his rambling gave way to something more deliberate. - "…our next step is finding the River Styx." - The words hit Feo like a bucket of cold water. His breath caught in his throat, and the sick twisting in his stomach surged back to life, stronger than ever. His entire body stiffened, his mind reeling as the implications of that statement crashed over him. - “The River Styx?” Feo repeated, his voice sharper than he intended, tinged with disbelief and panic. His heart raced, the very name dredging up memories and fears he didn’t want to confront. The Styx wasn’t just a river; it was a boundary, a place of immense power and danger, a realm of the dead. It wasn’t somewhere you casually sought out, especially not without knowing exactly what you were doing—or what you were risking. - He sat upright, pulling away slightly to look at Lucius, his expression wide-eyed and full of unease. "Why are we even talking about that? Do you know how dangerous it is? What that place is?” His voice cracked, and he struggled to keep the panic at bay. “Lucius, people don’t just—cross the Styx. It’s not… it’s not just a river. It’s a passage. A boundary. You don’t go there unless you’re…" - His words trailed off, his throat tightening as he tried to put his thoughts into order. Images flickered through his mind—dark waters, cold and endless, whispers of lost souls swirling in the currents. He could almost feel the weight of it pressing on his chest, a suffocating reminder of the danger that lurked in such a place. His hands trembled slightly, and he clenched them into fists to steady himself. - Feo’s breath hitched as the weight of the conversation settled over him like a suffocating fog. His mind raced, fear and frustration tangling into a knot that he couldn’t untangle. Without thinking, his hand slipped instinctively to Lucius’s thigh, his fingers curling slightly, gripping just enough to anchor himself. - The warmth beneath his hand was grounding, and the steady presence of Lucius beside him was the only thing keeping him from completely spiraling. Feo’s grip tightened for a brief moment, not enough to hurt, but enough to communicate his desperation, his need for reassurance in the face of the storm brewing in his mind. He took another deep breath. - "You don’t just decide to walk into the underworld like it’s a park,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but no less tense. “That’s not a next step. That’s… that’s the kind of thing you do when you’re desperate. When you have no other options.” He shook his head, the panic giving way to something more resolute, a determination that pushed through his fear. “Tell me you’re not serious about this. That you have another plan. Please.” - His gaze searched Lucius’s face, hoping for reassurance, for some sign that this wasn’t as reckless as it sounded. But deep down, Feo already knew Lucius well enough to understand that when he set his mind to something, there was little that could dissuade him. And that terrified Feo more than he cared to admit. |
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Lightbringer
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Disbelief and panic. Sure, going out to find the Cestus hadn't gotten this kind of reaction. Rebellion against the gods, still hadn't gotten this kind of reaction but the mention of the River Styx... drew this sort of reaction. He looked back at Feo, watching the panic rise in his throat. Something about this had him wondering why--how--this was the reaction he was getting. "Yes, Styx," Lucius echoed gently. His eyebrows furrowed just slightly. "I--I know. Yes, I know what the River Styx is but I also know what it does. That--" He cut off and looked down at his hand around his thigh. It was more of a desperate hold than anything else. Something to keep him there, to not let go. Lucius frowned for a moment before looking up toward Feo again, the stubborn little frown in his expression. "I know--but... but this is the best and, honestly perhaps the easiest choice. If the gods don't decide to listen, I am not exactly built to take on anybody. That--I mean, I couldn't even really take you on if it came to it. Achilles? That was immortality--he was indestructible! I don't know of anything else, in a lot of mythologies, that can do that same thing," Lucius said quickly. "I... I get it now. You were right and now I'm trying to adjust to accept that... you can't always just trust everybody to do what you think they're going to do." Lucius took in a breath again and let it out, swallowing thickly. "I just ... I want to be prepared for whatever can go wrong. If they decide to fight back--if anyone decides to fight when I'm like this? I'm toast! You--you felt it, I weigh nothing. I--" he paused for a moment or two before shaking his head. Talking could only get him so far and he knew that. But now, with Feo's reaction, he was left trying to justify it rather than convince him. But, like Feo had said, he wasn't getting rid of him anytime soon. He had promised that he'd be coming along. But perhaps Lucius was pushing that boundary just a little bit. Perhaps a lot... bit. But he had no real other option, not that he knew of. The River Styx didn't go anywhere, nobody was really going to stop him and--it would be something else to help handle the gods themselves. It had been in his mind for a while but now he had a real solid reason to go. Or... at least he thought he did. But Feo's reaction had him inwardly second-guessing and outwardly... trying to justify it. |
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Winter 
Day 
