Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Castorice’s earliest memory is of trudging through the snow. Where she came from, how she got there, and why she was there, she hadn’t the slightest clue. Her mind was as hazy as the fog that surrounded her. Were it not for a handful of priests that stumbled upon her praying beneath a gravestone, Castorice would have froze to death without so much as knowing where she was. They took her into their city, hailed her as their Holy Maiden, and taught her the traditions of Aidonia.

Throughout that process, she managed to scrounge the empty shelves of her mind for scraps of knowledge about herself. Such as the name Castorice, for a start. She knew it to be her’s the way man can recognize his own reflection. It rolled smoothly off her tongue the first time she spoke it aloud as though she had done so thousands of times before. 

The second thing Castorice knew was her curse. She did not need to touch someone for the first time to recognize it for what it was. Something inside of her was keenly aware of it. Knew on an instinctual level that her touch would cause others to grow flowers from the bowels of their gut. That their roots would then drag that person into the River of Souls. 

The third and strangest tidbit of knowledge Castorice could recall is that she once had wings and a tail. Can feel how their weight is missing from her back. There is a hollow within her chest that doesn’t belong. A hole where something has been ripped out. Missing pieces to the puzzle that makes up Castorice. Somehow, by some means beyond her understanding, she knows that whatever was stolen from her is in the hands of Thanatos. 

Though her scales have been peeled off, the instincts tied to those parts of her still linger. Castorice prefers sleeping in a nest made of blankets rather than a bed. When she’s annoyed, she can feel the phantom sensation of a tail angrily whacking the ground. If an animal crosses her path and growls at her, she is compelled to growl back. When she sees gold-

The first time it happened was when her room was being cleaned. Castorice always stood beside the door while they did. Trying her best to stay out of their way and ignoring the guard who openly stared at her the whole time. One of the ladies was wearing a necklace that glitters when the light hits it at the right angle. 

Her feet were moving before Castorice was aware of what she was doing. The prickle against her back from the guard’s glare wasn’t enough to pull her from her daze. It was only when the lady gasped and dropped her broom that she realized. 

“Oh, dear Maiden, do you need something?” That girl whose hands trembled could barely be considered an adult. One who is far too young to attempt the arduous journey to the realm beyond Thanatos’s gate. 

“Your necklace…” Castorice lamely said. She had debated with herself whether or not to step back or stay rooted in place. It wasn’t her intention to make the girl uncomfortable, but all become locked in place when being stared down by Death.

“You like it?” That girl brought a trembling hand to her neck, gliding her fingers across the simple golden chain adorned with a blue gemstone. “My boyfriend gave it to me, so I couldn’t resist wearing it today.” 

“It’s pretty.” It truly is. There’s elegance to simplicity and the metal it was made from glitters in a way that made Castorice want to reach out. “Can I hold it?” The second the question left her lips, she stumbled back. “You don’t have to if you don’t-”

“Our Daughter of Styx is still a girl at heart.” She had laughed as she reached around to unhook the necklace. She set it down on a nearby table before retrieving the broom she had dropped. 

Castorice carefully skirted around her. When she took the necklace, she cradled it as if it would break if she was not careful. It hardly weighed a thing within her palms. The centerpiece is clearly the gemstone yet her attention was drawn to the chain itself. She did not know why, but it felt nice to rub her thumb against it. She wanted to lay her head against the necklace, nuzzle it with her cheek. 

Castorice set the necklace back down and scurried back to her original position. She stared at the wall beside her, refusing to glance over at the necklace. Focusing instead on the pinprick of the guard’s glare. Eventually they finished cleaning her room, the door was bolted shut behind them, and she was left in solitude.

It's customary to bury the dead with valuables. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, coins, and so on. By placing these things on the corpses they will have them during their journey through the River of Souls. Then if they happen to cross paths with one of Thanatos’s Titankin along the way, they can offer those riches to them. The Titankin will then ferry that soul on their back the rest of the way, or even allow them to speak to the living one last time if that soul would prefer. 

It is said that Thanatos harbors a particular fondness for gold. So much that it is sometimes used in rituals to curry their favor. The most pristine animal skulls are embedded with golden teeth to draw their attention. Though their nature remains ever fickle regardless. Some believe if it doesn’t work then that is because Thanatos is unsatisfied with the quality of those offerings. That is nothing more than speculation on their part. Yet Thanatos's fondness for gold is an undeniable fact. 

Thanks to this, it is often referred to as the metal of the dead in Aidonia’s texts. Each time Castorice presided over a ritual or a burial, she found herself wondering if that is why she felt compelled to claim those offers for herself. She didn’t, doing so would be disrespectful to the dead. But there were moments where she dragged the pads of her fingers across those glittering metals, earning an odd look from the priests. 

She hasn’t been able to find a concrete answer even long after Aidonia was swallowed by the snow. Becoming a necropolis that will forever live on in Castorice’s memories. Nowadays she wanders from city to city. Following Nikador's handiwork in order to help the dead find rest. 

There are too many corpses for her to try and bury them. The best Castorice can do is rearrange them so that they may lie together. Sew back on any severed limbs that had been thrown aside. For the ones that have been mutilated beyond recognition, she offers a prayer. 

Castorice isn’t at all worried whenever she lays down to rest. No animal would dare to get close to her, and any Titankin that have a strong enough willpower to resist her deathly aura will be at the front of the pack. The only thing left in these necropolis that can threaten her are the buildings that were damaged by the fighting. So Castorice can sleep on practically any surface she wants without fear. 

When she awakens it's because of the clatter of something being knocked over. The clang of it echoed loudly within the temple Castorice had taken refuge in. She lazily lifts her head from the altar. Her elongated ears twitch when they pick up a high pitched whine. 

“Ow… That really hurt.” A small girl with vibrant red hair is pushing herself back onto her feet. Her bangs cover one eye and her white dress which has been stained with dirt faintly glimmers with hints of gold. 

Castorice blinks and rubs her eyes. When she opens them again, that shimmer is gone. Had she imagined that? A lingering dredge of a dream she could not remember? Whatever the case, this is not a place that a kid should be. With the state the corpses of this city are in, it wasn’t left to ruin recently either. She looks far too healthy, clothes too nice, to have been wandering like the Holy Maiden has been. 

“Um…” Castorice also belatedly realizes that she’s never directly interacted with children. Some have partaken in the ceremonies she’s presided over but that’s it. “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly fine! Just wasn’t expecting you to give off such a scary feeling.” The girl dusts off her dress. Her knee has been scrapped red and raw. “Say, you’re Aidonia’s Holy Maiden, right?” 

Any and all thoughts flitting through Castorice’s head come to a screeching halt. Forgotten as new ones fill in the gaps they leave behind. Variations of what, hows, and why that further fray her already confused mind. 

This time when she looks at this child, it’s not through the eyes of an ordinary human. Within each life is a soul: The seedbeds from which Castorice’s flowers grow. This girl’s soul burns impossibly bright. Flush full of vitality and harboring a force to it that makes Castorice think of the eye of a storm. A safe haven in an otherwise turbulent land. There are also flecks of gold that cling to her yet they don’t seem to belong to the girl. Rather, it seems more like crumbs of another’s power that have stuck to her. 

“Who are you?” Castorice is such a fool that even Zagreus would take pity on her. Of course this is no ordinary child. She would be dead if she were. 

“Trianne, Holy Maiden of Janusopolis!” The girl straightens her back and raises her chin, standing proudly as she introduces herself. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time because we believe you’re one of the heroes foretold in the prophecy.” 

“What prophecy?” As Castorice asks, she can’t help but note the scratchiness to her own voice. How long has it been since she last spoke to a living person? Far too long.

“Huh? Even if Aidonia was isolated they still should’ve heard…” Trianne mumbles to herself. She stares down her fellow Holy Maiden, deep in thought. “By any chance, did your handlers keep you isolated and locked away too?” 

She may as well have punched Castorice in the gut with how those words take the breath out of her. She’d always been told that she needed to keep her distance from others because of her curse. That it was for everyone’s safety. That if the wrong people were to learn what she can do then they would hunt her down. Their words made sense so she never doubted them. It’s why even now she’s isolated herself from the living. Had she been lied to this whole time?

“A lot has been happening all across Amphoerous. We’ll explain everything to you.” Trianne offers a hand to her. A show of solace that she cannot reciprocate. “For now, why don’t you come back with us to Okhema? It's still standing strong and is way better than hanging out in these ruins.” 

“Would someone like me even be welcome there?” Yet doubts cling tight to Castorice. How does she know that this girl isn’t the one who is lying? There are plenty of stories like that, of evil wearing a mask of innocence to deceive the purehearted. 

“Don’t worry, if anyone has a problem with you then Agy and I will take care of it.” Trianne puffs out her chest. Standing on the tips of her toes to make herself look taller. “Trianne swears upon Janus to protect you!” 

Castorice doesn’t have any reason to trust her, but she has even less reasons to refuse. There is nothing to be gleaned from these necropolis that she hasn’t already put together. As much as she’d also like to fulfill her duty to help the restless spirits move on, there’s too many of them. Thanatos should have flooded the lands to bring them into the River of Souls centuries ago. The fact that they haven’t shows that all her failed attempts to reach out to them wasn’t due to a failure on her part. 

There is something wrong with the Titan who reigns over Death, something that is preventing them from fulfilling their duty. While Castorice is running out of options. The few she has left are of the “no turning back” variety, so she’d rather not try them. If there is anyone who can aid her in this predicament then it would be another Holy Maiden. Either directly or by acting as a middleman between Castorice and a different Titan. So she doesn’t truly have any choice but to accept the offer being presented to her.

The journey to reach Okhema is long. That proves to be more of a blessing than a burden. It gives Trianne plenty of time to explain the prophecy to Castorice and all the steps that have been taken so far to fulfill it. There is an otherworldly force infesting this world and not even the gods are immune to its corruption. To combat this, twelve heroes must rise up and take on the mantle of the Titans. They will take the Titan’s Coreflames into their bodies, ascend to godhood, and succeed where the old gods had failed.

…Is the heavily summarized gist of it. Trianne explains that so far Castorice is the only person she and her allies know of that could be compatible with the Coreflame of Death. Being told that almost makes her want to laugh. It’s the one thing that confuses her the most about what little understanding she has of her own existence: Why? Why had Thanatos cursed her so? What reason did they have to steal a part of her and leave her hollow? This prophecy could very well be the answer. 

It’s also not the only thing the two girls talk about. Neither had crossed paths with another Holy Maiden before. They speak of their duties, of the methods they would use to perform rituals. Laying all of it down to see where there is overlap and where there isn’t. 

(Neither Castorice nor Trianne bring up the locks that were on their doors. The shackles that would bind their feet. How suffocating the place that was supposed to be their home was. How violating it felt to be watched during every waking moment. They do not need to. Both can feel it whenever the other stumbles on their words and switches topics. Sense that shared unease when those memories reach too close to the surface.)

“Lady Trianne, there is one thing I’ve been trying to figure out that confuses me.” Castorice begins once they can spot Okhema’s walls in the distance. She feels if she doesn’t say this now then she never will. 

“Ask away! We’ll do our best to answer.” Trianne turns to walk backwards so that she can face her fellow Holy Maiden. 

“Your clothes, I can faintly smell the whiff of another’s power on them.” During their travels Castorice has discerned that golden shimmer she can spot must be some type of enchantment. 

“Oh, that must be Agy you’re smelling.” Trianne snickers at the other’s choice of words, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “She made this dress for us. I’m sure if you asked, she’d be more than happy to make one for you too.” 

If this Agy decides to add the same enchantment to them then Castorice will have to decline. She, with a great deal of embarrassment, doubts she’d be able to resist the temptation to smother her face into them. It's easy to deny that part of her base instincts when the gold belongs to someone else. Castorice doesn’t want to break this streak if she can help it. Because once she gives in for the first time, it will be so much easier to surrender to that impulse.  

Not that she’d dare confess any of that aloud, so Castorice simply nods in response. Which is enough to satisfy Trianne. The two speak no further as they make their way to the front gate, with the much smaller leading the charge. The guards happily welcome Trianne back into the city. When they see Castorice, they’re initially friendly. Yet the second she starts to pass them, they immediately become on guard. 

Castorice quickly walks past them to catch up with the small Holy Maiden. Keeping her head bowed low and her hands wound together against her front. They don’t stop her but she can feel their eyes tracking her every move. It’s familiar. There’s a different kind of intensity to their gaze than what she’s grown accustomed to. She will grow used to this one as well in due time. 

“Come on, Cas! Agy is waiting for us.” Trianne had ended up fairly far ahead in her excitement. Opting to use her wings rather than her legs in her excitement. “Then once we’re done talking with her I’ll show you around.” 

“Lady Trianne, can we…” Castorice stumbles on her words, biting her tongue and swallowing the lump that's forming in her throat. “It would be wise for us to avoid any crowded streets if we can.” 

“You alright?” Maybe it's her tone, or maybe it's her expression that makes Trianne return to the earth. She backtracks to stand just outside the range of Castorice’s ominous aura. “You look pale. Well, paler than before.” 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been around other people.” There aren’t many on this long, sloped road that leads to the city proper. Only guards stationed at various points and a caravan passing through. Yet that alone is enough to make Castorice uneasy. 

“Right, got it.” Trianne nods. The motion rustles her bangs, making her eye that had been covered by them slip out. Joining its twin in gazing up at the stiff Holy Maiden. “We know a way we can take that should be empty around this time.” 

She takes Castorice through what she describes as “the scenic route” which involves a lot of walking over roofs. From those heightened positions, she can get a general idea of Okhema’s layout. Trianne also points out the main facilities for her. The soldiers' garrisons, the main market, and so on. 

It’s bright. Kephale’s slumbering form provides light for Okhema, meaning that darkness never encroaches upon this fair city. A complete contrast to the rest of Amphoreus now that Aquila’s eyes remain eternally shut. Though even when the Sky Titan still blessed the world with cycles of day and night, Aidonia didn’t see much of it. Constantly besieged by snowstorms and fog as it was, darkness is Castorice’s home. So the light this city is bathed in is overwhelming. She has to squint to avoid being blinded by it.

The shimmering that flickers across her vision must be because of how unaccustomed she is to Kephale’s light. A trick of the eyes creating the illusion of a city dusted with gold. That’s all it is. Yet that part of her fighting to be let loose tries to claim otherwise. Castorice stomps on that tiny voice, banishing it into the deepest depths of her heart. 

The centerpiece of Okhema is easily the Marmoreal Palace. It's far grander than anything that was in Aidonia. The inside of it is somehow far more impressive than its exterior with its waterfall curtains. Trianne leads her through the side corridors that eventually opens up into a garden. It's occupied by small, four-legged creatures of various colors and- Oh.

Castorice feels the breath leave her body. Every part of her grows still and in that brief moment she feels as if she’s turned into a corpse. The only reason she knows she didn’t drop dead is because of how loudly her heart has begun hammering against her ribs. 

Beside the cusp of the horizon stands a woman who’s gazing out at the land below. Tall and possessing a figure that would make any man stop in their tracks to stare. Cloaked in a dress that perfectly accentuates each curve. Her hair is a vibrant shade of blonde that appears as if it were woven from gold. 

“Agy, we’re here!” Trianne fearlessly bounds up to her, completely oblivious to how her fellow Holy Maiden has become frozen in place. 

The golden woman turns and Castorice’s mouth goes dry. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the low cut of her dress. Specifically to the swirling mark on her sternum and how it stretches down the hill of her breast. It shimmers with a slightly metallic hue against her lightly tanned skin. That mark glitters as Kephale’s light shines down on her and Castorice wants nothing more than to nuzzle her face against it. 

“Welcome back Teacher.” Her voice is fine silk, caressing the ear with its gentle touch. The type of voice that could soothe the wariest of souls. A gentle lull that naturally pulls the listener in. “How was your journey this time?”

Castorice’s fingers dig painfully into her palms. Had she a tail still then it would be wagging. She can’t tell if her throat is actually rumbling with a pleased purr or if that is another phantom sensation tied to her missing half. If it’s the former then thank any Titan willing to listen that it's not actually audible. 

“Pretty calm. Saw a few groups of Titankin from afar that were mindlessly wandering and that’s about it.” Trianne’s words manage to briefly pull her attention away from this golden beauty. Only very briefly. 

“You must be exhausted after traveling so far.” Agy places a hand against her chest. Right over the mark against her breast that Castorice is trying so hard not to stare at. “Why don’t you head to the baths while I take care of our guest?” 

Hearing that, Castorice becomes extremely self-conscious of her current condition. She had tried her best to maintain her hygiene while wandering. Scavenging the ruins for soaps and toiletries and so on. However there’s only so much one can do when traveling between cities that have been left in such ruin that it’s a flip of a coin if their plumbing still works. 

“No can do. We promised Cas we’d help her get settled.” She barely hears Trianne’s response, more concerned with figuring out her own bearing. 

Looking down at herself, Castorice notes that her clothes have taken the worst of it. Frayed and torn in several places. Held together by messy stitching patched by inexperienced hands. The fabric colored by stains that she couldn’t completely scrub away. Simply put, she’s a complete and utter mess right now. Hardly worthy to stand in the streets, much less before such a graceful woman. 

“Cas! Don’t be shy and come say hi to Agy.” Her heart leaps into her throat when Trianne calls out to her. “We promise she’s really nice.” 

A feeling that’s made worse once Castorice realizes that Agy is looking at her. There’s a serene smile upon her lips, gentle and disarming. Nothing at all in her expression or body language gives way any sort of disgust. Somehow rather than calm Castorice, it makes her even more nervous. 

She bows her head and rubs her hands together, feeling the dirt and dried blood that’s painting her fingertips. There’s so much filth stuck under her nails that they look black. Castorice swallows, a thick lumb clogging her throat. It grows tighter as she crosses the garden. 

She stops exactly five paces away from Trianne and Agy. It is the closest people can get to her without their fight-or-flight instincts rousing. Different people are affected by the deathly aura she naturally exudes to different degrees. Those who are more weak-willed become stricken by an immense fear. They’ll flee if they can and lash out if they feel cornered. While those of stronger dispositions will tense up, growing anxious and paranoid at worse. There is no way to know for certain who is which until they are subjected to it. That and Castorice would prefer to not frighten this beautiful lady if she can help it. 

Raising her head, Castorice forces herself to meet Agy’s eyes and her eyes only. Now that she’s closer, she can see that they’re clouded over. With her irises so smudged that her pupils are barely visible through that haze. Unfocused in a way Castorice has often seen in the elderly whose sight had faded with their age. 

Seeing that helps subdue a little bit of Castorice’s self-consciousness. Even if this beautiful woman cannot see how grimy she is, the principle of greeting her for the first time in such a state still holds much weight. A proper lady shouldn’t be stained by dirt or the must of death. Aquilla above, she must smell awfull right now. Hopefully this distance is also enough to spare Agy’s nose. 

“Welcome to Okhema. I am Aglaea, dressmaker and representative of the Chrysos Heirs.” Ah, so that’s her actual name. The Holy Maiden had thought Agy sounded more like a nickname but couldn’t be sure. 

“Castorice of Aidonia.” Castorice somehow manages to keep her voice even. She pinches the edges of her robes and bows the way she was taught to when standing before royalty. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

“In truth it is long overdue.” A soft sigh, a subtle hint of annoyance, escapes Aglaea. “With how far Aidonia is from here, knowledge of it does not reach us easily. We only learned of your existance from your feats on the battlefield. Then when Teacher started planning to reach out to you, we heard of its fall to a Kremnoan detachment. We feared you had perished along with the rest of the city.” 

“Then how did you know to find me?” The passing of time has become a blur to Castorice, so she can’t say how long she’s been wandering. However with how many times she’s slept it must have been months at the very least. 

“That was thanks to a caravan you helped out.” Trianne is the one who answers. “They told Agy about the weird scythe wielding girl who’d saved them from the Black Tide, so we decided to check it out.” 

Right, Castorice does recall doing that. She saw those creatures of the Black Tide closing in on them. Those things fill her with a great sense of unease. Each time she has spotted them she has felt compelled to destroy them. Her baser instincts scream at her that they are unnatural and that they do not belong in this world. 

“Here I was worried about Teacher when you must be even more exhausted.” Aglaea clicks her tongue, that displeasure directed at herself. “Marmoreal Palace hosts a public bath that you can take advantage of while I arrange accommodations for you.” 

“That is- I appreciate the offer but it would be safer if I were to have a private space.” Even if the priests had lied to Castorice about how others would view her, the curse she carries is undeniably real. It takes prolonged contact for it to apply, so thankfully an accidental brush alone won’t kill someone. However it's still better to not place that risk onto others at all if she can help it. 

Her wording makes Aglaea purse her lips. Her cloudy eyes bore into Castorice. That unseeing gaze peels her apart layer by layer. She has to fight to keep from squirming beneath it. 

“In that case, you may stay in my abode until we can figure out something more permanent.” Then Aglaea’s expression returns to that serene, welcoming look. Witnessing that shift makes the Holy Maiden wonder if she simply walked into another cage by coming here.

“I couldn’t possibly impose.” Castorice takes a step back and averts her gaze. One half of her is frightened by the prospect. It doesn’t want her time in Okhema to play out exactly as it had in Aidonia. The other half is ecstatic over this opportunity to stick close to this woman who shines like gold. 

“You wouldn’t be. It’s my family’s estate that once housed dozens at a time, but now I am all that remains.” Aglaea reassures her. Misunderstanding what is making her hesitant to accept. “There is more than enough space to fit one more occupant.” 

“We live there too. So it’d make it easier for us to make sure you're settling in just fine.” Trianne tacks on. Perhaps she is worrying for nothing with how carefree her fellow Maiden has been. 

“Then I suppose I have no reason to refuse.” Castorice also muses that her fate was sealed the moment she agreed to come here. She bows her head and resigns herself to her fate. “Thank you.” 

Both Aglaea and Trianne beam at her acceptance, the latter more so than the former. They lead Castorice out from Marmoreal Palace to the place she will be staying for the foreseeable future. Trianne in particular excitedly rambles about all the fun things she wants to do with her fellow Holy Maiden. How there is much for her to see and learn and experience. 

Try as she might to listen and respond, Castorice finds her attention persistently drifting to Aglaea. Occasionally glancing at her, observing how the inner layers of her hair are a brighter shade than the outerlayer, and forcing herself to face forward when those cloudy eyes glance at her in turn. 

Castorice does not know how poor her sight is. It could be total blindness or it could be partial. The way Aglaea has been able to so accurately keep track of where she and Trianne are so far means the latter is more likely. She cannot see properly, so it’s likely accidental each time, yet whenever their eyes happen to meet Castorice feels her heart kick against her ribs. 

“Cas, you alright? Your face is turning red.” Trianne pauses her tirade about the various games that are popular among the children of this city. 

“It’s warmer than I’m used to.” Castorice rushes off her concern. It’s not a lie, it is warm here. The heat of Kephale’s light tingles against her skin. 

Aglaea says nothing but her lips stretch into an amused smile. For some reason that makes the heat simmering within her cheeks burn hotter. Something tells Castorice that no matter what happens from here on out, she is completely and utterly screwed. 

Chapter Text

There is a great deal that one can learn of a person’s character from their clothes alone. How a person dresses can reveal the way they wish to be perceived, what standards they aspire to, and the degree of care that they direct towards themselves. The fabric within Aglaea’s hands is rough, the type that prioritizes sturdiness over comfort. Thick to help ward off the cold climates that are said to besige Aidonia. She has no doubt that in those harsher lands practicality is far more valued than aesthetics. 

A choice that seems to have aided Castorice a great deal if the damage to her clothes is any indication. It’s easy to distinguish her stitching from the original maker. Crude patchwork yet for as messy as it appears, her handiwork did succeed in holding these abused fabrics together. The threads and the way they’re tied had held strong through the elements of the fallen lands. Even so, it’s better for Castorice’s health to burn this ratty thing and get her new clothes.

There is one detail in particular that catches Aglaea’s attention: A ribbon attached to the sleeve. It's made from a softer, more frail material than the rest. It’s the cleanest part of Castorice’s clothes, nearly untouched by her gallivanting through the fallen cities. While its frayed edges give Aglaea an estimation of its age. 

She knows better than to take the songs of bards at face value. Information that spreads through word-of-mouth is bound to be twisted. Details added and lost as it passes from one speaker to another. Yet that doesn’t mean they should be dismissed completely. Each of those tales began as true events, an incident witnessed and recounted by the original story teller that became distorted over time. It’s merely a matter of picking out the facts from between the falsehoods and exaggerations. 

There existed a great many of the snowy city where the worshipers of Thanatos gathered. Whispers of ritualistic sacrifices, death cults, and even necrophilia ran rampant. However the stories that had interested Aglaea the most were about the one who would defend Aidnonia’s walls from any and all attackers. A girl who had been touched by Death. A Maiden of War whose mere presence alone could make even the hardiest of warriors tuck their tail between their legs. 

Those tales spoke little of Castorice’s personality. Varying far too wildly depending on the speaker to be taken as fact. In some she was cold and unfeeling, in others she was wild and sadistic. Not a single one managed to come close to capturing how soft spoken Castorice actually is. Failed to convey the slight tremor to her voice. And yet, the overpowering musk of stale blood that clings to her clothes is unmistakable. 

Aglaea had thought it odd from the first time they learned of her existence, to the point where she didn’t believe that Castorice was real for a time. Holy Maidens are a commodity more valuable than the fattest of treasuries. They are a direct link between mankind and the divine. They can shake the very foundations of civilization with their words alone. So why did the ruling class of Aidonia send such a valuable pawn to the front lines? Were they in such dire straits that they would be willing to hand any who could hold one a spear? Or were they hoping Castorice would become a martyr? 

Aglaea doesn’t know and doubts she’ll ever find a concrete answer. What she can say with absolute certainty is this: Castorice is real and she has managed to survive both the destruction of Aidonia and wandering in solitude since its collapse. Which in turn gives some credence to the parts of those tales that describe her as a monster on the battlefield. 

That alone makes Castorice an invaluable ally. The Black Tide’s reach is stretching farther, the maddened Titankin are growing bolder. Both of their numbers are seemingly  infinite no matter how many of them are cut down. In contrast Okhema only has so many able bodied men at any given time. They’ve managed to staunch their numbers by taking in refugees and offering them citizenship in return for their service. However what they truly need to shift the balance of this stalemate are highly skilled individuals, not more bodies to throw at their impending doom in hopes of delaying it. 

Which is why Aglaea must ensure that Castorice is under her purview. Not as a soldier serving Okhema as a whole, or within the palms of the Council. The Goldweaver will be able to put her to better use far better than any of those haughty fools will. Plus keeping Castorice close will make it easier to observe her. 

Aglaea hands over the hazard that can barely be considered clothes over to a Garmentmaker. A second one brings in a bowl of water and soap so she can thoroughly scrub and clean her hands. By the time she starts drying them, she feels more than hears a presence approaching. 

“There are few things more satisfying than reclining in a bath after encountering trials and tribulations.” Aglaea calls out as they reach the archway that marks the entrance. She hears a foot scrape against the tiles, startled. She breathes out a low chuckle as she turns to face her quest. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“I think I would’ve enjoyed it more if the water weren’t so hot.” Castorice passes under the archway and doesn’t take a step further than that. 

“I would have expected someone who grew up in the snow lands to prefer warm baths.” Aglaea gestures for her to come closer, urging her with the flick of a finger.

“Ice water is difficult to heat, and the energy needed to do so is better put to use keeping the houses from freezing over.” At first Castorice doesn’t comply. Her tone is calmer, more aloof, then it had been earlier but her posture is stiffer. “I’m not used to it is all.” 

Aglaea says nothing. She simply stands there and waits, staring at the Holy Maiden the best one can when their sight works differently from everyone else. It’s always a flip of a coin whether or not she manages to properly meet the eyes of whoever she is speaking with. Sometimes her aim ends up slightly off, directed more towards their forehead or nose. 

Her silence does the trick. Castorice edges closer to her. She keeps her back perfectly straight and her head lowered. Each bend of her legs is awkward with how she attempts to keep her body as still as possible while walking. It’s forced and unnatural and Aglaea has to resist the urge to click her tongue. 

The Goldweaver subtly bends her fingers, pressing them against the invisible threads that form a web around the whole of Okhema. Attempting to get a clearer picture of this girl who has stopped two meters away from her. Castorice has bound her long hair into a ponytail and the clothes she’s borrowing are loose around her scrawny figure. Details that are noted down but aren’t what she’s looking for. There is little Aglaea can glean from how jarringly still she is. It feels more like she’s prodding at a corpse than a person. 

Aglaea takes a single step forward. It’s more so akin to pushing her leg forward than actually repositioning yet the reaction it gets is instant. Castorice jerks as if she had been slapped. A second, more proper step is taken. A sharp inhale this time alongside fingers rub against one another. Likewise the threads begin to buzz, reacting to her growing anxiety. 

“Don’t come any closer.” She thinks Castorice is trying to be intimidating when she says that. Yet it ends up coming across more timid with how her voice cracks. 

On her fourth step, Aglaea pauses. A chill begins to envelope her, a dreadful sensation that can’t be explained by a passing breeze. There’s an oppressive force looming over her. The oppressive air of standing before an apex predator. A bead of sweat drips down her neck as the noxious fragrance of flowers tickles her lungs. 

In that same breadth, the Coreflame within her chest stirs. The lingering dredges of Mnestia’s will rising to the surface. That biting chill scurries away under their touch. In its place a warmth spreads across the Goldweaver’s chest. The comfort of laying in bed after being gone from home for an age. Relief and exhaustion in equal measure pulsing within that flame. 

Those juxtaposing reactions between her humanity and her divinity leave Aglaea breathless. She brings a hand to her chest, feeling the way her heart is thumping erratically. Goosebumps have spread across her arms. Once Aglaea’s mind has caught up to what happened, she finds herself intrigued. No more than a second has passed yet that brief instant felt so much longer. 

Aglaea takes those muddied feelings, places them into a box, and sets them aside to be contemplated later. Right now she continues marching towards Castorice as if nothing is wrong. The Holy Maiden takes a step backwards for each one she takes forward, forcing the distance between them to remain fixed. 

Except the workshop is only so large. Eventually Castorice’s back meets a wall, unintentionally driving herself into a corner. All she can do is watch as Aglaea slams an arm against the wall beside her head. Their height difference allows the Goldweaver to completely envelope Castorice in her shadow. 

She waits and Castorice makes no move to slip free. She doesn’t take the clear opening Aglaea is leaving to her left. She doesn’t try to shove her back. All the Holy Maiden does is press her back firmly against the wall and tries to make herself as small as physically possible. 

It doesn’t make sense. Castorice is strong and capable. She has to be, otherwise she would have been killed ten times over even if only a quarter of the things Aglaea has heard are true. Yet instead of fighting back and standing up for herself, she is cowering beneath her. 

A golden thread slips out from the palm of Aglaea’s hand, one that’s thick enough to be visible to other people’s eyes. It lashes out and coils around Castorice’s wrists, binding her hands together. It also grants Aglaea a direct connection to her heart. A connection that goes both ways, but the Holy Maiden won’t know how to read the signs it gives her or that it can even do that. 

“Don’t- You mustn’t touch me.” The thread trembles from Castorice’s growing panic. Confirming that this isn’t some sort of act but her genuine reactions. “For your sake.” 

“What will happen if I do?” Aglaea keeps her tone even and low. The softness of her voice contrasts with the harshness of her actions. A mirror to how the two halves of her being have locked horns, one wanting to flee and the other finding comfort under this oppressive air. 

“You will die. Everything I touch dies.” The words fly so fast out of Castorice’s mouth that she ends up biting her tongue. The golden thread goes still. She is telling the truth. 

Suddenly it all makes sense. How such a small and demure girl could grow to be so feared throughout the lands. Any warrior would second guess raising their blade when facing down a foe who can kill with her touch alone. No assassin would knowingly take such a risk. While the only true danger she would’ve faced within the desecrated lands is hunger. 

“Is that why you are willing to join the Flame-Chase and claim Thanatos’s Coreflame?” Aglaea’s mind churns with possibility after possibility. Does this quirk of her’s work on the Titans as well or just humans? If Castorice knew then she would already be in possession of a Coreflame. 

“Yes.” A simple answer yet the thread jumps without either of them making a move. A single kick before going slack again. Not a lie but not the full truth either. 

That reaction has Aglaea clenching her teeth. It’s not so much the fact that Castorice harbors some sort of ulterior motive that bothers her, but the potential of whatever it is to do harm. It could be intentional harm, it could not be. Whichever the case it does not change what Aglaea must do. 

She must keep Castorice close. Both for her own sake and for all of their’s. It would be so easy for this girl to act as a living weapon. A lethal toxin that could poison the precarious balance that keeps Okhema standing. The Chrysos War has long concluded but there are certain circles that still carry the beliefs that started it. Aglaea has done her best to ensure any discrimination against the Chrysos Heirs is kept in the shadows, only whispered behind closed doors and never acted upon. Yet they still exist and are patiently waiting for a justification to call for action. 

The fact that Castorice is a Holy Maiden on top of being a Chrysos Heir paints a big enough target on her as is. But this ability or condition or curse or whatever one wants to call it means she’s also a powder keg. All it would take is one spark for it all to go up in flames. 

“I will allow you to stay and freely roam under two conditions: First, you mustn’t bring any harm to innocent civilians that are undeserving of it.” Aglaea starts, waiting for confirmation before continuing. This one should go without saying and that means the Holy Maiden’s response will be rather telling. 

“I never planned to. Whenever I do bring unnecessary harm to someone, it is not on purpose.” The thread remains still under Castorice’s declaration. A genuine oath with the divine as her witness. 

“The second is that you will obey my commands and mine alone.” Aglaea leans lower, her breath tickling the Holy Maiden. “If anyone else tries to order you to do something, then you will tell me immediately.” 

“I understand.” Castorice turns her head away, fingers twitching. She’s trying so hard to not squirm. The Goldweaver wonders if she’d start crying if she were to push any further. A far more appealing thought than it should be. “I will do whatever you ask of me in return for your help.” 

“Good girl.” The praise slips out of Aglaea as naturally as breathing. It’s an apology of sorts for causing the girl such stress. 

The thread binding them together grows warm. A whirlwind of emotions courses through it. Aglaea doesn’t need to be able to see to know that Castorice’s face must be painted a deep red right now. Seeing, or rather feeling her react so strongly amuses the Goldweaver immensely. 

She steps back before the poor girl becomes too overwhelmed. The thread wound around Castorice’s wrists retracts back into her skin. Was it unnecessarily cruel of Aglaea to threaten her like that? Perhaps, but establishing this hierarchy and drawing such clear boundaries right from the start will make things easier for them both in the long term. Trust is something that can and should be developed over time, rather than being freely handed out. That goes both ways.

As Aglaea walks away from her, turning her attention to the shelf on the opposite wall, Castorice slides down until she’s sitting on the floor. The Goldweaver allows her time to compose herself by checking her stock of fabric. Most of them Aglaea has learned to identify by their texture, but for the ones she hasn’t they’re all cleanly organized and labeled. She need only run the pads of her fingers along the words carved into each of the compartments. 

It seems she’s running low on reds and yellows. The batch of blue is also dwindling but not yet enough to be concerning. Still she may as well restock it alongside the other two whenever she gets the chance. White is what Aglaea usually uses the most, which is precisely why she makes sure to keep an overabundance of it. 

“What colors do you prefer to wear?” Aglaea calls out to the girl still caught in a stupor, making her jump.

“I… I have no strong preference.” Castorice scrambles back onto her feet. That stiff aloofness she’d spoken with earlier is gone and her shy inflection has returned. 

Is it that she truly doesn’t care, or that she was never given a choice in the matter? Handlers have a penchant for controlling every aspect of their Holy Maiden’s lives. The less autonomy you give someone, the less likely they are to rebel. Drip fed the crippling poison that is forced dependence until they know nothing else. 

“Do you have any sort of preferences? Such as your clothes being loose instead of form fitting.” Aglaea gently urges her. Even if her answer remains the same, the act of asking alone holds significance. “Anything at all and I will do my best to fulfill it.” 

During their scuffle, Castorice’s ponytail had become loose. She pulls it free and runs her fingers through her hair. Fussing with it before gathering it back up to tie it back up. While she does that, Aglaea moves over to where her tools are kept. Specifically to fetch a measuring tape, a piece of paper, and a pen.

“Something that covers my neck would be nice.” Is what Castorice eventually says. Her fingers curl into each other, palms clasping together. 

“A high collar then?” That’s not something Aglaea usually designs her work with. The climate around Okhema has always leaned towards being warm, with the colder seasons only providing a slight dip in temperature. Thanks to that, it's rather common for people to show off a lot of skin in these parts. 

“It can be similar to your clothes, or even a choker would suffice.” Feet shuffle as Castorice moves a little closer to the Goldweaver. “So long as my neck is covered.” 

“I see.” Curious but it’s not Aglaea’s place to question it. If that is what this girl wants then she will provide. “Is there anything you like aesthetically? And I mean anything.” 

“Butterflies. The patterns on their wings are pretty.” This answer is given quickly and without needing much thought. 

General ideas of what to make come easily to Aglaea. The exact details will need to be ironed out but she doesn’t need to so much as touch a needle to figure out the base designs. For the colors, she will seek the triplet’s council. Her teacher is good at feeling out what others like, even when they aren’t sure themselves. For now she places the items she gathered on a table and slides them to the opposite side of it, towards where Castorice is standing. 

“You’ll need to take your measurements yourself.” Aglaea explains. Then again, if her condition only applies to humans perhaps not. “Unless you’d prefer I call a Garmentmaker to help?” 

She is quickly learning that patience is a necessity when interacting with Castorice. It’s perfectly fine, there is no reason to rush her. Especially since the Goldweaver isn’t yet sure if her delayed responses are out of nervousness or because her mind works slowly. 

That ominous chill once again prickles Aglaea’s skin when Castorice steps closer. She takes the measuring tape. Yet instead of using it she simply stands there. Though the Goldweaver cannot see her facial features, she can feel the way her eyes bore into her. 

“Speak your mind. Whatever you have to say, I assure you it won’t upset me.” Curiosity plucks at Aglaea. What could be making her react like this? The threads lingering in the air between them are too thin to give her an answer.

“It’s just, and I don’t mean any offense by this, but would you even be able to read what I write down?” Castorice bumbles her way through her question. Her voice growing quieter with each word. 

Ah that’s what this is about. It’s been a while since anyone has questioned Aglaea about her sight, or lack thereof. Most people in Okhema are either aware of her unique way of perceiving the world, or brush off her ability to navigate despite her broken eyes as a quirk of becoming a Demigod. She folds her arms against the table, raising a palm up. Allowing another thread to slip free from her palm so that Castorice can see it. 

“These golden threads are a gift from Mnestia.” Aglaea makes the thread weave back and forth, swaying as though it were a serpent standing upright. “With them I can, in many ways, see far better than if my eyes worked. So you needn’t worry about that.” 

“Then, if I may also ask, how does the world look to you?” Castorice leans forward to get a better look at it. Her fingers press hard against the surface of the table. 

“Mostly as shapes and silhouettes. Except where you can only see what is in front of you, I can see everything that is around me at once.” It took Aglaea a long time to get used to this way of “seeing”. In the early days, she could barely walk straight without getting disoriented. “When I wish to perceive the finer details, these threads can overlay them and allow me to discern them that way.” 

The fact that the golden threads can be used in this way makes Aglaea wonder if Mnestia was also blind. If they wove these threads specifically to overcome that disability. A shame she didn’t know of this until after she’d already assimilated with their Coreflame. Otherwise she would have asked them. 

Across from her Castorice hums. With her curiosity sated, she proceeds to take her own measurements. Pausing after writing down each one to ask Aglaea what she should measure next. Once the Goldweaver is satisfied, the paper is slid back across the table to her. 

The golden threads trace the ink dotting the parchment. Matching their shape perfectly with the numbers and their respective labels that Castorice has noted down. Aglaea doesn’t need them to know what sort of figure she has, but having her exact measurements helps ensure that less adjustments will be needed. Although if Castorice is malnourished- and Aglaea is certain that she is- then it might be wise to make her clothes a tad loose. That way when she regains some weight, they won’t become restricting. 

“Your writing is neat. Do you have a formal education?” The lines are cleaner than most documents that are thrown Aglaea’s way. It makes it much easier for her to read it. 

“I am self taught in most subjects.” Castorice twirls one end of the measuring tape around her wrist before unfurling it again. She fiddles with it between her fingers. “Because of my curse I couldn’t play or interact with others normally. So I spent most of my time reading.” 

“Then I best warn you that Teacher will insist on giving you lessons.” On second thought, those triplets would’ve done so regardless. They do so enjoy taking care of others despite being stuck with the body and mentality of a child. 

Castorice offers no response. She continues to play with the measuring tape, eyes directed away from the Goldweaver. This too is fine. Aglaea sets the page down and turns to where her mannequins are standing at the ready. She scours through them, searching for one that roughly matches the Holy Maiden’s figure. 

“I’ll start by making some simple, everyday wear and you can tell me if there’s anything you’d like added or removed. A proper attire will take time for me to iron out.” Aglaea pauses, trying to recall her schedule for the foreseeable future. “Perhaps four weeks, give or take. It will depend on how much other affairs occupy my time.” 

“You really don’t need to go out of your way. Anything that I can easily move around in is fine.” A small clack reaches the Goldweaver’s ears, signifying that Castorice had put the measuring tape down. 

“Nonsense. A pretty girl such as yourself deserves beautiful garments to wear.” Aglaea bites down her laughter when Castorice snaps her head towards her. 

She does not need to be able to see to know that Castorice is beautiful. There is far more to beauty than what can be seen on the surface. Rot can rarely be seen at a glance and makes whatever it infects ugly no matter how flawless it may initially appear. This girl has so far been nothing but genuine. 

Aglaea’s Coreflame pulses as if agreeing with that sentiment. This too is further proof that Castorice is beautiful. Otherwise Mnestia’s will would not respond so positively to her. It’s odd. The only other times the Coreflame has reacted like this is in the presence of the other Demigods or before the Titans. Castorice is neither of those things, so why is it acting like this? 

A tugging sensation makes Aglaea freeze up. She keeps her back facing the Holy Maiden and clutches the mannequin in front of her. It makes no difference to her which way she is facing. She can still see how two of Castorice’s fingers had curled against her golden web. How they’re pulling it taut when they should be passing through it as though they weren’t there. 

Castorice straightens her fingers, relieving that thread of their pressure. Just when Aglaea is starting to question if that was a fluke, she pulls it again. This time the Goldweaver turns to face her. The second she does, Castorice startles and lets go

“Ah, I’m sorry.” She pulls her hand close to her chest, away from the thread, and bows her head. 

“You can see them?” Is all that Aglaea can get out in that moment. Her head is still reeling from what just happened. 

“If I concentrate, yes.” The confidence that Castorice had managed to build up is starting to retreat. She backs away, putting more distance between them. “It… Doing that is giving me a headache.” 

“Then it’s best you avoid doing that. It interferes with my ability to see as well.” A bold faced lie, but it could if she were to end up tugging them out of position. Aglaea had carefully placed each one so that there would be no gaps in her perception. 

“Sorry.” A meek apology slips out from Castorice’s lips. She somehow sounds more feeble than when she was cornered against the wall. 

“You didn’t know.” Aglaea attempts to calm her. She wouldn’t say she’s upset, merely startled. This has never happened before. 

Nor should it be possible. Not even the children who were once Tribios are unable to perceive her web. So it’s not because Castorice is a Holy Maiden. A Titan most likely could since these threads are a manifestation of Mnestia’s power. However that obviously isn’t what’s going on here. A girl whose touch can kill and is able to interfere with a Titan’s inate powers. Just what are you?

Aglaea’s heart resounds loudly in her chest. This time it's not because of that sense of impending death or the Coreflame acting up. Dare she say she’s afraid? No, it’s not unnerved her to that extent. Even if it were, she would not have become a Demigod if fear were enough to make her hesitate. This merely reinforces what Aglaea already knew. She must keep a close eye on Castorice. 

Chapter Text

Castorice despises violence, but that does not mean she has not partaken in it. To be more precise, Death follows her wherever she goes in every form that it can take. When Strife came knocking on Aidonia’s walls, as the city-state’s Holy Maiden she was both an asset and a target. To the people of her home, she was a guardian that would protect them from those blasphemous invaders. To their enemies, she was the most lethal weapon at Aidonia’s disposal. 

There are scars along her body that serve as proof of the battles she had fought, of the attempts made to take her life. Most of them have grown so faint against her pale skin that it’s difficult to notice them unless you’re truly looking. Castorice has the size and shape of each one memorized. A chip on her right shoulder from when she had bent forward so a sword would strike her back instead of her front. A clean puncture on her chest, three centimeters off from her heart, after she was caught by a bola and the stabber didn’t dare risk repositioning her before striking. Burns along her left leg caused by an explosive that was thrown over a wall of shields. Just to name a few.

Yet for as carefully as she has categorized each one, there is a single scar that Castorice does not know the origin of. A line no thicker than her pointer finger that circles around the entire width of her neck. Each time she looks at it in a mirror she is struck with the thought that her head had been cut clean off. But that’s impossible, if that were the case then she wouldn’t be alive. 

The scarring is too clean, too consistent to have been made by a rope. It's too thin to have been from a shackle either. Someone could have drawn the line around her neck with the point of a blade, but to do so without killing her would’ve required a care and precision that makes her skin crawl. 

What few explanations she can come up with that make sense sicken her to her stomach, so she tries not to think about it at all. It’s there, it doesn’t hurt or anything, she’s still alive, and whatever caused it is long gone. These are the only truths that actually matter. Anything else is just Castorice’s grim imagination acting up. 

With a sigh, she lowers her hand from her neck and turns away from the mirror. She takes a long strip of a cloth and wraps it around her throat. Tying it into a neat ribbon that hides this strange scar. The fabric of it is soft, clean. It should feel pleasant but this texture is so different from what Castorice is used to that it's jarring. Something similar could be said of the bed she’d been given. The mattress is soft and she sunk into it. That had bothered her, so she ended up ripping the sheets off and laying them out on the floor. The solidness of the ground was far more familiar, comforting even. 

Really the whole room she was given is different from what she’s grown used to. It’s simple, as it went unused before her arrival, but is immaculate. Cozy seems like a good way to describe it. Without a single crack marring its walls or a speck of dust to be found. 

In comparison, Castorice is an aged goblet marred by dents and chips. Even after thoroughly washing them, the insides of her nails are still dark. The pads of her fingers still bear a black tinge. There are patches where her skin is red, rubbed raw by her attempts at getting rid of the filth. By the time she had given up and stepped out of the water, that previously clear liquid had turned murky. That which had once been clean and pure tainted by Castorice, just like everything else is. 

With a groan, she slams her forehead against the mirror. If Castorice closes her eyes then she can pretend that the warmth prickling her skin is from a fireplace. Not from the light that Kephale’s Dawn Device emits. The mirror is no longer glass but a stone wall that’s been chilled by the blizzard brewing outside. 

Castorice’s ears twitch, tilting lower than usual. She turns her head to press her cheek against the mirror and pops a single eye open. Her gaze glides over to the open window that practically takes up an entire wall. It points out towards a cliff so there’s no fear of someone peeking in. And yet, just now she started sensing the thrum of life. A soul too strong for it to be a bird. No, this level of vitality is more akin to the volume that Aglaea and Trianne possess. 

Castorice stands up and she turns to fully face the window in time to see a head peek in from over the awning. Her lilac eyes meet crystal blue ones. The latter jolts, surprised, when the two lock together. A cat-like ear flicks and Castorice tilts her head in response. The intruder blinks before disappearing back over the awning. A moment later they swing into the room from above. Landing with a practiced grace and facing the Holy Maiden with a wicked grin that shows off the point of a fang. 

A woman that’s roughly the same height as her. Silvery hair spills out from her hood. It’s not as intense as with gold, but this shade can also stir Castorice’s inner instincts. Her fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and run through those soft looking locks. The flicker of movement helps distract her from that temptation. A long tail idly sways back and forth behind this mysterious woman. The sight of it makes the base of Castorice’s spine tingle. The muscles covering it twitch, trying to urge the tail that she no longer has to furl. 

“Got to say, I wasn’t expecting to find such a cute princess in this tower.” Her gaze flicker’s back up to the cat(?)-girl’s face. When their eyes meet again, she winks. “Need saving from any dragons?” 

Castorice clenches her teeth. The tips of her fangs poke against her gums. The twitching against her spine grows more intense. Only this time she can practically hear the sound her tail would have been making. A loud thwack with each flick, the impact of scales whipping against the ground echoing. Thwack, thwack, thwack. Maybe she’d have cracked the tiles with how hard it would’ve slammed against them. 

“Or maybe…” The strange girl taps her chin. She looks Castorice up and down, letting her gaze linger before snapping back up to meet her eyes. “A dragon princess needing saving from the dastardly heroes.” 

What? That was a joke, right? It had to be. No one knows what Castorice is deep down. Or rather no one should know. She’s kept these urges and phantom sensations close to her heart for most of her life. While the few she foolishly confessed them to in her childhood are all dead. 

“Who are you?” Castorice does her best to keep her surprise hidden. She’s not sure how good she is at controlling her expressions, but people have often described her as aloof. 

“Cipher, proud owner of the Thief Star’s Coreflame.” The woman- Cipher- bows, bending her waist deep and waving her arm out with an exaggerated flourish. 

Another Demigod. Trianne had mentioned that a third one is currently staying in Okhema. However from the way she had described Cipher's elusive nature, Castorice assumed it’d be a while before they actually meet. Regardless, Cipher’s status as a Demigod makes her another that she must show deference to. 

“Castorice.” So Castorice returns this cat-like woman’s bow with her own courtesy. Since she’s Zagreus’s heir, then her words must have been meant in jest. A joke that just so happened to hit the nail on the head. Nothing more.

“Cute and polite. I really hit the jackpot.” Cipher’s tail curls around one of her legs. The motion briefly drew the Holy Maiden’s eyes to her thigh. “Maybe I should steal you away. See if that golden hero scrambles to get her dragon back.” 

The mental image that pops into Castorice's head is amusing, to say the least. She pictures Cipher carrying a draconic princess in her arms bridal style. Shortly behind her is Aglaea chasing her down, garbed in a warrior’s attire and brandishing a sword. An impossible but amusing prospect. 

While thinking of that, Castorice ends up tilting her head down ever so slightly. In doing so she ends up noticing something about Cipher that had escaped her before. A small, tiny detail that once she spots she cannot help but focus on it. There’s a mole on her chest, high up and leaning towards Castorice’s right. Positioned just below the cut of her top. Small yet contrasts so much against her skin. 

“My eyes are up here, Princess.” At Cipher’s words, Castorice’s head snaps back up. The Demigod’s amusement is written so clearly across her features that seeing it in plain writing would make it less obvious. 

That's when it registers that she was blatantly and shamelessly staring at Cipher’s chest. Castrorice’s face explodes with heat. She tries to cover that growing red with her hands. Her mind unhelpfully supplying that Cipher is really pretty too, though in an almost handsome way. And that tail, it must feel nice to be wrapped under it. Oh dear, it's a chain reaction of increasingly indulgent thoughts that Castorice mustn’t wish for. Lest she harm an innocent person. 

“If it helps, I stare at Aglaea’s tits all the time.” Cipher attempts to reassure her with a snicker. Which has the exact opposite effect. 

Because now Castorice is thinking about both of them. Beautiful Demigods who carry themselves with a confidence that she could only dream of having. How lucky they must be to be able to walk among people and be looked upon with awe instead of dread. 

“Alright, I’ve decided.” The snap of Cipher’s fingers hook her out of her straying thoughts. The Holy Maiden makes a point to look at her face and only her face. “This phantom thief’s next great heist will be thus: Stealing a princess from a Goddess’s tower.” 

“Ah, that’s…” Castorice fumbles, words failing her. Her mind is completely jumbled between her lingering embarrassment, the fact that this Demigod wants to whisk her away, and wondering if this counts as being given an order. 

“No need to be so tense.” Cipher puts on a charming smile and steps closer with a sway to her hips. “I promise I take good care of my treasu-” 

The second she steps too close, she immediately jumps back. The fur of her tail puffs out and makes it double in size. Cipher’s ears are pinned back and her arms are wrapped defensively around herself. She looks about two seconds away from leaping back out the window. Once her mind catches up to her body’s actions, she blinks. 

“Huh, so that’s what all those tall tales about you meant.” Cipher lowers her arms and cautiously moves closer again. This time she doesn’t flinch back but her face twists with confusion and she places a hand over her heart. “Mind turning that off?” 

“This is the most I can suppress it.” Castorice explains in way of an apology. If there’s one benefit to this deathly aura she carries, it's that it reduces the risks of any accidents happening. “If you try to carry me away, then my curse will kill you.” 

She expects Cipher to back away from where she’s standing just past the point where people are unnerved by her presence. Instead she tilts her head, one ear flicking. Her gaze travels across the room. Whatever she finds, or rather doesn’t, makes her click her tongue. 

“I didn’t bring anything with me.” Cipher huffs, the tip of her tail snapping back and forth. “Sorry Princess, looks like we won’t be able to play today after all.” 

Castorice is at a complete loss. First Aglaea invades her personal space and barely reacts, and now Cipher is disappointed rather than appalled. Trianne didn’t react that strongly either outside of their initial meeting, but Castorice also hadn’t informed her of her curse. Does being a Demigod give all of them a higher resistance to it? That would make sense but even if true, it’s still a risk not worth taking. 

“I’d stay and chat instead but it’s only a matter of time before Aglaea realizes I’m here. In fact, I’ve already overstayed my welcome.” Then, as if to rattle her further, Cipher reaches into her shirt. Fingers slipping into the valley between her breasts. “Consider this a compensation fee.” 

With practiced grace, she pulls something out from her bra and then flicks it into the air. Castorice’s gaze cannot help but follow the glint of metal as it arcs towards the ceiling. Once it begins its descent down she snaps a hand out and manages to catch it. By the time Castorice sets her gaze straight again, Cipher is gone. The curtains rustling in the wake of her departure. 

The thing she had caught turns out to be a coin. Not a balance coin which is used as the common currency throughout most city-states, but it’s similar in size. Made entirely from gold and with the image of a grinning one-eyed cat carved onto its surface. 

Castorice runs her thumb against its surface, feeling the weight of it nestled within her palm. Her heart is thumping loudly and a pleased rumble is threatening to bellow from the depths of her throat. She tentatively lifts her open palm and nuzzles her cheek against the strange coin. It’s warm. It also carries a pleasant scent that reminds her of sandalwood burning in a fireplace. 

The coin is slammed down onto the nearest table with more force than necessary. Castorice quietly curses and smacks her own face. Scolding words buzz in her head, reminding her how improper it is to give into those instincts so readily and where that coin had been. 

With a glare, Castorice turns her attention to anywhere else. There are certain points throughout the room that her eyes naturally drift to. Lured by something that cannot be seen by the naked eye. By clawing at the crumbs of her missing half that remain and dredging them to the surface, she can see them. 

Threads that are a hair’s width stretch out, sparkling like the surface of a clear lake. Their golden hue helps her resist one temptation by bringing forth another. Makes Castorice want to gather them and entwine them around her body. But she mustn't. These are Aglaea’s threads. She had ordered Castorice to not pluck at them. Doing so would also probably disturb the Goldweaver. Or maybe not if she’s far away enough. A theory best left untested lest she invoke a Demigod’s wrath. 

As if summoned forth to dissuade her from temptation, a knock resounds against the door. Three clear, sharp taps. Castorice’s mind grows blank. The threads fade from her sight thanks to that slip of concentration. She stares, not making any move to approach it. This is how her others would warn her that they were entering. That way she could move away from the door if she happened to be lingering close to it. A precaution to ensure nobody would get hurt. 

“Castorice, may I enter?” The muffled but smooth voice that calls through the door is unmistakable. The Holy Maiden curls her fingers together upon hearing Aglaea. 

This time Castorice’t thoughts go into overdrive. She’s asking for permission to come inside? Why? No one has ever asked before. Whether it was the priests, her caretakers, or the guards. They just did after signaling to her that they were going to. 

“If you do not wish to be disturbed then I shall leave you be.” Her lack of an answer has Aglaea speaking up again. Retaining that smooth lull but tinged with- Dare she say?- disappointment. 

“Wait- That’s not-!” In her scramble to reply before she leaves. Castorice ends up biting her tongue. She brings her hands up to her mouth to suppress the small, pained sound that escapes her. Taking a deep breath to compose herself before straightening. “You may enter.” 

With her permission given, the door clicks open. Castorice once again finds her heart stuttering as she takes in Aglaea’s beauty. It’s not as hard of a gut punch the second time around, but it still leaves her breathless. Perfect, immaculate down to each individual strand of hair. Had Trianne introduced her as Mnestia then Castorice would not have thought to so much as question it. Though she would look even more beautiful within a field of flowers. 

“Good morning.” Aglaea greets her with a small yet blinding smile. It’s like being punched a second time. “Teacher insisted on making breakfast for us. They said it's their way of officially welcoming you.” 

“Oh, thank you.” Castorice dips her head to give a slight bow. It feels as if it's been an eternity since someone else has cooked for her. Not since she left Aidonia at the least. While her own attempts at cooking have been subpar at best. Edible and that’s about it. 

“It is they who are deserving of your thanks.” Aglaea turns back around, gesturing for the Holy Maiden to follow. “Come, they should be done soon.” 

Castorice gives her some time to walk ahead before following after. Except the Goldweaver apparently had different plans. The second she steps past the door, she almost flees back inside. Aglaea had simply stopped just outside of it, positioned so Castorice couldn’t see her until she stepped past that threshold. 

“Is something the matter?” Aglaea asks when she begins to shrink back. She moves closer to close the distance that the Daughter of Styx tries to create. 

“You should be more careful.” Castorice quickly glances back to make sure she’s not about to back into a wall again. Knowing better this time than to put herself in such a vulnerable position. “Staying too close to me is dangerous.” 

She does not think about how it felt to feel Aglaea’s warm breath against her skin. The weight of her presence looming so close. Nor does she think of those two affectionate words the Goldweaver had uttered before moving away. Casotirce does not think about it. Remembering does not make her heart beat hard and loud against her ribs. The heat burning her cheeks and ears is merely Kephale’s light. 

“Do you plan to hold my hand if we walk side-by-side?” Keeping a fixed distance from each other is the logical thing to do, yet Aglaea is having none of it. When the Holy Maiden shakes her head, she presses further. “Then I see no issue.” 

“I will take no offense to you wanting to keep a safe distance from me.” Castorice tells her because she can’t think of any other reason the Goldweaver would disregard the danger she’s putting herself in. 

“Castorice, walk beside me.” It’s not said with the soft, laid back tone Aglaea has maintained up to this point. Giving the Daughter of Styx a moment to process the order for what it is before turning. 

These Demigods are truly a complete enigma. Castorice decides it's not worth going back and forth on this more than they already have. She does not scramble to position herself beside the Goldweaver, and instead sticks slightly behind her. It's not what Aglaea had commanded but she allows that degree of defiance and doesn’t push any further. 

Aglaea leads the way through her home. Though calling it a home is rather generous. The architecture and layout of it makes it seem more like a temple that has been repurposed into the Goldweaver’s personal abode. Occupied only by the Flame-Chasing Chrysos Heirs and the Garmentmakers that fill in the role of servants. Even the dining room appeared to be built to comfortably fit two dozen people. 

As Aglaea suspected, the triplets are starting to set up the table as they approach it. Trinnon is the first to notice them, offering a silent greeting with a tip of her head. A gesture that Castorice returns. The young Holy Maiden’s more boisterous sibling is not so subtle. 

“Good morning!” Trianne hovers into the air so that she can properly greet them from across the table. “Did you sleep okay Cas?” 

“As well as someone can in a new place, I suppose.” Castorice had actually been awake for quite a while before Cipher appeared. It’s going to take her a while to get used to having a schedule again instead of sleeping and eating whenever she feels like it. 

“That’s good?” Trianne half states and half questions. Uncertain if she should take her fellow Holy Maiden’s answer as a positive one. “If there’s anything you need to make yourself more comfortable don’t hesitate to ask us.” 

“You have already done plenty as is. I couldn’t possibly ask for more.” Castorice can’t think of a single complaint. Not one that isn’t a result of Okhema’s natural surroundings and something she’ll just have to grow used to. 

“No need to hold yourself back Cas.” Tribbie, the third and final member of the red-headed triplets, pipes in. “We might have asked you to come here to help us full fill the Flame-Chase Journey, but we’d like to be friends too.” 

It's an innocent request, doubly so since it's coming from a child. They must have expressed that same desire to many before Castorice. Yet because they want it from her it’s different. She doesn’t have friends. The few that had tried to befriend her in the past had all inevitably been forced to stay away. Unable to withstand how Death lives within her shadow. Repulsed by the corpses that follow in her wake. It doesn’t matter if she is the one who lays them to rest or not, the Daughter of Styx is naturally drawn to where life sleeps. 

“I’m afraid it's too early to make any such promises.” But since this is a kid she’s dealing with, Castorice doesn’t want to outright refuse her. In time she will see that no good can come from getting close to her. 

“Perhaps it would make such a thing less daunting if we were to get the serious talks out of the way.” Aglaea claims one of the seats the tipletes had set down a plate before. She gestures to the one adjacent to her, urging Castorice to take it. “What can you tell us of Thanatos’s current status?” 

Castorice glances between it and the Goldweaver. Aglaea’s smile doesn’t wane at all but she can practically hear the words on the tip of her tongue: Are we going to have this argument again? 

“They’ve been unresponsive to any attempts to contact them since Nikador began to grow mad. Before then, they would commune with us priests via messengers and now…” Castorice takes the seat, throwing a wary glance towards the triplets. Their faces scrunch up when exposed to her aura but otherwise they remain composed.  “I haven’t been able to find any evidence of Thanatos stepping into the domain of the living. Rather to me, it’s likely that something is preventing them from being able to fulfill their duties.” 

“The Black Tide could be a culprit, or even Nikador. They have made their hostility towards the other Titans clear in their madness.” Aglaea muses aloud. She allows some of her displeasure to spread onto her expression. “It seems you don’t know how we can retrieve their Coreflame either.”

“It’s not as if Thanatos is the only Titan we’re stuck on what to do.” Tribbie points out, more so for Castorice’s sake than the others. “We know where Aquila is but have no way to reach them while they’re so high in the sky.” 

“We can try asking Cerces again the next time we visit the Grove. Maybe they’ll be less coy about Thanatos now that we’ve found Cas.” Trianne suggests. There’s no guarantee it will work but it's better than nothing. 

“It’s not time yet…” Trinnon mutters, her voice so quiet that it wouldn’t be audible if it weren’t for the contemplative silence that had settled over the table. 

“There’s that too. Sometimes fulfilling prophecies is waiting for the stars to align.” Tribbie nods along with her quiet sibling. As frustrating as it is, they are not the only players on this board. If there are no actions they can take then that means it's not their turn. 

“We’ll put the matter of Thanatos aside for now.” There’s no point in continuing this line of questioning. So Aglaea switches to a different matter that’s been on her mind. “Many stories have reached us of your feats on the battlefield, but are there any other skills you possess aside from killing?” 

“I can commune with any spirits that are trapped in this realm.” This particular ability Castorice possesses can be useful, but only in specific circumstances. She tries to think of something that has more general use. “I was in charge of handling burials and managing the morgue in Aidonia.” 

“Are you saying you would like to continue that work?” Aglaea asks for clarification. Wanting to make sure she is not misinterpreting the Holy Maiden’s statement.

“Yes, if it's not too much trouble.” Castorice doesn’t like hurting others, however tending to corpses is a different matter entirely. Ensuring those that are already dead can properly move onto the afterlife is the only way her curse can be used that doesn’t bring any harm. 

“I would say that covers all of our immediate concerns.” Satisfied, Aglaea leans further back into her chair and rests one arm over the other atop the table. “Unless there is anything you would like to ask us?” 

There is one thing that confuses Castorice about all of this. From her understanding, the whole purpose of the Flame-Chase Journey is to kill and replace the Titans. Yet there are some Titans who are in agreement with this. That part is a little more difficult to digest. Especially considering who one of the Titans in support is and who the woman beside her has taken the mantle of. 

“Would Cerces truly help the people that are responsible for their lover’s departure?” Castorice glances at the Goldweaver from the corner of her eye. 

“Mnestia was already dying before I came into the picture. A slow and prolonged death that we tried to help Cerces delay as much as possible.” There is no hesitation or pause within Aglaea’s answer. Almost as if she was waiting to be asked about that. “In the end, Mnestia decided there was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer and gave me their Coreflame.”

“Cerces was sad for a while afterwards, but it seems the two of them talked about it beforehand.” Tribbie adds once the Goldweaver is finished. “We’ve also all agreed to save Cerces, Oronyx, and Kephale’s Coreflames for last.” 

“None of us are happy about it, but we need all the Coreflames if the world is to be rid of the Black Tide for good.” Trianne explains and Trinnon nods beside her. 

“That’s the only question I had.” Castorice is a little curious what drove them to join the Flame-Chase, but that kind of question feels too personal to ask. So she keeps it to herself.

The food the triplets had cooked has grown lukewarm during their exchange. Even so, Castorice savors it. She could not hunt or gather food on her own. Her touch would rot any animals or fruits that hadn’t already been prepared by another’s hand. So all she could do was scavenge abandoned homes for stale bread. Praying that she could find pantries that weren’t infested with maggots. In comparison to those, this lukewarm oatmeal is the most luxurious feast. 

Her table mates chat between bites. Castorice makes no effort to participate in their conversations nor do they urge her to join in on them. It’s a comfortable kind of muted company. That is until the triplets decide that they must give her a proper tour of both this mansion and Okhema. Castorice barely manages to convince them to avoid guiding her directly through the main streets. 

“While you are playing with Teacher, I’ll relay your desire to the current head of the morgue.” Aglaea tells her after the triplets have scampered back into the kitchen with their dishes in hand, insisting that they wash them. “He’s been getting up in years and has been seeking a replacement, so I don’t imagine he’d oppose you inheriting his position.” 

“Thank you.” Uncertain of what else to say in response, Castorice bows her head. 

“It truly isn’t anything worth thanking me over.” Aglaea stands and begins to leave, presumably to do exactly as she said she would. Only to pause just shy of stepping out inot the hall. “Oh and if Cifera approaches you again, do remind her that she is always welcome to join us for meals.” 

At first, Castorice hasn’t the slightest idea what she’s talking about. It’s only after Aglaea’s footsteps have become a distant echo that she realizes she’s referring to Cipher. A weight drops in her stomach. 

The golden threads in her room- Since Castorice realized those are what made Okhema appear glittery upon her arrival, she didn’t think much of them. Assumed they were proactively placed to help the blind Goldweaver navigate with no issues. Just how far away can she “see” from? 

A gilded cage is still a cage in the end. This one is merely far better at hiding its nature then the last one Castorice was trapped in. One where the eyes constantly looming over her can blend in far more naturally with their surroundings. A rueful smile finds its way on her lips. Of course, she shouldn’t have expected anything else. Should have realized the moment Aglaea interrogated her. However the care she has shown afterward made Castorice think that maybe this time will be different. How foolish of her. These Demigods being more insouciant by it then her previous handlers doesn’t change this fact: One who walks alongside Death cannot live a normal life and is destined to be shackled. 

Chapter Text

In the wake of the threat of the Black Tide, it was agreed upon that Aglaea would be granted authority over Okhema’s affairs and managing the city. As both a Demigod and the one that the Chrysos Heirs have come to consider their leader, she was deemed most fit to guarantee their fair city’s safety. However that does not mean that she is the sole decision maker when it comes to major matters. It merely means that in times of emergency she is the de-facto king whose word is law until the crisis has been resolved. In times of peace, she holds no more or less power than any member of the Council of Elders. 

That was the arrangement that was mutually voted and agreed upon. One that Aglaea helped propose herself. At the time she had no desire for political power. She merely wished to be in a position where she could ensure the Chrysos War would not be reignited again and that they would be privy to Okhema’s resources to aid in the Flame-Chase Journey. Nothing more and nothing less. If Oronyx would allow it, then Aglaea would tell her past self to be more ambitious if for no other reason than to save herself some future headaches. 

When the time comes to propose and vote on decisions, the Council of Elders convenes in a grandiose amphitheater. Kephale’s dormant figure looms so close to it that even Aglaea’s stunted eyes feel the strain of their divine light piercing down on its occupants. This place had been dubbed the Demigod Council, but not out of respect for those who take on the arduous task of ascending. No, it has been turned into a mockery of them. An attempt to downplay the sacrifices they’ve made and restrict their influence in the name of cooperation. 

Most of the faces that hold seats in the Council have changed over the years, while a handful have remained the same. She knows each one by name, where each one prefers to sit in the stands. Can easily point out who among them have shaken her hand in good faith and which heads had turned the other way when Aglaea’s family was slaughtered before her not-yet blinded eyes. 

Yet for as much as she would love to tear theirs’ out as recompense, she cannot do that. It had taken a great deal of blood, sweat, and tears from herself and those that had been taken into Thanatos’s embrace to put an end to the Chrysos War. To convince Okhema that they are not the source of the blights corroding this world but its chance at salvation. If Aglaea were to raise her hand against any one of the Council members then all that good will she and the other Chrysos Heirs have managed to scrounge together would be lost to the winds.

Thus Aglaea sits among the stands with a polite smile tugging at her lips. Half listening to the inane drabble of a prominent merchant trying to argue for the reduction of taxes on warehouses or some similar nonsense. She admittedly hasn’t been paying much attention. A bad thing to do on her part as staying informed of who wants what change helps ensure she doesn’t end up playing sided. However her attention is currently being drawn to one of the pillars overlooking the amphitheater. Or more specifically, to the person that’s lounging atop it. 

Zagreus was many things while they roamed Amphoreus. A thief, a prankster, a nuisance, a harbinger of chaos, hated by all, and worshiped by none. A Titan without a single shrine to their name. Yet the one thing Zagreus was not is a fool. They knew how to toe the line just enough to avoid truly inciting the ire of their fellow Titans. Knew how many times they could poke the bear without waking it up and having its jaws snap around their neck. A trait shared by the Demigod that inherited their will. 

Cipher has always made sure to avoid getting tangled with the political side of the Flame-Chase. The Council of Elders is aware of her and has even hired her on the odd occasion, but it is up to her whether she accepts those requests or not. A blind eye is turned to the thefts she’s committed with half-hearted efforts that are purely for show being made to stop her. For if Cipher does not want to be caught, then no one would be able to so much as catch a glimpse of her tail. She knows this, the Council knows this, and Aglaea is all too aware of this. 

So then why is she here? It’s not like Cipher to be interested in these “boring arguments”, as she likes to call them. Any deals made between her and the Council are done behind closed doors. Done in ways that are meant to try to keep Aglaea from knowing about them. Not that they ever succeed. She also knows better than to draw attention to herself. Always keeping her head low enough to avoid becoming a target. 

Aglaea taps her fingers against her arm. Her attention flitting between the stage and the thief up above. If she could then she would slip away to confront Cipher, or send a Garmentmaker to do so in her stead. Alas her servants are forbidden from stepping foot onto these hallowed grounds. Which means all Aglaea can do is observe the thief’s movements from afar. 

Something that she can’t dedicate too much of her attention to. The standing Theoros is stepping forth, shooing away the current speaker. His mechanical form is a blur to Aglaea’s Coreflame fueled senses. A lone smudge between all the clear shapes that surround him. It makes it especially easy for her to track his every move. Lygus claps his hands together, signaling for all to quiet down. The clack of his mechanical hands rings through the Goldweaver’s ears like metal on metal.

“Thank you for such passionate words, but it's time we move onto our final topic for today.” His smooth yet artificial voice echoes clearly throughout the amphitheater. Lygus pauses to ensure he has everyone’s attention before resuming. “Lady Aglaea, if you would please step forth.” 

She begins to stand before he’s finished speaking, knowing full well what is coming next. All eyes stalk Aglaea as she steps around the benches and makes her way to the center of the amphitheater. Her head is held high and gait unbothered. The pressure of attention is as familiar to Aglaea as her own shadow. A companion that has walked alongside her since the day she was born, growing bigger as she did. Among the dozens of people in attendance, there is but a single pair of eyes that prickles against her skin. The unabashed gaze of a cat assessing potential prey. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Council, I trust you have all received and read my report. Thus I will not waste our time by repeating what I’ve already written.” Aglaea’s voice carries across the stands, unflinching. Tension begins to hum through her web. The collective wariness of each person around her. “Instead I am sure many of you have questions, and I shall answer them to the best of my ability.” 

“There is one glaring detail in your report that needs clarification.” One spectator does not hesitate to speak up. No doubt having been waiting for the opportunity to do so. “What did you mean when you wrote that girl can kill with her touch alone?”

“I meant exactly that. According to Castorice, she has been cursed by Thanatos.” A ripple passes through the crowd and Aglaea continues, knowing exactly what they want to ask next. “Any prolonged physical contact with her can be lethal. Gloves, gauntlets, blankets, and so on do nothing to hinder it. Though if you were to, say, poke her with a stick then you would be perfectly fine.” 

Whispers ripple throughout the stands. Back and forth mutterings of “how is that possible” reach the Goldweavers ears. With so many people speaking at once, it’s difficult to make out anything more specific than that. Aglaea allows them the time to vent out their impulsive reactions. 

Between it all, she flinches. Shoulders subtly jerking as a foreign sensation courses through her. The feeling of a band being pulled taut and then released, snapping against her skin. Just now one of her threads was plucked. It wasn’t the Garmentmakers trying to get her attention as they have other means of doing so. Which means that the culprit must have been Castorice. 

“In other words, that girl could kill innocent civilians by merely brushing shoulders with them?” But before the Goldweaver can connect her senses to that disturbed thread, her attention is forced back to the audience. 

“Not unless that person already has a foot in the River of Souls.” Another question Aglaea was anticipating, and something she made sure to clarify with Castorice before this meeting. “The time it takes her touch to become lethal varies. Those that are sick or elderly will succumb faster than the young and healthy. However neither are instantaneous so the likelihood of an accident is essentially nonexistent.” 

The Council talks among themselves once again, debating how trustworthy the Goldweaver’s assessment could be. In truth, Aglaea is confident that there is no situation in which an accidental death will occur due to Castorice’s curse. Not so long as she exudes that daunting aura. Ordinary people wouldn’t dare get close to her, not willingly. If someone does then it will be because of coercion or malicious intent. Something that can only be understood by experiencing it firsthand. 

“Lady Aglaea, I would like clarification on one thing.” One voice manages to speak out over all the others. Those attending quickly shush one another to let her get her question out.. “Am I correct to presume that all of this information comes from what Lady Castorice herself has said?”

“That is right. I tied my golden thread around her wrist while she explained to me how exactly her curse works.” Not that it was really needed. Castorice was extremely receptive to explaining how it works. To the point where Aglaea only actually needed to bring it up for her to go in depth about how it works. “All that I have relayed to you were her honest words.” 

“While there are no doubts about the golden thread’s capabilities, in the end they cannot discern false information if the person speaking genuinely believes their claims to be true.” That retort, while accurate, sounds far too smug for the Goldweaver’s liking. 

“Council Member Caenis, what exactly are you insinuating?” Aglaea attempts to throw a pointed look towards where her detractor is standing. 

“Aidonia was a far away land and her people were often spoken of for their cruelty. The likes of which even the Kremnoans were hesitant to face.” If there is one thing the Goldweaver will concede about Caenis, it’s that she’s a good public speaker. The way her voice carries, spoken with such unwavering confidence, makes it impossible to not listen. “How can we be certain that this supposed curse was not a lie they fabricated to strike fear in the hearts of their enemies? That they did not deceive their Holy Maiden into believing it?” 

A complete and utter nonsensical claim and they both know it. Aglaea tightens her jaw, debating the pros and cons of slicing off Caenis’s tongue. She has always been one of the more outspoken oppositions to the Flame-Chase and the Chrysos Heirs. Constantly priding herself on the strength of mankind while gorging on the scraps left by the Gods. A hyena that’s grown fat and arrogant because the lion it gets its scraps from doesn’t grace it with so much as a passing glance. 

“Dear Council, would it not be irresponsible of us to trust words alone when we can so easily verify the validity of these claims through more concrete ways?” Caenis’s declaration carries across the amphitheater and receives a resounding affirmation.

“Lady Caenis, might I presume you have a proposal in mind for how exactly to do that?” Lygus interrupts before Aglaea can respond. Which might be for the best if she were to be honest with herself. 

“Of course. In fact, I already made preparations ahead of time anticipating Lady Aglaea’s negligence.” Not the most eloquent attempt at goading someone that Caenis has made yet it does succeed in irking the Goldweaver. “We need only wait for them to arrive.”

Several choice words sit on the tip of Aglaea’s tongue. Each one less refined than the last. She isn’t necessarily angry. That is too strong of a word to describe the muted throb in her temple. Genuine anger is more akin to an inferno igniting in her chest, threatening to swallow her whole. Instead Aglaea is annoyed that she’s forced to play along with this hyena’s whims when she could be handling matters that are actually important. 

As Caenis had claimed, it doesn’t take long before a guard steps into the amphitheater announcing the arrival of an unplanned guest. Castorice tentatively steps past him after his incessant. She takes two steps into the open center before faltering. Her head turning to and fro, eyes no doubt scanning the many Council members seated at the stands. 

One of Castorice’s hands clasps tight around her opposite wrist. She keeps her head down as she stifly joins the Goldweaver at the center of the stage. Just like all the other times she’s gotten close, a chill washes over Aglaea. One that’s quickly brushed aside by her Coreflame responding to her presence. 

Surprised whispers stir up as their audience sets their sights on the supposed Maiden of War for the first time. Words of confusion and scoffs being passed around. Such a fierce title comes with certain expectations. Of a tall or at the very least muscular figure who holds her head high. Not a scrawny and timid girl who finds the ground very interesting. 

Above Cipher’s tail thumps against her perch. She presses a thumb to her lip, biting its long nail. The intensity of her gaze has heightened. Boring into the scene below her with uncharacteristic interest. 

“Castorice of Aidonia, the Council of Elders welcomes you to our fair city.” Lygus greets her on all of their behalf. Willfully ignoring the dozens of judgmental eyes surrounding them.

“Thank you. I am honored to have been granted such hospitality.” The Goldweaver wonders what sort of expression Castorice is making. Is it as flat and emotionless as her tone? 

“Please, no need to be so modest. A Holy Maiden such as yourself deserves an even grander welcome, but I digress.” Lygus chuckles quietly, clearing his throat before getting down to business. “Lady Aglaea has informed us of your… condition, shall we say.” 

“I have already told Lady Aglaea all I know about it.” Is the sharp and clipped response he gets. It’s completely different from the way Castorice has spoken up to this point. Bearing an underlying agitation that both worries and intrigues the Goldweaver. 

“Of that I have no doubt. However I’m sure you can understand that some members of the Council are skeptical.” Lygus gestures to those surrounding them with a shrug. “Quite frankly it sounds ridiculous with no proof to back it up.” 

Castorice says nothing to that, and Aglaea would be equally silent if she were in her position. There is only one way to provide tangible proof that her touch truly does kill. The Goldweaver doesn’t need to detect the second person being dragged to the center to know what Caenis has in mind. 

As the bound prisoner is dumped beside them, Aglaea considers reaching out with her golden threads. To subtly wrap one around Castorice’s leg in order to catch a glimpse of whatever is going through her head right now. 

Except Lygus is able to sense her threads, as his kind don’t “see” in the traditional sense either. Though where Aglaea’s sight is thanks to Mnestia’s divine power, Antikytherans perceive the world around them through the frequencies of souls. He rarely takes sides during debates and conflicts, only doing so when one is very clearly at fault. Preferring to act as a mere witness to these preceding so that he may document them as objectively as possible. Because of that, Aglaea can’t be certain he won’t perceive such an act as foul play. So she folds her arms behind her back and keeps her threads from breaching her skin. 

“Do as they want.” Aglaea utters, quiet enough for only Castorice and Lygus to hear. If this is her detractors' way of trying to get a rise out of her then they will be sorely disappointed. As pointless as this whole charade is, it’s equally simple to play along with. Hardly worth making a fuss in protest against. 

“May I know this man’s name and what crime he has committed first?” Castorice directs at nobody in particular. 

“That would be Ignatios, found guilty of murdering a couple and their child.” It’s Lygus who answers. Able to put a name to this criminal’s face quicker than the Goldweaver can. “He was slated to be executed in two days but there’s no harm in bumping it up to now.” 

“Thank you.” Castorice politely bows to the Theoros before turning her sole attention to the criminal. Taking slow, measured steps to approach him.

Ignatios jerks against his restraints, the muzzle wrapped around his face muffling his panicked words. He tries to crawl away from the Holy Maiden who reeks of death to no avail. His bindings don’t allow him to do any more than pathetically fall onto the ground. Castorice crouches beside him. For a moment she merely kneels there, meeting Ignatios’s gaze as he shakes his head. Time slows when she reaches out. A collective breath being sucked in when her palm comes to rest against his cheek. Cradling it as though she were trying to comfort him. 

The amphitheater grows silent, without so much as a single tick to be heard. Watching, waiting for the slightest of shift as Ignatios goes completely stiff. The only movement Aglaea can pick up in the area is the agitated flick of Cipher’s tail. Otherwise it's as if time has come to a stand still. 

Ignatio’s labored breathing gradually calms. The tension fades from his shoulders and his head goes slack under Castorice’s caress. Aglaea counts to seventeen before it happens. The criminal’s body convulses, an unnatural jerk that has him arching his back. In the next instant, Aglaea’s sight goes blank. Fizzling out and the golden threads only being able to perceive static. While the sweet, overpowering scent of flowers fills her nostrils. 

(It’s not the first time her sight has “glitched” out like this, for the lack of a better term. However those previous instances were caused by her teacher opening a Centary Gate or Cipher using her tricks. The pulse of another Titan’s divinity clashing with Mnestia’s threads. Once again Castorice manages to do something that by all rights only a Demigod can.)

Gasps resound around her. Someone screams, a few others gag. The interference that had tampered with Aglaea’s sight fades as quickly as it had appeared. What greets her once her sight clears is a garden. Flowers, leaves, and vines knotted together to form the shape of a person. Their roots dug deep into torn flesh and their petals dipped in a warm liquid. It’s almost beautiful in a grim way. A sculptor molded together from trash. Breathing new purpose into that which had been dirtying their city. 

“I believe that should serve as sufficient proof that Castorice’s curse is real.” Aglaea announces with a bored roll once the initial shock begins to die down. 

“Indeed. With this there is no room for doubt.” Lygus chuckles quietly. As usual she cannot read him at all. Unable to discern if he is genuinely pleased with this outcome or not. For all she knows he could’ve helped Caenis set this whole thing up. 

“Then if no one else wishes to speak up, let this mark the conclusion of this meeting.” Aglaea snaps at the still struggling crowd. Naturally she receives no objections. Even Caenis is left speechless. So much for her putting on this grand show. Truly a colossal waste of all of their time. 

“Before you go, about the body…” Lygus stops her before she can stomp out. Both of them staring down what is left of Ignatio. Ordinarily if an execution takes place here, a guard would be assigned to clean up the mess. However this was no ordinary execution and the corpse has been left in such an extraordinary state. 

“Point me to the morgue and I shall tend to him.” Castorice, perhaps recognizing their unspoken concerns, hooks her arms beneath the body and lifts it with surprising ease for someone of her size and build. Carrying what is left of Ignatios as though he were sleeping.

“I’ll guide you.” Aglaea was planning on showing her the way to the morgue after this anyways. So in a way Caenis did her a favor by saving her the trouble of having to call for the Holy Maiden. 

“I wish both of you ladies a wonderful evening.” Lygus politely waves them off. He can deal with whatever fit the Council throws when they’re done fighting with their gag reflexes. 

They both briefly return his farewell before making their way out of the amphitheater. Aglaea guides Castorice towards the lesser known paths and walkways of Dawncloud. Ones that are seldom used unless one is specifically trying to avoid being noticed. It’s best to avoid as many eyes as possible while transporting a corpse. The handful of guards they cannot initially startle when they spot Castorice and her cargo. Only to quickly relax after realizing that Aglaea is with her. 

The whole time Cipher stays within the Goldweaver’s peripherals. Close enough to be easily noticed, but maintaining enough distance to make it clear she has no intention of talking. That means Aglaea will have to deal with her later. Clarifying things with the stiff girl trailing behind her is a far more immediate concern. 

“When you plucked my thread, were you trying to send me a warning or asking for help?” One of the Holy Maiden’s feet scraps hard against the ground. Aglaea is almost surprised she doesn’t trip with how grating the sound of it is. 

“Both, I guess. They told me that you had summoned me but something about them seemed wrong.” Castorice adjusts her grip on her grisly bouquet. It must be a struggle for her to carry with how much larger that man is than her, yet she doesn’t show any sort of strain. Not in any of the ways the Goldweaver can discern at least. 

“Good girl.” Aglaea smiles at the surprised noise that slips out from the deathly Maiden’s lips. If she keeps responding so adorable to such praise then it will be difficult to resist showering her in it. “Your instinct was spot on. If I ever do call for you it will either be directly or through my Garmentmakers.” 

Castorice says nothing and the Goldweaver can easily imagine her chewing on her lip. Her fingers clench tighter against where they grip vines and matted flesh, nails squelching against the plants moist mulch. Her steps gradually slow until she stops walking completely. 

“Lady Aglaea, do you think…” Castorice starts but then shakes her head before she can finish that question.  Her shoulders bowing and shrinking back. “No, never mind. It’s a silly question.” 

“The only silly questions are the ones you already know the answer to.” Aglaea turns so that they are fully facing one another. “What is it?” 

“Do you think that Death can be beautiful?” Castorice’s words come out quickly. Dumped out before the last of her nerves can escape her.

A deceptively simple question. The weight of which sits heavy in Aglaea’s chest. She lets a golden thread slip out from her pinky. It reaches out and brushes against Castorice’s arm, gliding against her wrist. The feedback she receives from the small touch alone coils around Aglaea’s neck and threatens to suffocate her. A rush of self-loathing, the likes of which she has witnessed in another long ago. 

There was once a girl who stayed close to Aglaea’s side. A handmaid employed by her family and who managed to survive the attack on their estate. Maybe the culprits assumed she would bleed to death, maybe they wanted to leave behind a few survivors to send a message. Either way, that girl came out of that dreadful curtain-fall hour with her eyes gouged out and face mutilated beyond recognition. 

Even though that girl endured such a horrifying ordeal, even though she was the one who had been beaten and crippled, she comforted Aglaea in the aftermath. By all rights it should have been the other way around. However that girl was far stronger than the Goldweaver was at the time. Were it not for her gentle and patient encouragement than Aglaea isn’t confident she would’ve been able to crawl out from the sludge that is grief. She would not have touched a spindle again and would not have worked tirelessly to restore her family’s lost fortune. 

That girl was so strong and kind, but all anyone could see when they looked at her were her scars. Whether their pointed whispers were out of pity or disgust made no difference. It was all the same deep down. Nobody was willing to look beyond what they could discern with a glance. In their eyes that girl was nothing more than a frail and ugly maid unworthy of standing beside her immaculate master. 

Aglaea reaches out, hand hovering over the flowers. Castorice makes no protest nor any sort of move to back away. She takes that to mean they’re safe and drags the pad of a finger down the length of a petal. The blood coating it has begun to dry yet is still warm to the touch. 

“What type of flowers are these?” Aglaea examines it with her hand. Mapping out the shape and size of it, uncaring of the stains it leaves against her skin. 

“I don’t know. I’ve found some species that look similar but the number of petals and the color is wrong.” Confusion colors Castorice’s words, her questioning seemingly being left unanswered. 

“They’re beautiful.” She sucks in a sharp breath as Aglaea caresses her deadly garden. 

“Lady Aglaea, you shouldn’t dirty your hands like that.” That is what gets Castorice to back away, moving out of the Goldweaver’s reach. 

“My hands were already dirty.” They both know Aglaea doesn’t mean that in the literal sense. There is a very small part of her that mourns the innocent and optimistic person she used to be. However she did what needed to be done and will continue to do so until this world no longer needs her. 

“They don’t have to be soiled any further.” Castorice says with a desperation that catches the Goldweaver off guard. 

“Are you volunteering to serve as my personal executioner? Aglaea drops all of her prose and asks bluntly. It’s not the strangest offer she’s been given but it’s certainly high up on the list. 

“It’s the only thing I am good at, the only thing I can do that is worthy of praise.” Bitter vitriol drips out from Castorice’s lips. Repeating the words she had heard time and time again. “Death is abominable in the eyes of humans yet without it I am nothing.” 

A pit forms within Aglaea’s stomach at that. The Coreflame billows and flickers, its own distress making her’s more tightly knotted. Not at all helped by the pair of eyes she can feel boring into her back. She almost wishes Cipher would come out of hiding to help with this. Because for all the years Aglaea has spent surrounded by people, comforting others is something she struggles with. Whereas that flighty thief that can never stay in one place for long has a knack for whisking away people’s anxieties. 

Except Cipher is apparently more interested in seeing how Aglaea handles this. Watch her struggle to find the right thing to say. Any attempts to refute Castorice’s claim will be empty, shallow. She doesn’t know enough about this girl to provide ample proof of such. What she does know is that those hands can do more than take life away. 

“Would you be interested in learning how to weave?” Dabbling in crafts and art is a core tenant for the followers of Mnestia. It's a method through which they can embrace the thousand romances their Titan bestowed upon the world and share it with others. “I noticed you tried to mend your clothes. You have the basics down but lack the technical knowledge to make the stitching clean. I can help you with that.” 

“Aren’t you burdened with many responsibilities?” The Goldweaver knows many who would kill just to get their hands on her work, much less be taught by her, yet Castorice is too mindful to accept so easily. 

“I will make time for you.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, Aglaea realizes that alone is not satisfactory encouragement. She needs to make it clear that this will not burden her at all. “Weaving and dressmaking helps me relax. Providing you lessons will help give me another excuse to avoid overworking myself.” 

“...I would like that.” Which part exactly Castorice is referring to is difficult to say. Regardless it’s a yes and that’s all the Goldweaver wanted. 

Having something so innocuous to do will help Castorice grow more comfortable. These lessons will also be an excellent way for Aglaea to become more familiar with her. That way she will know how to better accommodate this timid Holy Maiden. 

Aglaea might demand loyalty and obedience from the other Chrysos Heirs as their makeshift leader, but the last thing she wants to do is take their independence. If there’s not some sort of emergency and it doesn’t endanger the rest of them in some way, then they are all free to do whatever they like. It’s why most of the Heirs have taken to staying in the Grove outside of her purview, and why she allows Cipher to come and go as she pleases. 

That flighty Demigod seems to have had enough of stalking them. One moment Cipher is still within her peripherals and the next she is not. Forming a temporary blur within Aglaea’s perception in the wake of her sudden departure. Whatever she was hoping to gain from this, the Goldweaver can only hope she has been left satisfied. 

Chapter Text

Aglaea had warned Castorice this would happen. A warning that she had foolishly taken for granted. Assumed that there was no way it could actually come to pass. How naive of her to ignore those words of caution. Had Castorice listened then she could’ve better prepared herself for the situation she has found herself in.

Three children have all but cornered the Holy Maiden with wide, pleading eyes and a stack of paper held between them. They explain that their role in the Flame-Chase is to serve as a guide. To help the other Chrysos Heirs and prospective Demigods find their fated path. To support them in their endeavours and offer them all the tools and wisdom they need to do what must be done. Naturally this includes ensuring that each of them is properly educated. 

Castorice personally considers it unnecessary in her case. She knows how to read, to write, the rules of math, and knows the general history of Amphoreus. The only subject she can think of on the top of her head that she’s lacking in would specifically be Okhema’s history. Which she can learn on her own so long as she has access to the right books. 

It’s not necessary but the way Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon are looking up at her make it difficult to say that aloud. Truly the most lethal weapon in all the lands is a child’s earnest desire to help another. She’s also admittedly curious to see what kind of teacher these children that Aglaea look up to as her mentors are. Thus the only option Castorice is left with is to accept. 

That is how she ended up in her current position: Sitting at a table within the Garden of Life. With a pen in hand and a packet filled with questions printed onto it. A quick skim through it shows how it’s neatly divided by subjects. While each section starts with simple, basic questions that progressively become more difficult with each one.

“This is just so we know what level you’re at, so don’t worry about scoring high or anything like that.” Tribbie reassures her after she flips back to the first page of it. 

“If you don’t know how to solve a problem then leave it blank.” Trianne tacks on with Trinnon nodding beside her. “And don’t rush either! There’s no time limit.” 

With those instructions given, the triplets leave Castorice to work in peace. Occupying themselves by helping tend to the plants, the little creatures she’s learned are called chimeras, and discussing matters with some of the scholars. Though peace isn’t exactly what Castorice feels as she scratches pen against parchment. It’s hard to focus while she can feel the not-so-subtle gazes that the scholars shoot her way. 

“Hey, isn’t that…” 

“The Demigods brought her here, so leave it.” 

“But even so, a servant of Death coming into the Garden of Life can only bring bad fortune.” 

“Rather than bad fortune it's more like an insult. What kind of madman do you have to be to worship Thanatos anyways? I’d sooner welcome a follower of Zagreus.” 

Castorice’s teeth grind against one another. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, noting the crisp scent of freshly watered grass. It should not surprise her to hear such things. Even in Aidonia there were certain places she was forbidden from going to. Nurseries and schools mostly, out of fear that her presence would bring Death to them. At least back in her hometown they were polite about it. Explaining that it wasn’t necessarily her fault but simply a consequence of her curse. 

“Where’d my teleslate go?” 

“Did you put it down somewhere and forget again? I’ll call it and- Wait, mine's gone too.” 

When their attention begins to drift elsewhere, she can bring herself to relax a little. If Castorice still had her wings she would have flown back into her room in a heartbeat. Alas, this part of Marmoral Palace seems to be one of the least crowded sections of it. She prays that Georios would open up the earth beneath her feet and whisk her away. 

Such despairing thoughts are easier to ignore while having something to challenge her brain. Castorice finds that the work packet is significantly more in depth then she initially assumed. It makes her wonder how long the triplets had spent on it and if they had made this just for her or if they give this test to every Chrysos Heir they take under their wings. 

Castorice manages to finish the first section when another distraction decides to pull her attention away. Except this time instead of judgmental stares or words, it’s in the form of a flash of color flitting into the corner of her vision. A blur of gold that has her head snapping up. Small, rounded wings flap as they approach. Their golden scales glittering so vividly that they could rival Kephale’s Dawn Device. 

The Holy Maiden who brings death to all that she touches gasps when that butterfly fearlessly lands on the back of her palm. Her breath catches in her throat. She waits and waits for its brilliance to dull. For that small body to lose its strength and collapse. Yet its color remains steadfast and its stick-like feet tickle as they tap her skin. 

Thanatos?

Castorice’s ears rise higher when that small, airy voice passes through them. The butterfly’s wings flutter. Its proboscis pokes at her hand. After a moment it takes to the air again. Repositioning to rest against the valley of her nose instead. She has to cross her eyes to continue staring at it. 

Not Thanatos, but smells similar… Weird! Weird!

This is not a butterfly, it’s just something that looks like one. When Castorice reaches inside of herself and drags the dredges of her inhuman half to the surface, she can feel how this “butterfly” is filled to the brim with divinity. In a way it's similar to the sensation that the Garmentmakers give off but somehow purer? Nor can she detect any life thrumming within it. Weird indeed. 

The sound of a click makes Castorice blink. She turns to see Tribbie standing on the other side of the table, her teleslate raised. Revealing a sheepish smile when she lowers it that’s contrasted by the excited glimmer lighting up her eyes. 

“Sorry, we couldn’t resist.” Tribbie giggles at the disgruntled look on her face. Both from the butterfly tickling her nose and having her picture taken. “It’s rare for this type of nymph to approach someone.” 

A nymph, so it’s one of Mnestia’s Titankin. That would explain the divinity Castorice can feel from it. Whereas others were molded from clay or bones, Mnestia’s are said to be woven from their threads. Making their appearance far more delicate than their larger and bulkier counterparts. 

Castorice urges the nymph onto her finger. Even though it's not an actual butterfly, she handles it with the care of one. She has crushed plenty of Nikador’s kin under her claw and would rather not risk harming this one. The nymph steps onto her awaiting finger and allows her to study it. Thinking back to the texts she’s read about Mnestia’s Titankin, if she remembers correctly then the ones that resemble golden butterflies are-

“O’ Death, release thy grip on me. My heart is hollow, my regrets true, in solitude I weep. Thy tender embrace cannot melt this ice that has encased me.” As Castorice recites those words, the nymph flaps its wings. It hums, matching her chant. “O’ Death, let thy garden remain free of my sorrow.” 

O’ Death, where hast thou gone? The world weeps gold in your absence. 

“Is that from an Aidonian scripture?” Tribbie crosses her arms over the edge of the table, intrigued. It’s always interesting to hear the myths the other city-states have recorded. 

“It’s a passage about those who have passed with an unfulfilled love. Thanatos would take pity on such souls, and send them to Mnestia.” The nymph takes to the sky. It circles between the two Holy Maidens. “The Chrysalis of Gold would encase them in a cocoon from which they would be reborn as butterflies and continue their pursuit of love by Mnestia’s side.” 

“If it’s to pursue an unfulfilled love, there’s not much they can do as butterflies.” When Tribbie stretches out an arm, the nymph lands on her fingertip. Greeting the small Demigod with a raspy lilt. 

“That’s the tragedy of it. Had they stayed in Thanatos’s embrace, then their love would one day cross the shores and join them in the Netherealm.” Whether or not that person would return their affections is a different matter entirely. Personally Castorice thinks the possibility of rejection is still leagues better than the alternative. “However since those souls chose to be reborn as Mnestia’s kin, all they can do is watch from afar. Never able to embrace their beloved.” 

It’s why those are the passages she hated reading the most, and also why they left the deepest impression on her. Hitting far too close to home. Reminding Castorice of why it's better to keep her distance from others, why she shouldn’t get attached. The key difference being those unfortunate souls ended up in that position as a consequence of their own decisions, while she was never given a choice. 

“You should bring this up to Agy, she loves discussing this kind of stuff.” Tribbie suggests with a hint of awe. She could easily picture herself spending hours listening to her fellow Holy Maiden discuss myths and theology. 

“Because it's about Mnestia?” Thinking about it, Castorice is also curious how Okhemans view and talk about Thanatos. Going off the way those researchers spoke earlier, she doesn’t imagine it’s in a good light. 

“That wasn’t what we meant, but that too.” The nymph decides it has had enough of listening to them and flutters off. They both watch it land on a nearby pillar. “Flowers and butterflies… It’s weird how these things represent both Mnestia and Thanatos.”

“Death and Romance often go hand-in-hand.” Ending a life by your own hands is not always done out of hatred. Depending on the circumstances, it can be considered an act of devotion. Sometimes in order to protect a life you must take another or sacrifice your own. “It is love that people are most willing to kill and die for. While the final thoughts of the departed will drift to their loved ones. Whether that be their family or their lover.” 

“You could say something similar about Death and Trickery, no?” Both of them jump slightly when they hear a third voice pipes in from above. Each syllable rolls off the speaker’s tongue, giving it a sultry edge. “Deceit, lies, and greed can all too easily turn fatal if the pieces are lined up right.”

Castorice’s head snaps up to one of the pillars holding up the banisters. Mischievous blue eyes stare back at her. Cipher sits with one leg dangling off the edge of her perch and the other crossed over her opposite knee. Her toothy grin making her look like a cat who had just swiped a fish from a vendor. She’s holding a rather familiar looking packet in her hands. Castorice glances down to find only the surface of the table in front of her. When did she- 

“Ciphy, don’t scare us like that!” Tribbie puffs her cheeks out and places her hands on her hips. “How long have you been there?” 

“Long enough to hear a pretty fun discussion.” Cipher hops down from her perch. Landing soundlessly beside the smaller Demigod and tossing the packet back to Castorice. 

She pulls her hood down, freeing her silvery hair from its confines. The back of it is quite frankly a tangled mess. With strands sticking up in every direction and an obvious knot. Yet instead of making Cipher look ridiculous it somehow adds to her charm. Emphasizing her handsome features and making her appear scandalously disheveled. Heat bellows within Castorice. She stomps down on that thought before it can finish taking shape. 

“If we’re talking about Titans having overlapping symbolism, Zagreus is represented by coins.” With a flick of her wrist, one such coin appears between two of Cipher’s fingers. It’s the same kind she gifted the Daughter of Styx before. “I’ve heard it’s tradition in Aidonia to place a coin in a corpse’s mouth before burying them.” 

“It doesn’t have to be a coin, that’s just the most common offering. Rings and necklaces suffice to pay the toll to cross the River of Souls as well.” It really depends on how generous their relatives are feeling, or how well off they are. Most of the burials Castorice personally presided over were for the rich so it usually ended up being jewelry. They were as much offerings to the dead as they were a way to show off. 

“I figured it was something like that but why put it inside their mouth?” Cipher flips the coin between her fingers. It’s a thoughtless gesture from someone who has done it hundreds of times before. 

It also draws Castorice’s eyes to it. The way Kephale’s light reflects off the coin as it moves makes her own fingers twitch. She also finds herself taking note of the thief’s nails. Specifically intrigued by how they’re painted a bright shade of yellow, nearly matching the glint of the coin. They’re also long and narrow in a way that mimics claws. Castorice wonders what they’d feel like dragging across her skin, how different the sensation would be from her own blunt nails. 

The coin stops, caught between a thumb and forefinger. It’s lifted higher and Castorice follows it to where Cipher presses its edge against her lips. They’re stretched wide, a fang catching on the lower one. When Castorice forces her gaze up to meet Cipher’s eyes, she almost wishes she hadn’t. Her pupils have narrowed into thin slits. Waiting, watching, hunting. 

“Most grave diggers won’t think to look there.” The table is suddenly very interesting. Carved from smooth marble and a little rough to the touch. It feels nice when Castorice drags her palm across it. “Even if they do, once rigor mortis has set in then the only way to pry open their jaws is to break them. By the time it wears off that soul should have already crossed over and paid the toll.” 

“Hm, that so?” Cipher’s words come out low, a faint rumble underlying them. It makes her throat feel tight and her chest hot. 

A slight shift of movement and a flash of red in the corner of her vision makes her want to curl in on herself. If Georios has any mercy then this is the moment to swallow her whole. To pull Castorice into the cool embrace of the earth, never to be seen from again. 

She dares to peek up. Seeing Cipher with a satisfied smile and a playful sway to her tail. Tribbie is glancing between the two of them, her brows scrunched together and eyes narrowed with suspicion. Trying to dissect this tension hanging between the two women. 

This stilted staring contest they’ve found themselves in is interrupted by something colliding with Cipher’s back. She stumbles forward, catching herself on the table, and tail puffing out. Small arms wrap around her neck and a head of red hair bumps against her silver. 

“Ciphy, stop bullying Cas!” Trianne clings to the back of the thief. Her angle is a bit awkward considering she had basically tackled her.

“I don’t bully people, I tease them. There’s a big difference.” Cipher reaches around to help keep the small Demigod steady as she straightens back up. She supports Trianne’s legs with her elbows, giving her a piggy-back ride. 

“So you say.” Trianne leans forward, further over Cipher’s shoulder. Positioning her body higher against the thief’s back and forcing her to bend to accommodate her. “Cas, if Cipher is ever being too mean then all you’ve got to do is scratch her chin and she’ll stop talking.” 

“Wait, hold on…” Cipher’s tail grows still and her ears tilt back, color starting to burn her cheeks a soft pink.

“Cas can’t touch people.” Tribbie reminds her twin. Amusement coloring her words with a tinge of laughter. 

“Oh right.” Trianne deflates and Cipher breathes out a relieved sigh. A short lived respite that’s crushed by the former’s next words. “Then, if you throw a coin Ciphy will go catch it and forget whatever she was doing. The shinier the coin the better.” 

“That’s not-” Cipher stumbles, the red creeping into her face darkening. All her effortless charisma escaping her grasp underneath these revelations. 

“If you want to get revenge on her for picking on you, then all you’ve got to do is sneakily put a cucumber down beside her. When she notices it she’ll jump away!” Tribbie laughs as she digs the thief into a deeper grave. Mercilessly adding another scoop of dirt to the pile. 

“That was one time-!” Ciphers snaps back but quickly bites down on her tongue. However it's too late, the damage has been done. The admittance thrown out for the world to see. “Big Sis! I’m trying to be cool and you’re ruining my image.” 

“You do that yourself.” Both siblings say in perfect sync. Tribbie pats her arm without a single ounce of an apology. “It’s okay Ciphy, your quirks are really cute!” 

Cipher grumbles and the siblings try to reassure her by holding her hand and patting her head. Watching them makes the corner of Castorice’s lips twitch. A warmth that lasts for a moment. She takes in their proximity, how their clothes crease wherever they touch, and how Cipher leans into the siblings’ touch. An all too familiar pit starts to churn within Castorice’s stomach. She has to look away, least this bile grow too large for her to contain.

Jealousy is an old friend at this point. A companion that has clung to her side just as Death has. She wants to carry the siblings on her back. She wants to card her fingers through Cipher’s silvery locks and scratch the base of her ears. But doing so would mean planting a seed within their guts that grows and grows until it splits open their chests and a butterfly hatches from their hearts. 

A series of quick taps pulls her head to face forward, to glance at the knuckles that had knocked against marble. Her eyes trail up Cipher’s arm and land on her face. Breath catching in her throat. There’s a look in her eyes that Castorice can’t put a name to. An intense focus that makes her feel as if she’s being peeled apart. 

“Embarrassing stories aside, I actually wanted to talk to you.” And then it’s gone. Cipher is straightening with a laid back smile. She reaches around and grabs Trianne by her collar and setting her down beside her twin. 

“Ah, what did you need, Lord Cipher?” Castorice winds her fingers together. The sensation of them pressing against one another helps ground her. Gives her something to focus on other than how her stomach is twisting itself into ten different knots. 

“Two things to be exact, and…” Cipher starts but halfway through drifts off. Her eyes widen and an ear flicks. A delayed reaction to the title that the Holy Maiden had tacked onto her name. “Lord?” 

“It felt more fitting then referring to you with Lady.” So far, contrary to the way her clothes emphasize her feminine figure, Castorice would say there is hardly anything lady-like about this willful Demigod. “If you’d prefer that-” 

“Oh no I’m not criticizing. Just got caught off guard there. In fact-” Cipher places a palm flat against the table. She leans in a way that emphasizes the curve of her breasts and makes it impossible to look anywhere else. “-won’t you be a good girl and call me Lord again?” 

Forget waiting for Georios to take her. Castorice is better off digging herself into a hole that she won’t ever crawl out of. It’s bad enough when Aglaea calls her that. Uttered with such a soft yet impactful cadance. Dangerous in a way that makes her knees weak. Hearing them with Cipher’s lower pitch and how she emphasizes those two vowels is the kill shot. Had she been standing, she is certain she would’ve collapsed then and there. 

While Castorice is struggling to not melt into a puddle, two distinct thwacks ring out. The slap of a pair of small hands batting at Cipher. She yelps from the contact and jumps away. Throwing an accusing glare to the two siblings, their third having silently joined their side at some point. 

“No bullying!” Tribbie and Trianne declare in unison. With Trinnon uttering more quietly after them. “Time and place.” 

“Oh so Aglaea can do it but I can’t? Talk about favoritism.” Cipher huffs, her tail flicking and lips pressing into a pout. 

The three Demigods of Passage stare at her long and hard. Then they turn to each other. No words are exchanged between them yet small gestures are passed around. A wave of a hand, a shrug, and a shake of a head. They’re not talking but are communicating in a way only they understand. 

“You know, it’s really obvious when you guys are talking telepathically.” Cipher calls them out with a slight sneer. Not a mocking or threatening one, but more like a nervous tick. “Care to share with the class?” 

“Ciphy, you shouldn’t play around with Cas’s feelings just because you're still mad at Agy.” Tribbie’s scolding words has Castorice tilting her head. She wants to ask but it doesn’t feel appropriate to interrupt wherever this is going. 

“And who says I’m playing around?” Cipher drops her playful, borderline over exaggerated inflection. 

The triplets look between one another. Castorice presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She doesn’t fully understand what they’re implying, but she does know this conversation is taking a dangerous turn. For her heart in particular. 

“Alright, we won’t stop you.” Trianne sighs. The three resigning to act as mere observers, for now. “Just be nice to Cas.” 

“Wasn’t planning on doing anything else.” With that, Cipher slips back on her laid back attitude. She rolls her shoulders and stretches her back with a grunt. “Ah, we’ve gotten way off topic. What was I saying?” 

After a moment of deliberation, her ears perk up and she flicks her coin into the air. There’s a split second where Cipher vanishes before reappearing again once the coin lands. Only this time she’s carrying something in her arms. It’s a statue that's as tall as her forearms. Of a woman cast from gold, her robes only covering half of her chest. Despite being made from metal, it’s surprisingly detailed. Down to the slightest crease. 

Oh, this isn’t good. Castorice’s mouth goes dry. A quiet rumbling stirs in the back of her throat. Were her eyes not locked onto the statue, then she would’ve noticed a pair of furry ears twitching in response. How they snap forward to better hear that nearly inaudible sound. But she doesn’t because she cannot tear her gaze away. Castorice hands are pressing so hard against one another that her knuckles are turning white. 

“Ciphy! Where did you steal that from?” One of the triplets gasps. Which one Castorice cannot be sure. It’s difficult to tell when her mind is not functioning properly.

“Oh relax, this thing is pocket change compared to what Caenis keeps in her vaults.” Cipher sets the statue down, her hands resting against the base of it. Her painted nails idly tap against it. The sound it makes confirms that it is indeed solid metal and not just an outer coating it to create the illusion of such. 

“You stole from a Council Member!?” The shock of hearing Trinnon raise her voice to join her two siblings’ outcry allows Castorice to actually process what they’re saying. 

“I’m a follower of Zagreus, what did you expect?” Cipher shrugs with far more smugness than someone teetering on the edge of being hunted and having her hands cut off should have. At least, that’s the type of punishment theft entails in Aidonia. 

(The scholars around them, who can very clearly hear everything, glance between one another. Cipher is not anywhere near as well known as the other two Demigods, but her name and status is still common knowledge in Okhema. Their gazes eventually drift towards the lone Garmentmaker that remains on standby in the Garden of Life in case of any accidents. She’s holding her head in her hands, a clear display of exasperation excluding from it’s artificial body. Yet it’s also not making any move to intervene. 

In the end, the scholars come to a wordless agreement to look away. Pretend they didn’t hear anything and carry on as if nothing is happening. Best to not get involved and let things play out. Even if a couple of them are starting to harbor suspicions about their missing teleslates.) 

“So, Princess, you want it?” Cipher nudges the statue closer to where the Daughter of Styx is seated. 

Yes. “I…” Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes- “I cannot accept a gift you acquired by stealing. Especially not from such a prominent individual.” 

That part of Castorice that wants to snatch the statue and cradle it close to her chest cries out. But she mustn’t. Should its actual owner look for it and find it in her possession then that will cause a wealth of problems. Not just for her but for Aglaea and the triplets as well. Though the fact that Cipher has it at all will probably already do that. No, no, she mustn’t look for loopholes in that logic nor encourage this behavior. 

“Fine, fine, I was mostly messing with you anyways.” Cipher pulls the statue back and lifts it off the table. She sets it down beside her feet, out of sight. Castorice’s elongated ears droop. “The thing I actually wanted to show you is this.” 

Cipher places another object on the table. This one is the size of her hand, albeit wider, and similarly shaped. In fact, a hand is exactly what it is. A mechanical one with fingertips forged from metal. She has seen several of these before during her aimless wandering.

“A Hand of Zagreus?” Though all the ones Castorice had encountered before were the size of a dromas. She didn’t know there were smaller ones. 

Cipher taps the mechanical hand and it whirrs to life. Energy flowing through the joints as it lifts up to hover in the air. She holds her own hand just above it and wiggles her fingers. The Hand of Zagreus perfectly mimics the gesture. 

“As their heir, I don’t need a console or anything to control these things.” Cipher explains. She waves her hand and the Titan’s relic matches her once again. Moving as though it were her limb. “With the help of these handy tools, I could steal a princess from her tower. What do you say?” 

Cipher reaches out her hand as if offering it. The Hand of Zagreus does the same. Palm raised and waiting for Castorice to take it. She could and nothing would happen. These mechanical limbs might have once been part of Trickery, but with them dead they are nothing more than tools. There’s no life inside of them for her to take. They’re also cold and rough to the touch. Nothing at all like actually holding onto a person’s hand. 

“Thank you Lord Cipher, but…” Castorice appreciates the offer, she truly does, but she doesn’t want history to repeat itself. One who walks with Death shouldn’t prance around with the living. It can only end in tragedy. 

Cipher hums, her ears drooping sideways ever so slightly. She glances behind Castorice towards the Garmentmaker. She’s not approaching but she is watching them. Well, as much as something that doesn’t have an actual face can. The power coursing through the Hand of Zagreus is cut off. Cipher catches the mechanical limb before it can slam into the table. 

“Of course I wouldn’t dare whisk you away from under Big Sis. Just know that my offer has no expiration date.” Cipher winks, retrieving the coin that had been forgotten and lifting it up. “Bye bye.” 

In the blink of an eye, she’s gone. A brush of wind from her departure is the only lingering evidence of her presence. With her gone, Castorice feels like she can breathe again. At the same time, everything suddenly seems too quiet. Empty in a way it wasn’t just a moment before. The thief’s absence leaving behind a noticeable void. 

“You could have gone to play with her if you wanted. We wouldn’t have minded.” Noticing her dropping mood, Tribbie attempts to pull her attention away from where the thief had been.

“Little Ciphy can come off super strongly, but deep down she’s really sweet. Especially towards people she genuinely likes.” Trianne reassures her. 

“And if she does take things too far, then you can tell us and we’ll set her straight.” Trinnon vows. Her quiet voice carrying the weight of her conviction. 

“Thank you, but I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.” Having a normal friend is a daunting enough prospect for Castorice. There is nothing normal about Cipher, for better and for worse. This is also only the second time they’ve talked. It’s too much too fast. 

“Would you like some space?” Tribbie asks and when she nods, the siblings step back. Preparing to get back to the work they were doing before they got distracted. “Alright. Don’t hesitate to shout if you need anything.” 

Castorice slumps in her seat once they turn their backs to her. She crosses her hands over her chest, feeling the way her heart beats loudly and erratically. That’s been happening a lot lately. She never grew flustered so easily back in her hometown, not since she was a child. Then again nobody in Aidonia treated her the way these Demigods do. She can count on one hand the number of people that have genuinely tried to befriend her throughout her life, and that’s including her time in Okhema so far. 

It’s frightening how nice they’re all being. A part of Castorice is just waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under her. To be put onto a pedestal and told where to go, when to kill, what she can do, what to eat, and down to what she must wear on a day-to-day basis. There’s a sick irony to it. So far she’s being far better then she was as Aidonia’s reaper, yet she kind of wishes they would openly use her as they had. Her heart unwilling to believe that all this care she’s being shown is genuine. Not without some sort of catch. 

With a sigh, Castorice lowers her arms and lets her head fall onto the table. The cool marble is pleasant against her warm cheeks. She reaches around for where she had left her pen. Finger brushing against metal instead. An eye pops open, locking onto that glint of gold. 

It’s Cipher’s coin. Castorice had sworn she took it with her yet here it is. She pushes herself upright and holds it between her fingers. Glaring at it as if doing so would make it reveal what it's doing here. She rubs her thumb against the one-eyed cat engraved into its surface. Feeling each individual groove. 

Movement flickers in the corner of her eye before fluttering towards the center of her focus. The nymph from before lands atop the coin. Balancing on its thin edge with casual grace. Spindly legs tucking under its small body to get comfortable. Castorice holds both steady so that it may rest without worry. Various observations stringing together to form a knot. 

Death, Romance, and Trickery. If one were to take those words by their literal definitions, then the three are all too often mixed together. There’s a wealth of stories sung by the bards and written into novels of exactly that: Tales of love blossoming between the hero and a maiden with a villain attempting to keep them apart. Plot points revolving around lies and manipulation building up to a fatal confrontation. Sometimes it’s the villain who meets their end, sometimes the hero, sometimes the maiden, and sometimes all three. 

Of course the authority that the Titans weild is not so surface level. Their titles are gross oversimplifications of what it is they represent, the ways in which they molded the world. The Thousand Romances that Mnestia wove has nothing to do with literal romance and everything to do with the aspects of this world that inspire art and creation. Zagreus, for all their foul deeds, was by no means malicious and was simply a bored Titan that stoked chaos for the sake of entertainment. Thanatos protects life as much as they bring about its end, safeguarding the border that separates the living and the dead so that the two cannot bring ruin to one another. 

Yet there is one tangible aspect that connects them together, separating them from the other Titans. All three have stepped foot within the Netherealm at one point or another. Thanatos goes without saying. Mnestia a single time while stricken by heartbreak. While Zagreus was said to be able to freely enter and leave Death's domain. 

The scriptures Castorice once tore into with analytical zeal only ever spoke vaguely of those occurrences. The dead cannot return from the Netherealm, so mankind does not truly know what lies within Thanatos’s domain. They can only make assumptions based on the accounts of those that had come back from the brink of death. Why Thanatos allowed those two specifically to intrude upon their territory, and what went down between the Titans during those moments is a complete mystery. 

Castorice lightly brushes against the nymph’s delicate wings. It twitches under that initial touch but quickly relaxes. Clinging to the coin, trusting that the servant of Death means no harm. Her pulse had slowed back into a normal pace yet still thrums loudly against Castorice’s veins. She carefully brings both nymph and coin closer. Pressing her lips against that metal edge and feeling the divine kin tickle the tip of her nose. Giving into a compulsion she does not know the origin of. 

O’ Death, may your love remain pure and your devotion evermore. 

Chapter Text

There are a great many things that must be done for the sake of the Flame-Chase. A multitude of facets to consider, rumors to confirm the validity of, people to try staying in good graces with to avoid unnecessary conflicts. Yet out of everything in that ever growing list there is only one bullet point in that Aglaea dreads. A single task that must be done regularly that she really, truly, would rather not touch with a twenty foot pole. 

The pen drags across the page with a practiced grace, the movement automatic at this point. With a flick of her wrist and the pull of her threads that signed parchment is added to the growing pile with the rest of them. While the stack of unsigned documents continues to loom far too high over Aglaea. Her golden threads pluck the topmost one from the stack and sets it down where the previous one had been. They overlay the parchment to match the exact shape of the ink soaked into it. Aglaea’s eye twitches as the words written on it become clearer to her. 

Paperwork is a necessary evil when it comes to ensuring a city remains up and running. Having these paper trails and records to fall back on has proven time and time again to be a boon. That doesn’t mean Aglaea has to enjoy the tediousness that comes with it. Not at all helped by the sheer pettiness on the Council Member’s part to use paper instead of slates. 

Sure, Aglaea can read despite technically being blind. So it doesn’t actually matter much. However the principle behind that choice is not lost on her. Especially since it feels like these documents were penned by a small child with how messy the handwriting is in half of them. Doing everything they can to make the whole thing more difficult for her than it needs to be in hopes she’ll overlook some of the clauses they try to sneak in. The only reason she has yet to voice that complaint is because at least going through means actually being productive. That’s far more than can be said for most face-to-face dealings she has with the Council Members. 

In fact, Aglaea wouldn’t be so agitated by doing paperwork if it weren’t for the sheer amount she often has to go through all at once. Another underhanded tactic no doubt. The pressure of going through it all theoretically would make her skim through them without properly reading every word. Too bad for them that Aglaea is nothing if not thorough. 

She momentarily sets her pen down and massages her forehead. A migraine is beginning to form within her temple. Partially from how much she’s been freely manipulating the threads, partially from the strain of struggling to figure out what these documents actually say. 

A tray is set down against Aglaea’s desk. Smooth hands lift up the teapot and pour a cup for her. When that cup is offered to her, she gladly accepts it. Raising the cup to her lips without drinking it so that she can savor the aroma. Once she does take a sip, the warm drink helps melt the knots starting to form in her stiff shoulders. A break is in order. 

As she slumps back, her thoughts begin to drift towards a certain Demigod. Specifically how odd her behavior has been as of late. When Aglaea first noticed Cipher sneaking into Castorice’s room, she didn’t think much of it at the time. Was simply relieved that Cipher had returned to Okhema despite how their last conversation went. Nor did she listen in on their conversation out of respect for both of their privacy. But after noticing Cipher at the Council meeting, Aglaea has found herself growing suspicious. 

How did Cipher even know about Castorice the first time around? By that point, nobody but the Goldweaver and the triplets should’ve known who or what Castorice is. Cipher could have easily put two-and-two together if she noticed Castorice being invited into their home. However that would imply that she had already been watching them beforehand. 

There is one possibility churning in Aglaea’s head. A possibility that she prays to the Titans is wrong. Else the sting of betrayal will pierce into her cold, beating heart. That would be one of the absolute worst case scenarios. However the more she considers it the more aware she becomes of how it’s a nonzero chance. 

“Has there been word on where Cifera has gone?” Aglaea turns her head towards her construct. It’s not a necessary courtesy with them but it’s become a habit to do so at this point. 

“None. There have been no sightings since she left the Garden of Life.” The Garmentmaker bows her faceless head. The Goldweaver picks up a sense of shame through the threads holding this construct together. Shame over her inability to provide a satisfactory answer. “Shall we search for her?” 

Tracking Cipher down isn’t actually an issue. No matter how elusive and good at covering her tracks she is, she’s still a living person with a tangible body. There are some traces people leave behind that cannot be erased. No, the real problem would be if Aglaea could get to her before she decides to run off somewhere else. There’s also the risk of Cipher fleeing Okhema all together if she notices that she’s being tracked.

“No, just keep me informed of when and where you see her.” Aglaea dismissed the Garmentmaker with a wave of her hand. 

Her construct bows before floating off. Aglaea takes another sip of her tea before setting the cup down. She should get back to work but she really doesn’t want to. Necessity be damned. She’d sooner tussle with Nikador then look at another document right now. 

“And here I was expecting you to make a big fuss about my return.” A weight presses against the back of her chair. While a breath tickles her ear. 

Aglaea’s surprise doesn’t show. The only signs of it being how her fingers twitch and the way she clicks her tongue. She hadn’t been paying that much attention to her immediate surroundings. Assumed that Cipher wouldn’t dare be the one to approach her first. Not with how she’s behaved so far and not with how their last conversation ended. 

“You made it rather clear that you wanted nothing to do with me or the Flame-Chase.” Aglaea turns her head to face her fellow Demigod. With the way Cipher is bent, they’re practically leaning against one another without actually touching. Hair tickling each other’s cheeks. 

“So I did.” Cipher straightens, pulling away from the Goldweaver and taking her arm off the back of the chair. 

She circles the desk, dragging her long nails against it. The sound of them scratching against wood makes Aglaea curl her fingers. She silently observes the way Cipher inspects the piles of paperwork. How her long tail curls upward. There are many things Aglaea wants to say to her, wants to ask. So much that she doesn’t know where to start and which ones to keep hidden within her chest. 

“Still slaving away while the Council members gorge themselves on the fruits of your labor I see.” Cipher concludes her inspection by circling back around to where the Goldweaver is sitting. Leaning her back against the edge of the desk, tail wrapping loosely around her leg. “You’re a Demigod. You should be the one doing whatever you want and pampering yourself. Not taking care of the work that they should be doing.” 

If Aglaea did whatever she wanted, then the whole of Dawncloud would be painted red. But she can’t. The Chrysos Heirs are supposed to be the protectors of humanity, not their rulers. She had never wanted to take on the role of a leader. She just happened to be the only one who could fill in that role after their previous one had been claimed by the Hand of Shadow. 

“I do recall there being a saying about a pot and a kettle.” Aglaea dares not voice any of that aloud. As far as anyone else is concerned, she is their unwavering and calculating leader. 

“And I only provide my services to them for the right compensation.” Cipher pinches her thumb and forefinger together, miming a coin. All but confirming the Goldweaver’s suspicion.

“However much they are paying you, I will double it.” Aglaea doesn’t beat around the bush. Regardless of their previous disagreement, regardless of whatever reservations the thief might have, money is the most effective way to get her to cooperate. 

“So you only want me when other people have their hands on me? Talk about mixed signals.” Cipher would usually respond to such an offer with a coy remark, maybe try to negotiate a higher price. Instead she sneers with her hackles raised. As if ready to bolt at a moment's notice. 

“I’ll quadruple the price, though even that feels insufficient. No amount of wealth can accurately convey how much I need you.” Aglaea tries again and she will genuinely pay whatever price the thief demands if it means getting her to stay. She has pulled herself out of poverty once before and can do it again if that’s what it takes. “Is that clear enough?” 

Cipher sucks in a sharp breath. Her ears press low and the tip of her tail flicks against her leg. She turns her head to stare out the window that keeps the room bathed in Kephale’s light. For a moment Aglaea worries that she somehow said the wrong thing. Fears that this might truly be the last time her old friend willingly approaches her. 

“You or the Flame-Chase Journey?” Cipher returns her gaze back to the Goldweaver. Staring hard and with a fierceness that would make anyone who isn’t as jaded as her flinch under the weight of it. 

“Can it not be both?” Aglaea might not cower under her glare, but she does find her voice cracking. She doesn’t really understand what Cipher is asking. They are both bound by this same fate. Both offered themselves as kindling the moment they ascended into Demigods. 

Aglaea flexes her fingers against her chair’s armrest. She so terribly wants to let the threads woven under her skin free, to wrap them around the thief so that their hearts may connect. See exactly what it is that Cipher wants. Feel the thoughts that are churning through her head. Is she still furious with her or merely playing hard to get? Aglaea doesn’t know and that concerns her. 

Cipher has always been the one person she’s never quite been able to pin down. Both literally and metaphorically. Able to dance around the Goldweaver until she’s grown dizzy. Seemingly acting on pure impulse only for Aglaea to later realize how calculated each of her actions actually were. Over time she’s gotten better at recognizing when Cipher is messing around and when she’s being serious. However this cat still manages to remain elusive as ever. Hard to read and even harder to predict. 

Case in point: Cipher pushes herself off the edge of the desk and takes a single, long stride forward. She sets a knee between Aglaea’s legs, pressing against that small sliver of the chair that isn’t occupied. A hand is set against the back of the chair while the other glides against the Goldweaver’s forearms. Mindlessly tracing the marking that’s wrapped completely around it. Cipher presses their foreheads together, caging Aglaea beneath her. 

The Goldweaver’s heart picks up speed. She has to consciously keep from squirming. Not used to others invading her personal space like this. It’s making Aglaea realize that she probably owes Castorice an apology. 

“Go on, ask your questions.” Her fingers press harder against the armrest. The low husk of Cipher’s words add another layer of intimacy that she wasn’t prepared for. And she complained about the Goldweaver sending mixed signals. 

“Cifera-” Aglaea chokes out, words getting stuck in her throat. Thoughts fraying under the pressure of whatever this is. A show of dominance? An attempt at goading her into retaliating? A distraction? A mix of all three?

“Do it before I change my mind.” Ciphers squeezes her arm, nails pressing into her skin. The prick of them makes her shiver and urges her golden threads out.

They curl around the thief’s fingers, trailing along the back of her palm, and form a band around her wrist. Baring their hearts to one another with a simple knot. It feels heavy but not unbearably so. Cipher’s frustration is quiet, akin to an itch that you can’t reach. Just strong enough that it’s impossible to ignore. 

“What did the Council request from you this time?” It helps Aglaea recollect her nerves. She can’t let such a simple provocation tactic make her lose her head. She’s better than that. 

“Information, specifically about little miss Death. Told them they’d have better luck pulling a random bard off the street.” Cipher shifts, the cool metal of her boots brushing against one of the Goldweaver’s legs. “If it’s Aidonian metalwork you want to hear about, I could go on for hours. But their Holy Maiden? I’ve heard nothing but untrustworthy rumors.”

The threads don’t react and Aglaea doesn’t expect them to. Cipher knows exactly what her golden threads can do and how they work. What she does expect is for there to be more yet the thief leaves it at that. 

“Is that all they asked?” Aglaea asks once it’s clear she has no intention of saying more. The thief’s answer isn’t at all surprising but if that’s all the Council wanted from her then that would be rather anti-climatic. 

“One of them tried to get me to spy on her but I told that hag to shove it. I don’t do those kinds of jobs.” Cipher sneers, offended by the memory. Her lingering annoyance over it lasts for but a moment. “That’s all.”

Again, the threads remain stagnant. That is a relief, and clarifies some of Aglaea’s confusion. However it also adds more to the pile. Cipher is leagues more confident and far less flighty then when they first met, but she’s still a cautious person. She doesn’t approach people she is unfamiliar with unless she has some sort of motive. 

“My turn.” While she is contemplating that, Cipher presses closer to her. Leaning around to utter directly into her ear. “What do you plan to do with her?” 

Aglaea snaps into focus. The thief indirectly revealed one of her hands. It’s not that she’s cooperating with the Goldweaver, but that she wants to pry her open. Cipher is one of the people that helped her figure out how to use her golden threads like this. She knows how to read the signals that flow through them. Not as well as Aglaea, but enough to interrogate her. 

“The same as every other prophesied Heir: Grant her a safe haven and provide her with whatever support she needs, as well as help her fulfill her destiny within the Flame-Chase.” It just happens that Castorice will need more attention then the others. At least until her position within Okhema is more stable. 

“Is that what she wants or is that what you told her she has to do?” Teeth press against the shell of her ear. It's as much of a threat as it is a taunt. This cheeky cat is goading her. 

“Here I thought we were taking turns.” Aglaea grinds her teeth together. She mustn’t react as that is exactly what the thief wants. 

“I can whisk her away, far out of your reach, whenever I want.” She doubts that claim yet the golden threads do not lie. Cipher genuinely believes that she can and she is not one to overestimate her own capabilities. 

“Castorice has yet to express any sort of opposition to the Flame-Chase.” Nor does Aglaea see why she would. Not after what Thanatos bestowed upon her. “Out of all of us, she has the least choice in the matter.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Cipher pulls away. Enough so to be able to see the Goldweaver’s face, lessening her urge to grab her by the waist and pull at her tail to get back at her. 

“Cifera, you and I both know that the nature of her curse makes it impossible for her to live anything resembling a normal life.” No matter how mindful of it Castorice tries to be, people will still hate her for it. Condemn and demonize her for something she has zero control over out of misguided fear. But a caged monster isn’t as scary, even if that cage is mostly a facade. “Castorice will be safest by my side.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have announced her curse to the whole damn city if you were really worried about that.” A fair criticism, and an option the Goldweaver had carefully considered beforehand.

“The outcome would be catastrophic if I were to keep this a secret and the people were to discover it on their own.” In the end Aglaea decided it was too risky. There’s no telling how the public would view that. Kephale knows the Council of Elders would weaponize it against her. 

“That’s still not fair to her.” Some of the fire leaves Cipher, knowing full well that the Goldweaver is right. 

“No, it isn’t.” Aglaea thinks back to Castorice holding that bloodied bouquet. Her self depreciation and her timid obedience. Calling the circumstances of her life unfair is underselling it.

Her sorrow buzzes through the golden threads, interlacing with Cipher’s frustration. Surprise gets drip fed into that connection. The thief not expecting her to sympathize with Castorice’s plight. If there’s one common trait that can tie all of the prophesied Heirs together, it’s that they’ve all lost something important that they can never get back. Are broken in ways that aren’t visible to the eyes. Burdened by flaws that force them to chase after these godly flames that will one day swallow them whole. 

“So if I’m understanding things right, the hope is that once she imbibes Death’s Coreflame her curse will go away.” The Goldweaver nods so Cipher continues. “How do we know inheriting Thanatos’s authority won’t outright kill her?”

“We don’t and if you have any plausible alternatives then I will gladly consider them.” It’s impossible to say what will happen once the Death Coreflame has been retrieved. However it, like every other needs a host- a Demigod to fill in the void Thanatos will leave behind. All they can do is try and pray for the best results. 

Aglaea knows this, the three that were once Tribios knows this, Cipher knows it, and Castorice must understand that as well. Death has become one of the integral pillars that maintains the balance of Amphoreus. 

The loss of her family pains Aglaea to this day, but it also taught her how naive and idealistic she was before. Showed her how blind she was to the ugliness that stains the world and how little she understood the true meaning of beauty. So while she despises what happened with every pore of her being, she does not curse Thanatos for it. As her teachers once told her, they cannot be heroes nor the saviors of humanity if they do not walk towards the world’s agony. 

“Tell me, why are you so interested in Castorice? It’s not like you to care so much about a stranger.” When the thief offers no counter argument, Aglaea decides it's her turn to take back the reins. Letting free the question that’s been sitting on her tongue this whole exchange. 

“Maybe I just want to make sure a cute girl doesn’t get thrown into the lion’s den against her will.” Cipher huffs out as if that is obvious. Which she supposes is, in a sense. This cat is and always has been somewhat protective of women. Especially ones she thinks are attractive. 

Yet the golden thread kicks once. Revealing her words to be a lie by omission. Cipher stiffens and immediately jerks away. Aglaea loosens her threads so that she can escape them. The thief ends up backing into the desk, her legs and hips slamming roughly into it. Her tail stands stiff and her ears pinned back.

“That wasn’t a lie.” A slip up that Cipher struggles to recover from. Her words fumble out, accent thicker in her panic. 

“I know but it isn’t the only reason either, not anymore.” If one thing has been made clear to Aglaea, it’s that Cipher’s concern for Castorice is genuine. Since her intentions seem to be pure, then that means the other reason must be- “Could it be that your Coreflame also reacts to her presence?” 

“So it isn’t just me.” That gets Cipher to loosen the tension wound throughout her body. To release the spring ready to snap and bolt out of here before the Goldweaver can so much as twitch. 

“What does it feel like for you?” She says nothing, merely shuffles against the balls of her feet. So Aglaea figures it's only fair she offers her own answer first. “Mine grows warm around her, it’s the sensation of familiarity and comfort.” 

“Mine’s similar except…” Cipher places a hand against the center of her chest. The same spot where the thrum of the Coreflame simmers within the Goldweaver. “There’s a sorrow to it too, a regret, and I don’t know why.” 

Zagreus harboring regrets? Now that’s new. They might not have been an actively malicious Titan, but they were also utterly shameless. Uncaring of how their actions affected others. If Cipher is clueless about this, then no one but the Titans themselves would know the story behind that. 

“I asked Teacher if they feel anything, but they said they only felt a vague sense of importance.” To be honest, Aglaea wasn’t expecting much. Both because of how this matter seems to tie back to their respective Titans and their connections to Thanatos, and due to the triplet’s nature as a Demigod. “Considering how their divinity is split between the three of them, it isn’t at all strange for them to be the odd one out.” 

“It’s pretty hard to believe that a girl like Castorice is meant to be the bearer of Death.” Cipher’s tail swishes behind her. It bumps into one of the abandoned stacks of paper, making it wobble. “Her curse aside, she’s so demure and cute. Not suitable for that role at all.” 

“Fate has a tendency to favor irony, it seems.” Aglaea sends out a thread to hold it steady. She frowns as she’s reminded of the work she’s supposed to be doing right now. “We haven’t known her for long, perhaps time will prove that initial judgment mistaken.” 

“And the Council? Have they made a judgement yet?” A metal heel taps against the floor. Rhythmic clicks that form an uneven tempo. 

“Yes, they have voted to grant me full authority of Castorice and that I may utilize her abilities however I please.” Aglaea’s explanation is dull, monotone. On the surface it sounds like a good thing, and it is, but she knows the true intentions behind that decision.

“They’re setting you up.” An intention that Cipher immediately picks up on. She might not be an active participant in Okhema’s politics, but she is not unfamiliar with such games. The black markets of Amphoreus often apply similar tactics to weed out the foolish. 

“A poorly concealed attempt at that. How unfortunate for them that I’m more concerned with the enemies outside Okhema’s walls than within.” It’s laughable that they think Aglaea would fall for it. Insulting, even. 

“Those old crooks flip-flop between being the smartest people in this city to the dumbest on a whim.” Cipher groans with a flick of her tail. “Old Zagreus would be dumbfounded if they had to put up with them.”

The corner of Aglaea’s lips quirk at that. That’s a rather amusing mental image, and probably not an inaccurate one either. She has no doubt that even the Titans would find navigating politics a headache. How much easier things would be for her if Okhema shared Castrum Kremnos’s tradition of resolving disputes through duels instead of talking circles around each other until one of them concedes. 

A thought that has her mind drifting to the woman in front of her and their unresolved altercation. If Aglaea were to be completely honest, she’s still not entirely sure why Cipher had been so furious with her. They have different opinions on how certain things should be handled but it never quite got to the point of one of them becoming angry with the other. Not until that fight when all Aglaea did was lay out the facts. 

She’s debating if she should ask, weighing if doing so will only succeed in reopening that wound. Relight the spark that led Cipher into cursing her out and breaking this unspoken truce they’ve established. An internal back and forth that’s interrupted by a buzzing traveling through her web. A message from one of her Garmentmakers. Aglaea’s eyes widen and she snaps onto her feet. 

“What happened?” Cipher reaches into one of her pouches, toying with her coins. Preparing to move upon seeing the Goldweaver’s reaction.

“I’m not sure yet.” Aglaea moves around her desk but doesn’t leave her office. She plucks at her web to track a figure moving throughout her home. Watching it grow closer and closer. 

Soon that figure bursts through the door. Making it slam on its hinges with the violent force used to shove it open. A small figure stumbles, equally small wings flapping to catch them from falling. Cipher is quick to assist. Her reaction speed nothing to scoff at. She sets the kid back down onto her feet just as Aglaea is kneeling beside them both.

“Agy! And… Ciphy?” Tribbie looks between the two of them, her confusion quickly being shoved aside. “Actually this works out even better. We need your help!” 

“Is the city going to face another attack soon? Another batch of refugees that require assistance?” Aglaea is already searching her webs for signs of either. Her attention split between that and her teacher.

“No, not that kind of help.” That is somewhat of a relief but the Goldweaver doesn’t lower her guard just yet. A judgment that proves right when Tribbie continues. “It’s Little Cas, someone tried to attack her!” 

The golden threads may as well have been cut with how suddenly Aglaea snaps all of her focus to her teacher. Cipher rests a hand against her shoulder, nails unintentionally digging harshly into her skin. The same thought coursing through both of them in that instance: Oh, that isn’t good. 

Chapter Text

There is nothing else that comes close to the thrill of running faster than light. A rush of adrenaline that makes Cipher giddy with happiness. To feel the wind through her hair, to see the whole world around her move at a crawl. She can never contain the giggles that bubble out from her chest. Feel the rumble of satisfied purring in the back of her throat. This is the taste of freedom and it is sweeter than the most divine brews. At least, that’s how it is under normal circumstances. 

This time the pit of Cipher’s stomach is heavy as she zips across the city. The movement of her legs is automatic, done without a single thought. Her mind is too busy crafting scenario after scenario to worry about the placement of her feet. As she hadn’t bothered to hear the full run down of what happened from Tribbie. Merely asked where Castorice is before setting off with a flick of her fingers. 

Cipher slides to a halt across roof tiles. The tips of her boots dangle dangerously over the edge. Her tail rises to help steady her balance. While the mechanisms hidden within her metal boots groan as they shut down, the light they give off dimming. Cipher breathes out a heavy sigh. Her ears perk up and she begins taking in her surroundings. 

She’s standing over a corner in the Marmoreal Market. It’s not at all unusual for the streets around here to be packed this time of day, but the way the crowd below is bunched together and unmoving clearly isn’t from people perusing the stores. They’ve practically formed a blockade before the smithing station. Among the dozens of voices all speaking at once, she can only pick out a few words here and there. Each conversation blending together too tightly for her to make out any specific one. The good news is that none of them seem to be scared or panicked. It’s mostly confusion thrumming through the crowd. 

One edge of the crowd has formed a half circle around three people. Cipher spots Trianne with her vibrant red hair first. A trait that makes it child’s play to pick out those little Demigods. She gesturing wildly and pacing back and forth. Whatever she’s saying is being drowned out by those surrounding her. A giant figure is kneeling beside Trianne, attempting to soothe her. It takes a moment for Cipher to recognize Chartonus. The mountain dwellers are a bit hard to distinguish from one another from a distance. In large part thanks to how they always keep their faces covered. He’s holding up the third person with his thick arm wrapped around their back. 

A man Cipher doesn’t know. One of his legs is wood from the knee down. He’s clutching his head and leaning almost all of his weight against Chartonus. There’s an unsteadiness to him, a dazed look in his eyes that gives away how he isn’t fully conscious. Cipher crouches down and sniffs at the air. In between the spices from the stalls and the musk of people is a faint whiff of blood. Not enough to be concerning, but enough for her to actually be able to pick it out. 

Cipher leaps down, landing on all fours. She stands up with a stretch before sauntering towards the crowd. Slipping between it allows her to better catch what people are saying. Mostly questions about what happened and why the guards aren’t showing up. Cipher has her suspicions about the latter but that’s not important right now. Being on the ground also allows her to see the inside of the forge. There’s a figure hidden within a dark corner of it, attempting to remain out of sight. 

The pit in her stomach stops being as heavy upon seeing Castorice. A quick surveillance of her figure shows no obvious signs of injuries or that she was even in a tussle at all. She doesn’t seem distressed either. If anything, the stiffness to her brow comes across more so as annoyance than anything else. 

“Lord Cipher?” That look fades into surprise once Castorice notices the thief’s approach. Joining her in this isolated corner away from the fuss being made outside. 

“Hey.” Cipher greets with a swish of her tail. She takes a single step into the invisible bubble around the Holy Maiden. Just like the last time, her fur stands on end while the Coreflame in her chest starts thumping away. It’s happy and melancholic and distracting. “Big Sis said you were in trouble.” 

Much to her surprise, Castorice sighs. A sharp and prolonged exhale from her nostrils that makes the scrunch to her brow return. Her cute, long ears wiggle a bit too. Cipher wonders if they’re as sensitive as her own. If rubbing the base of them would make her purr again. A theory she sadly cannot test.

“I told Lady Trianne it wasn’t worth troubling others over.” Castorice huffs out as if the thief were trying to tell her how to do her job or something. 

“Cas, she told us you were attacked. Pretty sure that does warrant being concerned.” This nonchalance of hers is making that heavy feeling in Cipher’s gut return. Only this time amplified by her damn Coreflame. 

“It was not a premeditated attack. It was a purely impulsive one and a bad attempt at that.” Castorice’s completely deadpan tone has the thief pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth. 

“You make it sound like you’ve dealt with this kind of shit a lot.” Cipher knows she’s not exactly popular in the eyes of the average Okheman right now, but she should have been highly regarded in the city that worships Death. Spoiled and pampered and shown off like a rare pet. Because that’s what Holy Maidens basically are in most people’s eyes. 

“Because I have.” Castorice tilts her head, eyeing the thief with a great deal of scrutiny. “Lord Cipher, do you not know how many wars Aidonia has been in?” 

“Even then, people usually don’t target Holy Maidens out of fear of angering the Titans.” Kidnap them and hold them hostage, sure. But try to kill them? Only an idiot would dare risk invoking the wrath of the Titans upon them and their people. 

“They don’t?” Castorice’s voice cracks at that. Her mind flashing to all of the times she had been deliberately targeted. 

Both of them fall silent, processing the new information they’ve been given. Aidonia is one of the few city-states that Cipher never went to. She’s not a fan of snow and robbing Thanatos’s followers sounded like a good way to get slapped by a nasty curse. That place seemed like bad news, constantly battling with disease and famine when they weren’t fending off outside threats. Now Cipher wishes she had just so she could’ve whisked this princess away from there. 

“You’re alright though?” Cipher clears her throat, tail wagging as she gives the Holy Maiden another once-over. “Didn’t take any hits or falls?” 

“He wasn’t able to touch me.” Castorice reassures her. The thief figured as much but it's still nice to have that confirmation. 

“Lucky for him then. Otherwise I would’ve had to teach him that these things aren’t for show.” Cipher taps the heel of one of her metal boots against her opposite ankle, making them clang. “But seriously, with the way Big Sis ran in all panicked I was prepared for the worst.” 

“It was rather sudden so it must have scared her.” Castorice glances over at Trianne, who is still pacing back and forth. 

“Any idea who that guy is?” Cipher has a hard time believing this was a completely random attack. The options are he either has some sort of vendetta or he’s so messed up in the head that he shouldn’t be allowed in public period. 

“No but his accent is familiar.” Castorice pinches her lips as she dredges through her memories, trying to recall where she had heard it before. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he was an opposing soldier in one of the battles I fought.” 

Cipher turns and cranes her head to more thoroughly check the dude out. At this point Trianne has mostly calmed down. Her eyes meet the thief’s for a brief moment before turning her attention back to the assailant. A third has joined the group as well, presumably a doctor with the way he’s craning the guy’s head up and urging his hand away. There’s a rather nasty welt against his forehead. Blood is trickling out from that gash while the skin surrounding it is starting to splotch. It’ll look even worse once the bruising has fully set in. Seems painful too. Whoever clocked the assailant got a damn good hit in. Cipher is almost jealous that she couldn’t be the one to do it. 

Her satisfaction over seeing the injury aside, nothing about the guy’s outfit screams foreigner. Though his facial features are more angular then what is typical for Okhemans. Real wide shoulders too. However those two things alone aren’t enough for Cipher to put a name to his homeland. Looking at his build, there are signs of faded musculature along his biceps. That combined with his prosthetic means Castorice’s assumption is probably spot on. Lots of refugees have been making their way to Okhema as one of the few major city-states left standing. While Castrum Kremnos isn’t exactly welcoming to those unable to prove their might. 

Cipher’s ears twitch when the sound of rustling armor. About time some guards showed up. They shout at the crowd to stop blocking the road as they push their way through it. Between the two guards, a Garmentmaker gracefully hovers. They’re such gaudy things, if you ask Cipher. Too perfect, lacking the beautiful imperfections that add to their master’s charm. Such as the creases around Aglaea’s eyes that she always hides under makeup, or the scar on her hip that the thief used to always run her fingers along- Okay getting a little too sentimental there. Now is not the time to take a trip down memory lane.

The Garmentmaker scans the scene, her faceless gaze drifting over to where Cipher and Castorice are standing. The former gives her a thumbs up to let her know everything is fine with their princess. The construct turns her attention to the men on the ground. One of the guards has taken the assailant out of Chartonus’s arms. The guy doesn’t look as dazed as when Cipher first arrived. More aware of his surroundings and less dead to the world. 

“Agy, this is the guy we were talking about.” Trianne gestures wildly to the injured man as she clings to the Garmentmaker’s skirt. 

“A rather different figure than the impression you gave.” Aglaea’s voice flows out from the construct so clearly one would think she were physically here. 

“Y-You are the Lady Goldweaver?” The assailant stutters out, words coming out somewhat slurred. That blow to the head really did a number on him. Cipher is almost impressed he’s still conscious at all. 

“That I am.” Garmentmakers do not have muscles and therefore cannot tense up. However the way this one becomes rigidly stiff creates a similar effect. With her shoulders bent back and spine arched to make her seem taller. “I do believe you have some explaining to do.” 

“Me? Do you have the slightest i-idea what kind of monster you’ve l-let into the city?” The assailant tries to get up only to stumble back into the guard’s arms. “Those death worshiping cultists- Haven’t seen true cruelty-!” 

Broken yet understandable words. It’s easy to fill in the blanks left behind by his scattered mind. This idiot, he doesn’t realize he’s just digging himself into a deeper grave. Cipher flips a coin between her fingers and stalks closer. Keeping an eye on how the Garmentmaker’s fingers bend, pulling at her threads. 

“They’ll butcher you alive… Cut off your limbs…” His fingers dig into the guard’s shoulder. At the same time the Garmentmaker’s loosen, gold glinting between the joints as the threads underneath shift. “Them and their heinous Titan. Kephale should’ve cut off Thanatos’s head before their blight could spread-” 

“Do not dare utter such sacrilege!” Shoulders jump. That oh so soft and quiet voice cuts through the air with such venom. Gazes snap towards Castorice. Her chin is raised, there’s a blaze in her eyes. “Curse me and Aidonia as much as you want, but Thanatos has never lifted a hand against the living.” 

That outburst is followed by stunned silence. Cipher has got to say, she’s impressed. So this cute princess can talk back! Bravo! Alas the fight in her stutters once she realizes that she’s become the center of attention. Which marks the thief’s moment to shine. The coin resting between Cipher’s fingers is flipped into the air and with it everything around her slows to a crawl. 

Humming, she wanders over to the near-frozen audience. Plucking out a hanging cloth from a bag. Cipher pulls at the material, finding it sufficiently sturdy. She wrings that strip of cloth to bunch it together before wrapping the length of it around the assailant’s head. Cipher makes sure the front of it goes inside his slacked jaw before tying it in the back. She pulls at it a bit to test the give. Finding it lacking, Cipher unties the knot and tries again. The second time around it's much more secure. A makeshift gag perfect for silencing loose tongues.

With a skip to her steps, Cipher positions herself behind the Garmentmaker. Pressing a hand against the center of her back. The thief tangles her fingers between the construct’s outstretched ones. She rests her chin against that cool shoulder and waits. Both grateful and disappointed that she isn't wrapped around the real deal instead. 

The coin bounces off the ground. The Garmentmaker beneath her jerks, faceless head turning towards where Cipher rests against her. Furry ears briefly turn towards muffled grunts. Attempts at words that are blocked by the fabric pressed between those lips. The thief squeezes the Garmentmaker’s hand. 

“I’m pissed too, but an unsanctioned public execution would not be a good look.” Cipher mutters into the Garmentmaker’s shoulder. Quietly so that only she and the golden threads she’s connected to can hear. 

The construct sighs, for the lack of a better word. Mechanical joints faintly creak as they loosen up. Shoulders lower and those doll-like fingers squeeze her back. The thumb rubbing against Cipher’s before she’s being nudged back with an elbow. 

“Detain him for now, and see to it that he receives proper treatment.” There’s a subtle frustration laced within Aglaea’s typical bossy tone. A subtle difference that only those close to her could recognize. 

The two guards give their stereotypical “Yes Ma’am” before lifting up the assailant between them. He squirms, hands clasping at the gag, but doesn’t necessarily fight back. Whether that’s out of a lack of desire to do so or because his head injury is disorienting him too much is impossible to say. What matters is that he’s being carted away without a fuss. 

“The show is now over. Unless any of you would like to offer up a witness’s statement?” Aglaea addresses the spectators clogging the street. They stutter and practically trip over each other to go back to whatever they were doing before all of this happened. 

“We’re really sorry you both had to rush over to deal with this.” Trianne pulls the other two Demigods’ attention away from the dispersing crowd. “By all rights we should’ve been able to handle this on our own but…” 

“There is nothing to apologize for, Teacher. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Rather I should be thanking you for informing us so quickly.” All of Aglaea’s frustration is hidden beneath a blanket of softness. A gentle disposition. How scarily good she is at putting on a mask at a whim. “I must thank you as well, Chartonus. Your intervention helped prevent things from getting out of hand.” 

“No thanks necessary. Not do much and owe you a great deal more.” Chartonus’s awkward speech filters through his helmet. It distorts his voice and makes it somewhat muffled. 

“It would be prudent of me not to show appreciation regardless.” The Garmentmaker folds her hands behind her back. She looks between the three who were part of that commotion. Aglaea’s scrutiny clear through that faceless visage. “Now then, would anyone care to explain what exactly happened?” 

“It’s my fault, Lady Aglaea.” Castorice bows her head. Watching her, the tip of Cipher’s tail wags. “I knew better than to come to such a crowded place yet when Lady Trianne insisted I couldn’t bring myself to say no.” 

“What are you saying? It’s not your fault that guy started yelling out of nowhere.” Trianne turns to her with her hands on her hips, daring her to try arguing otherwise. 

Castorice snaps her mouth shut. Her ears droop and her lips press together. It makes her look pretty pathetic. Endearing in a way that has Cipher chewing on her own lip. This girl really is dangerous in more ways than one. 

“Basically, little Cas wanted to buy some things and while we were passing through here that guy started saying some nonsense about her being a witch or something.” Trianne fills in the prolonged silence left by Castorice biting her tongue. “We tried telling him to back off but then he got really angry and lunged at Cas. Except she whacked him before he could actually do anything.” 

“Wait, you’re the one that nearly cracked his skull open?” Talk about plot twists. Here Cipher was thinking the big guy did it when it was actually the princess’s handy-work. Seems she really isn’t as much of a pushover as she seems on the surface. 

“An impressive blow, it was. Excellent reaction time.” Chartonus places a hand against his chin. His face might be hidden beneath his helmet, but it's clear he’s studying  the girl that’s tiny in comparison to him. “A skilled warrior you must be.” 

“I wouldn’t really consider myself a warrior, and just so we’re clear I didn’t touch him!” Castorice backs away, growing increasingly flustered by the looks she’s receiving. “I hit him with this.” 

A dark liquid slivers out from her palm and coalesces into a solid shape, forming into a scythe that’s taller than she is. Keeping the curved blade low to the ground and the handle raised. Near the end of the pommel is a splotch of red. The point of impact that managed to split open skin. Cipher lets out a low whistle, which makes the Holy Maiden’s face darken. 

“That blade, may I see it?” Chartonus kneels down, staying just outside the invisible aura that wraps around Castorice. A subconscious distance, or maybe he got a taste of it before they arrived. 

Castorice flips her grip on the scythe so that the blade is pointed towards the sky, holding it out with her hands grasping close to the pommel. Cipher joins Chartonus in leaning close to inspect it. The first thing that stands out to her is that it isn’t made of metal. It could be mistaken as such to the untrained eye, but this thief prides herself on her appraisal skills. The texture of this material is wrong, too rough and lacking the shininess typical of metals. Making it look more like marble but that isn’t right either. That purplish hue to it marks the material as something completely foreign to Cipher. 

The guard and handle is also strange. Its shape and craftsmanship make it seem more ceremonial then something meant to be actually used in combat. There’s a large gem set where the blade meets the handle. Perfectly round and bigger than Cipher’s palm. Once again it's not a material she recognizes. It’s color and luster unlike any other gem she’s seen. It mimics an eyeball with the dark slit in the center and how the colors gradiate around it. The longer Cipher stares at it, the faster her Coreflame thumps. Ugh, so annoying. She would curse at Zagreus in this very moment if she could.

“Dragon bone, a rare find.” Chartonus concludes and Cipher perks up at that. Eyeing the scythe far more closely, burning each detail into her memory. 

Seriously? For real? A dragon bone weapon is something straight out of a story. A common trope but realistically not at all feasible. Not necessarily because acquiring it is nigh impossible- Cipher actually knows a place where it can be found in abundance- but because processing and molding it is a completely different story. Something that is basically impossible to do. Without refining it, dragon bone is no more or less unwieldy than any other animal bone. Albeit far heavier and sturdier. Not at all practical to actually swing around. 

Cipher’s Coreflame thumps louder. Wiggling and stirring and she so badly wishes she could rip this damn thing out of her chest just to make it stop. Yet for it to react so is also curious in itself. Zagreus, Thanatos, and dragons… This might be worth looking into. 

“Who is the craftsman?” Chartonus’s question pulls her free from her musings. Cipher mentally files that away on her to-do list. 

“I’ve had this for as long as I can remember.” Castorice answers carefully as she lets her scythe fade back into her arm. Another curious detail. 

“Then they must no longer walk this world.” Chartonus lowers his head, shaking it, before standing back up. “It matters not. A fine weapon. That man is fortunate it only broke skin.” 

“He is also fortunate that he didn’t harm you. Yet his intent to do so is clear.” Aglaea tuts, Garmentmaker bending her fingers to run along her invisible threads. “Perhaps a trip down a waterfall is in order for him.” 

“Agy! Now is not the time for those kinds of jokes.” Trianne scolds and Cipher has to look away to hide her grin. It wasn’t a joke, not at all, but she’s not about to correct the one forever cursed to be a child. 

“Please do not punish him too harshly.” Castorice seems to pick up on how serious of a threat it is too, if her words are any indication.

“Being merciful is a good trait and all Princess, but if bad behavior isn’t punished then that’s just going to encourage others to try too.” Cipher does agree that killing him would maybe be going too far. However she also thinks an example needs to be made of this guy so this doesn’t happen again. 

“Ciphy, we don’t think you have any right to comment on that.” Trianne muses, her disappointment palpable. 

“Stealing and openly attacking someone in the markets are two completely different things. Not at all comparable.” Cipher is a thief, yes, but she doesn’t hurt people. Not unless they threw the first punch. 

“I do understand that he should receive some form of punishment but…’ Castorice twists her fingers together, taking a moment to find the right words. “In Aidonia, when invaders would trespass onto sacred grounds, we would cut off their legs and either throw them into a river or dump them in the tundras while they still breathed.” 

Oh. Maybe it is a good thing Cipher never stepped foot in Aidonia. Turns out getting cursed is not what she should’ve been worried about. If that guy survived such an ordeal then no wonder he’s pissed. Anyone would hold a grudge if they had to go through something like that. Learning that Okhema has taken in Aidonia’s Holy Maiden must’ve dredged up some old fears back to the surface. 

“Regardless of how Aidonia has treated him in the past, you did nothing wrong today and he is clearly the aggressor.” Aglaea says and she’s right. That does not justify going after Castorice the way he did. “He will receive an appropriate verdict as is written into our laws.” 

“I’m sorry. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone out.” Castorice continues to insist. Taking on a fault that isn’t her’s to claim. 

“Don’t be. I told you before that you are free to move around Okhema however you please.” Aglaea isn’t having any of it. Which is good because if she didn’t say anything then Cipher would have. 

“Under the condition that I do not cause trouble. My presence alone tends to make things volatile.” Of all the things Castorice decides to be stubborn about it had to be this. What is with pretty girls always choosing the stupidest hills to die on?

“If I may…” Chartonus cuts in before any of the Demigods can respond. “Long ago my people faced similar scrutiny. Us mountain dwellers larger and stronger than humans, frightened them. With patience, learned we meant no harm.” He pats his bulky chest as he speaks. Head turning down to gaze at the Holy Maiden who is half his size. “Little is known of the Death worshipers here. What is known paints a frightening picture. Educate them, clear up misconceptions, and that fear will lessen.” 

“That is easier said than done.” In order for Castorice to teach others about her hometown’s beliefs, people would actually have to be willing to listen to her. 

“It's easy if we’re the ones doing it! Tell us all about your hometown and we’ll teach people that Aidonia isn’t such a scary place after all.” Ever the teacher at heart, Trianne is more than happy to take on that task for her. 

Cipher can clearly see the doubts swirling in Castorice’s head. Ones that she herself shares. Okhemans like to tell themselves they’re not so low as to be consumed by prejudices, and to an extent that is true when compared to the other major city-states. However they also like to latch onto whatever version of events they deem most interesting regardless of how factual it is. Rumors and gossip are their bread and butter. Aidonia being a city of death cultists is one hell of a story that probably isn’t entirely off the mark. 

“It would not hurt to at least try.” Aglaea, discerning the direction of their thoughts, points out. “I must go and ensure the judges are properly informed of what happened. Will you be alright?” 

“I’ll make sure they get back home safe.” Cipher waves her away, shooing the construct that she’s puppeteering. “Go on and take care of your business.” 

The Garmentmaker grows still. Her posture shifts as Aglaea releases her hold on the threads that make up her innards. With her master no longer controlling her body, the Garmentmaker bows before floating off. Returning to whatever post she held before being hijacked by Aglaea. 

“We won’t bother you anymore either, Charty.” Trianne waves off the mountain dweller. They’ve kept this guy from working for long enough. 

“When you're ready to tell stories, I will gladly listen.” Chartonus bids the women farewell, grabbing his hammer from where he left it beside the anvil. 

Cipher quickly retrieves her coin from where it fell with her tail. The cool metal being pressed between fur. The streets have mostly cleared by now with the only people around being those passing through. None sparring them so much as a glance but the same probably won’t be true elsewhere. 

“It’d be best to lay low for a while. At least until everyone moves onto something else to gossip about.” Cipher tells them. Talk of this incident is going to spread like wildfire if it hasn’t already. Though with how brief it was people should lose interest in it just as quickly. “A couple days at most I’d bet.” 

“Lady Trianne, could you…” Castorice starts, words growing quieter with each one until becoming unintelligible. 

“Yeah, I’ll buy some notebooks for you.” Even so, Trianne understands what she’s asking. She sighs and her shoulders fall limp. “It really shouldn’t be a big deal for you to go shopping yourself.” 

“Here’s hoping your idea works then.” Cipher ruffles the top of her head. When she pulls away those red strands are almost as messy as her silver locks. “You can go on by yourself Big Sis. This is the perfect chance for me to test if my idea works.” 

She snaps her fingers, the miniature Hand of Zagreus she managed to scrounge up popping into existence beside her. It mimes the motions of her hand. Fingers curling and thumb sticking up. The older Demigod shakes her head at the thief’s antics. The small wings on her back flutter, lifting Trianne off the ground. 

“Alright, just no bullying little Cas while we’re not looking.” Trianne waves and starts flying off while the thief stutters over her accusation.

“I don’t bully cute girls!” Cipher shouts as she vanishes around a corner. She shakes her head and raises her tail. “No faith in me at all.” 

Beside her, Castorice’s lips subtly rise. A small smile painting her lovely features. How badly Cipher wishes to pinch those round cheeks of hers. Instead she turns on her heel to face the Holy Maiden and bends her waist. With a bow she offers her hand to Castorice. The Hand of Zagreus floats between them. 

Unlike Aglaea with her Garmentmakers, Cipher cannot feel through the Hand of Zagreus. All she can do is observe the way Castorice hesitantly places her palm over it. Study how her permanently stained fingertips and jagged nails press against the metal of it. Her Coreflame stutters. It beats and drums in time with her quickening heart. Or is it the other way around? Hard to say. What Cipher knows is that it's fluctuating with a desire so tangible that it might as well be a whisper in her ear. The need to protect, to make up for a past mistake. She has to hold back the urge to click her tongue over how annoyingly loud it is. 

“My offer to whisk you away still stands.” Cipher directs the Hand of Zagreus to press its thumb against the back of the Holy Maiden’s palm. She watches her face to make sure she’s not pressing too hard, having no other way to gauge how much pressure she’s exerting. 

“This is hardly the worst treatment I’ve ever received.” Castorice squeezes the hand back. Her thin skin forming a solid outline of her bones. In the darkness she would look like a phantom, a ghost. Under Kephale’s light she’s nothing more than a scrawny, abused stray. “Where else could I even go?” 

“You could travel with me. We could go wherever we want whenever we want.” Cipher stares deep into her amethyst eyes. Pretty jewels stained by a deep seated sorrow. One that she wishes to wash away. “Being stuck in a cage is no way to live.” 

“A bird that was born in a cage cannot survive in the wild.” Castorice smiles at that. It’s not a happy smile, but from someone who has given up. Lost all hope in being granted what should be rightfully her’s. 

Seeing that makes heat flare up in Cipher’s chest. A stuffy, clogging, bile feeling. The words are different and the context nothing at all alike, yet the intent behind them are the exact same as the ones that spilled from the Goldweaver’s lips the last time she was here. And that pisses Cipher off. 

“Fine then.” That anger manages to slip out. Cipher doesn’t mean for it to, doesn’t mean to direct it at Castorice. It just comes out of its own violation. A frustration she’s been nurturing rearing its ugly head. 

“Lord Cipher-” Castorice starts and she doesn’t want to hear it. The thief flips her coin before she can spout whatever empty reassurance she wants to spit out. 

Carrying her away with the Hands of Zagreus is incredibly awkward but very doable. Cipher can’t even be happy over her stroke of genius because of how disgustingly tight her chest feels. She brings Castorice back to her room and slips away before time can resume its normal flow. Though not before setting down a golden coin alongside the other two the Holy Maiden has left atop a table. 

Chapter Text

Castorice is engulfed within a deep sea. Moonlight flitters down from the surface, casting a gentle glow unto the corrals and bones that surround her. The cool water caresses her scales as she swims through it, wings carrying her forward with the grace of fins. Her long tail helping control the precision of her maneuvers. She twirls and spins and glides around the natural structures jutting out from the compact sand further below. 

Castorice snatches the tip of a jutting rib cage, snapping it off as she zips past it. Chewing on that chunk as she continues onward. Sharpening her fangs against its rough surface. Her keen eyes spot the encroaching shallows up ahead. It's distant yet at the speed she’s traveling it won’t be long before she crashes straight into that steep incline. With a flap of her wings, Castorice breaches the surface. Water surges around her as she takes to the skies instead. Creating a wave that shines beneath the twin moons. 

Man made structures greet her along the beach. Castorice carefully lands atop one of the city’s outer walls, trying her best not to damage it in the process. Gazing down at the streets, all is silent. Not a soul is out in the open. Not even the guards. Fear keeping them all locked inside. The stench of it fills the air and suffocates her nostrils along with another wretched icor. One that has her lips curling back, the bone snapping under the force of her grip. 

The shifting of movement draws her attention. The soft clack of talons against tile. The source is a cat, it’s singular mechanical eye staring at her in turn. The cat chirps before turning away with its tail raised. Castorice slinks after it, her much larger body unable to move with as much grace. Having to carefully plan out her steps to avoid causing any unnecessary damage. That makes her movements slow and awkward yet the cat never strays out of her sight. 

It disappears into a tower split off from the rest of the city. Tall and magnificent, a spire reaching up towards the twin moons. The door at its zenith wide enough for her to squeeze through. Yet once she’s inside the cat is nowhere to be found. Only a wide, empty space. 

Castorice chitters and chirps, calling out to no avail. There’s not a single hair left of the cat. It's gone as though it was never there to begin with. Her frills droop and her tail curls around herself. A pathetic whine echoes through the tower. The silence making her cries reverberate loudly through the air. 

The shadows cast around Castorice creep closer. Encroaching on her gangly figure, devouring the moonlight. She flexes her fingers, claws dragging across the ground. Heat builds up within her chest and licks up her throat. She spits out a spew of blue fire. The shadows retreat but only long enough for that flame to be smothered out. They lash out at Castorice with fervor, coiling around her wrists and her neck. 

The shadows at her throat dig into her scales. Castorice writhes and kicks and spits out more flames. No matter what she does, no matter how many times she forces those shadows back, they keep returning. Her throat aches. Golden blood spilling from the cracks left against her scales. 

A tall shadow stands before her. Faceless, featureless, it reaches out and caresses her face. A gentle touch that makes her skin crawl and turns her flames into bile. Those amorphous fingers trail up her cheek, along the length of her neck, and wrap around where she leaks gold. They squeeze tighter and tighter. Burrowing past scale, cutting into flesh, gnawing at bone, until-

Castorice jerks upright, her hands flying to her throat. Her spine bows low as her chest contracts. Beads of sweat flow down her neck. Her breaths come out labored, a nasly sound that grates at her ears. With a groan Castorice crawls out from her next of blankets. She pulls out the curtains, jerking them open. Her whole body flinches when Kephale’s light bursts into the room. Her poor eyes being momentarily blinded by that sudden shift. She bumps her forehead against the window’s railing. 

A deep breath is sucked in. Castorice holds it, counting until her lungs start to burn. Exhaling makes that burn creep up her throat. It emphasizes how dry it is. So she pushes herself up and snags the water bottle she keeps near her nest. Chugging down whatever is left of it. By the time she sets it back down the fog clouding her mind has mostly dissipated with only remnants of that panic she felt in her slumber remaining. 

“Another cryptic dream…” Castorice has had them her whole life. Sometimes she’s dancing in a field of flowers, sometimes she’s swimming through a vast ocean, sometimes  she’s being chased by a threat she cannot discern. 

Some priests have told her they must be prophetic. Others claimed they were the whispers of the dead trying to speak to her. Yet when speaking of them to others she always leaves out the detail that in those dreams that she is still whole. So perhaps they are broken memories she has long forgotten. For all Castorice knows they could be a strange amalgamation of all three. 

No matter what they stem from, she has developed a habit of recording each one down. All the notes and journals she kept before have been lost in the maelstrom that has buried Aidonia. Which means now she must start anew. Castorice decides that the notebook with a pink cover dotted with floral patterns shall be for keeping track of her dreams. 

Her pen is shaky at first but grows more steady with each line jotted down. Weaving together a summarization of the scene her unconscious mind conjured together. Noting down whatever details stand out to her while those images are still fresh and adding a doodle of the cat to the corner of the page. 

A one-eyed cat. Castorice’s gaze drifts to the three coins piled atop each other that bear such an insignia. Gifts, offerings, whatever they are, a prize left behind by a flighty Demigod. The look on Cipher’s face before she had vanished is still clear in Castorice’s mind. Hurt laced with a sorrow she cannot pinpoint the source of. It shouldn’t matter. It’s for the best that people don’t get close to her, that she doesn’t form attachments, and yet… 

The notebook is snapped shut. Castorice doesn’t bother changing out of her sleepwear before stepping out of her room. She strains her eyes so that the golden threads are visible to her, following them through the halls. They lead her straight to the workshop where she finds Aglaea circling around a mannequin. A pale dress draped around its figure mixed with purple hues. 

“Perfect timing.” The Goldweaver doesn’t bother with a greeting nor show any surprise over her presence. Instead she urges Castorice closer with a flick of her finger. “Come, tell me what you think.” 

At first her feet are frozen in place, a slight sense of deja vu passing through her. Castorice’s hair is a mess as she hadn’t bothered to brush it. Still tangled and bed ridden. Her sleepwear is crumpled in several places with one of the sleeves slipping down her shoulders. In contrast Aglaea is as always immaculate. She’s dressed more casually than usual, donning a simpler dress that lacks the metal charms and tidbits that she seems to favor. The cut of it is higher as well making only a small sliver of her tattoo visible. 

Castorice’s self consciousness is fleeting. Easily shaken off by telling herself that she was in a far worse state when they first met. Having a bedhead is nothing compared to being splattered with grim and gore. So she heeds the Goldweaver’s instruction and stumbles over to where she’s waiting.

Aglaea steps away from the mannequin, allowing her to freely study it without fear of getting too close. The dress is simple but also not. With a long, flowy skirt that half of which resembles a butterfly’s wing. A corset built into the back to help keep it up and to also allow for adjustments with the fit of it. The entirety of her upper back and shoulders would be bare if she wore it. More than enough rooms for her wings to comfortably stretch out, if she still had them. While just as Castorice had requested there’s a neck piece that would completely hide her throat and subsequently the scar wrapped around it. 

“It’s beautiful but it somehow feels incomplete?” Castorice eventually concludes. It's a nice dress, the quality of the fabrics is nothing to scoff at, but the longer she looks at it the more she gets the sense that something is missing. 

“That’s because it is. I was thinking that you could help me add the finishing touches.” Aglaea lays out a spool of fabric against her work table. A deep, rich purple that’s nearly black. 

“Me?” Castorice might have dabbled in sewing from time to time but she’s hardly any good at it. Done more so out of necessity than anything else. 

“Of course. I promised to teach you how to weave. This would make for excellent practice.” Aglaea cuts free strips of cloth without needing to measure. Her lines perfectly straight, the smooth motion so familiar that it's instinctual.

“Anything I do would ruin the dress.” Castorice doesn’t see how her pitiful skills could improve upon the dress. It would become a criss-cross of exposed stitching at best. 

“Anything that is added on from this point can easily be removed, and if it does get damaged in the process then I can fix it.” Yet Aglaea is completely unbothered by that guaranteed outcome. 

“Even so, my work would pale in comparison to yours. I wouldn’t want to make your dress look ugly.” It really is something that they shouldn’t be going back and forth about. Yet both of them have chosen the path of stubbornness.

“Cas.” She’s not sure what surprises her more, hearing Aglaea using the shorthand of her name or the low rasp with which she utters it. “It’s your dress, you can do whatever you want with it.” 

Castorice doesn’t understand. A cage is supposed to be cold and dark. Instead she’s being shown such warmth at every turn. She should be appalled by this. She needs to put more distance between them, redraw those lines that separated her from her handlers. It would be safer for everyone that way and yet there’s a tiny part of her that’s eager to see where this will go. The part of her that happily coos about the meager hoard she’s been gifted and that wants to be wrapped in the golden threads dangling around her. 

“While you’re here, we may as well check if it fits properly.” The ring of Aglaea’s steps makes her ears twitch. She lifts her head, finding the Goldweaver pulling out a screen. 

She sets up the screen around where Castorice and the mannequin stands. Blocking out any angles that aren't immediately facing a wall. It’s a pointless act. They’re both women and it's not like Aglaea can actually see in a way that matters here. Yet the gesture itself says so much. Castorice bites the inside of her cheek, pulling at the hems of her sleeves. 

A Garmentmaker joins her side to aid her. Tying the corset for Castorice and smoothing down the fabric. She shivers when those cool, ceramic hands glide down her sides to feel how the dress hugs her figure. Settling against her hips, thumbs pressing into her. 

Her heart starts to beat loudly within the cage of her chest when Aglaea steps around the screen. With the Garmentmaker holding her from behind, Castorice feels like an offering being laid out before a goddess. Especially once Aglaea’s threads start to prod at her. Each brush of them is the phantom of a touch. It's a confusing sensation that messes with her senses. Especially with how warm those golden threads are, thrumming with the pulse of divinity. 

“How does it feel?” Aglaea’s words are their own caress and she can’t tell if she’s imagining that raspy lilt to them or not. 

Like it's too much and not enough all at once. “The- The neck piece is a bit too loose. The chest feels slack as well.” Castorice manages to stumble out. Though only barely.

Aglaea hums, her golden threads coiling like snakes. If Castorice digs deeper into that imagination, she can practically feel the way their tongues would be licking at her throat. When they turn their inspections lower, she gasps. Poking, nudging against the fabric covering her breasts. One even goes so far as to pull at it to test how much it gives. 

Castorice’s hands fly up, face on fire as the fear of being laid bare creeps into the back of her mind. At the same time her throat rumbles louder than it ever has before. Loudly enough that it makes Aglaea pause. Her cloudy eyes widen. Castorice can feel the ghost of her tail curling nervously. Her tongue turns to lead and her purrs grow louder under her growing stress. 

“I see what you mean.” One of the threads slivers up to stroke her cheek and a smile curls against Aglaea’s lips. “If you grow anymore tense then a passing breeze will snap you in half.” 

“It doesn’t bother you?” Castorice's voice is distorted by the rumbling in her throat. Hearing it makes her curl further into herself. 

“Why would it? Cifera used to purr for me all the time.” Aglaea easily responds as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. 

It’s not the same, Castorice wants to say. Cipher is part cat while she is the shadow of a dragon. A herald of death and destruction. A beast as feared as they are revered across the lands. Not at all comparable to the cute felines that live among people.  

At the same time the mention of that playful Demigod has Castorice’s mind drifting back to her, to that look on her face. Maybe, just maybe, for once in her life she could try to mend something instead of breaking it. She doesn’t know how or what’s even broken, only that something is. Perhaps she will only manage to make things worse but she won’t know if she doesn’t so much as try. 

“Lady Tribbie mentioned that you got in a fight with her.” Castorice mutters, the rumbling in her throat gradually quieting. “Can I ask what happened?” 

The threads against her freeze and the Garmentmaker’s hands stiffen. The former recedes, returning to their master. Castorice reaches out to them as they retreat only to catch herself before she can snatch hold of them.  

“Cifera and I have differing opinions on how certain things should be handled. That’s always how it's been between us, but in the end we both always strove towards the same goal.” Aglaea turns her gaze towards the window. Towards where a sliver of Kephale’s colossal figure can be made out. “That is, except when it came to one thing.” 

The Garmentmaker releases Castorice then. At the same time Aglaea makes her way back around the privacy screens, gesturing to the naked mannequin before slipping out of sight. The Holy Maiden picks up on the unspoken order and begins stripping out of the incomplete dress.

“When I imbibed Mnestia’s Coreflame I received a prophecy: You shall have your final bath in warm and radiant gold.” Aglaea’s voice carries over the cover separating them. Her vague silhouette circling her work table. 

“That is…” It’s vague but not at all obtuse. The meaning behind it is crystal clear with zero room for misinterpreting. It makes Castorice think of the waters in Marmoreal Palace and how it shimmers with a golden tint. 

“Cifera received her own revelation: You shall walk with greed and die over petty change.” Again, vague but also somehow more explicit than the one Aglaea received. “Quite forthright for a prophecy.” 

Everyone must one day fall into Death’s embrace. Even the Gods have proven that they are not immune to this universal law. However it is one thing to know Death is a distant inevitability and another thing entirely to have it so clearly written in stone. Men have been driven mad by such warnings. Doing everything they could to avoid it only to walk straight into that cold hand. 

“There used to be more of us- Demigods, that is- but Hysilens…” Aglaea takes in a deep breath. “The prophecy she received came to pass. After that I suppose it finally clicked for Cifera that those words we received were not just for show.” 

“She’s afraid of dying.” Not just her own, but probably fearful for the other prophesied Heirs as well. This must be why she is so insistently trying to convince Castorice to leave with her. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“And here I thought Aidonians do not fear Death.” Aglaea jests. Though it would be a lie to say she isn’t curious how the worshipers of the Hand of Shadow actually view such things. 

“To cross the River of Souls and meet Thanatos, one must have a strong enough spirit.” Back in her sleepwear, Castorice pulls aside the privacy screen. Joining the Goldweaver beside the work table. “To strengthen your spirit you must live a fulfilling life. If you are scared of dying then that means you’re not yet strong enough to make the journey to the Netherealm.” 

“That’s a fascinating way to look at it.” Aglaea only allows herself to ponder that belief for a moment. “But back on topic, you’re correct. Cifera insisted that we shouldn’t blindly follow a prophecy that would lead to our demise. I told her that if nothing is done about the maddened Titans and the Black Tide then we would all die anyways.” 

Castorice doesn’t disagree with Aglaea. She is correct in that if things continue as they are then it won’t matter if their prophecies come to pass or not. The difference being that in one scenario all will be dragged into the Netherealm and in the other there will ideally be a world left to rebuild but-

“You make it sound like you don’t care if we die.” Castorice can so easily picture Cipher coming to such a conclusion. Especially if her emotions were cranked high at the time. 

Aglaea stutters, her calm facade cracking. It’s jarring to witness. Up until now she’s seemed so impeccable, so untouchable. Yet the way her expression morphs into one of horror and her shoulders fall makes her look so much more human. 

“Is that really how it seems?” Aglaea’s strained whisper makes her sound so small. Nothing at all like the unflinching woman who is willing to stand before a vessel of Death with a tender smile. 

“I’m not disagreeing with you, but when people are scared they don’t care about logic.” Castorice has seen it time and time again. The people kneeling before her begging, screaming, crying out whatever they can no matter how nonsensical in hopes she would stay her hand. “So that could be how she interpreted your words.” 

Contemplative silence settles over them. Aglaea brings a hand up to her face, covering the lower half. She stares out at nothing with her thoughts roaring. Replaying that moment again and again with this new perspective. Castorice awkwardly stands there and lets her stew in them. She has given her perspective on the matter, the rest is up to the Goldweaver. 

“It’s not that I don’t care. If there were a way we could save the world without any sacrifices then I would happily take that route.” Aglaea lowers her hand. She’s calmed back down, regaining her grace, yet her sorrow is still so plain to see. “I am too much of a realist to believe that is possible. Not after everything I’ve seen and experienced.” 

“I’m not the one you should be saying that to.” Yet Castorice still holds those words close. She thinks she’s starting to understand the Goldweaver better. Just a little bit. 

“No, but Cifera has a terrible habit of running from anything she deems inconvenient and with her powers catching her is impossible even for me.” From Aglaea’s frustrated huff, the Holy Maiden can imagine how many times she had tried to.

“I can try to pass your words onto her.” As soon as the words leave Castorice’s lips, she realizes there’s a slight problem with that. “Though, she might be upset with me as well right now. I think.” 

“What happened?” Confused concern overtakes Aglaea’s features. Giving the Holy Maiden her full attention.

Castorice transcribes her conversation with Cipher word for word. Down to the last minute detail that she can recall. How her ears stood taut, the faint tremor to her lips. Aglaea soaks in all of it, cross referencing it with her deeper understanding of that cat-like Demigod. 

“I highly doubt she was actually upset with you and more so your situation.” She concludes once Castorice finishes speaking. “If there is one thing Cifera values above all else, it is freedom. The freedom to choose and pursue your dreams without being bound by the cast that society would trap you within. That’s what makes her the perfect Chrysos Heir to take on Zagreus’s mantle.” 

“Then in her eyes the prophecy must be another cage.” A gilded cage is still a cage, but there’s also a certain comfort to it. A certainty. Trapped behind bars you know exactly what you’re getting, what to expect. Outside, without those walls, there’s no telling what you could face. What sort of monsters are on the other side. Which is better, Castorice cannot say. 

“Sometimes to do what must be done, you must sacrifice your own desires.” A rueful chuckle leaves Aglaea’s lips. “I’m sure that is something you understand better than most.” 

Castorice’s fingers tighten, her nails digging into her palms. That is putting it lightly. Even if she were more selfish, it wouldn’t make a difference. Her desire to touch and embrace others is simple, mundane, yet the world will not let her have that. 

“I must confess I am curious to learn about your past.” Aglaea’s sightless eyes bore into her. Keen and with great interest, yet strangely not at all intrusive. Merely inquisitive. “Not just the rituals you performed or the duties you fulfilled, but also how the world looked to you.” 

“It was cold. Not literally but in the sense that every time I got near others they’d stop laughing and smiling and they’d all refuse to look me in the eye.” Though Castorice was hailed as a Holy Maiden, one would think she was a tyrant with how the people shied away whenever she took to the streets. Men standing in front of their wives, mother’s shielding their children. Sometimes outright running at the sight of her.

She hasn’t encountered that once with the three Demigods. When they get too close, they initially falter. Goosebumps crawl up their arms and their movements stutter. Only for them to brush off that unease and treat her as though she were an ordinary girl. Well, as much as they can without crossing the line that can’t be walked back. 

“Your curse, how long have you had it?” Aglaea carefully asks, as if she almost dreads hearing the answer. 

“For as long as I can remember.” Castorice actually has no idea how old she is. The day she was brought to Aidonia was treated similarly to her birthday, but no one really kept track of the years. She can only make rough estimates. “I think I was seven years old the first time my caretaker told me to kill someone.” 

“Seven- You were but a child.” In her surprise, Aglaea raises her voice. It’s startling but also satisfying to hear her react so strongly to that. 

“At first it was just the elderly. People who had been so weakened by their age that they could barely move or that couldn’t remember who they were anymore.” Castorice wraps her arms around her chest. Trying to hide from the memory of sunken faces that bloomed into brilliant gardens. “She told me that I was helping them. That- That I was sending them to a better place.” 

“No matter who it was and for what reason, to force a child to-” Aglaea snaps her jaw shut. She closes her eyes and takes a calming breath. 

“Thank you. Hearing you say that actually means a lot to me.” It’s like having a rock that’s been stuck in Castorice’s shoes for years finally removed. “Nobody around me batted an eye or questioned it. So even though I knew it was wrong I couldn’t help but wonder if I was the crazy one.” 

“Perhaps those claims of Aidonians of being a bunch of insane cultists were actually spot on.” Aglaea bitterly mumbles to herself. 

“It wasn’t that bad!” Castorice shrivels the moment the Goldweaver’s eyes snap over to her. “I mean, the only people my hands were used on were those that didn’t have long left anyways or prisoners that were to be sent to the gallows.” 

“What of your deeds as Aidonia’s Maiden of War?” Oh, right, that. Considering the city did eventually fall to invaders, it actually was a good thing she was forced to learn how to fight.

“The first time I fought actually wasn’t planned. I went out with a few priests on a pilgrimage to one of our sacred lands where we were ambushed.” Castorice wouldn’t consider herself a warrior, she doesn’t have the mentality of one. However she does have good situational awareness. That combined with her inhumane quirks make for a rather efficient soldier. “After that the head priest and the king realized I could help keep invaders at bay.” 

Because of her curse, Castorice couldn’t spar with others as most would to learn. Or to be more specific no one was willing to and she never pushed it. Instead she mostly learned on the fly. Getting by partially through the advantage her curse gave her and partially through dumb luck until she started figuring out how to properly wield her scythe. 

“Killing people who are trying to kill you isn’t as harrowing. So in that sense I actually preferred it over my duties.” Though had it truly been up to Castorice, she wouldn’t have done either. 

“Depending on how things turn out, I may have to ask you to take on that role again.” Aglaea confesses with a huff. “Even though we’re all under threat by a common enemy, some people just can’t help but want to pick fights.” 

“Do you mean what happened yesterday?” Castorice still feels bad about that too. The unnecessary trouble it must’ve caused. All because she couldn’t put her foot down and tell Trianne no.

“The Council was clearly disappointed that you only gave him a concussion. It would have been the perfect excuse for them to put a leash on me had you killed him.” Aglaea’s features stiffen. A crinkle forming in her brow as her lips press together in a thin line. “There’s also Castrum Kremnos who still rally behind Nikador despite their insanity.” 

“If there’s anything you need me to do…” Castorice starts, the words dying off. She’s not entirely sure what she’s offering here. To be a guard, a soldier, or an assassin? All three could very well end up being the same. 

Aglaea’s sightless eyes cast over the quiet Maiden. A sly smile spreads across her lips that has Castorice averting her own gaze. Time and time again she struggles to hold onto her confidence in the Goldweaver’s presence. 

“Rather than a Maiden of War, you’re more like a dog.” Aglaea chuckles when her head snaps back up.

“Huh!?” Castorice has been called a lot of things over the hundreds of years she’s lived: A scion of Death, a reaper, a devil in disguise. But a dog? Never, nothing even close. It’s also completely false. Why would she say such a thing?

“A dirty, neglected puppy that I’ve picked up off the street and that’s now eager to please me.” As if that weren’t bad enough, Aglaea sends out a golden thread to brush back her bangs. Having it move as though it were petting her. “Shall I give you a treat?” 

“I’m not- What would you even- Huh?” Castorice stumbles back, tripping on her own feet. The Garmentmaker catches her before she can fall. She lands against the construct’s front, feeling the curve of her breasts pressing against her back. That sensation makes her already confused mind turn into an incomprehensible mess. 

“Was that too much?” Aglaea asks, half amused and half guilty. She hadn’t meant to startle the younger woman so. 

“That’s- Um-” Castorice stutters. She tries to think of something, anything other than how being called a puppy makes her turn into mush. “About the issue with Lord Cipher…” 

Aglaea pulls her golden thread back, curling it around one of the threads that make up her web. She closes her eyes as her senses thrum through them. Searching to see if she can catch so much of a glimpse of that silvery tail. Checking as far as her divine blessings will let her reach.

“I can’t see her.” An outcome Aglaea had fully expected. Even so, a part of her was hoping that wouldn’t be the case. “We’ll have to wait until she decides to pop up again to sort out this misunderstanding.” 

Who knows how long that could take. Yet it's of little worry to Castorice. She’s walked Amphoreus for hundreds of years. Unless Cipher decides to vanish for decades that is. Then she would be left to stew in a pot of her own doubts and self-loathing until she shrivels up and dies. Hopefully it doesn’t come down to that.

Chapter Text

One of the hallmarks of being a great thief is to be an expert at tracking as well. Treasures and coins rarely stay in one place long, the same is true for the people who own them. Knowing how to find them, who to ask to learn more, how to word those questions in ways that won’t raise suspicions, all of these are important traits to have for one in Cipher’s field of business. Though some targets are far more tricky to hunt down than others. Her target this time happens to be one of the hardest people to track down. 

It’s not impossible for Cipher, just annoying. Taking her a full day and a half to finally pick on the trail. Really the hardest part was finding a starting point to search from. At that point onward it became simple to follow the signs. For Cipher’s prey this time is a fellow thief, which means she understands well how they think and move. All it took was catching wind of a fancy vase or whatever being whisked out from a merchant’s wares for the true chase to begin. 

Although it does make Cipher feel more like a dog than a cat. Sniffing at the air for traces left behind and combining whatever her nose tells her with her pre-existing knowledge of that person’s habits. In the end she finds her fellow thief tucked away within an old broken sewer pipe. Their amorphous body easily standing out amongst the metal and stone hiding them. That garish purple of their skin doing nothing to help them hide. Honestly it's a wonder they manage to hide at all sometimes with how much they stand out under the light. 

Cipher raps her knuckles against one of the pipes. The metal trinkets sewn into the knuckles of her gloves creates a loud clanging with each tap. The coins that blob-like figure had been counting are dropped with a start. They whip around, arms raised and giant eye sockets narrowed. 

“Who dares to- Boss?” Bartholos relaxes the moment they recognize her, lowering their plump hands and the “mouth” around their neck opening up into a grin. “Trying to scare me like that. I’ll have you know I once plucked one of Nikador’s nails right off their fingers and got away with it!” 

“Oh I don’t doubt that for a moment. A true connoisseur of our craft.” Cipher takes long, measured steps towards the fellow thief. Eyeing the coins that they’re plucking off the ground. “But that does make me curious, have you ever stolen from Thanatos before?” 

“From Thanatos?” With a scoff, Bartholos waves one of their thick hands. “Please, part of the fun is being chased and they would’ve let me take whatever I wanted.” 

“So the myths that Zagreus and their kin could freely enter and leave Death’s domain as they pleased were true.” With the Trickery Titan, it’s a flip of a coin whether the stories are actually true or not. This one in particular Cipher always took with a grain of salt because she figured Thanatos wouldn’t take too kindly to them trespassing. Seems she was mistaken.

“And you never cared for such tales before.” Bartholos slams their catch of the day back onto the ground, turning their full attention to the Demigod with an accusing finger. “I know that look. What is it you want to know? Depending on your question, I may have to charge you for the answer.” 

“It’s just, my Coreflame has been acting strange lately.” Cipher places her hands over her chest and purses her lips. “Whenever I get close to a certain person, it starts to release these phantom emotions. Filling me with this sense of longing and regret.” She flutters her eyes. An exaggerated flair to her tone. The tip of her tail twitching. “Any idea what that’s about?” 

“Oh no! Don’t you dare start whining about how you miss your ex!” The spirithief might lack many physical features, but the way their deep purple skin begins to take on a more magenta shade conveys their anger well enough. “I warned you no good would come from chasing after Mnestia’s Heir. Of course that Goldweaver would follow in their footsteps and leave behind a trail of broken hearts.” 

“This isn’t about Aglaea and I’m being completely serious.” Cipher huffs. If she did want to brood about Aglaea, then she wouldn’t be doing it in front of them. “You must’ve heard about the new stray they picked up for the Flame-Chase by now. It happens every time I get near her.” 

“That’s- Huh. Guess even one as old as me can still learn new things.” Bartholos scratches the side of their round head. “Aidonia’s Holy Maiden, is it? I’ve heard of her before but always thought those tales about her touch being lethal were dromas shit.”

“So did I but it turns out it’s real. Even saw it in action myself.” Cipher has become pretty jaded to violence and the occasional bit of gore. However there’s something especially grisly about seeing flowers burst out from a man. 

“So she’s a genuine Holy Maiden of Thanatos and not a fake. Even then, the Coreflame shouldn’t…” Bartholos starts making various noises as they wrack their brain. A thought occurs to them, one that has the spirithief stilling. “Wait, that girl, what does she look like? Is she human?” 

“Doubt it. She’s got long ears and can purr.” Cipher hasn’t thought about it much, figuring Castorice is a fellow hybrid like her. “As for what she looks like, she’s about as tall as me. Cute round face and bug eyes. Pale, almost white, lavender hair.” 

She’s not sure what sort of reaction she should’ve expected, but it certainly wasn’t for Bartholos to start laughing. It starts as a few confused giggles before exploding into full on cackling. Their amorphous body jiggles, false mouth repeatedly clacking open and shut. It’s borderline manic. Nothing at all like their usual playful. lighthearted bearing. Dare Cipher say they seem to be on the brink of tears, were it even possible for the spirithief to cry. 

“Of course! Of course my beloved playmate would pull off something like this!” Bartholos claps their hands together. Their rubbery skin makes a squelching sound that has the Demigd’s ears recoiling. “Truly, managing to deceive even Trickery itself for so long. Looks like you’ve got competition.” 

“That’s great and all but what does that actually mean?” Cipher has absolutely zero idea what this buffoon is going on about. What they could have possibly pieced together to get such a reaction out of them. 

“It’s not a trick if you know what’s going on behind the curtain.” Bartholos’s sing-song tone makes her consider the pros and cons of dunking them into the nearby waterways. “But as thanks for giving me such joyous news, I’ll give you a little teny tiny hint: The entrance that I- that Old Zagreus would use to reach the Netherealm is in Styxia.” 

“Styxia?” That’s a name Cipher hasn’t heard in a long time. Not in hundreds of years at the very least. Having fallen to ruin while she was still a child, possibly before she was even born. 

“You’re a smart cat, I’m confident in your ability to figure out the rest on your own.” Their false-mouth clacks with laughter, miming a grin.  “As for what you do with that information, that’s entirely up to you.” 

She had been hoping to get something more conclusive out of them, but those bound by Trickery are fickle. Cipher will admit that she is prone to such tendencies as well. Never wanting to say things outright, oftentimes feeling anxiety tightening her throat when she tries. Because of that she can’t exactly blame Bartholos for being so obtuse about whatever happened between them and Thanatos. The emotions that have been leaking out of the Coreflame says a lot in itself. The Trickery Titan is not one to harbor regrets. So whatever happened between them and the Hand of Shadow must have been truly rattling. 

Thus she bids the spirithief farewell and flips a coin. The world passes Cipher in a blur, cutting through the various passages that Janus once wove across the lands. Using those ethereal tunnels to cross a distance that would have taken anyone else weeks in a matter of seconds. When she slides to a halt, she’s standing at the edge of a wooden bridge. The sky above her is a dark blue, the only source of light being a pair of twin moons watching over the ruined city. 

Once upon a time Styxia was the homeland for all of Phagousa’s worshipers. The largest city-state to rest upon a coast, full of so much whimsy and wine that one would think the Titan themselves were its ruler. Or so the stories went. For such a supposedly carefree city, they didn’t shirk wrapping its streets in high walls to protect from any and all outside threats. It’s almost hard to imagine that it could have fallen to an outside threat. Yet not a living soul remains in this once beautiful city. 

This is not the first time Cipher has walked across this very bridge and passed through the gates. She, Aglaea and Hysilens had journeyed all the way here in hopes of learning more about the disasters plaguing Amphoreus. It ended up being more so a scouting op than a proper investigation. Inexperience with her newly acquired divinity meaning Cipher could only do so much. While Aglaea is basically as blind as the haze to her eyes would suggest outside of the web she's woven around Okhema.

Those things would have been fine were it not also for the abundance of monsters they discovered roaming Styxia’s streets. Creatures of various shapes and sizes, sharing the same type of black carapace and vibrantly orange innards. Walking husks birthed by the Black Tide. Though they did not stick around long, it was still a fruitful effort. Made clear by the sheer number of those abominations crowding Styxia’s streets that they were a key player in its downfall. 

In the present, Cipher doesn’t have to worry about anyone else getting hurt. She climbs up a building to get a proper lay of the land, her memories of this place being hazy. The first thing she notes is how few Black Tide beasts there are this time around. Not much of a surprise there, considering how long it's been since then. There are still a few here and there that she can spot. Other’s Cipher can hear shuffling outside of her line of sight. Few and far between enough that she should be able to navigate without alerting any of them to her presence. 

The second thing that draws Cipher’s attention is the liquid flooding the lower levels of Styxia. Far too thick and viscous to be water. A dark, almost inky color as well. It was present back then as well but- just as it had the first time around- the sight of it makes her fur stand on end. Cipher’s tail poofs up and goosebumps crawl up her arms. She doesn’t know what it is, only that every instinct in her body is telling her its bad news. Something dangerous and that should be avoided at all costs. 

The third and final thing Cipher mentally jots down are the ghosts occupying this dead city. Past experiences have taught her that speaking to them is a pointless endeavor. These wandering souls are stuck reliving a single moment of their life. They’ll respond to anything said to them but will inevitably “reset” and start repeating themselves. Like a video being forcefully rewound after a set amount of time has passed.  Because of that she’s not actually interested in them, but she swears there are way more of them now. Then again, it could just be that she’s noticing them more easily with less Black Tide monsters around. 

Cipher had come here but she has no idea what to actually look for. An entrance to the Netherealm… That sounds like the sort of thing that would be super obvious. However if that were the case then one of the Flame-Chasers would’ve learned something about it by now. She really hopes Bartholos isn’t just pulling her tail so she’d stop prodding into their past. If they are then she is so getting back at them for this. But since Cipher is already here, she may as well look around. Maybe she’ll be able to dig up some treasures and this trip won’t be a total waste. 

The cat-like thief hops from rooftop to rooftop. Sticking to the high ground to avoid both the creepy liquid and the few Black Tide abominations. Though doing so can only get her so far. For being a coastal city that worships the blessings of the ocean, Styxia is surprisingly vertical. As if its architects had prepared in advance for a flood that would wipe out the lower sections. 

The gigantic buildings that connect the various levels of Styxia are too tall and steep for Cipher to climb up. She has to step inside of the decayed temples to figure out how to reach the upper layers. Finding that they too have been infested by that strange liquid. Not just that but also strange bone-like growths that are reaching out from those inky waters. Clinging to the sides of buildings, piercing through the walls, and laying limp against the ruins. 

Her wandering eventually leads her to a tower with a spiral staircase that leads higher up. Chunks of it having collapsed over time, or perhaps were broken during the city’s downfall. The damage isn’t so bad that Cipher couldn’t climb it but there’s also an elevator in the center of the room which amazingly still works. It takes her all the way to the top of the stairs without so much as an unsteady wiggle. 

As it shudders to a halt, Cipher finds herself face-to-face with a spirit that’s pacing back and forth before a shelf. He looks to be in his thirties with dark circles set deep into his transparent eyes. Looking at his clothes, he seems to be the scholarly type. Not that she really cares about him. The elevator didn’t take her to the very top, so she’ll have to walk up the last stretch of stairs. 

“You! A living person!” Or so that was the plan. The Demigod barely places her foot onto the first step when the ghost calls out to her. “Stop! Please, listen to what I have to say.” 

“Whoa, can’t say I’ve ever encountered a self-aware ghost before.” Cipher takes it back, she is interested in this guy now. “Here I thought all of you were stuck in loops.” 

“Oh I don’t doubt I am as well, but unlike the others I knew what fate awaited me before I died.” The scholar then gets onto his knees and clasps his hands together. “Lost traveler I beseech you to help us lift the curse that has consumed Styxia.” 

Cipher chews on the inside of her cheek. She has no problem lying and telling people what they want to hear, but it’s different when the person in question is dead. Disrespectful in a way she’s not comfortable with. Especially since she must be the first living person he’s seen since he died. 

“I’ll listen but don’t get your hopes up about me being able to actually do anything.” If nothing else, it's a better use of Cipher’s time than randomly wandering around without knowing what she’s even looking for. 

“That’s fine. You can spread word of our plight so that someone who can aid us will learn of it.” Unbothered by her honesty, the scholar stands back up and clears his throat.  “Firstly I must ask, what does the rest of the world know of Styxia’s fall?” 

“Nothing really.” The general public probably doesn’t even remember that this city existed at one point. Though that doesn’t mean the name Styxia has been lost to time. “There’s a popular story about a dragon swallowing a princess, and after it's been killed an alchemist used the dragon’s flesh to revive her. Only for the dragon’s soul to fuse with her as well, and so filled with the dragon’s rage she brought the city to ruin.” 

“A distorted version of the events, but not wholly inaccurate.” Is he serious? She only brought it up because looking around has made her remember it. Guess it's true that all fairy tales are based on true events. “Our downfall was indeed brought about by a dragon. One that for so long had only ever been seen from afar. Flying across the horizon or diving within the ocean. But never close enough to cause concern.” 

“Something must have happened to make it turn aggressive then.” When wild animals (Can dragons be considered animals?) suddenly start changing their behavior that’s always a sign of something else being at play. Something that forces them out of their comfort zone.

“My thoughts exactly, but what I could not confidently tell you.” The scholar puts a hand against his chin with a contemplative hum. “I suppose if I were to pinpoint where everything started going wrong, it was when the water began rising. Which was not unusual by itself, just-” 

“The water was wrong. Yeah, I’ve seen it all over.” Good to know that Cipher’s survival instincts are spot on. 

“With the strange water came a sickness of the mind. People started growing manic, as if stuck inside a dream they could not escape.” He throws his arms out before crossing them over his chest, face marred with a deep frown. “As if that weren’t bad enough, then the shadows came.” 

“Shadows?” Cipher assumes he’s not being literal but one can never know for sure with how fucked up the world outside of Kephale’s protective light has become. 

“Phantoms, demons, whatever you want to call them! They took the shape of men and would lure people into the dark. Butchering anyone who stepped outside our city’s walls. Those things have such strange bodies too. I tried dissecting one and their biology is unlike anything in our records.” 

Ah, he’s talking about the Black Tide’s monsters. It’s just back then this phenomenon was not commonly known nor named. It was only after the scholars of the Grove began studying the Black Tide that it was officially labeled that. This also basically confirms their theory that it was the driving force behind Styxia’s fall. 

“Once the shadows started appearing, the dragon appeared more frequently and started creeping closer to the city. Before then we would only spot it yearly but after…” The scholar takes a deep, shuddering breath. Or more specifically mimics one, being dead and all. “Eventually it started growing so bold that it started snatching people off the streets.” 

One trait of the Black Tide, and the thing that makes it so terrifying, is that it can corrupt anything it comes in contact with. The current maddened state of several of the Titans is a prime example of this. Could it be that the Black Tide infected the dragon, driving it to grow aggressive towards people? 

“So if that story is a distorted version of the actual events, you guys managed to kill it.” If they hadn’t then Cipher is pretty confident the dragon would’ve moved onto other city-states. 

“Yes, specifically a swordsman from afar did.” So that too matches the story. The hero slayed the dragon and with his deed done, vanished. Leaving the city to fall to the disaster that would follow after. “This is the part where things get strange. You see, while we were inspecting the dragon’s corpse afterwards, we discovered a child inside of it.” 

What? “What?” And here Cipher was thinking that would be one of the inaccurate parts. Especially with no mention of any princesses being eaten. Though the “princess” could have easily been a random citizen it ate or- “You guys killed a pregnant dragon?” 

Her thoughts drift to pointed ears and a nearly silent purr. No, it’s too soon to jump to such a conclusion. The triplets have pointy ears as well. There was also Cerydra with her small, draconic wings. Yet at the same time, Bartholos’s manic laughter echoes in her head. 

“No! Maybe? It doesn’t matter.” With a groan the scholar shakes his head. Clearing his throat before continuing. “The point is, we found a human infant inside the dragon and from there everything started getting worse. The shadows- The dragon’s blood must have drawn them in because they started appearing in far greater numbers until we were eventually overrun.” 

“Okay. I get the whole backstory now but what exactly are you expecting me to do?” The more he talks, the more confused Cipher grows. She has no idea where he is going with all of this. 

“The reason we spirits are lingering here is because the dragon’s corpse is blocking the passage to the River of Souls.” That gets her to perk up. The Demigod’s tail twitches and she leans closer. “I believe that if you can find the girl and bring her back to the dragon, then the curse will be lifted and we can all pass on! Hopefully.” 

“Uh huh.” Sounds like a whole lot of assumptions and guess work with no actual evidence to back it up. “And you didn’t do that while you were alive because…?” 

“The queen insisted that child be spared and sent her far away.” The scholar clicks his tongue. Clearly wanting to say more but holding back his words. “I have no idea what became of her.” 

“Where’s the dragon’s corpse then?” If Cipher can see it for herself, that might clarify a lot of her confusion. It could also point her to the entrance to the Netherealm that Bartholos mentioned. 

“At the top floor of the tallest tower. You cannot miss it.” The scholar gestures towards the general direction it's in. “Well, it was while I was alive. I couldn’t tell you if anyone moved it since then.” 

That’s all Cipher needs to hear. Without a word she starts to make her way up the final stretch of stairs. Mind churning as she processes all this new information she’s been given. 

“Good luck, brave hero!” The scholar calls after her, making the Demigod trip on the final step. 

Her a hero? What hero? A dirty thief will always be a thief whether their blood is red or gold. No matter what Aglaea or the triplets or Hysilens tried to say, that is an irrefutable fact. Ironically the only one who truly acknowledged and accepted Cipher for what she is was Cerydra. Not once did the Demigod of Law try to get her to change her ways. Because as she put it: If there were no crimes then there would be no need for laws. 

Cerydra, now there’s someone she hasn’t thought about in a long time. The two of them didn’t speak much, their interactions few and far between. Yet each one had left a deep impression on her. Out of all of them that girl was the most worthy of being called a hero. One would’ve thought Cerydra was born to wear a crown rather than the usurper she actually was. Forcing her way to the top and making sure everyone else played nice under her watch. To this day none of them know what became of her. If she died or if she’s still out there somewhere, blindly ripping apart the abominations that had taken Hysilens from them.

Uck, getting sentimental doesn’t suit Cipher at all. There are far more important things to worry about than the past. Now that she’s back outside she turns her attention to the direction the scholar had indicated. Just as he said, it's impossible to miss. A tower that stands far taller than any other building with the twin moons at its back. She can even spot how to get up there. There’s a large, thick chain coated with rust connecting it to a nearby rampart. Walking along that will take her directly where she needs to go. 

Before that Cipher looks down at the rest of the city, this time her critical eyes focusing on the buildings and the damage done to them. Or more specifically, to the lack-thereof. Dragons, even small ones, are no joke. They can flatten entire towns in a single day-cycle. Yet the only significant damage that she can spot is clearly from those bone-like growths stretching out from the mysterious liquid. An actually aggressive dragon would have left far bigger marks. 

“First the bad water came, then a madness began to spread. After that the Black Tide showed up.” Cipher lists off aloud, her metal heels clacking against the rusted chain. “No, that’s wrong. The Black Tide had to come first.” 

The strange water is the most likely culprit while the madness afflicting people was its corruption subtly seeping into them. Inevitably those that were corrupted transformed into the monsters, the shadows as the scholar had called them. That corruption kills before it transforms. The bodies were most likely buried outside the city, which is why none of the citizens realized what was happening. Where the monsters were actually coming from. 

“The dragon would pluck people off the streets, but it never actually attacked the city.” Not in any way that was significant. Any damage it did cause was minor enough to be unnoticeable. “Then when it died the number of monsters increased…” 

Her steps falter, the pieces falling into place. Perhaps the dragon could somehow sense the Black Tide and its corruption, snatching up those that were infected before they could spread its blight further. So when the dragon died that naturally meant there was nothing slowing down the spread of the Black Tide. Which then caused their numbers of monsters to explode beyond what Styxia could handle. 

“Was it actually trying to protect Styxia?” That would explain why it didn’t damage the city. Very little is known of dragons, but Cipher recalls that Cerydra had an odd sixth sense for picking up on anything bad. Whether it be poison or rot or the Black Tide’s corruption. Able to pinpoint such things with frightening accuracy. “Then the people it snatched were those infected and at risk of transforming?” 

It’s pure conjecture, she has no proof of this, and she probably won’t ever find evidence pointing one way or the other. Not unless the dead dragon’s ghost decides to tell Cipher outright. Too much time has passed to know for sure and it doesn’t really matter anymore. Just as she will always be a thief, the dead dragon will always be the final nail in Styxia’s coffin. 

At the end of the chain, Cipher is greeted by a door. One that has managed to remain locked tight for hundreds of years. A bit of poking and prodding reveals that it's not so old and rusted that it can’t be picked. Thank the Titans for that. She would have ripped her fur out because it doesn’t look like there’s any other way inside, and she really does not want to leave to find something to bust it open with. 

Once the lock gives under her masterful hands, Cipher slams her elbow against it to urge it open. Only to immediately throw her arms up to cover her mouth and nose, jumping back with a start. A putrid stench is pouring out from the opening. The ichor of decay that’s been left to marinate in this tower for hundreds of years. 

Cipher has to step away, leaning against the wall a good distance away from the door. Coughing and gagging so hard that her throat becomes sore. She doesn’t outright vomit but she almost wishes she had. At least then she’d have the relief of properly getting it out of her system. As things stand, Cipher kneels there. Waiting for her body to relax and to give the room some time to air out. She gives it roughly ten minutes before daring to get back up. 

The source of that awful stench becomes immediately obvious: Inside the giant circular room sits a colossal corpse. Its skin rotted and shape malformed from being left here for Oronyx knows how long. The dragon’s corpse is being held up by a few chains connected to the ceiling. Positioned for ease of study yet now makes it look more like the statues of the Titans often built behind their altars. 

The frame of wings have been stretched out behind the dragon. Arms are wrapped around the peak of it’s chest, nothing obvious keeping them in place. A long neck dangles limply, ending with an open stump. The head is nowhere to be found. Only a gaping hole where it once connected to the rest of it’s body. 

Ethereal butterflies surround the corpse by the dozens. Their transparent wings glowing with a lilac hue. Some rest atop the dragon’s wrinkled skin while others flit between an open rib cage. There are so many nestled inside, wings fluttering in unison, that it creates the illusion of a still beating heart. 

Cipher finds her feet firmly planted into the ground. Every single instinct within her body telling her to not take a single step further.  At the same time the Coreflame within her chest thumps erratically. The flicker of a flame being fed oil one drop at a time. Growing with each one. Her vision begins to blur and soon there are tears falling down her cheeks. 

“Zagreus, what the hell did you do?” Cipher chokes out. Attempting to wipe away the tears only for more to take their place. 

That’s the one thing that confuses her the most out of all of this. Clearly the Trickery Titan had something to do with this dragon. Going off this overwhelming sorrow, something specifically to do with their death. Asking that scholar if he knows anything won’t amount to anything, as Zagreus had a penchant for donning disguises. Once even managing to trick people into believing they were Mnestia. 

Actually, thinking about it, that brings up another question: What does this dragon have to do with Thanatos? That scholar said it's blocking the passage to the River of Souls. Surely the Titan who rules over Death would not stand for such a thing. Unless that’s where Zagreus and their regret comes into play? Cipher is getting a headache trying to come up with an explanation. All she’ll succeed in doing is running in circles with the limited pieces to this puzzle she has. 

These damn tears are starting to stop. Without them Cipher can start to actually see again. Turning her gaze to the strung up corpse. Noting that despite its malformed state, there don’t seem to be any growths or mutations afflicting it. No hard carapaces that are typical of the Black Tide’s abominations. Any oddities to its shape can be explained away by the passage of time. It hadn’t been corrupted. 

As Cipher stares the corpse down, she notices that it’s missing a finger. The middle one on it’s left hand. Severed down to the knuckle. Looking at the other fingers, she realizes they’re the perfect size and shape to mold into a scythe. 

Cipher bites her lip. All of the information she’s managed to gather is pointing towards one thing. Too many coincidences for it to be mere happenstance. If Castorice is indeed the child that they found inside this dragon’s gut, then she can somewhat forgive Bartholos for not telling her outright. It sounds ridiculous. Impossible even. Yet the more she ponders it the more sense it makes. 

As for what Cipher is going to do now… She doesn’t know. All she wanted was to know why her Coreflame kept acting up and instead ended up with this mess. If only Cerydra was still around. She would’ve known what to do with this knowledge. But maybe Tribbie would know? Being the oldest and most traveled out of all of them. This is too much for Cipher to handle on her own and she doesn’t trust Bartholos to reveal any more than this. The fact that she got this much out of them is a miracle in of itself. 

A furry ear flicks. An odd sound making them swivel atop the thief’s head. A borderline raspy groan that is so quiet that Cipher initially questions if she actually heard it or not. Yet she is not the only one to react. The butterflies surrounding the corpse take to the air. Some relocate onto a wall, some flutter past Cipher. The sound echoes again and this time she manages to lock onto where it's coming from. 

The sad stump that is the dragon’s head hangs low. Though time had decayed it’s body, flesh and muscles still remain. Likewise so too does the hollow that is it’s windpipe. Without the head, that hole is left exposed to the air. Which means that Cipher can see how the ring of muscles surrounding it is contracting in time with another groan. As if the corpse is still breathing. 

A full body shudder passes through Cipher. Her tail stands straight and stiff as she fishes out a coin. With a snap of her fingers, she hightails it out of there and doesn’t dare look back. 

Chapter Text

In Okhema Kephale is the dominant Titan and the object of most of her citizen’s prayers. It’s easy to understand why when the slumbering body of the Worldbearer is quite literally looming over them with the Dawn Device on their back keeping the dark at bay. Yet that does not mean they are the only Titan to have temples within this grand city-state. 

Okhema’s central position on the continent means that even before the disasters began it was the one that saw the most foreigners. Whether they were traveling merchants hoping to peddle their wares, people merely passing through on their way to another destination, or those fleeing their birthplace for whatever reason. Thanks to that, icons of every Titan can be found within Okhema’s walls if one knows where to look. Second to Kephale is Oronyx. Their golden candles are a common sight across random corners and alcoves. Third and not far behind them is Mnestia in the forms of the arts. Romance’s influence bleeds into the very air in the form of bard song and fashion. So on and so forth. 

Castorice drags the pads of her fingers along aged stone. Tracing the subtle cracks that have formed along its surface. Her eyes flicker up to the tapestry hanging over the altar. A depiction of a moonlit garden with a shadowy hand reaching up to the sky. Its colors have faded and the edges of it are frayed. Yet the candles sitting on the corners of the altar are fresh. The flowers that have been left at its base are barely a day old, if that. 

“It must be rather flimsy compared to the ones you’re used to seeing.” A dry, deep voice cuts through the air. She turns to see a face marred by wrinkles and pale hair with tiny slivers of the darker shade it used to be hidden between those grayed strands.

“Not at all. There’s only one temple in Aidonia, while small shrines like this are scattered throughout the city and fields.” Each time Castorice would pass them by, whether it was for her duties or her occasional wanderings, she made sure to stop and pray at each one. 

“I always thought it was missing something. An idol.” He scratches his beard and groans when his mind turns up blank. “Yet no matter how much research I did I could not for the life of me figure out what would be suitable.” 

“We use bones to represent Thanatos.” Flesh eventually decays and rots but bones cannot. Tangible proof that whatever they belonged to once lived that in the right conditions are as eternal as the stone beneath their feet. “For prayer any type will do, but for rites it has to be a skull.” 

Just like how the tolls would be placed inside the deceased’s mouth, offerings would be placed inside the skull. Most of the time that would be a cup of ambrosia, dippes with a few drops of the Holy Maiden’s blood. Other times it would be flowers or jewels. It really depended on the specific ceremony taking place. 

“A skull? Well, I can see why the texts we have here don’t mention that.” Being a fellow attendant to the dead, the head mortician has shown the Holy Maiden nothing but respect. However she can practically see the direction his thoughts are turning. 

“It can be any kind.” The skulls of large animals were most often favored. The larger the beast, the more that could fit inside the mouth. Even better if the animal in question shares some physical features with dragons. “A dromas skull would be perfect.” 

“I have an old friend who works at the stables. I can try asking her but I doubt they keep any on hand.” The mortician muses, wondering how the hell he’s going to ask that without coming across as a madman. 

“I know how to clean them. So if you can bring me the severed head of one that’s recently passed then I can handle the rest.” It’s actually not that difficult. Mostly involving letting the head soak in acid. Though the smell of it tends to linger and is hard to get rid of.

“I must say, it’s quite jarring to hear such a young lady so casually ask for a severed head. Except you're not actually as young as you look, are you?” His gaze roves across her face, noting the softness of her cheeks and how smooth the dips around her eyes are. “It’s the one thing I envy about Chrysos Heirs. How nice it would be to age as finely as you lot do!” 

Castorice would’ve preferred growing wrinkly and weak with the passage of time rather than remain eternally youthful. That way she wouldn’t have had to watch so many others succumb to age. Going from children dancing around pyres to being so weak that they can hardly get out of bed in the blink of an eye. Had Castorice come to Okhema earlier, she might have met this man’s grandparents while they were still babes. 

“You know, though we’re few and not so open about it, Okhema is home to those who worship the Hand of Shadow.” The mortician carefully begins. A hint of shyness leaking through. “We’d be honored if their Holy Maiden were to lead our prayer.” 

“I am a guest. It would be improper of me to intrude.” Castorice winds her fingers together. The fabric of her gloves rubs against her skin. Crinkling as her palms press together, forming into folds.

“Nonsense! It’s not like we have a proper hierarchy or anything. The task usually ends up defaulting to us seniors, and we draw lots on whose turn it is.” If only that were her only concern, the only thing holding her back from accepting. 

“Even then, you all have your own traditions that you follow.” Castorice drags one hand up the other’s palm, clasping at her wrist. Squeezing tight. “I wouldn’t want you to change any of that for my sake.” 

In the back of her head, her mind drifts to the cold temple that she practically lived in. To the dozens of eyes packed into that claustrophobic space. Waiting, watching as she would spill her own blood into a cup. Sometimes when she would put her hand into the jaws of the altar’s skull, she would imagine it clamping down onto her wrist to take more of the golden succor that flows through her veins. It never did but perhaps that would be a sufficient enough offering to draw Thanatos’s attention. 

“I can discuss that with the others first then.” Oblivious to the thoughts she’s trying to avoid being consumed by, the moritcian tries to find a middle ground. An innocent desire pricking at the darker parts of her mind. “Would you consider it?” 

“We’ll see.” Castorice needs a distraction. A different direction to steer her mind towards. She turns to the old, grizzled mortician and speaks the first thing she can think of with the casualness of addressing the weather. “Speaking of traditions, may I ask how you’d like to be buried.”

“So blunt!” Surprised laughter breaks free. So loud and sudden that it makes her flinch. “Most people around here wouldn’t take too kindly to being asked that unprompted.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” It was a thoughtless question that nobody would’ve so much as blinked at in the place Castorice was forced to call home. If anything they would’ve been honored at the prospect of having the Holy Maiden personally oversee their funeral. 

“It’s water off a duck’s back.” Thankfully the mortician is fully aware that his time left is limited. Having reached the age where he’s pondered this question himself. “I don’t need any sort of grand ceremony. A simple prayer will do. Just make sure you lay me beside my wife’s grave when the time finally comes. Here, I’ll show you where she rests while we’re out here.” 

The humble shrine sits just beside the graveyard. Built mainly so that those whose friends and families were buried elsewhere have a place to offer their prayers to. The old mortician explains all of this and more to Castorice. Going into great depth about the various burial rites that are performed in Okhema. Mixing in anecdotes from his own personal experiences between those explanations. 

Castorice diligently records all of it in pen and paper. Easily completely filling in the first ten pages of a small, leather bound book. Its thick pages meant to be travel proof if necessary. In time it will be filled with notes, instructions, and how-to-do lists. That way she has something to fall back on if her memory ever slips. Especially if she is to try respecting the traditions of not just the local Okhemans but the refugees whose homes have been claimed by disaster. 

Castorice lingers within the graveyard long after the mortician had bid her farewell. Following the paths that the tombstones cut, caressing the tops of them with her palm. Some graves have flowers placed before them, one a plush chimera, and a few candles that have burnt out. She makes sure to keep a clear distance from the handful of people she spots visiting the dead. 

The vestiges of souls are faint, barely noticeable. More akin to footprints in the dirt that have yet to fade then any actual presences. If there are any lingering spirits wandering Okhema, they are not haunting these graves. Seeing that, and how well this place is taken care of, brings a smile to her face. 

A strong gust of wind rushes past. Powerful enough to fling her hair forward, getting the shorter strands that aren’t tied into her face. When it settles she pushes her bangs back and fluffs out her hair. Castorice blinks and lowers her right hand, looking down at her empty palm that had just moments ago been grasping her leather bound log. 

“Now what sort of secrets does the beloathed Holy Maiden of Death keep?” Her ears flick up and her head snaps towards that voice. “Lists of burial rites? Boring!” 

Castorice’s eyes land upon… She’s honestly not sure what exactly she’s looking at. A creature with a rotund body and smooth, shiny purple skin. They almost look like a balloon with that borderline artificial texture that envelopes them. They have two pairs of hands. One large and shaped like mitts. The other is smaller with only three fingers in each. The latter of which has taken her book captive. 

Castorice lowers her chin and widens her stance. The creature grows still, sensing the growing intensity of her gaze. Their head turns to face her, their hollow eyes meeting her burning ones. The glowing dots within flicker between her and the book. The mouth(?) around their neck(???) opens up, making it appear as if it’s grinning. 

The thief bursts into a sprint, or whatever the equivalent is for a creature that doesn’t have legs. Castorice makes chase, apologizing as she vaults over a few tombstones to help shorten the distance. The strange creature bounds out of the graveyard and delves further down the dirt path sitting parallel to it. Away from the inhabited parts of Okhema’s territory, towards splatterings of trees that sit in the shades of the surrounding mountains. 

It barely registers to Castorice. Mind focused on the single goal of catching her prey. Lips slightly parted to let her fangs catch in the light. The thief weaves between trees to throw her off. Able to ignore the uneven ground and all the natural hazards that could so easily trip up a careless runner. It's not as difficult as trying to trudge through snow that reaches all the way up to her thighs. At the same time her body is also very blatantly out of practice. 

Castorice hadn’t exerted herself much in the long stretch of time she spent aimlessly wandering. Where before she could keep up a steady sprint for hours, now her legs are starting to burn after only a few minutes. Though her speed is starting to wane as a result, the distance between her and the thief doesn’t grow at all. In fact, Castorice notes how they regularly glance back to see if she’s still hot on their tail. 

An idea pops into her head. She gradually slows down until she stops completely. As Castorice suspected, the thief also skids to a halt. The two of them lock eyes. Caught within a staring contest that neither is willing to budge from first. A test of patience. 

“What? Are you done already?” The thief is the one to break the silence. They inch closer, shortening the distance separating them. “Come on, a game is no fun if only one person is participating!” 

Castorice says nothing. She merely tilts her head, chest heaving from the run. She feels the muscles over the base of her spine twitch. Her tail would be flicking against the ground right now. A challenge and a warning. 

“Or have I overestimated you?” Those large eyes squint. The glowing dots within focusing as they inch closer. “You do look pretty tired after such a short- Ack!”

Once they cross a line Castorice has drawn in her head, she thrusts her palm forward. Coils of dark liquid burst out from her palm and envelope the thief. It's completely harmless by itself but perfect for restraining someone. She pulls out her scythe and approaches the now fallen creature. Catching the sharp underside of the blade around the hard shell of their neck. 

“Woah- WOAH! No need to go that far over a single book!” The strange thief grows very still. Only moving to offer the book back to its rightful owner. 

“What are you?” With her other hand remaining steady on her scythe, her claw, Castorice snatches her book back out from their grasp. Tucking it securely under her arm.

“Can’t you tell just from looking?” The blade is pulled closer, sharpened edge scraping against that hard shell. “The name’s Bartholos, Zagreus’s last surviving Titankin! I’m good buddies with Cipher too and she’ll be really sad if you do it!” 

One of Zagreus’s Titankin? From Castorice’s understanding, Trickery didn’t have many of them. Each one of them was unique and they often tried to outmatch each other with their pranks. However they were not as skilled as their Titan at running and their numbers eventually dwindled as a result. Now that Castorice is focusing on it, this creature’s soul does give off a similar feeling to Cipher. It seems they’re telling the truth. 

“Is there any reason you’ve approached me other than to play this prank?” Castorice slackens her hold on her scythe. Angling it to curl around her prey rather than press against them. 

“Curiosity! Everyone is talking about you right now so how could I resist seeing you for myself?” She supposes in the eys of Trickery’s kin, someone like her is as rare and alluring as a cut gemstone. Would that apply to Cipher as well since she’s Zagreus’s Demigod? A line of thought  that the Holy Maiden shoves down for fear of the heat it brings to her cheeks. 

“There are better ways to get my attention then by taking what isn’t yours.” Castorice deadpans. Maybe she should kill this thing after all. Save herself any future headaches. 

“That was also part of me being curious. I wanted to see if you're as dainty as you appear.” Bartholos’s mouth clacks, laughing. “As they say, looks can be deceiving.” 

“Well don’t do it again or next time I won’t be as forgiving.” As tempting as it is, Castorice should check in with Cipher first. She doesn’t want to actually end up killing the Demigod’s friend. 

“You got it!” Bartholos wiggles a bit, their larger arms still being tied to their body by the dark water. “Now, uh, could you let me go? I promise- swear in the name of Trickery- I won’t run away.” 

This Titankin seems harmless enough. Castorice puts her scythe away and lets the dark water wrapped around them dissipate. Their freedom regained, Bartholos stretches out their elastic arms. Rolling their shoulders to bring back feeling into them.

“Whew, that was such a clever trick you pulled. Quick to react and quick wits too. Been a long time since anyone other than Cipher was actually able to catch me.” 

“So you claim but if you had actually been trying to get away then it wouldn’t have worked.” Castorice will admit, this little chase was actually a bit useful. It helped her realize that she needs to start exercising again. 

“Hm, that’s true.” The small dots that make up Bartholos’s eyes bore into her. Simple as their features are, there’s a sort of intensity to that look. As if her chest is being peeled open and her insides exposed. “Right now your powers are weak, crippled. Such a shame. If you were at full strength then we could be playing so much more exciting games.” 

“You…” Castorice drifts off. The way they said that, she doesn’t think they’re talking about her physical condition. She knows that Titankin perceive the world differently than humans, but not in what ways or if they can discern her true nature. “You’re not bothered by my presence at all?” 

“Oh please. Thanatos was way more intimidating, but they were a huge softy deep down.” Bartholos raises their chin and puffs their chest out with pride. 

“You know Thanatos?” Any reservations Castorice had immediately flew out the window. She steps closer to them, eagerness buzzing beneath her skin. “Where are they? How can I meet them?” 

“Woah, calm down there.” Bartholos backs away, hands raised to push her away if necessary. “I’d rather not test if your touch works on me with how unstable your powers are.” 

“Sorry.” Castorice backs away. She wraps her arms around herself for the sake of holding onto something. 

“Hehe, you’re a softy too it seems. Guess some things never change.” Bartholos sways back and forth, their round figure bouncing. "Fraid I haven’t seen that big, scary softy in a long time. Not since-” Their jaws clack together. “Eh, let’s just say the disasters eating away at Amphoreus are affecting them too.” 

“So it’s not that they’ve been ignoring my prayers.” Castorice had her suspicions that Thanatos was being restricted in some way, but they were only ever suspicions. Having confirmation of such eases some of her worries yet also brings a set of new ones. Whatever is keeping the Hand of Shadow from fulfilling their duties will no doubt get in her way as well when she finds a way to reach out to them. 

“Why do you want to meet Death so badly anyways? And don’t tell me it's for the Flame-Chase when we both know that's not it.” 

Castorice bites the inside of her cheek. Would it be alright to tell them the truth? Reveal this secret she’s kept close to her chest and hasn’t told another soul about? Dragons are bringers of death and destruction wherever they go. Reviled and shunned by all. The vile evil in every epic they appear in. Her curse is bad enough by itself. If other people were to learn about this as well…

Yet Bartholos was friends with Thanatos. One can’t get much more “revolting” than the manifestation of Death itself. So maybe, just maybe, Castorice can be completely honest with someone for once. She narrows her eyes, finding that there are few golden threads strung between the trees. Their color is dull and inactive.

“Because a part of me is missing, my wings and scales.” Castorice lays the truth out before she can lose her nerves. Actually saying it out loud for once makes her feel as if a pressure in her chest has been released. “I want- I need to retrieve my other half. Thanatos is my only means of doing so.”

“Missing…” Bartholos studies her more carefully. “Oh, I see. It’s not that you’re weak but incomplete. No wonder you’re so unstable.” They scratch their head, contemplating this new information. “Actually, the fact that you appear so normal is pretty impressive. If I weren’t so familiar with Thanatos then I never would have realized something is wrong.” 

“Would you be willing to tell me about them? So little is known about Thanatos.” Despite her initial reservation, it seems this encounter is actually a boon. This could be Castorice’s best and only chance to learn more about her patron Titan.

“I suppose there’s no harm in it.” Bartholos gives a half shrug, smaller hands wiggling. “Anything in particular you want to know? The embarrassing stories? Or about how adorable they are when completely wasted?” 

“Um…” A far more loaded question than it really should be. The list of things Castorice doesn’t want to know would be far shorter. “To start with, what exactly is your relationship with Thanatos?” 

“Why, they were my beloved playmates of course!” Playmates, as in plural? A slip of the tongue perhaps? “All the other Titans got angry whenever I tried to play with them. But not Thanatos. Annoyed sometimes? Sure, but only when I’ve caught them in a bad mood. Otherwise they happily indulged me.” 

“The myths claim that Zagreus and their kin would steal from the spirits waiting for their turn to take the ferry.” They also claim that the Titan hid their stash along the shores of the River of Souls, which is why no one could find their treasures. Not that Castorice cares about that part. 

“Those myths were written from the perspective of humans, so of course they get some things wrong!” Right, of course. An easy thing to forget considering they’re the only source of information she has access to. “It was actually the exact opposite. Old Zagreus would bring presents to Thanatos and regale them with tales of our conquests. They loved hearing our stories.” 

“I see.” Castorice can understand how that fact got distorted. Zagreus isn’t known to get along with the other Titans. “About what you mentioned earlier, does Thanatos drink a lot? We often use wine for ceremonies but I always thought that to be a formality more than anything else.” 

“Eh, I wouldn’t say a lot. Mostly on the rare occasions Phagousa pestered them.” Bartholos shrugs with both pairs of hands. A snicker escaping their mechanical jaws. “The little softy would cave right away while the big softy always took more convincing. They’d become so shy and cute.” 

“Little softy?” So it wasn’t a slip of the tongue. But if the big softy is referring to Thanatos, then who could the other person possibly be?

“Ah, um-” Realizing their mistake, Bartholos stumbles. They shrink in on themselves the longer Castorice stares them down. “The ferryman! One person can’t tend to the gardens and guide the souls across the river at the same time!” 

The existence of a ferryman is often spoken of in passing in tales revolving around Thanatos and the River of Souls. Yet never in greater depth than simply being mentioned. Castorice is also guilty of overlooking this entity in her single minded focus to find Thanatos. A stupid oversight on her part, now that she’s contemplating it. For who would know better how to contact the Hand of Shadow then the one who guides souls to their domain? 

“This ferryman, what became of them?” That person must be one of Thanatos’s Titankin. The ruler of Death, similarly to Zagreus, didn’t have many. But all the known kin they did have took the shape of-

“Listen, I’ve already slipped up and said more than I should have.” Bartholos raises their hands. Eyes darting around and refusing to meet her. “Don’t put me in an even more awkward position!” 

Castorice chews on their response, takes in their nervousness, and comes to an easy decision. Before Bartholos has a chance to flee, she entwines their body once again. Weighing them down with the accursed water from the River of Souls. With a yelp the Titankin falls onto their back. Castorice slams a foot down beside their head. She allows her connection with Death to flow freely. Flowers bloom beneath the soles of her heels. Petals reaching out to the nearest source of life, to the Titankin trying to writhe away from her. 

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Bartholos leans as far away from those deathly blooms as they can. Awkwardly trying to roll onto their side with little success thanks to the shape of their body. “The ferryman is dead and now nobody can cross the River of Souls!” 

“Dead, killed by the Black Tide?” If not that then Castorice would presume the ferryman got caught between all the fighting and wars that ravaged the lands. 

“It was mostly my fault. I made a mistake, a miscalculation.” Bartholos surrenders completely, falling limp and accepting their fate. “That softy was super strong and should have been able to handle any threat, or so I believed. I didn’t think anyone would actually be able to- Much less that maddened halfwit…” 

Castorice doesn’t know if this Titankin can cry or not, only that they sound as if they are on the brink of it. Guilt bites at her fingertips. She suppresses her powers, lets the dark water slide off their body, and kneels down beside their prone form. 

“I’m sorry for being so rough.” Castorice's disdain for her own powers doesn’t mean she won’t use them when she feels the situation calls for it. However this time she might have jumped the gun a bit. “It’s just- I’ve been searching for so long and now I’ve finally found a lead to Thanatos.” 

“I’m the one that should be apologizing.” Bartholos’s head flops to the side, turning to face her. “I’m the great trickster that has deceived mortals and Titans alike, yet when it comes to the things that actually matter I am the weakest of all. I couldn’t help my playmate back then and when I tried I only made things worse.” 

“It must have been hard, living with this burden for so long.” Castorice doesn’t think she’s ever been put in a position where she needs to comfort someone. Those kinds of words are pretty common to hear in stories, so surely that should do some good?

“I must look so pathetic right now for you to be saying that.” Bartholos’s jaw clacks. With a huff, they pull themselves upright. “You remind me of them so much that for a moment it was like Oronyx threw me into the past. Even your empty threats were nostalgic.” 

“I resemble Thanatos?” Castorice doesn’t know how to take being compared to a Titan, especially when the Titan in question is Death. It makes sense considering she’s their Holy Maiden but at the same time most people wouldn’t mean it in a positive way. 

“In some ways. You don’t have the witticism and snark they did. We’d banter a lot, it was another game we’d play.” That false mouth opens, grinning. “If that big softy was feeling extra mean then they’d squish me under their arm until the little softy scolded them.” 

“I don’t think I could ever do either of those things.” One of them for obvious reasons that Castorice need not say aloud. 

“There are some days where I see myself in Cipher too.” Bartholos muses, fondness dripping heavily into their tone. “She’s a good kid, better than I ever was. So I don’t want her to repeat my mistakes. That’s why you should team up with her and not be caught by the wiles of that Goldweaver.” 

The sudden turnabout at the end there has Castorice tilting her head. It takes a moment for it to click why they would say that. Of course, the animosity between Trickery and Romance is well known and well documented. The two Titans were often at each other’s throats more so than any other. That is before Nikador began hunting down the eyes of Aquila. 

“I don’t think the disagreement between them is comparable to Zagreus’s rivalry with Mnestia.” The two Titans were never on good terms. Their hatred for one another began from the very first interaction between them. It was on sight, one could say. The complete opposite to how the relationship between their Demigods seems to have developed. 

“Not yet.” Bartholos scoffs, crossing their arms. “Mnestia wasn’t actually as nice as the myths say. So vain and apathetic, never realizing how much their actions hurt others. Does that sound familiar at all?” 

The last one does but Castorice wouldn’t consider Aglaea to be vain or apathetic at all. On the contrary she was deeply distraught by the possibility that she made Cipher feel unloved. Yet the Titankin is also merely expressing genuine concern. After all, from their perspective, Aglaea had hurt Cipher and that had dredged up memories of their patron Titan’s poor relationship  with Romance. 

“I will cherish your advice and keep it in mind.” Castorice doesn’t think any of them are bad people. Instead it seems to be that they all want to do right but have different interpretations of what doing the right thing means. 

“You can thank me by keeping our meeting from Cipher.” Bartholos clasps their hands together and bows their head. “I’d rather take a dip in the River of Souls then have her learn how lame I can be!” 

“Alright, I won’t tell her.” This will remain between them. For if Castorice were to tell another of the things they’ve spoken about, then she’d have to reveal her own secrets. 

“And take it from this old crook, impatience is a humiliating way to fail.” Bartholos’s eyes shut and it makes them look like they’re smiling. “One day you will reunite with Thanatos and take back what is rightfully yours. If you can’t right now then that just means you aren’t ready yet.” 

The Titankin waves her off, bidding a brief farewell before slipping away faster than her eyes can follow. A strange yet informative encounter. Castorice also agrees that she’s currently in no state to be looking for Thanatos. Having grown far too dependent on her curse and how it keeps most from getting close. A threat that is willing to challenge Thanatos’s kin, and perhaps even Death itself, will not be cowed so easily. She needs to build her strength back up. No, scratch that. She needs to be even stronger than she was when hailed as a Maiden of War. 

That doesn’t mean Castorice can’t digest this new information she’s been given. A huge part of the reason so little is known about Thanatos is because unlike the other Titans, they never pretended to be mortal. Never walked among the living and spoke with them. When Death was first born Kephale had confronted them, did so with the initial intention of destroying them if the philosophers are to be believed. Instead the two came to an agreement. Thanatos would remain within their domain and only interfere with matters between the living when necessity demanded it. 

Yet that same restriction did not apply to their kin. Eulogistic butterflies served as Thanatos’s eyes, ears, and messengers. Keeping them informed of what goes on in the realm of the living. However unbeknownst to most, those were not truly their Titankin. It’s more accurate to call them natural phenomena that form when a great many deaths occur in a short span of time. Like how specific breeds of plants can only grow in dark places. 

Only Castorice and the highest ranking priests were privy to that information. Their actual known kin numbered small enough that she could count them on one hand. All of them had been killed before Castorice was born. Hunted for the destruction they wrought upon the lands. Their deaths often told in the epics that sing praises to their killers with none being the wiser to their true identities. 

If Castorice’s assumption is right, and the ferryman was one of Thanatos’s kin, then they would’ve been the Titan’s last connection to the realm of the living. In that case there must be more to the ferryman’s death than just that. Otherwise that problem would’ve been solved by Thanatos creating a new kin to fill in the void they left behind. Maybe the Black Tide’s is somehow interfering with the process? On the other side, if the ferryman wasn’t one of their kin then that complicates things. It becomes an issue of who and what alongside the hows and whys. 

Both of these possibilities would have to be tackled in completely different ways and Castorice has no idea how to tell which is the case. But it’s a concrete lead. Which is far more than can be said for all her previous attempts to reach out to Thanatos. It seems coming to Okhema was the correct choice after all. Now she has clear goals to strive for instead of blindly stumbling forward and praying she’s on the right track. 

Chapter Text

A city is a constantly turning machine. Even if a disruption were to make its way into one of the cracks, the rest will churn away as usual. A bit of chatter here, questions and theories thrown about there, but ultimately so long as it does not directly impact them most citizens don’t care. It is both a boon and a point of frustration for Aglaea. 

Whispers trail along the golden threads. For a time the incident at Chartonus’s forge was all anyone would talk about. Confusion over what exactly had happened was rampant with wildly different versions of the tale being spread. But ultimately by the time the culprit was tried and had his prison sentence issued people shrugged it off. 

Nothing truly happened outside of that arrest so ultimately it didn’t retain traction for long. Although Aglaea has noticed that the bards’ tales of the snow lands to the north have grown more popular as of late. She’ll have to keep an eye on the public’s curiosity over the newest addition to the Flame-Chase, but otherwise it seems there’s no need for concern. 

Aglaea loosens her hold against her web. She refocuses her senses back to her immediate surroundings. To the garden around her, the shape of the table her arms are resting against, and to the various knitwork scattered over it. She runs her fingers along a handkerchief freshly adorned with new patterning. The embroidery is uneven but the shapes they’re meant to make coherent. Clearly the work of a novice yet that serves to make it more charming than if it were perfect. A care and sincerity put into the craft that most professional works lack. 

“You’re a fast learner.” Aglaea traces the outline of a butterfly. It’s uneven, one wing larger than the other. Another endearing flaw. 

“Please don’t patronize me, it’s not good.” Across from her Castorice shrinks. She lowers her chin and her shoulders squeeze together. Unwilling to accept the praise. 

“I’m being genuine. Your hands are steadier than mine were when I was learning.” Admittedly Aglaea’s youth would be a factor in that. Even the calmest children have a difficult time finding the patience a needle and thread demands. “I used to prick my fingers so much that I nearly gave up on weaving all together.” 

“What made you stick with it?” That confession urges Castorice out of her self-consciousness. Her posture relaxes a little, her walls lower.

“As you know, we followers of Mnestia dedicate ourselves to indulging in the romances of the world. I didn’t want my works to be the transient types that are admired from afar.” As a middle child, Aglaea wasn’t as pressured to become eminent. Yet that also meant she felt she had to work harder than her siblings to stand out. To think ahead instead of focusing on the now. “Clothes are both practical and works of art. They protect the body while also bringing out the beauty of the one wearing them. While my affection for women made me gravitate towards dressmaking in particular.” 

She misses the simplicity of those days. Where the things that would bring Aglaea the most stress was if the pretty ladies that sought her family’s services would like her handiwork. When she could view the world through rose-tinted glasses and didn’t know how vindictive court ladies are deep down. 

“You don’t feel that way anymore?” Her brooding must show on her face. She smooths over her features and offers Castorice a genteel smile. 

“It’s more accurate to say that my priorities have shifted over the years.” Nowadays Aglaea weaves as a stress reliever. Only personally crafting pieces for her fellow Flame-Chasers. “That and I’m no longer so naive as to believe that surface level beauty is an indicator of one’s character.” 

“It’s a bit ironic to hear you of all people say that.” Castorice bites the inside of her cheek. One of her ears nervously flicks. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and you’ve also been the most accommodating.” 

A cocktail of mixed emotions bubbles up inside of Aglaea. She doesn’t need her threads to recognize the sincerity behind the Holy Maiden’s words. At the same time, receiving compliments about her looks is something that’s come to leave a bad taste in the Golderweaver’s mouth. All too often people have showered her with honeyed words because they wanted something from her. Both men and women have been guilty of this. Lusting after her body and later on her position. 

Aglaea shoves down those murky feelings. Castorice isn’t one of those people. Her obvious attraction is nothing but pure and earnest. Nothing at all like those who sought after her to satiate their greed. It’s cute and the Goldweaver wishes to return that sincerity in kind. 

“I might be blind, but from what Teacher described to me you’re quite the dashing lady yourself.” She had specifically likened their newest Flame-Chaser to a princess straight out of a story book. It makes Aglaea wonder how popular she is in that regard. “Have you ever been the target of that sort of admiration?” 

“I… I don’t know.” Castorice turns her head away from her and one of her ears flicks. It’s easy to imagine color rising to her cheeks. “Even if someone was interested in me in that way, nothing could come from it.” 

“Why not?” It can’t be out of a lack of desire for such a relationship. Not with how this girl so shamelessly wears her love for women on her sleeve. 

“Lady Aglaea, you shouldn’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” Hollow, rueful words. Such a tone doesn’t suit Castorice at all. “It’s just another thing that my curse makes impossible.” 

“There are plenty of ways to express love without touch, you know.” The forms that love can take are too many to count. Aglaea has seen people develop affection for Titankin and even her Garmentmakers. There are most certainly those who would not care for this adorable Holy Maiden’s curse and the restrictions it brings. 

“I do but-” Castorice sucks in a sharp breath. She wraps her arms around herself. “Wanting to hold or kiss them and being unable to… It would be far too painful and not at all fair to that person.” 

Hearing her say that makes Aglaea think of the first time Cipher had kissed her. Nearly fifty years of knowing each other had culminated into that awkward yet joyous moment. Neither of them really knew what they were doing but they were perfectly content to figure it out together. 

The cat-like thief proved to be clingy. Constantly feeling the need to stand close enough that their shoulders would brush. Would nuzzle against Aglaea whenever she craved attention. She would return that affection by styling Cipher’s hair or painting her nails. Simple yet meaningful touches were constantly exchanged between them. So much so that Cerydra once jokingly threatened to jail them for public indecency. At least, she hopes Cerydra was joking. It could be difficult to tell with her. 

Those sorts of subtle forms of affection aren't something that’s exclusive to lovers either. Aglaea thinks of all the times she’s held her Teachers’ hands as they walked together. The ways Hysilens would adjust her posture while teaching her how to wield a sword. The one time Cerydra delved too deep into a bottle and started hugging and clinging to all of them. How Terravox would carry her back home on the days she worked herself to exhaustion. The way Aglaea’s older siblings would wrestle her and the younger ones would cling to her back. 

Aglaea knew that Castorice cannot share these types of moments with others. However it takes having it forced into the forefront of her mind to realize just how tragic that is. To be denied such universal pleasures of life. 

“Cas, would you place your hand on the table?” Life has never been fair nor kind to the Chrysos Heirs. Yet this hand Castorice has been dealt is crossing a line that Aglaea will not stand for. 

After a moment of hesitation, Castorice does as told. She stretches her arm out and places her palm flat against the table’s surface. Aglaea mimics the gesture, except golden threads reach out from her knuckles. Castorice gasps as they entwine around her fingers. Thoroughly wrapping around them and leaving behind minimal gaps. 

“I know it's not a replacement for the real thing, but like this it's as if we’re holding hands.” Aglaea has the threads gently squeeze the Holy Maiden’s fingers, just like how she wishes she could do with her own. 

A fervent rush of emotions flows through the threads. It was not Aglaea’s intention to peer into her heart, but once the connection is established even she cannot staunch it. All she can do is embrace Castorice’s inner conflict. There is joy, ecstatic over this gesture. Yet in that same breadth is fear. Afraid of Aglaea, or of the possibilities this presents? Perhaps a bit of both. The Goldweaver knows well how intimidating opening up can be. She has lost so much that part of her doesn’t want to let another in for fear of going through that pain again. 

Castorice sucks in a breath before slamming her head down against her arms. Aglaea says nothing, lets her sort through her uncertainty. Her emotions rise and fall, the balance between them ever shifting. The golden threads tremble from the weight of the internal battle Castorice is waging. A gentle pressure that gives as much comfort as they can.

Eventually Castorice lifts her head back up and pulls her hand away. Aglaea loosens her threads without complaint, allowing her to breathe away from that uncertainty. She brings that hand to her chest and clasps it tightly. The whirlwind stirring within her still unsettled. 

“Thank you.” It’s spoken barely above a whisper. So quietly that the Goldweaver jokingly ponders if she imagined it. 

Aglaea folds one of her hands over the other with a smile. Though the direct connection has been broken, she can still feel Castorice’s tentative joy thrumming through the golden web surrounding them. Aglaea closes her eyes and basks in it. Pleased that she could give this soft spoken Holy Maiden a small taste of the simple pleasures of life. 

Faint fluttering plucks at the edges of Aglaea’s perception. A flap of wings that brushes against her threads, trying to maneuver around them. Eventually finding its way to Aglaea. A weightless pressure perching on her shoulder. The nymph taps its spindly legs in place of a greeting. Words are not needed for Aglaea to communicate with them. For the kin that once served as Mnestia’s eyes and ears across the lands have now become her’s with their progenitor laid to rest. 

The nymph feeds its memories to her, allowing her a view of Marmoreal Market. It focuses on a particular figure casually sauntering through the street. Of a cat-like tail swaying and metal boots clicking against concrete. Cipher has returned. Aglaea thanks the nymph for informing her and it flaps its wings, lifting off of her shoulder. 

The Goldweaver runs her fingers along her web. Knowing how quickly that trickster can traverse, she could be anywhere in the city by now. Yet Aglaea is still compelled to try pinning down her current location. It actually proves to be surprisingly easy this time. She finds Cipher kneeling down and chatting with Trinnon. Curiosity tempts her to listen in, while the responsible part of Aglaea’s mind reminds her that’s an invasion of both their privacy. 

An excited buzzing makes that decision for her. Aglaea snaps her focus back to her surroundings. Instead of leaving as she expected it to, the nymph has chosen to perch against the crown of Castorice’s head. It’s fluttering and happily whistling. Some of the nymphs are like children and are prone to bursts of strong emotions, but for their excitement to be caused by a person is a first. 

Thanatos! My Lady, we found Thanatos!

Aglaea’s brows rise at that. At the same time Castorice sighs and reaches up to the nymph. She carefully urges it to move onto her hand. The nymph happily clambers onto her finger and lets her hold it. 

Ah? Thanatos smells kinda weird… Rotten… 

It’s rather interesting how the nymphs seem to mistake Castorice for her Titan. They don’t do that with Aglaea. Are fully aware that she is not Mnestia and on occasion bemoan the loss of their original master. Nor have they ever done it with the others. Should she say that Castorice is the outlier or Thanatos? Either way, the connection between their respective Titans is fascinating to ponder. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, as the Holy Maiden of Thanatos.” Aglaea makes sure to keep her tone light to let her know that it’s nothing serious. Merely a personal curiosity. 

Castorice hums to get across her acknowledgment. Attention split between listening and trying to appease the overexcited nymph. She delicately brushes her fingers along the length of it’s wings. Petting the golden butterfly. 

“When Mnestia first professed their love to Cerces and were promptly rejected, it’s said they were so heartbroken that they died.” Aglaea begins to summarize what is quite possibly one of the most popular myths in Okhema. “Yet when they sunk into the River of Souls, Thanatos wove a cocoon from which they mended their heart and allowed them to return to the realm of the living.” 

Castorice’s fingers grow still, pausing against the nymph’s fluttering wings. She glances up at the Goldweaver through her bangs. Aglaea might not be able to actually see it, but she can feel that intense gaze prick against her skin as though it were hands instead. 

“We followers of Romance believe this is because Mnestia’s love for Cerces was so pure that even Death was moved to tears by it.” Aglaea blindly believed such things as a child. Nowadays, she wonders if it really was that simple or if there was something else at play. “I’m curious how you and the priests of Aidonia interpreted Thanatos’s actions.” 

It’s also the topic of much debate in certain scholarly circles. So little is known about the Hand of Shadow. Their general personality, their beliefs, even the form they take is a complete mystery. So those interested in studying Thanatos latch tightly onto whatever scraps they can get their hands on. This is the only verifiable instance of the dead being brought back to life. Some think Thanatos revived their fellow Titan to maintain the balance of the world, others think the others had pressured them into doing so. None of the theories anyone could think of could be proven or refuted. 

Castorice straightens, the threads around her buzzing. While the nymph perched on her hand moves to settle against her chest. Aglaea does not rush her for an answer. Allows her time to sort through whatever thoughts are churning in her head. The golden threads can’t pick up enough to give her a clear answer on what kind of emotion her question evoked from her. 

“It’s easy to presume Thanatos to be cold and uncaring as the Titan who reigns over Death.” Castorice eventually starts, tapping her fingers together. “In truth they are a gentle soul who helps the anguished safely traverse to the realm beyond.” 

A silent guardian, a thankless watcher. Death loves all. 

It seems the two are in perfect agreement when it comes to the Hand of Shadow’s character. That assessment also somewhat parallels the girl before Aglaea. Listen only to the surface level stories and Castorice is a Maiden of War who brings a trail of death behind wherever she goes. Delve deeper and one would find a lady that never learned how to live beyond the confines of her duties. That juxtaposition intrigues Aglaea. How can one who walks hand-in-hand with Death remain so pure and innocent? 

“However bringing the dead back to life is…” Castorice bites her lip. “The myths could be over exaggerating and Mnestia didn’t actually die. It’s far more likely that in their grief they fled to the River of Souls and Thanatos offered them comfort while they hid within their territory.” 

“A rather practical answer.” Almost disappointingly so. Although it does bring another idea in mind. “That would also mean the two were friends.” 

“It’s possible.” Castorice neither agrees nor disagrees, the threads trembling with how her mind is elsewhere. “I have a question for you, as the one who inherited Mnestia’s will.” 

Oh? A question for a question, equivalent exchange. Aglaea might disagree with a certain blasphemous scholar on a lot of things but this philosophy is one where they are aligned. Since Castorice answered her’s, it’s only fair that she answers one in kind. 

“Why do you think dragon’s hoard gold?” It’s asked in haste, the words practically spilling out from Castorice’s lips. 

Aglaea blinks, taken aback. She had been expecting something in relation to the Titans, not a common trope in fiction. In such stories it's often explained away as the dragon’s greed. That their hoards are trophies they’ve collected from the villages and kingdoms they’ve burnt to a husk. In rarer instances their hoard was built off of offerings given to the dragon in hopes of appeasing it’s wraith. 

Aglaea doubts that's the kind of answer Castorice seeks, especially since she invoked Mnestia’s name. So the Goldweaver turns it over in her head and looks at it from all angles. Doing her best to push aside those preconceived stereotypes as she does so. 

“The beauty of objects which hold no practical use is oftentimes subjective, and doesn’t follow any sort of clear logic.” Aglaea explains. Beauty as a concept is difficult to conceptualize. It’s such a universally understood yet frustratingly vague term. “Perhaps dragons adore how it glitters, perhaps it has cultural significance to them, or perhaps they harbor some form of sentimentality involving gold.” 

“Would-” Castorice starts, hesitance making her jaws snap shut. The threads tremble and the nymph clambers up to her cheek. “Would your answer change if I told you Thanatos’s Titankin are dragons?” 

The Coreflame shudders within Aglaea’s chest. Gold represents divinity as a whole, but is most often associated with Mnestia in particular. Whether that is due to their threads, the wheat they offered Cerces, or their golden winged Titankin matters not. She knows what Castorice is implying. What she can’t wrap her head around is why she’s chosen to be so roundabout with it. 

O’ Death, such a tender lover! May your cold hands bring ecstasy to- Ack!

Castorice bats at the nymph. Careful not to hurt it but making her annoyance clear. Shooing the damn thing away. It flutters it’s wings, tinkling laughter echoing as it flees. Castorice watches it go. A true shame the Goldweaver cannot make out her expression. All she can discern is how her ears are pointed low. 

“In that case, you would have a much better understanding of their reasoning than I.” Aglaea denies her the answer she’s fishing for. Far too experienced with such wordplay to fall for it. 

However she is wholly intrigued by this possibility that Castorice is suggesting. It’s amusing in its absurdity. The Titan who rules over Death rendered a smitten fool. Watching from afar as the one they adore so passionately courts another. Never intervening, never throwing their ring into the gauntlet, but never being able to let go. Hoarding whatever scraps of gold they could in their folly. 

Love can be a wonderful thing that makes the world shine brighter, but it can also be a terrible poison. Aglaea has witnessed it time and time again. That distant yearning, knowing that the other will never reciprocate eating away at that pitiful soul from the inside. Some are able to overcome it, others are not. 

Across from her, Castorice remains silent. The golden threads draped around her tremble and it further stokes Aglaea’s curiosity. Yet trying to discern any more than that without tying their hearts together is like scraping her nails against a wall. If she attempts to dig any deeper then she will only succeed in hurting herself. 

“Hold on, since when are dragons Thanatos’s kin?” 

Both Aglaea and Castorice jump, the latter more so than the former. Going so far as to snap onto her feet. The Goldweaver notes how she straightens her dominant arm, fingers curling halfway inward as if to hold onto something. Only to relax once she realizes who it was that spoke.

“Lord Cipher?” Castorice’s fingers twitch as she curls her arms to her chest. Pressing a palm over her rapidly beating heart to try calming it. “Do you make a habit of scaring people?” 

“I don’t do it on purpose most of the time.” Cipher is lounging against the edge of the table as if she had been there the entire time. Her tail brushing against half-finished works and head inclined to meet the Holy maiden’s accusing gaze. “Can’t say I feel sorry if it makes you look at me like that.” 

“You should be more careful. You could get hurt by startling the wrong person.” Castorice sits back down with a huff. Having nearly given into a knee-jerk reaction herself. 

“It’s a concern that could be resolved by putting a bell on you.” Aglaea seconds her frustration. It’s not the first time that idea has flitted through her head. One of these days she’s actually going to commit to it. 

“A bell or a collar?” A low, sensual drawl that’s emphasized with a flick of Cipher’s tail. Goading the Goldweaver on. “Maybe if you give me a sweet enough treat I’ll let you.” 

Heat threatens to bloom against Aglaea’s skin. This damn cat- Always so coquettish. Tempting her as if everything were fine between them and nothing ever went wrong. She wants to call Cipher out on it. She wants to apologize for making the thief feel unloved. But she can’t, not with Castorice here. That confrontation will be far too personal, too raw and intimate for there to be a witness. 

“Ah, forget about that for now.” Cipher clears her throat and looks away. It seems she too realized and is trying to distract by changing the topic. “Last I checked, dragons are usually associated with Georios or Phagousa. Not Thanatos.”

“It’s not common knowledge.” Castorice rubs her fingers together, looking down at them and fidgeting. “There were only a handful and all of them have been killed so…”

“Is your scythe made from one of them?” Cipher’s ears perk up. Her tail curls up, standing straight. 

“It could be. I most likely got it from my birthplace, but I was so young when I left that I don’t remember where that is anymore.” 

“That so? Who would’ve thought Aidonia’s precious Holy Maiden wasn’t actually a native.” An ear flicks before tilting back. Cipher flexes her fingers against her thighs. 

Aglaea stares her down. Her laid back attitude and tone makes this exchange seem casual, questions asked out of pure curiosity. However the Goldweaver knows her too well. Cipher is interrogating Castorice. But why and what she’s hoping to learn, Aglaea isn’t certain. So she can get her hands on her own dragon bone weapon? They are priceless but at the same time Cipher tends to favor more traditional treasures. Gems, jewelry, gold, and the sort. She doesn’t usually dabble in rare weaponry as those are harder to sell off and easier to trace. So either someone on the black market is specifcially looking for one or there’s something else she’s trying to figure out. 

Cipher, ignoring the look she’s shooting her, leans over the table and tucks an arm under her body. The other gestures for them both to come closer. Both Aglaea and Castorice lean in with a mixture of exasperated amusement and confusion. 

“Just so you know, I’m not the only one who’s been eavesdropping.” Cipher whispers, low and deep and borderline sensual. Words for their ears alone. 

“What? Who?” Where the Goldweaver is unbothered by the revelation, Castorice snaps into focus. 

“To your left, down on his hands and knees by the purple flowers.” Cipher flicks her tail in the direction she’s referring to. “I was actually keeping an eye on him before I got distracted by what you said.” 

Castorice subtly shifts to try and peek at the man in question. He’s not difficult to identify as there’s no one else within close proximity to them. At a glance he’s merely a gardener tending to the plants and plucking weeds. It’s a solid disguise, innocuous, and would be impossible to recognize as a ruse. That is if the people he were tailing had ordinary senses. 

The Council’s spies creeping through the shadows is hardly an unusual sight for Aglaea. More often than not she leaves them be, pretends that she is completely unaware of them. It makes it easier to keep track of what the Council is planning that way. Sometimes she’ll intentionally feed them information to corral their actions. They become appeased by thinking they’re a step ahead of her and she knows what kind of traps to avoid stepping on. It’s a game where both sides try to edge the other into slipping. Play too passively and get overtaken. Play too proactively and that can backfire into losing public support. 

In a way, Aglaea pities this spy. It must be so dreadfully boring to listen in on two women discussing weaving, romance, and then theology. Not unless he’s actually interested in any of those topics. She would throw him a bone if it wouldn’t be so unnatural at this point. 

That spy isn’t an issue. There’s nothing they’ve said that can be used against them. However Castorice doesn’t think so. As she takes in the sight of the spy her body language shifts. Her posture becomes more stable and steady, her ears stiffen upright. Tension is wrought within every centimeter of her body. Her fingers flex in and out. The moment the spy starts to get up, that tension snaps and Castorice pounces.

There’s a split second where Aglaea considers pulling at her threads, feeding more power into her web so that it can wrap around her and force her to heel. To stop Castorice as she’s summoning her scythe. And yet, the Goldweaver relaxes her fingers. She watches Castorice slam the blunt pommel into his back, forcing him to the ground. Listens to the curse Cipher spits out before fetching one of her coins and flicking it into the air. 

Algaea catches that coin before it can tumble off the edge of the table. She sets it down atop the handkerchief she was inspecting earlier and then calmly stands. Walking over to where Castorice has the spy pinned down with her blade slung around his neck with an unspoken threat. To where Cipher is kneeling in front of him with two of her fingers shoved into his mouth, digging around the space between his teeth and cheeks. Pulling out with a small pill pinched between them. 

“I really don’t understand fanatics. So willing to kill yourselves over something so stupid.” Cipher crushes that pill. It crumbles easily under the pressure, the gooey liquid inside smearing her fingertips. “Don’t bother biting your tongue either. I can move faster than you can blink.” 

The spy’s breathing grows ragged. The stress of being caught fueled by the deathly air emanating from the woman standing over him. Goosebumps bloom across his skin. The golden threads quake under the grasp of his growing terror. His attention being drawn to the slip of movement, to Aglaea taking her place next to Cipher. 

“You- Don’t think you can make me talk just because of your stolen divinity.” An attempt to maintain some degree of dignity. Not a good one either with how his voice is trembling, words slurring. “We know well that the threads are not omnipotent.” 

Nor is Aglaea paying him any mind. Instead her focus is fixated on Castorice. Committing the way she’s poised- shoulders set, legs wide, and grip secure- to memory. It's so different from the way she usually carries herself. More grounded and imposing. So this is the Maiden of War that the lands have learned to fear. 

“Why did you act?” Aglaea asks Castorice. She doubts it's simply because there was someone listening in on them. This girl must be as familiar with such things as she is. 

“Should I not have?” Castorice’s focus slips, her grip falters and her elongated ears tilt down. Confidence wavering. 

“Tell me why first.” Aglaea isn’t upset with her. Surprised yes, but far too fascinated by this glimpse of her ferocity to fret over it. 

“His soul feels wrong and this scent-” Castorice fixes her grip on her scythe. Stance regaining its solid footing. A silent viper waiting and poised to strike. “Death clings to him like a cloak. He is a killer, a murderer.” 

It seems this Holy Maiden has her own sixth sense. That is something she will have to question Castorice about later. For now Aglaea reaches out towards the spy. Golden threads slip free and tangle around his shoulder. The tips of them dig into his skin, forcing their thoughts to brush against one another. 

She is hit with snapshot images. Of an innocuous walk through the streets, of idle conversations. Distractions brought to the surface to keep Aglaea from seeing what he is trying to keep hidden. But such a simple tactic will not work. Not when the fear of Death is clinging to his very soul. The proximity to the cursed Holy Maiden making those innocent images tremble. Blurring at the edges, easily giving way when she pulls at them. Aglaea sees faces hidden behind masks. Black porcelain painted with golden blood. 

Cleaners, assassins trained specifically to kill Chrysos Heirs. They haven’t made a move in hundreds of years. Not since Cerydra forced them into hiding. Aglaea knew they were still around, tagged any ones she managed to identify. But since they’ve remained inactive she never took any action against them. Partially because most spend their days as ordinary people, and she’d rather not have actual citizens make a fuss about their sudden disappearances. Primarily because killing one means the rest will dig themselves deeper in the shadows, becoming harder to keep an eye on. 

So for one of them to be here now can only mean one thing: They have a new mark and Aglaea knows for a fact it isn’t her. She’s too deeply established in the city’s affairs and its defenses. Her death would have far too many consequences tied to it. Which means the one this Cleaner is scouting out is-

The Cleaner shifts, a simple adjustment. Laying on the ground as he is must be uncomfortable. Doubly so with her threads burrowing into him. There wasn’t any other meaning behind the movement than that. Yet Castorice audibly snaps her jaws and angles her scythe so the curve of its blade covers more ground against his throat. 

The Cleaners are cowardly murderers. Only ever going after targets they know with utmost certainty they can kill. Never daring to strike at Chrysos Heirs who possess actual power and influence. Aglaea and the other two Demigods fall under both of those categories. 

But Castorice? She is an outsider who has been nothing but shy and timid since arriving. Obediently bowing her head to any influential figures that approach her. The general public’s perception of her is also strained. At best she is an oddity, a foreigner with alien beliefs. At worst she is dangerous, a walking disaster waiting to snap. No one would mourn her death if she were to fall. Some might go so far as to celebrate it. 

“Cas.” Aglaea rips her threads out from the assassin. It doesn’t actually tear skin, leaving no traces behind, yet it sends a sharp pain through him. “Don’t you think this garden could use some fresh blooms?”

Both women snap their heads to her. That order understood and ringing so loudly in their ears she may as well have shouted it. Aglaea doesn’t care what they think. Those rats will scatter and find new nooks to hide in after this, but it’s worth it if it means they’ll keep their malicious sights off of Castorice. 

The scythe hung around the assassin’s neck returns to where it’s stored. He breathes out a sigh of relief upon feeling that pressure vanish. A short lived respite. Instead of reaching down as Aglaea expected her to, Castorice plants a foot into his back. Pushing him into the dirt. 

Just like with the prisoner in Dawncloud, his body gradually relaxes. Practically going limp. This time it takes twenty three seconds for Aglaea’s sight to fizzle. The floral scent that floods her nostrils is more sour, overripe. When the static in her perception clears a corpse lays before them. The deathly blooms had burst free from the assassin’t skull and back. The ones directly surrounding Castorice’s foot curl towards it. Caressing what they can through her shoes. 

“Should I…?” Castorice takes her foot off the fresh corpse. Now that the deed has been done she’s at a complete loss as to how to proceed. Looking to the Goldweaver for further instructions. 

“No, I’ll make sure this bouquet ends up where it needs to.” Specifically at the doorstep of one of the Cleaners regular meeting spots. Aglaea is far too eager at the prospect of seeing their reactions. Although it would’ve been preferred if such a pleasant day hadn’t been interrupted. “I’m sorry our outing turned out like this. Had I known I would’ve taken preventative measures.” 

“The murder aside, that was pretty hot.” With a grunt, Cipher stands and stretches. She wipes the saliva and poison still sticking to her fingers off against her leotard. “If it wouldn’t kill me then I’d ask you to step on me next.” 

“Cifera.” It’s a joke, Aglaea knows she’s only half serious and is mostly trying to lighten the mood. But Castorice who is currently covering her face behind her hands and no doubt blushing like mad doesn’t. 

“Admit it Agy, nothing is more attractive than a girl who could kick your ass.” Cipher nudges her with an elbow, snickering at the glare that gets shot at her in response. 

Aglaea doesn’t necessarily disagree. Getting to see this side of Castorice, brief as it was, did send a pleasant trill through her. She would very much like to see the Holy Maiden display that confidence more. However embarrassing her will make her less likely to. 

“Your desire to protect us and your swift actions to ensure our safety are commendable.” So Aglaea pointedly ignores the thief’s wagging tail and turns her attention to appeasing the flustered Holy Maiden. “For that you have my thanks.”

It works in getting Castorice to peek out from her shell. Her fingers spread open and Aglaea can feel the prick of her gaze. The Goldweaver gives her an encouraging smile and she lowers her hands. 

“However next time something like this happens, consult me before acting.” Aglaea isn’t upset but she also must make it clear that she mustn’t make a habit of acting so impulsively. 

“Or me.” Cipher seconds that motion. She might not be able to read minds but she is familiar enough with how things are run around here to fill in the blanks.“The political situation in Okhema is actually pretty delicate. There’s a lot of people in high positions that would like it if we Demigods were put to the gallows.” 

“I understand.” Castorice folds her hands together in front of her waist and bows her head. 

Control is a dangerously addicting thing. Aglaea never wanted it but now that she has it she cannot deny the thrill of having someone so dangerous wrapped around her fingers. If she gave Castorice a list of names then she’d probably return with a blood soaked garden and then wag her tail at whatever praise the Goldweaver would give her. 

Aglaea can’t let such a thought be anything more than that. She refuses to go down the same path that Cerydra did. Cannot become a tyrant who keeps people in line through the threat of death. For if the one who bears the divine authority of Romance were to become cruel then there is truly no hope left for this world. 

Chapter Text

A nose twitches, the urge to sneeze tightening deep within. Dust hangs in the air. An old and stale scent brimming with the musk of aged paper. The padding of small feet makes a furry ear flick and turn towards it. Cipher keeps her back to that movement, facing out the doorway as her body debates whether to let her nostrils explode or not. The rustling of paper makes her tail sway. She rubs at her throat, trying to will that itching in the depths of her nose away. 

More pattering before Cipher’s head is thrown forward. An arm flings up to cover her sneezing. Tail shooting out straight. The first one is sudden and fast, while the two that follow are more drawn out. A far too long delay between each one. After the last one Cipher whines. The sensation lingering and leaving her unsatisfied. 

“Bless you.” Trinnon’s soft, airy voice caresses her ears. It's a balm against her buzzing nerves. 

“Ugh, thanks.” Cipher sniffles. The tightness in her nose has lessened but its still prickling. The discomfort of an itch she cannot scratch. “You guys really need to give this room a good dusting.” 

She cranes her head and sees the small Demigod looking at her with an apologetic smile. A large parchment rolled up in her arms. Trinnon sets it down atop the long table centering this rarely visited storage room. Unfurling it with literal silk gloves. Her movements are careful and tender, treating the paper as if the slightest of carelessness would make it turn to dust. Which it very well could as this parchment is as old as she is. 

The Chrysos War and the Black Tide have taken many things over the years. Millions of lives lost, entire cities forgotten, a sense of unease left within every heart. But the one thing that often gets overlooked is the knowledge that was buried alongside the people. Books and historical records were not just claimed as a side effect of the destruction but also by the people who were scrambling for power during that arduous era. So though Okhema still stands strong to this day, it too has holes left within it that can never be filled again. 

What Trinnon is laying out for Cipher could very well be the last remaining map of the whole continent back in its prime. The only reason a copy hasn’t been made is because there isn’t much of a point. Most of the roads and cities inscribed onto it are no more. Some landscapes have changed drastically in the wake of the Titans locking horns with one another in their madness. Preserving the past isn’t high on most people’s priorities while their future survival is uncertain. This map- along with all the other relics kept on these shelves- would have been tossed aside had Aglaea and Terravox not found it. 

With light steps and an arm kept over her mouth and nose, Cipher saunters towards the table. She curls her tail around one of her legs to keep it still and ensure her fur doesn’t get everywhere. The ink on the parchment is faded, some of the words written on it rendered incomprehensible. Finding where Styxia sits is easy as she already knows where it is relative to Okhema. While her eyes trace the roads that lead out from it, calculating the routes one could have take to reach Aidonia. 

It’s not close but it's not a completely unreasonable distance ton cross either. Especially not if someone is trying to whisk away a cursed child to a land where no one knows her origins. With both land and sea routes being viable options to take. 

Cipher has been trying her damned hardest to not fall into the trap of making connections that don’t exist that would prove her theory correct. It was built purely on top of circumstantial evidence with no concrete proof to solidify it. She also can’t discount the possibility that the alchemist’s claims were based on his own unprovable inferences. However there are far too many coincidences lining up perfectly for them to be just that.

If that dead dragon truly was one of Thanatos’s Titankin, then that would explain why it's able to prevent those souls in Styxia from reaching the Netherealm. It could also explain the origin of Castorice’s curse if she is indeed the child that was birthed from it. Perfectly clean and reasonable explanations for how these two seemingly impossible occurrences have come to pass. Yet what Cipher still cannot wrap her head around is why any of this happened. 

Why block souls from being able to reach the Netherealm? Why leave behind a child after it kinda-sorta-but-not-really died? Was it following Thanatos’s will or acting on its own? Maybe this has something to do with the prophecy? After all, not just anyone can be the host of a Coreflame. The odds of someone who is compatible with the authority of Death being born naturally seems slim. Ridiculous even. 

“This is going to sound random but-” There’s really no good way Cipher can word this without it coming across as suspicious. So she may as well just say it. “Theoretically couldn’t one of the prophesied Heirs be a Titankin? They have golden blood too.” 

“Well, the prophecy specifies the children of humanity with golden blood.” Trinnon keeps her eyes hidden beneath her bangs and her mask. Yet the thief can still feel how her gaze is boring into her. 

“I’m not really human, neither was the Empress, Miss Hysilens, or Terravox.” Cipher wiggles her ears to emphasize her point. That’s a majority of the Demigods so far being people who were born with nonhuman traits. If they want to really nitpick, Aglaea is the odd one out since the triplets have pointy ears too. Though not anywhere near as long as Castorice’s. 

“The thing that separates Titankin from humans and the human-adjacent races is that they don’t truly have free will.” Trinnon goes into her teacher mode. Hopefully not thinking much about why the thief is asking these things and focusing more on answering. “They can’t go against their creators and because of that, they couldn’t help us even if they wanted to.” 

So basically, if that dragon was a Titankin then it had to be following Thanatos’s orders. However that then naturally leads to the question of what that would make Castorice. Would she be a Titankin by proxy? There are some types out there that are humanoid, though Cipher hasn’t heard of one that's nearly indistinguishable from humans. Or is she some sort of hybrid similar to Cerydra? 

“Didn’t Kephale make humanity in their image?” At least that’s what the myths claim. Though Cipher wasn’t exactly educated before coming to Okhema, and the people here are very biased into believing the Worldbearer is responsible for everything. “Wouldn’t that technically make us Titankin as well?” 

Trinnon presses a finger to her lips and looks down. Thinking, or more likely consulting with the other two fragments of Tribios. Cipher supposes she is asking some pretty deep questions swithout meaning to. Philosophers would have a field day if they heard any of this. 

“The best way we can put it is that it’s like dogs and wolves. Even though different breeds can come in lots of shapes and sizes, a dog is still a dog. But no matter how similar they are, a dog is not a wolf. Someone that has the free will to defy the Gods is not a Titankin, regardless of their origins.” 

So it’s less a matter of how something came to be and more a matter of what that something can and can’t do. Actually, wait, Cipher is stupid. She just remembered that Mnestia was originally created by Cerces. Which is kind of funny to think about. A creation falling madly in love with their creator. There are lots of cheesy romance stories that have that kind of trope. It wouldn’t surprise Cipher if it became a trope because of those two. 

The point is that it’s possible for a Titan to make another Titan. Which means it's also possible Thanatos made that dead dragon, who then could have made Castorice, who is the Hand of Shadow’s Holy Maiden and the one destined to take their Coreflame. Whew, that’s a mental tongue twister right there. At this right she’ll need to start making notes to keep track of all this bullshit. 

“Ciphy, you’ve discovered something amazing. Haven’t you?” Ah, whoops. Guess it was asking too much to hope Trinnon wouldn’t question her in turn. “Don’t give us that look. We practically raised you.” 

“Saying you raised me is stretching a bit, don’t you think?” Thankfully Cipher knows how to deal with her elder. How to lead this two-thousand year old child down a different rabbit hole. “I wasn’t so young that I couldn’t take care of myself. In fact, I was pretty self-sufficient before any of you guys got involved and would’ve been fine.” 

Fine in a very loose sense. She probably could have lived for however long her mortal life would’ve lasted. And if she did die of anything other than old age it would’ve been by the brunt of a fist. Getting food was manageable while shelter isn’t strictly necessary for survival. And if by some chance her premature death wasn’t a consequence of stealing from the wrong person then it would’ve been due to her degrading mental state. Ah no! She isn’t supposed to be the one going down memory lane! 

“Either way we’ve known you for a long time. So don’t underestimate us just because we’re cursed to be stuck as children forever.” Trinnon pouts, putting her hands to her hips. Attempt one was a failure. 

“You know, in a way I’m kinda glad you guys are so small. The others could all be pretty scary when they wanted to be, and if you were mature too…” Cipher does occasionally wonder what the triplets looked like as a whole. What kind of person Tribios was and how different she would’ve been from her fragments. It’s hard to picture her as anything but gentle and caring and motherly. “Hehe, I don’t think I would’ve been able to get away with any of my tricks.” 

“You say that as if the others weren’t always lenient with you.” Trinnon huffs and she’s right. They really are far too lenient with the thief. Merely scolding her whenever she would show off her catches instead of having her be arrested. 

“There were a couple of times I was certain Miss Hysilens was about to take my head and she wasn’t even the one I was pranking!” Not really but that girl would have such a scary look on her face the few times she did chase Cipher down. So much so that she genuinely felt her life was in danger.

“Agy wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.” A small, amused smile appears against Trinnon’s lips. Knowing exactly which moments the thief is talking about. “Whether it's back then or now, she’d protect you. So you don’t need to be so afraid.” 

Cipher’s earlier remark was spot on. Tribios really would’ve been a force to reckon with. Not in the ways that are obvious, but a subtle lethality. The kind where you don’t realize there’s a knife until after you’ve been stabbed. Because even as children, the triplets are scarily good at that. 

“Big Sis, you shouldn’t underestimate me either.” But because they’re children they can’t quite reach Cipher’s heart. It’s all too easy to look them in the eye and pretend they’re no different from actual kids. To lie to herself that they couldn’t possibly understand. “I might not be anywhere near as old as you, but these are my games. You can’t beat me with my own tactics.” 

Trinnon simply smiles. How should Cipher put this? Something about it makes her fur stand on end, makes her feel as if she is in danger. Not literally of course. The triplets would never hurt her or anyone for that matter. No, no, no, that’s the smile of a cat who got the cream. 

Cipher’s ears tilt back towards the door, picking up a sound from down the hall. The distinct clack of footsteps. Her head snaps towards that same direction. Sure enough she catches a flash of gold before she quickly snaps forward again. A look of betrayal overtaking her features. 

“Sorry Ciphy. We know you too well and that the only way to get you to talk when you don’t want to is to use underhanded methods.” Trinnon says without a hint of guilt. Watching, waiting to see what the other will do now. 

She’s giving Cipher an ultimatum: Either reveal whatever she’s discovered or to sit down and have a serious talk with Aglaea. How cruel, trying to force her hand like this. Not that it's an effective trap considering Cipher can still leave if she so wished. All she’d have to do is reach into her pouches and flip a coin. Neither Trinnon nor Aglaea would be able to stop her. Cipher knows it and they know it. It would be all too easy yet something within her hesitates. 

The triplets don’t dare to get involved when it comes to the interpersonal relationships shared between the Chrysos Heirs. They are wise in many ways but love is one of the few things that leaves them stumped. Lacking any personal experience and her curse making it so they won’t ever be able to experience that type of devotion. Instead it was Hysilens who grabbed Cipher by the scruff and basically threw her at Aglaea. Tired of watching them dance around each other. 

Hysilens who was far more experienced with love than either of them. Hysilens who so deeply devoted everything to Cerydra. Hysilens who was rendered a hollow shell after the Empress vanished without a word. Grief turned into desperation and then threatened to become mania the longer they went without being able to find any clues of Cerydra’s whereabouts. 

Cipher’s throat clenches. She wants to say that she won’t do to Aglaea what Cerydra did to Hysilens, but that's not a promise she can make. Not when none of them know why Cerydra left or if she actually meant to leave for good. She could’ve intended to return only to be killed somewhere no one would find her body. Struck down by either the monsters tearing apart this world or the many many enemies she had made during her conquests. 

So Cipher lets her stiffened fingers go limp. She rests her hands against her hips and turns to face the door with an easy smile. The tips of her fangs poke out from her lips. And though Aglaea can’t actually see any of that, she hopes the Goldweaver can discern it from how laid back she’s trying to hold herself. 

“Hey. Come to take a trip down memory lane with me and Big Sis?” Cipher catches movement out of the corner of her vision. A flash of red that slips out from behind the Goldweaver to join their sibling. 

“I’m not sure. Teacher told me you had something important to discuss with me.” She doesn’t miss the guarded edge to Aglaea’s tone. Equally aware of the position she had been urged into taking. How she’s essentially standing between the thief and the only exit. 

So the triplets truly are making Cipher choose which hill to die on. To pick between discussing the Flame-Chase which she had renounced or opening up her heart. It’s an easy choice to make. The hard part is contemplating how much she should reveal. What details to leave out so neither of her fellow Demigods do anything stupid. 

“These past couple of days I’ve been trying to figure out where Cas’s scythe came from.” A lie but also technically not. One with just enough truth that it won’t set off the golden threads, not without being directly connected to Cipher. “A dragon bone weapon isn’t something you just end up with by chance, and they’re so rare I figured it’d be easy to trace back its origin.” 

“So you claim but last I checked, rare weapons are of no interest to you.” Ah, she should’ve known better than to think Aglaea would take her words at face value. “Let me guess, you were actually using that as a starting point to dig into Castorice’s past?” 

“Something like that. It struck me as weird since Aidonia isn’t exactly known as being a suitable place for dragons and it’s not a place that's big on trade or travel either.” Another lie that isn’t truly a lie. A twisting of the truth to misdirect from certain details Cipher would rather not reveal. “Anyway, while looking into stories of dragons I learned something interesting. You remember that Styxian one about the dragon and the princess? Well according to one of its dead residents that fairy tale was based on actual events.” 

“The one where a princess is revived using the flesh of a dragon that brought Death to the city?” She can see the gears starting to turn in Aglaea’s head. Getting an idea of where the thief is going with this. 

“That exact one!” Cipher snaps her fingers and her tail loosens from around her leg, tip flicking back and forth. “According to the ghost I talked to, the girl wasn’t actually a Styxian princess or anything but a random kid they found in the dragon’s gut after they killed it.” 

“And you think that child was Castorice.” It’s not a question but a statement. One Aglaea utters with clear skepticism. 

“Our dear Princess isn’t human, not completely. I’ve heard her purr before.” Thinking about it, Cipher needs to make her do that again at some point. It was adorable. 

“So have I.” Oh? Now when and how did that happen? A shame she wasn’t around to witness it. “If we combine this information with what Castorice said about dragons being Thanatos’s kin and how she wasn’t born in Aidonia…” Aglaea puts together the same pieces Cipher had. However she’s missing a few vital components. “It does seem too convenient to be mere coincidence, but do you have any actual proof to back this up?” 

The dead dragon that's somehow still breathing, and how it's missing a finger whose size and shape matches Castorice’s scythe. Those are the closest any of them are going to get to obtaining hard evidence. However if Cipher brings it up then Aglaea and the triplets will want to see it for themselves. That dragon might have been benevolent in life, a guardian of sorts painted as a villain. But now? It gives off a bad feeling that sets Cipher’s flight instincts off just as much as- no, even more than the strange water does. 

No way is Cipher letting these four get anywhere near it. Absolutely not. Being close to it could prove to be dangerous. (Cipher had made sure to very thoroughly scrub herself down to the point where her skin became red and raw before coming back.) Or worse, they could end up waking it up. That is not a risk she is willing to take. Not now and not ever. The dragon can stay suspended in that tower for all eternity if it means keeping everyone safe. 

“No but I was thinking we could do some experiments.” Sort of. There actually is something that Cipher wants to test, but it's also an excuse to tease that cute girl. “Cas said that Thanatos’s dragons are drawn to gold.” 

“You want me to spoil her with riches?” Something Aglaea could very easily do. The thief has peeked into her vaults. She has more gold then she knows what to do with but that’s not exactly what Cipher meant. 

“When I was playing with one of my coins in front of her, she wouldn’t take her eyes off of it.” She was also completely enamored by the present Cipher brought. Though that one could’ve been because of the tits rather than it being a gold statue. “So I’m thinking you and I show off a bit and then compare notes.” 

Aglaea’s eyes narrow a bit and drift off to the side. A sign that she’s thinking. Probably trying to recall if she’s observed any instances of Castorice being attracted to gold. There would have been plenty of such opportunities between her threads and how she’s basically gold if it were a woman. Cipher finds her own gaze flicking to the tattoo on Aglaea’s chest. How it shines and naturally draws the eye lower. Yeah, there’s no way Castorice hasn’t stared at that. 

“Teacher, what do you think about all of this?” Aglaea turns to the three who have been silently observing this whole exchange. 

“If that is where little Cas came from, it would explain a lot of things.” Tribbie doesn’t outright disagree with this hypothesis. It really does sound ridiculous despite how much sense it makes. “But whether it's true or not wouldn’t affect how we see her.” 

“I’m not trying to say we should change the way we treat her or anything.” Cipher quickly clarifies. She hadn’t meant for her claims to come across like that. “It’s just that knowing all this will make it easier to figure out how to help her.” 

“I won’t go out of my way to show off to her, as you put it, but from here on out I will make a note of such behavior if I happen to notice it.” Aglaea really doesn’t need to try, however her being able to know exactly where Castorice is looking is what’ll be hard for her.

“Good enough for me!” Cipher saunters towards the door, pausing when she reaches the Goldweaver’s side. Placing a hand on her shoulder while the end of her tail curls around Aglaea’s leg. “Oh and when you get around to buying that bell, make sure it's gold.” 

She winks and takes off before Aglaea can respond. Her laughter echoing as she goes. A victorious cheer for managing to handle that encounter so well. As well as getting out before her heart overpowers her reason. How she managed to pull herself away before the Goldweaver’s familiar scent could draw her in and make her never want to leave again.

Aglaea watches her go, feels Cipher growing further and further away with her golden threads. Once she’s out of what would be line-of-sight, she slows to a more casual walk. Hands winding together behind her head and tail swishing back and forth. The thief begins humming a soft tune from her homeland. A drunken ballad that the people of Dolos would sing in the dead of curtain-fall, wine in hand, and bellies stuffed after a celebratory feast. 

The Goldweaver’s focus wavers when she feels a much smaller hand wrap around her own. Aglaea tilts her head down to meet Tribbie’s awaiting gaze. The other two have moved closer as well, forming a half circle around the Goldweaver. Aglaea squeezes Tribbie’s thumb under her own. 

“You look conflicted.” Her teacher offers her such unconditional warmth that it loosens the tension in her jaw. “Want to talk about it?” 

Aglaea could lie and tell her this information Cipher presented to them is what’s bothering her. Her teacher would readily accept that answer. She’d much rather spare them the mess that has become of her and Cipher’s relationship. At the same time, who else could Aglaea go to for advice? Castorice would probably be willing to listen but she is still unfamiliar with Cipher’s quirks, how she expresses herself and recognize when the thief is donning a mask. The only ones left who do know those things are the three before her now. 

“I don’t know where I stand with Cifera anymore. One moment she banters with me as if nothing had happened and the next-” She backs off before Aglaea can reciprocate. Stays just out of her reach much like the animals she resembles. Acting like she wants to be pet only to turn her nose up when the Goldweaver reaches out to her. “If she wishes to sever things between us for good, then I wish she would be more upfront about it.” 

It hurts to say aloud, but what else can she do other than accept it if that’s what Cipher wants? Aglaea has always tried to let her be the one to control their pace. Letting her come and go as she pleased whether it was before or after they began sharing a bed. Never trying to tie her down and instead offering her a warm home to come back to. Understanding that Cipher has her own struggles with attachments. And it was in part because she granted the thief that autonomy that Cipher was willing to try. For her to refuse the hand being offered can only mean that Aglaea has failed. 

“Agy…” Tribbie squeezes her hand tighter.  The other two shuffle in place, wanting to reach out as well but not wanting to smother her. 

“I have seen so many couples come together and break apart. I judged them fools for their mistakes and thought myself better than that.” Things really do seem so obvious when you’re on the outside looking in. Turns out Aglaea was the true fool all along. “Now, being in this situation myself, I realize it’s not so simple.” 

“The only way to truly know what a person is thinking and feeling is to ask them.” Trianne suggests. She is not wrong but that’s also far easier said than done. Especially when the opportunity is refusing to present itself. 

“But Ciphy is bad at letting herself be vulnerable. If you’re too pushy about it then she’ll be scared off.” Trinnon voices the concern thrumming through the Goldweaver. 

“She often hides her true feelings and pretends she doesn’t care but…” Tribbie drifts off, turning her head toward the hallway. “Ciphy’s actions are always honest.” 

“She came back.” Trianne bounces on the balls of her feet. “Ciphy came back after you guys fought and she’s still willing to talk to and be touchy with you.” 

Aglaea’s chest constricts. Her knees start to feel weak and she allows herself to fall onto them. She wraps her arm around Tribbie and the other two do not hesitate to close the distance between them. 

“I hope you’re right, Teacher.” Aglaea presses her face against a head of red hair and small hands rub comforting circles against her back. 

“You can be pretty bad at properly getting your feelings across too.” Tribbie points out. Something that’s gotten worse over the years. “All of us know you don’t do it on purpose and that it's a side effect of your curse, but to Ciphy that’s probably really intimidating right now.” 

It’s not exactly the same, but Castorice had expressed a similar sentiment. That people don’t care about logic when they’re scared. She was specifically referring to the fear of death but the fear of rejection- of not being loved, wouldn’t it also apply to that? Aglaea certainly feels like that’s what she is going through this very moment. 

Castorice, that’s another thing to consider. At first Aglaea didn’t think much about how Cipher talks to her. The thief is a flirt, plain and simple. Most of the time she does it in jest. As a way to make women feel good about themselves with no actual intent behind it. The best way to distinguish how serious she’s being serious is through her body language. If Cipher is trying to direct the other person’s attention to her lips or her curves. Which can admittedly be difficult for Aglaea to recognize with her impaired sight. 

“The way Cifera teases and fusses over Castorice…” Aglaea looks back to this evening, the things Cipher had said and how she had laid against the table. Positioning herself in a way that would’ve pushed out her breasts. But which one of them was she doing that for? “Don’t you think it’s similar to how she treated me before we got together?” 

Then hads rubbing her back and arms stop. The three Holy Maidens of Janus pull away from her in sync. Aglaea curses her inability to see what sort of expressions they’re making. Having nothing but how the nearby threads briefly thrum to go off of. 

“Does that make you jealous?” Trianne carefully asks once they get their thoughts together. 

Jealousy, Aglaea can’t recall the last time she felt that way. From what she remembers it's a feeling akin to anger or frustration. A violent and hot emotion that stirs the need to bring another down. When she pictures Cipher and Castorice together, that’s not what weighs down her chest. Instead a conflicting mix of sorrow and consolation passes through her. One over the possibility of losing Cipher for good, the other because at least then Castorice would get to experience being on the receiving end of another’s affection. 

“I could not fault Cifera for falling for her.” As much as it would pain her, Aglaea would do her best to support both of them if things truly do go down that road. “Cas is such a lovely girl. So earnest and cute that one can’t help but be enamored. She’s the type of person you can’t help but want to protect.” 

“Just like how you want to protect Ciphy?” Trianne presses again, this time more confidently. 

“That is… “ Not a fair comparison. Aglaea wishes to watch over them both, yes, but for completely different reasons. 

She first opened her door for Cipher because that stray, mangy kitten was constantly looking over her shoulder. Always on the run from people who would see her head. Whether it was those that wanted to sever her sticky fingers or drain her of her golden blood. Cipher is no longer that weak and fearful child. She has grown and matured into a wonderful adult that no longer needs her protection. Yet Aglaea continues to offer it anyway because that is what partners do for one another. 

With Castorice she hadn’t initially offered her a room with kind intentions. It was done as a precaution. So that Aglaea could observe the ticking bomb that is Aidonia’s Holy Maiden and judge if she would be more trouble than it was worth. Those concerns had flipped on a coin. Was replaced by a need to ensure she had a space where she would not be judged for things that are beyond her control. A place where the world that would label her a monster cannot reach her. 

“Teacher, I don’t understand where you’re going with this.” She truly doesn’t. Aglaea wants to protect all of her fellow Flame-Chasers as much as she can. So why would that matter under this context? 

“Maybe we’re overthinking then.” Trinnon shrugs, shoulders slouching afterwards. “Forget we said anything.” 

“For now, we think Ciphy just needs time.” Tribbie reigns the topic back to the thief. Leaving that deviation hanging. “She trusts you more than anyone else. Which means if she’s not being clear with you then she probably doesn’t know what she wants either.” 

“Or if you want we can try telling her that she isn’t being fair to you.” Trianne puffs her chest out, trying to make herself appear taller. 

“Thank you Teacher, but this is a battle I must fight myself.” This isn’t an issue they should need to burden themselves with. The fact that it's worrying them this much is already too much.

So Aglaea stands up and asks the triplets what they should have for dinner. It works in getting them to drop it for now. The three start going back and forth over what they want, debating what Castorice might like as well. The Goldweaver merely listens to their debate, using this moment to contemplate what Cipher had discovered and the implications behind that discovery.

Dragons, is it? The Flame-Chase sure seems to favor those that have ties to them. Aglaea never cared much about those ancient beasts. They were already practically instincts when she was born. She doesn’t imagine there are any left out there. Thanks to that the Goldweaver never cared much for them. Looking at it now, maybe they were actually more important to Amphoreus then she or anyone else realized. A true shame she won’t ever get the opportunity to meet one anymore. 

Chapter Text

The moon hangs low against the sky, its cracked edge bleeding against the horizon. Yet the sight of it does not stir anything within Castorice. A familiar visage that she has known for so long as she could form thoughts. Instead her attention is set onto her own blackened hand. Outstretched and fingers spread out, curved claws outlining that broken moon. Golden threads are wound between each one, their luster faded. The divinity within them is rapidly thinning. It won’t be long before they fade completely. 

Castorice turns her wrist so that the moonlight will reflect off the threads. Doing so only makes her grow increasingly aware of how thin they are. Their frayed edges dangle helplessly from her fingers. A whine unwittingly bellows out from her throat and hearing it makes embarrassment crawl up the length of her long neck. Castorice brings her hand close to her chest, over the bony plating that protects her soft underbelly. Her tail curls around legs while her wings fold tight against her back. 

Something cool and leathery bumps against her cheek. Castorice tilts her head to stare into her reflection. Another dragon whose visage matches her own. The petal-like fins on the back of their head flip open. The dragon coos, offering her comfort. Though it only serves to make her embarrassment rise. Castorice quickly looks away, her fins closing. It’s stupid, she knows it is, yet she cannot help the way her heart aches. 

The other dragon coos and chirps, bumping their snout against her. Castorice curls more in on herself. She wants to melt into the flowers and become one with them. Life would be so much easier if she were nothing more than a plant. No complicated feelings to deal with. Only swaying in the wind and drinking the moonlight. 

The other dragon sighs and backs off. Castorice feels guilty for brushing them off but at the same time her shame is stronger. Right now she just wants to be alone and wallow in her pity. She’ll make it up to them later. 

Except they apparently have a different idea. A body slams into Castorice’s, making her fall on her side with a surprised squawk. The other dragon’s weight settles over her. Teeth nip at her neck, harmlessly pinning her down. Castorice weakly bats at them, trying to urge them off without using any actual force. They let go just so they can reposition. Plopping down so that they’re laying on top of her. 

Castorice could shove them off if she so wished. She could roll over and flip their positions so she could flee. Instead she surrenders to be used as a bed. Letting her body go limp as the other dragon lays their head down beside her’s. Cheek to cheek, parallel to one another. 

Having the dragon sprawled on top of her is heavy but oddly comfortable. Especially when they start purring, that steady rumbling acting as a makeshift massage. It makes the pressure in Castorice’s heart less suffocating. Clutching the fraying golden threads, her eyes start to flutter shut. Relaxing into the comfort of another’s embrace. 

Castorice groans into her pillow, conscious and dreaming mind blurring into one another. Keeping her eyes shut, she pushes herself up. The blankets fall around her wobbly figure.She sits like that for a while, tracing nonsensical patterns against the sheets with her fingertips. Allowing her mind time to decide if it truly wants to wake up or not. 

The sensation of something wet against Castorice’s cheek has her peeling open her eyes. She rubs it away with her thumb, only for another tear to take its place. Her chest feels hollow, heavy, empty. The numbed sting of loss that lingers even as her mind clears up. 

Castorice crawls out from her nest and begins her entry hour rituals. Fetching her notebook with the floral cover to record her dream. Once that’s done untangling the mess that had become of her hair and changing out of her sleepwear. Then stepping out of her room to clear the dryness in her throat. 

She offers a mute greeting to the Garmentmakers she passes. Having grown familiar with these long halls. Now able to find her way to the kitchen without assistance. Castorice pours herself a glass of water and stands beside one of the open windows. Soaking in the light from the Dawn Device as she takes periodic sips. Listening to the soft shuffling of the Garmentmakers moving about. 

Castorice’s ears flick up, catching wind of an out of place sound. The pull of a stringed instrument. Curiosity pulls at her, urges her to follow. Leading her to the estate’s courtyard. Steps faltering when she spots a brush of gold and the flash of an easy smile. 

A gramophone plays a classic tune of violins. The beat accompanied by the tap of heels. Aglaea’s hand is clasped within a Garmentmaker’s, her other wrapped around the construct’s waist. The two sway in time with the music. Aglaea’s face is the most relaxed she’s seen it to date and Castorice feels like an intruder for witnessing it. Yet her feet are frozen in place, eyes unable to look away. 

Aglaea’s fingers are splayed out against the dip of the Garmentmaker’s back. Urging the construct closer until their breasts are pressed together. If the Garmentmaker had a head then they would be centimeters apart. Aglaea slips a thigh between non-existent legs and starts to bend her waist. The Garmentmaker leans back in turn, trusting her creator to not let her fall. As Aglaea dips the Garmentmaker, the straps of her dress shift and the v cut opens just a little wider. The golden mark stretching across her breast mocking Castorice. Tempting her to reach out and trace its curls. 

Aglaea pulls the Garmentmaker upright and Castorice releases the breath she didn’t know she was holding. The Holy Maiden brings a hand to her chest, feeling the way her heart has picked up speed. A flushed warmth is overtaking her. Her face, her ears, her neck, even her collar grow hot. Parted lips snap shut, small fangs catching against them. 

“You got drawn in by the siren’s call too?” A low, gravely voice utters right beside her ear. So close that she can feel the other’s breath caress her. 

With a gasp Castorice jumps back, bumping into the archway she’s standing under in the process. Immediately shooting a glare at the cheeky cat wearing a lazy grin. Cipher looks as if she had just rolled out of bed. Her hair is a complete mess and an eyemask pulled up to the top of her head. 

“Lady Aglaea was right, you do need a bell. This is the third time you’ve snuck up on me.” Castorice huffs out, tone clipped. Her frayed nerves alight both from the scare and the shame washing over her. 

“Yet somehow I wasn’t able to the one time I was actually trying to.” Cipher leans back against the opposite side of the archway. Her still half-asleep voice makes a shiver run through the Holy Maiden. 

Like this, Cipher is a vixen that jumped straight out from a myth to whisper into her ear. Tempt her into taking a bite out of the forbidden fruit. Between how bedraggled her silvery hair is and the lazy slant to her eyes, Castorice feels like this too is a sight she shouldn’t be privy to. Her fingers twitch with the urge to smooth out those unruly yet soft looking locks. 

“Because you keep appearing while I’m distracted.” Castorice makes the mistake of shifting her gaze back to Aglaea. To the magnetic sway of her hips. 

“Distracted, huh?” Oh, oh no. That smug tone combined with this sleepy gruffness is a deadly combination. One that her heart isn’t mentally prepared to endure. “I can’t blame you. Agy does have a nice ass.” 

“Lord Cipher!” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Castorice slaps a palm over her lips. That came out louder than she meant. Aglaea misses a step, surprised but carries on as if she hadn’t heard anything. 

“Do you know what kind of face you were making?” Cipher mutters, forcing the Holy Maiden’s attention to her. Lilac locking with glittering blue. Facing the cat’s mischief head on. “It made me start to get hot under the collar and it wasn’t even directed at me.” 

The thief may as well have dumped a bucket of ice-water on Castorice. Her stomach drops and a sense of shame-fueled dread fills her up. A realization settling in that drowns her in guilt. Her hip bumps against the corner of the archway in her hasty scramble to back away. She dares not look at Cipher. Pointing her gaze firmly towards the ground.

“I’m sorry.” Castorice squeezes her eyes shut and wraps her arms around herself as if they would shield her from the rest of the world. 

“Hey, hey, what are you apologizing for?” Cipher’s voice softens. She hears the shift of fabric as the thief pushes off the archway. The faint click of metal boots as she steps closer. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I shouldn’t be- You and Lady Aglaea are-” Castorice scrambles away from her, back hitting a wall. Her nails dig roughly into her sides where she can feel the clear outline of her ribs. 

It’s one thing for her to crave touch in a general sense, to imagine a world where she was not cursed. To yearn for a day where she can embrace another without the risk of their life being ripped out by rotten blooms. It’s another thing entirely for Castorice to have the urge to brush her fingers against someone that’s standing before her. For Castorice to want that is no different than wanting to wrap her finger’s around that person’s neck and squeeze. 

With Aglaea, she didn’t think much of it. Assumed it had more to do with her beastial instinct’s love of gold than the woman herself. With Cipher there is no such excuse. Castorice should be better than this. She has spent centuries devoid of physical affection, centuries distancing herself from others. Five paces, that's as close as she would let other people who bore her no ill will get. Yet she has consistently allowed Aglaea and Cipher to cross that line. Gone so far as to savor each risk they take.

All of that is without taking into consideration whatever is going on between the Demigods. Aglaea never explicitly said they were together, but the way she spoke of their falling out gave off that impresion. Whereas Cipher has been shamelessly open about her attraction towards the Goldweaver. Whether that stems beyond being merely physical, Castorice cannot say. The point is, she wouldn’t want to get between them if that is the case. 

“Princess, Cas, look at me. Please.” Cipher gently urges. It works in getting the Holy Maiden to lift her head.Though her ears stay pointed low. “Do I seem upset to you?” 

You should be, is what Castorice wants to say. Only her throat feels as if it's being squeezed. Rendering her unable to confess her sin. That she’s thinking about how beautiful the two Demigods would look surrounded by flowers. 

“I’m not upset because you didn’t do anything wrong. Got it? You did nothing wrong.” Cipher emphasizes as if trying to reassure a small child. Which would be insulting if she weren’t too wracked with guilt to care. 

“I almost did.” When they talk to her so casually like this, it's all too easy for Castorice to forget that she’s an instrument of Death. 

“I highly doubt that.” Of course it was inevitable Aglaea would notice that something is wrong. She lingers beneath the archway, maintaining a polite distance with her arms crossed. “If anything, Cifera is the one in the wrong for spewing such crass language.” 

“Ah, you heard that?” Cipher nervously bows her head. She hadn’t meant for the Goldweaver to overhear. 

“My ears are nowhere near as good as yours, but they’re still better than most.” Losing her sight had heightened Aglaea’s other senses. Making them sharper than the average person. “Plus neither of you were exactly quiet.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean-” Shame colors Cipher’s features. “I know how much you hate it when people say that kinda crap about you. I shouldn’t have said that even as a joke.” 

“So you don’t think I have a nice ass?” Aglaea sounds far too genuinely disappointed when she says that. To the point where Castorice cannot tell if she’s being serious or not.

Cipher’s eyes snap wide open. She looks between the Goldweaver and Castorice, shocked confusion marring her features. Tail flicking erratically behind her. Unable to believe what she had just heard. All while Aglaea simmers with a barely restrained smugness at how she’d rendered the thief speechless. 

Castorice’s shoulders shake. She slaps a hand over her mouth to silence the giggles that managed to escape. She can’t help it, Aglaea’s question and Cipher’s reaction are just too ridiculous. Such a deep contrast from the fears churning in her heart that it cracked the walls she was trying to put up. The shell she was trying to hide in.

“You needn’t repress your amusement. Such a sweet sound would brighten the darkest of corners.” A pity Aglaea cannot see her smile, will never know what it looks like. Yet being able to hear it is an honor in itself. 

“Using me like that.” Cipher clicks her tongue. Her tail angrily wags but her ears relax and her lips curl into a grin. “But since it made a cute girl laugh I’ll forgive you this time.” 

This isn’t fair. One of them alone is bad enough. Having both of their attention on her like this, especially while her heart is so conflicted, is too much. It’s like rubbing a raw wound. Even if the touch itself is gentle, you can’t help but flinch. Or in this case, Castorice can’t help but want to hide. Her hands are the only cover she can take.

“I’m sorry, was that too much?” Aglaea’s smile turns apologetic. Though she doesn’t actually seem to feel that guilty.

“No, it’s fine. You’re fine. I’m just not used to any of this is all.” Whatever any of this is. Castorice doesn’t think they can be considered friends. Co-workers? No, that would imply equal standing. She can’t think of an apt word to use. 

“You can always tell us to back off, you know.” Cipher drops her exaggerated mannerisms to make it clear that she’s completely serious. “Anybody who gets mad at you for telling them to stop doing something deserves to kiss dirt.” 

“The problem isn’t-” It’s not with them. Castorice is the one who is being selfish. Who is yearning for that which she cannot have. “I want to dance…” 

“That’s it? Princess, all you had to do was ask.” An ear flicks as Cipher perks up. Oh no, she’s getting that look again. The one that the Holy Maiden is learning means trouble. 

“Why does that make you so nervous? Was it the fear of rejection?” Praise the Titans Aglaea asks before the thief can indulge in whatever idea crossed her mind. 

“My curse. I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if I hurt either of you.” Even if Castorice only brushed against them, a brief enough touch to be harmless, she would still feel terrible. 

“I’ve told you about the prophecies we received. Unless there’s some sort of pool or bath nearby, I have nothing to fear.” Yet Aglaea is wholly unconcerned about the possibility. 

“Petty change could be referring to a lot of things, but there’s nothing petty or cheap about you Princess.” Cipher winks and Castorice’s head snaps to her so fast that for a moment she feared she might have dislodged something.

“That was corny.” Aglaea similarly stares the thief down with a mix of exasperation and disappointment. 

“Listen, there’s no way to word that without it coming off as flirty!” Cipher was merely working with what she was given. It’s not her fault her prophecy is worded like that. 

Is that why they’re both so fearless around her? Because the Gods have already declared how they will die? Castorice supposes that does make a lot of sense. Most of the time when people receive such prophecies they focus so much on the “I’m going to die" part that the implication that nothing else can kill them gets overlooked. 

“Even then, that doesn’t excuse being needlessly reckless.” Castorice clears her throat. No matter what the Gods have written into their fates, that doesn’t mean they can’t get hurt either. 

“I believe we’ve also already established that touch won’t be a problem.” Aglaea raises a hand, one finger pointed towards the skies. A golden thread slips out from it and coils around itself to form a loop.

“Cheeky, but I’ve got my own cheat code too.” With a snap of her fingers, Cipher calls forth the miniature Hand of Zagreus. Barely catching it before it falls as it's not powered. 

“Why is it so small? Rather where did you get that?” Aglaea prods at the mechanical hand with her thread, confirming that it is in fact what it looks like at a cursory glance. 

“Trade secret, but more importantly-” Cipher points the Hand of Zagreus at the Holy Maiden. “So, who were you thinking of dancing with? Agy, or me?” 

“That’s not fair, Lord Cipher.” Castorice’s elongated ears droop. That’s such a cruel question to ask. “You’re both so beautiful. How could I not want to dance with you both?” 

She meant exactly what she said. Choosing one over the other is impossible for Castorice. Her traitorous mind can all too easily imagine how both scenarios would play out as well. Aglaea would be commanding but gentle. Guiding her by the waist with a firm hand. While Cipher would be a tease, taunting and baiting her to trip while also making sure she wouldn’t fall. Maybe wrap her tail around the Holy Maiden. No, no, she mustn’t let her mind wander too deep into self-indulgence! 

Such thoughts are merely her fantasies and yet, when she dares to lift her head to peek at their reactions she is met with an unexpected sight. For a start, Aglaea is staring down Cipher with her sightless eyes. Her lips are pinched tight and… are her ears red? It’s a bit hard to tell with how her hair covers them. Meanwhile Cipher has a hand over her face, and despite that her blush is far more easier to spot. 

“How greedy.” Cipher lets out a breathless laugh. One of her ears flicks and her tail rises, curling at the tip. “Old Zagreus would be proud.” 

“You would know a thing or two about that.” Aglaea utters under her breath. There’s a buzzing tension starting to build up. 

“Experiencing something isn’t the same as understanding it.” Cipher lowers her hand, long nails dragging down her skin. “Desires can be so damn confusing sometimes.” 

Castorice gets the distinct impression they aren’t talking about dancing anymore.She feels like she should say something, but has no idea what. Her mind turning to a completely blank page. 

“I presume you’ve never danced with a partner before?” The Aglaea tilts her head, sightless eyes locking onto the Holy Maiden. 

“No, of course not.” Castorice straightens as an electric current shoots up her spine. The air charged with static. 

“Then this is simply another thing I can teach you.” Aglaea offers a hand with her palm raised. Not to the Holy Maiden, but to her fellow Demigod. “Cifera, would you be willing to help me demonstrate?” 

“I haven’t gotten any better since the last time we danced.” The fur of Cipher’s tail puffs out. Her gaze flickers between the offering and to the Goldweaver’s ominous smile. 

“I’d rather my toes be stepped on then have no partner at all.” Gentle yet sharp words. A thorny rose cutting into the hand that dared to carelessly grab it.

Cipher opens her mouth then snaps it back shut. Her fangs press into her lips. She timidly places her hand over Aglaea’s, and the Goldweaver beams. From her free hand a golden thread breaks free. It snaps out and coils around one of Castorice’s wrists. It tugs her along, urging her to follow as Aglaea guides Cipher by the hand out into the courtyard. 

Aglaea releases them both when they reach the center. The thread unwinds from around Castorice and attaches itself to the Garmentmaker. That thread shimmers before fading out, becoming invisible to the naked eye. Aglaea turns on her heels to face them. She bows and the Garmentmaker perfectly mimics her movements. Habit drives Castorice to return the gesture. Aglaea and the Garmentmaker offer a hand to Cipher and Castorice respectively. 

When Castorice takes it, she’s pulled forward. Leading her to stumble into the Garmentmaker’s chest. She quickly steadies herself and straightens. Even though they’re basically mannequins, she still flusters. Nerves buzzing and heart racing. 

“Put your hand on my shoulder.” Aglaea’s voice rings through her ears. She can do nothing but obey and is rewarded with a hand curling around her waist to rest against her back. 

That touch is electric. Each point of contact simmers with a mockery of heat. Too smooth and solid to belong to a person. Yet it warms her skin nonetheless. That is when Castorice is certain of it. This static she feels isn’t an illusion cast by her nerves. It is Aglaea’s divinity pulses out from both her and the Garmentmaker serving as her double. 

She glances over to find Cipher wide eyed. Her tail is twitching and fingers fidgeting against Aglaea’s shoulder. It’s somewhat reassuring to know that she isn’t the only one so affected. 

“Relax, it’s only a dance.” Aglaea glides her hand up the length of Cipher’s back. The Garmentmaker does the same to Castorice. 

The Holy Maiden sucks in a sharp breath, struggling to  keep quiet. Cipher is less successful on that front. Not that Castorice can blame her. If she were actually in Aglaea’s arms then she would’ve squealed too. 

“Only a dance, she says…” Cipher struggles to stay still. Her metal heels click against the pavement and her tail wagging. “We’re screwed. This is how we die, Princess.” 

“Hush.” Aglaea shushes her. She drums her finger’s along the thief’s spine, and each tap mimicked against Castorice makes her knees tremble. “This should go without saying, but when dancing with a partner you must be sure to move with them. Do not fight it and let them guide you.” 

The Garmentmaker starts to sway from side-to-side. Simple, rhythmic movements that Castorice does her best to match. She stumbles a little, trying her best not to trip over her own feet. It’s far more difficult to than it should be when every nerve in her body is focused on the hand caressing her back. Without the Garmentmaker’s steadying grip, she isn’t confident she’d be able to maintain her straight posture.

“Cifera, you're raising your feet too high. Keep them low to the ground.” Aglaea scolds. Somehow managing to sound both gentle and strict at once. 

“I did warn you!” Cipher’s words on the other hand come out impressively high pitched for how borderline deep her voice normally is. 

“You need to relax, both of you.” Aglaea rubs her and the Garmentmaker’s thumb against the back of their hands. “Being so tense will make your movements stiff and you’ll be more likely to trip.” 

“That’s easier said than done.” Castorice manages to squeak out. Each brush of the Garmentmaker is brimming with lightning. A touch of gold that seeps into her very bones. 

She makes the mistake of closing her eyes. The Garmenmaker hovers high enough off the ground to roughly match Aglaea’s height. Between that and the excess divinity buzzing out, it’s all too easy to pretend that she’s actually being held by the Goldweaver. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Aglaea’s voice coming from her left makes that illusion stutter. Yet that distance does little to dissuade her self-indulgence. “It’s only me.” 

The hand at Castorice’s back glides low. Unintentionally tugging at the strings of her corset. Two fingers press down against the base of her spine. Rubbing against the spot her tail would be if she had one. 

It’s too much. Castorice’s head spins and her legs give out. The Garmentmaker stumbles, unable to keep her from collapsing onto her knees. Her heart is beating so loudly that it muffles everything around her. Castorice puts her head in her hands and tries to remember how to breathe. Though the Garmentmaker has let her go, she can still so clearly feel the phantom of her touch. 

She doesn’t know how long she sits like that before she feels something tap against her head. Castorice musters the strength to look up, finding Cipher crouched in front of her. Her whole face is stained a ruddy red. One ear slanted sideways and a sheepish smile exposing her fangs. She’s fiddling with the miniature Hand of Zagreus, bending its fingers to and fro.

“If it helps, I feel the same way.” Cipher laughs. She’s purring, that rumbling from deep within her chest distorting her voice. 

Castorice tries to form a response only for some sort of groan to leave her lips. It's then that she realizes the purring she hears isn’t just coming from the thief. Oh dear. She’s never had an issue with this part of her biology(?) before. It so rarely happened, and only while she was still a child. For it to have happened three times in the past few weeks is quite frankly embarrassing. 

“Apologies, I realize I might have gone too far there.” She glances over to see Aglaea observing them. The Garmentmaker is no longer attached to her and standing by, waiting to assist if necessary. 

“Oh please, we all know you’re not sorry in the slightest.” Cipher scoffs. Peering up at the Goldweaver through her bangs. 

“You’re right. I shouldn’t apologize for doing something you both so clearly enjoyed.” Though her expression doesn’t change at all, it’s obvious how pleased Aglaea is from her tone alone. 

Castorice ducks her head, hiding between her arms. Her tail would be thumping wildly right now. So much for her wanting to put distance between herself and the two Demigods.

“Cas, are you dying yet?” Cipher scoots towards the Holy Maiden. Hearing her shuffle closer makes Castorice look back up just to make sure she isn’t getting too close. 

“I think my heart is going to explode.” It might just. Castorice didn’t know a heart could beat this fast before now. 

“I would expect such dramatic remarks from Cifera, but not you.” Aglaea breathes out a weary yet amused sigh. “I implore you don’t let her rub off on you too much.” 

“Oh now you’re just baiting me into saying something lewd.” A cackle breaks through Cipher’s purring. “For the sake of keeping our Princess’s heart from exploding, I’ll have to refuse.”

“Can you stand?” Aglaea completely ignores the thief’s remarks. Refusing to acknowledge her words lest she take that as encouragement. 

Only one way to find out. Trying is also much preferred over letting her head spiral down the rabbit hole of whatever Cipher meant. Castorice’s legs might still feel weak but not so much that they can’t support her weight. She smooths out the skirt of her dress, internally bemoaning how she must’ve dirtied it. Which she normally wouldn’t have cared about. However Aglaea had specially made it for her, so Castorice wants to take good care of it. 

“I’m alright now. I think.” At the very least her heart is no longer pounding in her ears. It's still loud but not as fast anymore. 

“I suppose we can conclude the lesson here.” Aglaea thankfully chooses to have mercy and spare them both any more near death experiences. “Cifera, will you be joining us for breakfast?” 

“Sure. Might as well say hi to Big Sis too while I’m here.” Cipher stretches as she stands up. She’s still flushed and her tail puffed out. 

Maybe it's out of lingering embarrassment, maybe it’s simply because of the thought of food, but with a click of her heels the thief vanishes in the blink of an eye. Disappearing into another part of the mansion and leaving Castorice alone with Aglaea. That traitor, abandoning her like this. 

“I’m sorry we interrupted your… practice?” Castorice supposes she may as well take the burden of apologizing. Even if the fault lies mostly with Cipher, it was also rude of her to stare the way she did. 

“It’s merely a hobby I indulge in from time to time. Besides, I should actually be thanking you.” Aglaea sets her sightless gaze beyond the courtyard, mindlessly tracing her fingers along her web. “Had I asked Cifera to dance while it was just the two of us, she most certainly would have refused.” 

“It might not be my place to say, but from what I can tell she doesn’t seem to hate you or anything like that.” Although Castorice would not consider herself that great at reading people. Still, she can pick up on hostility well enough and has yet to feel anything of the sort come from the thief. “I sincerely hope you two are able to mend your relationship.” 

Aglaea lowers her hand, head turning towards the Holy Maiden. Her gaze is slightly off. Too low and a little to the right. More so looking at her shoulder than her face. Her expression relaxes. Not quite as much as when Castorice initially stumbled upon her, but it's close to it. 

“I’ll admit, I was initially wary of you when we first met.” Ah, right, the memory of being pinned to a wall is threatening to make her legs weak again. “But each day since you have proven to be such a kind and gentle soul.” Aglaea rests a hand over her heart, as if to recite a vow. “It’s my wish that a day will come where you’re able to let go of the fears in your heart and earnestly pursue your desires.” 

If Castorice were asked before coming to Okhema what she wanted, the answer would be simple: To find Thanatos so that she could retrieve her missing half and be rid of her curse. That was all. But now, with the lingering phantom of a hand against her back and the caress of another’s purrs, she finds herself wanting more. Selfish, so very indulgent desires. And that scares her.

Yet Castorice dare not voice any of that aloud. This is her burden to bear, her willful wishes to throw out only for them to boomerang back at her the next time she’s the victim of the Demigods’ teasing. So Castorice merely mumbles out a quiet thank you. Trailing slightly behind Aglaea as they make their way to where the others are. Ignoring the cat-shaped devil on her shoulder telling her to fully savor the sight in front of her. 

Chapter Text

Time is a concept. It ebbs and flows in a daze. Sometimes fast and other times slow. A vapid sprint and the crawling pace of a snail simultaneously. It’s dizzying, makes Castorice feel as if she’s been shoved into a blender and left to spin for far too long without a moment to rest. Yet instead of exhausted she is completely restless. Fingers twitching, fiddling with a pencil. Toes curling mixed with the occasional tap of a heel. She wants to get up and run but has no idea where to. That indecision stalling her feet. Leaving her stuck in place. 

As for the source of this restlessness, simply put Castorice cannot stop thinking about that dance. Her mind keeps inexplicably being dragged back to it. To the sensation of a hand in her own and another at her back. The Garmentmakers’ bodies are solid and hard, lacking the squishiness of flesh. However the way electricity had thrummed through her was able to mimic the heat of life. The buzz of a living soul that Castorice briefly manages to feel before her cursed hands snuff it out. Giving her a taste of what could be. 

“Little Cas…” 

Which in turn is leaving Castorice conflicted. One one hand, she wants another taste. She craves to feel that spark again despite knowing that it is a mere imitation. In fact, she’s almost certain that wasn’t Aglaea’s intention. Looking back at that moment logically, she seemed rather determined to get back at Cipher for her incessant teasing while Castorice just so happened to get caught in the crossfire. Yet all her heart can focus on is how it felt to be caressed like that. Wonders what those hands would feel like against her face or hips. 

“Little Cas.” 

On the other hand, she fears what would happen to her mental state if she were to indulge. One benefit to not knowing what it's like to feel a tender touch is that she can’t miss something she never had. Makes it harder for Castorice’s imagination to fill in those blanks and in turn helps keep the loneliness from becoming too much. However that touch threatens to completely undo one of the few safeguards she has from spiraling completely. If she were to give into her heart’s desires, would the fragile sand she stands upon finally sink as a consequence? 

“Little Cas!”

There’s also a smaller part of Castorice that feels a smidgen of regret. Regret over not watching those gorgeous Demigods dance. Regrets over not being able to properly take in Cipher’s reactions to Aglaea’s teasing. Wanting- Needing to know what kind of expression she made while the Goldweaver was rubbing her tail-

Something long and thin smacks her head. Castorice’s spine snaps straight. Her eyes refocus on the present. Finding three pairs of eyes staring at her. One wielding a pointer stick threateningly. Realization sinks in with violent turbulence. Her cheeks warming with shame. 

“You weren’t listening at all, were you?” Tribbie snaps her book shut while Trianne sets down her pointer stick against the blackboard the triplets had set up. 

“I’m sorry!” Castorice hadn’t meant to let her mind drift like that, but it had and once it started she couldn’t stop it. Like stepping on a sheet of ice, one moment she was on solid ground and in the next step it buckled under her weight. 

“It’s fine. If your heart's not in it, then there’s no point in having a lesson.”  Tribbie’s reassurances only serve to make her feel more guilty. 

“You want to talk about it? Sometimes voicing your troubles can help clear them up.” Trinnon suggests as she starts fiddling with the pages of a book. Mindlessly flapping its edges. 

“I… I’m not sure it would be appropriate for me to tell you.” Nothing actually happened per say, but Castorice still feels it would be improper. Not with how intimate that entry hour felt. Charged with a tension that made her feel like a voyeur both during and long after the fact. 

“Inappropriate in what way?” Trianne eyes her suspiciously, making the Holy Maiden’s ears shoot up. This could very easily become an awkward situation if she doesn’t handle it right. 

“We might look like this, but we are nearing two thousand years. So we know and understand a lot of things children shouldn’t.” Tribbie pushes her sister’s head down, making her squirm away before grumbling. A look is exchanged between them before Tribbie turns back to her fellow Holy Maiden. “Unless you mean it's personal?” 

“A bit of both I suppose.” Castorice starts rubbing her fingers together, plucking at the tips of her gloves. Praying that will be enough to satisfy them. 

“Is Ciphy bullying you?” Tiranne narrows her eyes. No doubt recalling the last time she had seen the thief teasing Castorice. 

“No, not at all. This doesn't have to do with Lord Cipher.” Well, she is involved by proxy but she’s not the reason Castorice is having trouble focusing. 

“Did Agy bully you?” Tribbie tries instead with a tilt of her head. All three of them lean a little closer. Eager to hear her response. 

Castorice’s mind short circuits because yes but also no? Can it really be considered bullying if the victim enjoyed it? Which, that thought only succeeds in making her more flabbergasted than clarifying any confusion. Her prolonged silence combined with whatever sort of expression her face twisted into makes the triplets release a syncrhonized, stretched out “Oh”.

“Now you have to tell us what happened.” Tribbie grips the edge of the table. Bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“You better not leave out a single detail either!” Trianne shouts and thank the Titans they chose to have this lesson in the gardens of Aglaea’s estate. If anyone else were to overhear any of this Castorice would’ve actually died. 

“Take your time, don’t rush.” Trinnon tries to take a more diplomatic approach. Not that it makes much of a difference as all three are determined to force the answers out of her one way or another.

So with great reluctance, Castorice relays that incident to them. Starting with when she found Aglaea dancing with her Garmentmaker. Receiving a snort and a snicker after mentioning how Cipher had startled her. They grow quiet and listen intently when Castorice explains the spike in anxiety she experienced. The mood lifts as she summarizes the dance she shared with the two Demigods, leaving out the more intimate details. All they need to know is that the dance flustered both her and Cipher immensely. 

When she finishes, the triplets go quiet. Processing what they’ve just been told. Studying Castorice’s expression between glancing at one another. Unspoken words being exchanged between them. Cipher was right, it's easy to tell when they’re communicating with one another. The longer their silence stretches, the more nervous Castorice grows. Uncertain of what it means. 

“Little Cas, when you see Agy and Ciphy playing how does that make you feel?” Tribbie eventually breaks that growing awkwardness. Her question making the Holy Maiden blink.

“It makes me happy, I suppose.” Maybe relieved would be a better word to use. Either way, the reason behind that feeling is the same. “I’ve come to understand how much Lord Cipher means to Lady Aglaea. So seeing them banter and get along makes me hopeful that they can reconcile.” 

“You don’t feel jealous or left out at all?” Trinnon pries further. Her eyes might be hidden but the younger Holy Maiden can feel the weight of them. 

“Jealous? I’d say no more or less than seeing anyone casually touch another.” It doesn’t matter if it's a romantic or platonic gesture. Both serve as reminders of what Castorice cannot have. “As for left out, not in the slightest. They have yet to get lost in one another to the point where they forget I’m there if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Okay, let’s try a different question then.” Trianne places her hands against her hips and puffs her chest out. A determination that spells trouble coursing through her. “What do you think of Agy and Ciphy?”

“That’s-” Castorice bites the inside of her cheek. Carefully considering her words before answering. “They both have their quirks and can be overwhelming at times, but they are both noble people that-”

“That’s not what we meant and you know it.” Trianne slams her palms on the table and Trinnon immediately shushes her. The more excitable sibling eeks out a small apology. 

Castorice was right, this has indeed become a dangerous conversation. These three are determined to goad her into confessing these feelings she shouldn’t have. Feelings that she is trying so hard to suppress but is growing harder and harder by the day. And that terrifies her more than anything else. 

“I can’t. I can’t feel that way towards either of them.” This isn’t Castorice’s opinion, it is a fact. She must not love another. For her love can only end in tragedy. There is no situation in which she will get a happy ending. 

“First of all, that wasn’t the question either. Secondly, do you mean that literally or that you don’t want to?” Tribbie gently prods. Not without giving her more excitable sibling a warning glance. 

“Please don’t pretend you don’t know why that would be a terrible thing.” Castorice really shouldn’t have to explain why this is not a good development. Least of all to them of all people. “Lady Aglaea and Lord Cipher’s situation is… complicated enough as is. If I were to end up getting between them…” 

“Who says anything about getting between them?” Trianne scoffs as if what she’d just said was ridiculous. “You like them both and also want them to get back together. So there's no problem if you all date each other!” 

“I… It doesn’t work like that.” Castorice hesitates, that possibility not having  crossed her mind. She’s been so scared of merely acknowledging her growing infautations that she hasn’t taken the time to consider what liking two people at once could entail. 

“Why not?” The triplets ask in unison. A simple and innocent question that only a child would dare to so effortlessly say. 

Because love is something sacred that is supposed to be shared between two, not three. Though putting it like that makes it sound like each individual can only love one person throughout their entire life. When incidents of people falling out of love and catching feelings for another isn’t that uncommon. Yet that isn’t the same as loving two people simultaneously. Castorice has read stories where the protagonist had multiple love interests but they would always only get with one in the end. Whereas when stories portray one person having multiple lovers, it's either because they’re cheating on their spouse or some sort of monarch with multiple consorts. 

A tiny voice in the back of Castorice’s head reminds her that Okhema did have a king once upon a time, and that Aglaea is technically her successor. Even though she didn’t officially take on the crown of Imperator it’s not inaccurate to say that she is Cerydra’s heir. No, no! A king taking on consorts is purely political and for the sake of siring heirs. That would not apply to them for obvious reasons. 

But there’s also another, louder, voice whispering in her ears. Saying that just because she doesn’t know of any examples of three people loving each other and being in a committed relationship together, doesn’t mean it’s never happened before. Amphoreus was once home to a vast variety of cultures before the Chrysos War turned everything on its head. Whose to say such a thing wasn’t… not common- She knows love being reciprocated between two people is hard enough!- but accepted in one of them? 

“Of course we understand that’s not something you can decide on your own.” Tribbie gently pries her out of her circling thoughts. “But just for argument’s sake, let's pretend they’d both be okay with it. Would you be?” 

“Even then, I couldn’t.” Castorice wraps her arms around herself. Mind dirfitng to the one and only time she had ever hugged another. To the moment her first friend had bid her farewell. “My curse being what it is would mean I could never truly touch them, and I don’t see how anyone could bring themselves to fall in love with a monster.” 

She says it offhandedly and without really thinking. A confession that she didn’t mean to let slip. Her heart jumps into her throat the moment she realizes and she wants to crawl into a dark hole, never to be seen from again. 

“Little Cas-” Trianne starts but is cut off before she can utter whatever reassurance is on the tip of her tongue. 

“Don’t. Just, please pretend you didn’t hear that.” The one saving grace is that Castorice highly doubts they’ll take her words literally. Though she wishes she had her wings right now so she could hide under them. 

“No.” Tribbie is having none of it. Deciding then and there to put her foot down. That she would not allow this thought process to continue even if she has to overstep some boundaries. “Cas, you're not a monster and anyone who told you otherwise is a liar.” 

“You care so much about others.” Trinnon tacks on quietly but with just as much enthusiasm. 

“We’ve seen how gentle you are when handling the nymphs. We know you’d treat people the same way if you could touch them.” Trianne adds to the growing pile. Ready to list off more if necessary. 

Their words are flattering, truly, but it's still difficult to accept such words when Castorice knows they don’t have the full picture. They know nothing about what she is or the dreams she has of soaring through a dark sea with a monstrous form. How much she misses her wings and wants nothing more than to bath her scales in moonlight. 

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” But Castorice can’t explain any of that to them. So she smiles and tries to make it seem like she does take them to heart.

“You say that but you don’t believe us at all do you?” Perhaps it was arrogant of her to assume she could so easily fool children that are her senior by a thousand years. “Knew it.” 

“We actually do understand what it's like to be discriminated against and seen as a threat because of reasons out of our control.” Tribbie unintentionally digs the nail in deeper. 

“Because of your golden blood?” In Aidonia, golden blood was revered as a blessing. That Chrysos Heirs were Thanatos’s favored and that they would have a place by the Titan’s side in the Netherealm. However Castorice knows other places weren’t so kind. Heard stories of refugees ending up in those snow-covered lands while fleeing those that would’ve hunted them down over it. 

“That too, but more so because we were the ones who received the prophecy of the Flame-Chase, and, well…” Trinnon looks down, rubbing her palms together.

“People didn’t react well to it at first.” That is putting it lightly but Tribbie doubts words could properly describe how chaotic things became once they began relaying the prophecy. “Before Seliose proved its possible for humans to kill Titans, everyone thought we were mad.” 

“There used to be way more of us all across Amphoreus!” Trianne raises a fist into the air but quickly deflates. She clears her throat and lets her arm fall back to her side. “But now the three of us are all that's left.” 

“Some of us used up all of their powers to save others, while the rest…” Trinnon grows quieter with each word. Her shoulders tighten and Trianne slings an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a hug.

“Even here in Okhema, we were imprisoned until Cery took over and let us out.” Tribbie puts a hand over their shoulders. A simple yet comforting touch. 

Deliverer of an earth shattering prophecy or not, Castorice cannot imagine the kind of cruelty it takes to harm a child. Much less one as kind and open minded as the triplets. Because they are children in every way that matters. Gentle, innocent children that perceive the world through such a pure lens that they have accepted her without hesitation from the moment they met. 

Castorice finds herself glancing at Trinnon in particular. The odd one out between the three. Shy, introverted, and always speaking in such a quiet voice. As if afraid of being heard. Always sticking close to either one of her siblings or to Aglaea when out of the house. Since they are all technically the same person, one would expect her to have a similar attitude as her siblings. However sometimes people are withdrawn not because they are shy, but because the fear of standing out has been hammered into them by cruel hands. 

“Wha- Cas don’t cry!” Trianne starts to hover in the air, her small wings lifting her off the ground. She starts to reach for the younger Holy Maiden as if to hug her only to remember she can’t. 

“Apologies.” Castorice wipes her eyes. She’s not actually crying, they’ve just gotten wet enough to blur her sight and apparently be visible. “I’m not usually this emotional.” 

Which is also true. Before she had managed to build a wall of ice around her heart. Nothing could get in or out. Yet now that ice has melted and her emotions flow freely. Nor does that fact surprise Castorice at all. How could that ice ever hope to stay firm while she’s surrounded by three (well, five actually) blinding suns? 

“Being freed and finding real friends for the first time can be pretty scary.” Tribbie says just before Trinnon pokes her. The two exchange a look, the former’s eyes lighting up. “Oh! Good idea! Little Cas, how do you feel about therapy?” 

“Therapy.” Castorice turns that word around in her head. Obviously she knows what it is, what she doesn’t know is if she should feel offended if that’s their first thought after her belated admission. “I think I know what you’re going to say and I will have to refuse.”

“At least hear us out first.” Tribbie huffs out. “Our friend Cinny is a really good doctor. You haven’t seen her yet because she’s staying at the Grove.” 

“She’s also our number one candidate for the Sky Coreflame. So we wanted you to meet her sooner or later either way.” Trinnon explains. The only reason they haven’t called her over yet is because they don’t want to interrupt her work. They also wanted to give Castorice time to adjust to life here before sending her off to the Grove. 

“Cinny’s really sweet and gentle. She’s helped us and Agy a lot. It’s thanks to her that we’re still in top form!” Trianne boasts as though she were trying to sell a wonder medicine rather than describe a friend. 

“I would not be opposed to being introduced to her, but for the therapy…” Castorice has a vague understanding of how therapy works. For this Cinny to give her a proper diagnosis, she’d have to talk about her past and her missing half. The first she doesn’t mind to an extent, while the latter is a big fat no. 

“You don’t need to decide right away. You can always change your mind too. So if you ever do, don’t hesitate to say so.” Which should go without saying but Tribbie knows some people can be weirdly stubborn about it once they’ve voiced a decision. Thinking that was that and there’s no take backs for some reason.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Although I must admit, it’s difficult to imagine you or Lady Aglaea seeking out a therapist.” For Aglaea especially. She seems so confident and self assured when it comes to anything that doesn’t involve Cipher. 

“It was by pure chance. Cinny just happened to meet all the check marks we look for in Heirs and she offered to help us stay healthy. We figured there was no harm in trying it.”

“That reminds me, I never asked how you know if someone is meant to inherit a Coreflame.” That question had sort of gotten lost in all the other, more immediate concerns Castorice had when she first arrived. 

“To be honest, it's half educated guesses and half luck.” Tribbie smiles sheepishly at that. For how confident they usually are when talking about the Flame-Chase, this comes as a surprising answer. 

“The prophecy did give us descriptions but very vague and flowery ones. Traits that could apply to a lot of people.” Trinnon says and that sounds about right. It wouldn’t be a prophecy if it didn’t leave some parts open to interpretation.

“We’ve noticed all of us Demigods have two things in common: First, we already had some sort of connection to our respective Titans.” Tribbie begins, intercepted before she can continue. 

“We’re a Holy Maiden, Agy’s family used to manage one of Mnestia’s temples, as a kitten Ciphy would pray to Zagreus, and so on.” Trianne lists off, raising a finger with each point she states. They’re vastly different degrees of connections but still connections.

“The second is that each of us has a strong belief that coincides with our Coreflames’ authority.” Tribbie finishes after her sister says her piece. 

“Which is a lot harder to recognize and neatly summarize than the first.” That one Trianne doesn’t even try to explain in more depth. 

“If Thanatos’s own Holy Maiden isn’t compatible with their Coreflame, then that means nobody is.” Trinnon shrugs between her siblings. With the other unclaimed Coreflames, there are still a lot of people who match those two qualifications they’ve established. In Death’s case, the exact opposite has been true. 

“I suppose I can’t argue against that logic.” There’s also another layer of accuracy to that assumption that Castorice can't say aloud. That she has already met Thanatos before, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to strip her of her wings. She just can’t remember when or how. 

There’s a part of Castorice that wonders what they would think of her dreams. If they’d know how much of them is wrapped in metaphors, how to discern what parts of them are important, and what is nonsense. It’s not like there’s a guidebook about how to be a Holy Maiden. Only whatever was left behind by the previous ones. In Castorice’s case, she had nothing since it's so rare for Thanatos to favor a mortal. All she could do was stumble about, learning through trial and error. Forced to trust the wisdom of her caretakers and the older priests. She knows they lied to her about some things to keep her complicit and obedient but she can’t be sure about which parts. 

The triplets could help her air out some of that confusion. Even if they don’t know the answers, the four of them could still compare notes. Figure out what traits between them are similar and what’s different. Yet Castorice is also scared of what she could learn. The triplets are, or rather were human and she is not. What if there are more differences than similarities? What if they’re able to pick out the secrets she keeps close to her chest from what she tells them? 

She is afraid, afraid of losing this warmth she’s being given. She is also afraid of growing too used to it, knowing full well that this charade can only last so long. The truth will come out whether Castorice wants it to or not when they do manage to find Thanatos. She knows this yet still her heart refuses to open that lock. Her throat clamps up and her chest grows tight as she considers it. 

A flutter of movement and the shifting of fabric makes one of Castorice’s ears flick. She glances over to the source and a different kind of nervousness flits through her when her eyes land upon a Garmentmaker. Sight locking onto the fingers neatly folded in front of that ceramic body. Palm and back tingling from that still fresh memory of those very hands holding her close. 

“Apologies for the interruption, but I come bearing urgent news.” The Garmentmaker tips her faceless head to the Holy Maidens. Her silken voice soft as the dress that drapes her figure. 

Castorice registers the words but the buzzing beneath her skin is trying to pull her attention away from them. She swallows down the lump in her throat and prays that the warmth beginning to build inside of her isn’t visible against her skin. Now is not the time for such thoughts! 

“Oh no, did something happen?” The triplets gather around the construct, each preparing to hear the worst they can imagine. 

“Not yet and if we act swiftly we may be able to mitigate the potential damage.” That is both comforting and not at the same time. “Just now we detected a group of Nikador’s Titankin skirting around the edges of Okhema. We are currently uncertain of their numbers and their intentions.” 

“Nikador’s… It has been a while since their last attack.” Trinnon’s lips pinch together. Trying to count in her head how many weeks it's been since they’ve last seen any hostile Titankin get close.

“If it’s a big group that will spell trouble, but if it's a small group then it could just be a scouting party.” Trianne thinks aloud. Either way it could be a sign that an attack is imminent with which possibility determining when that will happen.

“If they’re scouts, we could delay them if we manage to catch them.” Tribbie hums. Historically Nikador’s forces have favored head on battles, but as time has passed they’ve started adopting less “honorable” tactics such as sneaking in and setting up ambushes. “But if it does turn out to be a big group that would be really dangerous for whoever is sent.” 

“I can go.” Castorice calmly stands. A quiet confidence thrumming through her as their attention turns to her. “If they are in a place devoid of life, then I should be able to track them fairly easily. While my curse should be able to incapacitate most of them if things take a dangerous turn.” 

The triplets and the Garmentmaker stare at her, thoughts rapidly stirring in each of their heads. Debating the pros and cons of her offer. Castorice can see the hesitance swirling in the children’s exchanged glances. They have heard the stories of her feats of course but in the same breadth the Castorice they have come to know doesn’t give off the impression of being a capable fighter. 

She looks down at her still scrawny arms with a huff. Wrapping her fingers around one to find she can nearly touch the tip of her thumb against her middle finger. It’s also soft and squishy with little muscle definition. Still Castorice can swing her scythe and that should be enough. The blade of it should be sharp enough to make up for her lack of strength at the moment. If not, there are other tricks she can fall back on. 

The Garmentmaker’s posture shifts. Her back straightens and she moves her arms to settle against her back instead. Shoulders rising and poise becoming less subservient and more-

“Have you grown restless within these walls, Cas?” Aglaea’s voice flows out from the construct. Consciousness temporarily overtaking her creation’s. “I’m starting to question if my hospitality has been insufficient.” 

“Ah, Lady Aglaea, it’s nothing like that.” On the contrary, Castorice has begun to feel like she’s mooching off them. Giving her shelter and food and lessons without asking for anything in return. “I just want to help is all.” 

“Relax, I’m only teasing.” Aglaea chuckles and if the circumstances were any less dire then Castorice would’ve melted then and there. “If you say you can do it then I will trust you, however it would be unwise for you to go alone.” 

“Trianne can help! We’re no pushover either and we can keep you all informed!” To no one’s surprise, the most energetic of the triplets volunteers. Feeling somewhat responsible for their newest Flame-Chaser as the one who brought her here. 

“I’ll have this Garmentmaker accompany you as well, though know I will not be able to connect to her once you leave the range of the golden threads.” Aglaea gestures to herself, or rather to the construct she is currently puppeteering. 

A small group that could easily avoid detection so long as they aren’t careless. Though if a fight does break out Castorice isn’t sure how that will go. Trianne is small, slippery, but also undoubtedly frail. Her childlike body will not be able to endure as much brunt trauma as much as a full grown adult. Ensuring no harm comes to her will have to be Castorice’s number one priority. As for the Garmentmaker, her artificial body will be more durable. By how much and what sort of fighting capabilities she possesses will have to be learned on the fly. 

“Please await our return.” Even so Castorice isn’t too concerned. Nikador’s kin are not immune to her curse nor the effects her presence has on others. While ones that have a strong enough fortitude to brush off its mental assault are few and far between. 

“I will be sure to greet you as you pass through the gates.” She can easily make out Aglaea’s smile through the gentle flux of her voice. Growing more stern at her next words. “And remember, your job is to merely investigate. There is no need for you to exterminate the Titankin should their numbers prove to be more than you can deal with.” 

Castorice offers her a bow as a full body twitch course through the Garmentmaker. Her shoulders lower and slouch a little. Autonomy returning to the construct that is alive but also not quite. Not enough for her curse to latch onto them. 

“Lady Trianne, Lady Castorice, I shall guide you to where we detected them.” The Garmentmaker had of course heard everything. Needing no further instructions beyond what was already said. “Are there any preparations you would like to make before we depart?” 

“There’s no need for me.” Castorice always keeps her scythe at the ready. It is the only thing she needs for situations like this. 

“Mhm, Trianne is also good to go right away.” Likewise Trianne is also raring to go. The more they delay, the more likely the Titankin are to get away. 

“Then please follow me.” The Garmentmaker begins to turn, hovering towards the way she came. The two move to chase after her.

“Good luck and stay safe!” Tribbie calls out as they go. Beside her Trinnon releases an affirming hum. 

Castorice gives them both a brief wave before stepping out of their sight. Excitement buzzes within her bones. An eagerness to please. For this is the first proper job she’s been given since arriving. If she does well enough, will Aglaea praise her? Stupid, distracting, indulgent thoughts. Yet motivation is motivation, regardless of its source. She really hopes she can do a good job. 

Chapter Text

Okhema sits near the center of the continent. Its positioning makes it ideal to reach any other part of Amphoreus’s mainland. Whether that be for the sake of trade or invasion. Such a trait made it a prime target for those who wished to expand their influence. Their greed further encouraged by how that golden city has always historically been a city-state that favors creativity and charisma over brawn and might. Yet despite that to this day it stands as an unshakable bastion even while the rest of the world crumbles around it. 

Because Okhema not only sits in the center of the continent but is also built in and around a field of mountains. Some are thin and tall, others wide and flat. All with steep basses that make navigating away from the paved roads a dangerous feat for anyone who doesn’t possess wings. The surrounding geography has served to safeguard Okhema far more than its brick walls ever have. Making the movements of any invading forces easy to spot. 

As Castorice takes in those features, she can’t help but wonder if Aidonia would’ve fared better had it been similarly positioned. The snow helped fend off against forces unused to the cold climate, tested the willpower of those who dared tried to cross the tundras to reach them, but evidently wasn’t enough. Not against the Kremnoans who cared more about valor than their lives. Who would rather freeze to death beneath the icy grip of a blizzard than turn their back on those they decided were their enemies. 

“This is where the golden threads end.” She turns from the visage of the surrounding mountains to the Garmentmaker hovering beside her. “We were able to confirm the presence of four Titankin before they slipped out of our reach.” 

Castorice slowly turns her body in a full circle. Okhema’s wall is still clearly visible from their position. This road cuts through a valley between the mountains and goes down a slope, meaning most of the light from Kephale’s Dawn Device is blocked by the geography. Casting a wide shadow along their surroundings and making the finer details more difficult to notice and would make it easier to elude the notice of a guard stationed on the ramparts. 

She squints, concentrating so that she can see the ends of the golden threads drifting in the air. Flowing as if being pulled out by a passing wind despite the air being still at the moment. She’s started to grow so used to their presence that having them be so thin feels odd. Cold in a way that isn’t literal. 

“Are Titankin able to sense the golden threads?” Castorice asks once she’s completed her inspection and she’s facing the construct again. 

“Certainly, as they are sensitive to the divinity of the Titans.” The Garmentmaker nods and then tilts her faceless head. “To what extent and how accurately, we cannot say.” 

“With how many years we’ve been at war with them, it’d be stupid if Nikador’s army doesn’t know a thing or two about Agy’s powers by now.” Trianne points out with a shrug. 

In that case, they must have backed off after realizing that they had stepped within the range of Aglaea’s surveillance. If the Titankin chose to fully retreat then they’ll be long gone by now. While the odds of an entire army approaching unnoticed even with just ordinary observation methods is far too low. Facts that the Goldweaver must be fully aware of as well. Which is probably why Aglaea so easily conceded to Castorice’s request. 

Even so, that doesn’t mean she plans to take this half-heartedly. Life always leaves behind traces of its presence. Whether that be in the form of footprints left in the snow, sheded hairs sticking to twigs, stains left behind by a meal, or the pulses that each soul exudes. 

“Lady Trianne, please stay still for a moment.” Castorice closes her eyes, reaching deep within herself to that which is supposed to be untouched by the living. 

She feels the thrum of Trianne’s soul first. Small yet bright. Tempered by the Coreflame of Passage into an unwavering torch. The Garmentmaker comes next, a faint and wispy touch. Like grabbing hold of a cotton ball. Not solid nor firm but undeniably possessing a distinct shape. After that comes the tickle of the surrounding flora. Bushes, weeds, and grass. The skittering of bugs crawling through them. A steady white noise that coats her perception. 

Castorice feels a third presence, one far too bright and vibrant to be the local wildlife, rapidly approaching. Not from the front but behind. It shoots towards them like a falling star streaking across the sky. She turns and opens her eyes in time to see Cipher sliding to a halt. The dirt of the old road being kicked up around her feet. Her nose scrunches when some of that dust floats high enough to tickle it. Ripping a sneeze out of the thief that makes the fur of her tail briefly poof up. 

“Hey.” Cipher sniffles, rubbing her nose and dusting herself off. “Didn’t scare you this time. The score is three-to-two.” 

“Ciphy!” Trianne doesn’t hesitate to pounce onto the thief. Tackling the younger Demigod and hugging her shoulders. “Did Agy ask you to come with us?” 

“Nah, she just let me know what was going on.” Cipher hooks an arm under the small Demigod so she doesn’t fall. “I’m curious to see the infamous Maiden of War in action is all.” 

“I would advise you to keep your expectations low then. It seems likely that the Titankin fled.” Which is rather disappointing. It means Castorice will return to Aglaea’s side with nothing to show. 

“Shame. Guess we’ll have to go on a boring walk instead.” Cipher rolls her shoulders and Trianne pats her head between her ears. A soft, nearly inaudible purr rumbles out from her. 

“Just please wait a moment and stay still.” Castorice snaps her gaze away from them. Now is not the time for a bout of jealousy. “It’s easier for me to distinguish the different pulses of life when there’s less movement.” 

Cipher gives her a thumbs up and the Holy Maiden shakes her head. She turns back to face where the road stretches out away from Okhema. Once again closing her eyes to feel the buzz of life around her. Castorice’s attention immediately gets pulled in by the sheer brightness of Cipher’s soul. A beacon at the end of the dark tunnel, but she mustn’t let if blind her to the more subtle lights. 

There’s the faint flutter of birds flying high overhead and the soft scramble of mice shifting through the grass. Innocuous and distracting. Castorice grinds her teeth together. Attempting to reach out further. Testing the limits of her senses. 

There, in the distance. A single blip too big to be a plant or a small animal. Too far away for Castorice to note anything except that it’s there. She can’t disregard the possibility of it being a larger animal. Although the fact that it’s remaining perfectly still does make her suspicious. 

“There’s something further down the road. I can’t tell what it is from here.” Castorice informs them. Whether it's a sleeping animal or something else, they won’t know without getting closer.

“Nifty.” Cipher’s ears swivel atop her head, trying to catch a whiff of the presence that the Holy Maiden had. “Did you know your eyes glow after… whatever it is you just did?” 

“Do they?” Castorice brings a hand up to her face, suddenly feeling self conscious. No one had pointed that out to her before and it's not like she can check for herself. 

“They stopped now but it's pretty.” Cipher’s lips curl. The very tip of a fang pokes out from her lips. The compliment makes the Holy Maiden choke on her own spit.

“Little Cas, your eyes are pretty whether they’re glowing or not.” Trianne decides to add fuel to the fire. It doesn’t have the same impact as the thief’s, but it does make her face burn brighter. 

“I- Thank you.”  Castorice quickly turns away from them, hoping to hide her reddening cheeks. Walking quickly without waiting for either of them. 

She hears Cipher snicker and Trianne giggle but neither says anything. While the Garmentmaker silently sticks close to her side. Castorice ignores the uptick in her heart by focusing instead on that presence. Keeping an eye on it as they move to see if it shifts at all. 

It doesn’t. That presence remains perfectly still, unnaturally so. And as they grow closer, Castorice starts to detect others not far from it. Their brightness varying but all roughly the same size. While the bends and curves of the mountain paths prevent her from being able to actually see them until they near a split in the road. 

Castorice stops the second she spots the one that she initially detected. An off-white body with sections of blue that are easy to spot among the greens and browns of the surroundings. There’s no doubt about it. A Titankin of Nikador standing on a higher ridge with a bow held in standby. 

“Would you look at that, they didn’t run after all.” Cipher mutters. They’re still a good distance away from the Titankin but she keeps her voice quiet just to be safe. 

“I think I can sense somewhere between six and nine of them.” Castorice crouches down. She uses her finger to trace circles into the dirt, giving the others a general idea of their positioning. “It’s hard to tell if some have strong souls or if it's two close together.” 

“Woah, Trianne can only see the one.” Trianne hovers above all of them to get a better angle. She squints yet still struggles to see more than a couple of the Titankin lingering beside the road. “You all wait here. We’re going to fly up and see if we can spot anything.” 

She zooms high up before Castorice can so much as consider protesting. Well, she should be fine. If nothing else Trianne is a small and agile target. Plus she’ll notice right away if the Titankin manage to spot her. If they do then Castorice won’t hesitate to rush at them to draw their attention away from her. 

“That archer…” Cipher’s ears pull back. She keeps her eyes locked onto the one atop the ridge. Observing for the slightest twitch. “Looks like she’s on watch duty but she’s keeping her back to Okhema.” 

Castorice presses her lips together. She scans the surroundings the best she can, feeling out how their prey are remaining stock still. The Titankin aren’t crowded together. Rather they’re split apart, forming two uneven lines against either side of the road. 

“How often is this road used?” Castorice stands at her full height and calls forth her scythe. She holds it by the end of the staff, letting the blade kiss the earth with a thump. 

“It has seen little traffic over the last few months and there should not be any merchants scheduled to arrive today.” The Garmentmaker answers. Upon seeing the Holy Maiden draw her weapon, she too summons forth her sword. A long, thin blade. The kind that favors precision over strength. 

“Looks like I’m going to get my show in the end.” Cipher’s ears flip back up. They wiggle, turning to and fro. “Better decide how you want to tackle this fast.” 

“Bad news!” Trianne barrels back down before the Holy Maiden can ask the thief what she means. Yell-whispering as she nearly slams fast first into the dirt in her haste. “We spotted a group of people further down the road. They’re coming straight this way and it won’t be long before they’re in range of the Titankins’ arrows!” 

As if responding to her warning, the Titankin shifts. She lifts her head and raises her bow. Not yet drawing an arrow but positioned to. So that’s how it is. Castorice supposes she should be relieved that their target wasn’t actually Okhema after all. It’s difficult to be grateful for that while knowing people’s lives are still at risk. Still, she isn’t all that concerned either. This few she can take on without too much issue. She just has to be mindful of her positioning. 

“That archer, could you deal with her?” Castorice isn’t confident she can reach her. Not without getting shot while climbing up that steep incline. There are likely others set up as well that she can’t see from here. They’re going to be annoying if she has to deal with them herself. 

“Oh! Leave it to Trianne.” She was speaking to the Garmentmaker but Trianne is the one who answers. The childish Demigod summons forth a slingshot in one hand and what looks to be some sort of palm-sized bomb in the other. “We’ll blow those nasty archers to sky high.” 

“I shall assist Lady Trianne in dispatching the ranged enemies and cover you as necessary.” Amusement colors the Garmentmaker’s voice, having understood who that request was actually meant for. 

Castorice glances at Cipher. The thief blinks when their eyes meet. She merely smiles and stretches her arms behind her head. Lazily kicking at nothing. Making it clear that she truly has no intention of getting involved and will act as a mere spectator. A pity, as Castorice was admittedly curious about how she fights too. 

“Lady Trianne, would you start us off?” Castorice inclines her head to the one Titankin they can see. She lifts up her scythe and takes hold of it with both hands. One near the head, the other beside the base. 

Trianne grins with her teeth and it's all the confirmation she needs. Castorice calmly walks towards the center of the road, moving away from the cover they’d taken. She sucks in a breath through her lips, power flowing through her arms into the scythe. The gemstone set into the base of the blade begins to glow. A flash of light that the archer spots from the corner of her eye. 

The Titankin turns towards her, however before she can pull back her arrow a bomb is slung into her face. The explosion completely shatters that clay head. Nikador’s kin have no flesh nor organs, but their insides are soft. Flush with the golden blood that grants them life. 

With her head and sections of her collar smashed, the archer’s body loses its sense of balance. She veers to the side, stumbling, and slipping against the edge of her perch. Her body drops with a dead weight. Cracking when it slams into the road and blood bursting out from each opening. Draining her of the fuel that keeps her soul tethered to her body. 

Panicked shouts ring out. Castorice recognizes the sharp vowels of the Kremnoan language but can barely understand it. She makes out the word “enemy” and nothing else. Having heard it enough times to recognize what it means. 

The Titankin emerge from their hiding places. Pushing through bushes and shoving aside the rocks they were using as cover. The light from Castorice’s scythe immediately draws their attention. The closest- unarmed, but possessing the bulky figure of a brawler- charges forth without hesitation. A boldness that falters the moment he gets close enough to feel the pressure of Death weigh down on his shoulders. 

Castorice swings in a wide, horizontal arc. Scythes are unwieldy weapons. Top heavy and with few angles from which the edges of their blade can strike true. Were she an ordinary foe, the Titankin would easily be able to avoid the blow. With the call of Death whispering in his ear, freezing him in place, all he can do is watch as it bears down on him. 

The blade cleaves into the brawler’s hip. Cracks shoot up his torso from where it breaks through his outer shell. Going deep enough for that golden ichor to spill forth but not as much as Castorice would’ve expected. 

…It seems she has severely overestimated the sharpness of her scythe, as well as underestimated how much her physical strength contributed to past feats. Oh well. Castorice already knew she had grown weak. This just helps her see by how much. 

She rips her scythe free from the brawler’s hip and an elongated ear twitches. An explosion sounds out. Then an arrow whizzes past. It misses by a fair margin but undoubtedly wouldn’t have if Trianne hadn’t struck when she did. Castorice glances past the brawler’s shoulder to witness a flash of gold steeking past. Piercing the chest of another archer. 

Her ears rise, movement blurs in the very edge of Castorice’s vision. She spins on a heel and steps backwards in the same breadth. The blade aimed at her throat nicks her jaw instead. She flicks both arms up, slamming the shaft of her scythe against that outstretched arm before it can pull back. The knock of it echoes in her ears yet that clay carapace doesn’t so much as crack. Castorice clicks her tongue, fangs bared and putrid flowers blooming at her feet. 

Even though the blow was nothing more than a tickle, the swordsman hastily backs off as if she had actually snapped his arm. Likewise the brawler had also taken a step back, the cracks along his stomach already beginning to mend. A third has circled around her yet he stands frozen with his arms raised defensively. Not approaching but not running either. 

A long sigh bellows out from Castorice’s chest. This will not be a fight. She can’t even consider it a hunt despite how weak she’s become. It will be no different than crushing ants beneath her claws. She’s always found it ironic that the Titankin born from Strife- born to die locked in combat- are the ones most commonly rendered frozen by the threat of her curse. Though perhaps it is precisely because fear is such a foreign concept to them that they don’t know what to do when its grip takes hold of them. 

Castorice eyes the brawler from top to bottom. Thick shoulders and arms but a gangly enough neck. Except their heads don’t have much blood in them. She could hack away at his waist again and again until enough spills to kill. But such a method would be boorish. The legs also lack substance yet gravity could help make up for that by creating a downward flow. 

Castorice curls her scythe around her shoulders, bending her knees. She charges towards him by kicking out her feet. Another explosion sounds off elsewhere. The brawler raises his arms to shield the softer sections of his torso. Castorice angles her body low, practically letting herself fall forward and spinning as she does so. Letting momentum help carry the weight of her swing. 

He doesn’t step as far back as she had anticipated. Castorice’s aim is off thanks to that but the curve of her scythe’s blade still manages to curl into the back of his knee. She slams a palm against the ground to stop herself from actually colliding with the dirt. The impact makes her hand sting and she rips her scythe out before dropping it, freeing her other hand. 

Dark water forms within her grasp. It spits out in a thin jet, slamming into the ankle of the approaching swordsman. It doesn’t hurt him at all but the impact completely throws off his balance. Castorice half-rolls, half-pushes herself out of the way of his blind scramble to steady himself. He ends up grabbing onto the brawler’s waist-cloth and instinctively tries to pull himself up with it. That added weight on top of the brawler’s bulky body makes his damaged knee collapse into itself. Entire leg dislodging and snapping clean off. 

They both fall, shouting a series of Kremoan curses. Or maybe they’re slurs. Could very well be both. Either way, Castorice rights herself from her own awkward tumble without a care. She briefly dusts herself off, another explosion echoing through the valley. A second sounding off as she retrieves her scythe. 

The swordsman blindly swings back upon hearing her approach. Castorice catches him by the wrist with her scythe’s handle. The gem embedded in it shines brighter, the patterns inside resembling an eye that stares down the swordsman. With a gasp, he drops his sword and attempts to crawl away. 

Castorice strikes the back of his head with the end of the shaft, managing to crack the surface of his nape. Then she slams the blade down on that softened spot. She pulls and wiggles, requiring a fair bit of tugging to form a long gash down where his spine would be if he had one. The brawler is still squirming but she can leave him to bleed. They cannot regenerate severed limbs, not without the assistance of another. That leaves only one left. 

The third Titankin that had encircled her still remains frozen. Clay body trapped by the claws of fear. Castorice pities them and would offer a peaceful death were the others not still fighting. Another explosion reminding her of that fact. She cannot afford to take the time it would for her touch to give them a painless death. So instead Castorice thrusts her scythe into their chest and roughly carves it open, emptying their golden blood from where it is thickest. 

She had caught a few brief glimpses of the tussle happening further ahead, but only now is Castorice able to properly take in the situation. Including the ones she had dispatched, six Titankin lay dead and only one is left standing. This one is far larger than the others. Properly armored rather than just relying on a thick clay hide for protection. A hallmark of the older and more experienced fighters among NIkador’s kin. Must be the leader of this group. 

Both Trianne and the Garmentmaker are hovering above him, safely out of the reach of his broadsword. Castorice’s teeth clack together as she takes the opportunity to study him. Headless, while that armor covers his body thoroughly and leaves few openings she can exploit. Especially at her current strength. But her touch does not care for such limitations. Since this is the only one left, she doesn’t need to worry about being struck while waiting for her curse to take effect either. 

The Garmentmaker attempts to circle around the Titankin, and he turns to track her movements. Castorice takes that moment to run at him, her scythe discarded back into its ethereal sheath. But before she can get close enough to so much as reach out, the Titankin swings his broadsword in a broad sweep. Forcing her to screech to a halt or else be decked right in the head. 

“This smell… River Styx.” The Titankin utters. Scratchy words coming out roughly from that clay body. “So the Maiden of War lives.” 

He knows who she is and isn’t deliberated by her proximity. That complicates matters. Castorice bares her teeth and the muscles at the base of her spine twitch. The memory of a tail flicking out a warning. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

“We used all the ammo we had on hand so…” Trianne flits closer to her from her peripherals. Her small wings a constant flutter of movement that is distracting. 

“That’s fine. Go wait with Lord Cipher.” She actually ended up helping far more than Castorice would’ve expected her to in a fight. She makes a small mental note to never underestimate the eldest Demigod again. 

That thought is put in the back burner as the Titankin thrusts the end of his broadsword at her. Its blade is so thick that it isn’t sharp at all but a clean blow will undoubtedly crack her skull open. Castorice steps back, managing to get just out its reach.

With his attention now fully focused on her, the Garmentmaker strikes from above. She plunges her sword between his shoulders, where a neck is supposed to be. Her thin blade only manages to puncture the tip. A small circle of cracks from around it that barely scratch the surface. The Titankin doesn’t so much as acknowledge the attempt. Aggressively trying to close the distance between him and Castorice. 

The Holy Maiden considers bringing her scythe back out and immediately discards that idea. She doesn’t have the arm strength to block his blows and it’ll slow her down. She’ll just have to rely on her other trick. 

Dark water shoots out from her palm and coils around the Titankin’s arm. Tethering around his elbow and shoulder, squeezing both tight. Stuffing into the joints of his armor to make it harder for them to bend. 

The Titankin’s relentless assault falters when his dominant arm stiffens. He switches which hand is holding his broadsword and roughly snaps his dominant arm in on itself. Castorice’s ears flick when she hears it crack. She sees those broken lines spread along his armor, the water from the River of Souls dripping out from them. But so too do drops of gold get mixed in. If it weren’t for his gauntlets hiding the extent of the damage, she could direct the water to further pry those cracks open. Alas, Castorice doesn’t have time to try feeling them out while he’s taking another swing at her. 

But the Garmentmaker observed her actions and understood what she was trying to do. Still riding along the Titankin’s shoulders, she reaches out. Two golden threads shoot out from the joints of her wrist. They wrap around his undamaged arm similarly to how the water had to the other. Attempting to tie up his arm and restrict its movement. 

Then the tip of a sword punctures the Titankin’s stomach from behind. Castorice doesn’t think about it, only sees that the combined assault from the Garmentmaker and this mysterious helper has made the Titankin stumble. His swing halting and a foot scrapping hard against the dirt. An opening. 

Castorice doesn’t hesitate to take it. A slight delay in her reaction from having to switch from walking backwards to forward. She stretches her arm out in front of herself, fingers reaching as far as they can. They brush against his fauld and in that same moment the Titankin’s cracked fist slams into her. 

The force of it throws Castorice back. A pained gasp escapes her as her back harshly hits the ground, collarbone throbbing. She tries to move her left arm but the pulsating pain just makes her whine instead. The Titankin had collapsed onto his knees and is blindly grabbing at the Garmentmaker. She is forced to release him to avoid getting caught in his grip, freeing his undamaged arm so that he can raise his broadsword once again. 

A faint static hums through the air that makes the hairs on the back of Castorice’s neck rise. The inside of her ears pop and in an instant, the Titankin’s chest explodes. A force slamming into him faster than the eye can see. 

A surprised shout rings out as he collapses. Atop him, Cipher stands with her tail flicking rapidly. She reaches down and thrusts her hand into the wide opening her collision had made. Ripping out the Titankin’s soft innards along with the ichor stored within it. Clawing and tearing until his chest is essentially hollowed out. When there’s nothing left for her scrap, she straightens and stretches her back. 

“That was a fun show but it was starting to get old” Cipher cranes her neck to peek at Castorice. A casual smile stretched across her lips and the Titankin’s blood splattered onto her cheek. Silver drenched in gold. The sight makes the Holy Maiden’s mouth water, struck by the inexplicable urge to lick the htief’s face clean. 

“That was… incredible. How did you do that?” An unfamiliar voice cuts in and draws Cipher’s attention to it. Thank the Titans for that. Castorice doesn’t want her to notice how her face is burning or that the shortness of her breath isn’t from being hit. 

Whatever response the thief gives, Castorice doesn’t pay attention to it. More focused on shaking off that intrusive thought. She sits upright and the stinging in her collar helps distract her. It hurts but when she presses a hand against that spot nothing feels out of place. She can’t discount the possibility of a cracked bone, but at the very least none broke. With that checked, she lifts her head to see who their mysterious benefactor is.

Castorice’s throat seizes. She is surrounded on all sides. The shadows encroaching closer and closer, her claws aching from how many they had cut down already.

Her chest burns. The flames within her chest reduced to ash. There’s no tinder left to ignite another yet they keep endlessly coming. 

Movement forces her gaze up. A shattered sword held at the ready. Its surface shining with molten might. Cold yet burning. She snaps her jaws at the one wielding it but exhaustion has her collapsing. 

The shadows recede, the swordsman stands over her. His unnatural blade raised high with both hands. An executor's stance. There is only one way this will end. 

She plunges her claws into her own chest, finding her heart and grabbing hold of it as the swordsman swings down. She pulls before his blade can connect with her neck and-

“Lady Castorice.” A hand is gently placed over her right shoulder. “Are you having difficulty breathing?” 

The pressure against her neck eases up and Castorice belatedly realizes that it's coming from her own fingers. She sucks in air, her lungs cooling, and her hands are shaking. What the hell was that? 

“I-I’m fine. I can breathe.” Castorice chokes out. She opens and closes her fingers. That bend and pull of her muscles helps ground her into reality. Helps push aside those images of shadows and swords creeping in the edges of her vision. 

The Garmentmaker tilts her head down to match Castorice’s gaze. She does not know if these constructs can see but she gets the distinct impression that her expression is being closely examined. Without thinking, Castorice clasps hold of one of the Garmentmaker’s hands. She rubs her thumb against the back of her palm. 

“Do you think you can stand?” The Garmentmaker asks and she can only bring herself to nod in response. 

Castorice has to lean on the Garmentmaker as she tries putting weight onto her legs. Now that the fight is over, her muscles are protesting the workout she just put them through. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to walk back. Not without using the construct as a crutch. 

“When we are within range of the threads I shall ask my lady to call for a doctor.” The Garmentmaker means that as reassurance but it instead makes her chest constrict further.

“No- That’s not- It’s fine.” Castorice is certain she thinks her state is due to her injury. But how could she possibly explain the real reason her heart is stricken with panic? That vision that assaulted all of her senses. “A doctor wouldn’t be able to do anything anyways.” 

Which is also true. All they can really do is offer her medication after she explains her symptoms to them. Castorice supposes she should consider herself grateful that she rarely gets sick and that it never sticks for long. Injuries on the other hand she has always had to treat herself. 

Rather than herself, Castorice is more concerned about whatever triggered that vision. Her eyes immediately land on where Cipher and Trianne are standing a little away. There’s a man between them. He’s tall, easily the tallest human she’s ever seen. Yet his face is round and soft. Still retaining the awkward lines that teenagers so often bear. His short hair is an off-shoot white and his eyes a darker blue than Cipher’s. 

There are stains that only Castorice can see painting him. The imprints of Death, marks left behind by those who had died around him. But it doesn’t set off any alarm bells in her head. Doesn’t give her the impression of a malicious heart. Rather these stains feel heavy. They’re wrapped around the young man as if trying to offer him a comforting embrace. Was there something else that triggered that vision then? 

Her gaze drifts, stuttering when she meets another’s stare. The moment their eyes cross, Cipher splits off from Trianne and the young man to saunter over to her. The front of her leotard is completely soaked in drying blood. The smell of it hits Castorice when she stops just before her. 

“You okay? Your face has gone all pale.” Cipher’s eyes lock onto a spot against her jaw. They narrow at what they see. “Well, paler than usual.” 

“I’ll be fine after a night’s rest, or two for that matter.” Castorice can feel her legs starting to quack from standing still. However she fears that if she sits down then she won’t be able to get back up. “It seems I underestimated how out of shape I’ve gotten.” 

“You were all skin and bones when you first showed up. Still are.” Cipher starts digging through the pouch strapped to her waist with one hand. She pulls out a handkerchief with aged, frayed edges and golden floral patterns adorned across its surface. “Managed to kick some serious ass despite that.” 

“And you, using your speed like that.” Castorice’s eyes narrow as they note that the thief seems completely unaffected by her stunt. With no signs of experiencing any sort of backlash at all. “I’m surprised you didn’t break your legs.” 

“That’s what these boots are for.” A clink rings out as Cipher clicks one metal heel against the other. “Zagreus’s blessings might not be flashy or seem all that impressive but they make a hell of a difference where it counts.” 

She summons her miniature hand of Zagreus and gives the handkerchief to it. Puppetering the device to press it against Castorice’s jaw. She flinches at the contact, feeling a sharp sting. Oh right. One of the Titankin managed to cut her. 

It’s such a simple gesture. One that to an ordinary person wouldn’t mean anything. Be expected even. But Castorice has always been forced to drag herself back to the city and lick her own wounds after a fight. And if she physically couldn’t walk, then they’d lasso a rope around her so they could safetly drag her back. So the combination of the Garmentmaker holding her steady and Cipher attempting to staunch her bleeding makes her chest makes the back of her eyes sting.t

“Ah- Hey, does it hurt that much? I’m sorry.” But Cipher sees her eyes watering and misunderstands. She pulls the handkerchief away as Castorice starts to shake her head. 

“We should make our way back post haste.” The Garmentmaker leans closer to the Holy Maiden. Adjusting her grip around her waist to be more secure. “Lady Castorice needs rest and these refugees won’t need to worry about another attack once they’re within Okhema’s walls.” 

“Big Sis! Let’s get going before any more clay dolls pop out of the mountains.” Cipher turns to where Trianne is still chatting away with their benefactor. 

“Just one moment!” Trianne holds a hand up. She’s bouncing on the soles of her feet, eyes shining bright, as she points to the young man. “Little Cas, you felt something when you first looked at him too, right?” 

Castorice’s breath catches in her throat. Did… Did Trianne see that vision as well? No, no that couldn’t possibly be it. She wouldn’t be this excited if she had witnessed something so jarring. But even then, the fact that they both had a reaction to seeing this man sets her on edge. 

“I did.” Castorice can still taste ash on her tongue. It rolls down her throat, thick and viscous. If she’s not careful then she’ll choke on it.

“We knew it!” Trianne jumps, pumping her fist into the air. “Little Ciphy, Little Cas, allow us to introduce you to our newest ally. The prophesied Deliverer has been found!” 

What?

“Um, hello there.” The young man looks as confused as Castorice feels. That is to say, like he’d rather be wrestling with more Titankin than dealing with whatever is happening now. “I don’t know anything about this prophecy but you can call me Phainon.” 

Chapter Text

Though she had remained unfettered while passing on her instructions, the second Aglaea disconnected from the Garmentmaker she became wrought with doubt. Curiosity had driven her to agree to Castorice’s proposal without much thought. Yet once she actually sat down and thought about it, she couldn’t help but think of all the ways it could go wrong. 

It’s not that she thinks the Holy Maiden incapable. It’s just that in a proper fight, physical strength is of vital importance regardless of the kind of fighter someone is. Whether it's the strength needed to lift an axe, notch a bow, or to thrust a sword into muscle and fat makes little difference. While the girl Trianne brought to Okhema isn't a fit warrior but a scrawny thing. She’s gained weight now that she’s been able to eat properly under their care, but her bones can no doubt still be felt if one were to squeeze her and live to tell the tale. 

Castorice’s curse might give her an inherent advantage that other warriors lack, but there are also plenty of ways to kill someone without getting close to them. With that thought in mind, Aglaea sent Cipher a brief text. Knowing full well that beneath the layers of fickleness she hides behind is a gentle heart. That she will not simply stand aside and watch while Castorice is endangered.

The second the Goldweaver detects her Garmentmaker re-entering the limits of her web, Aglaea plucks at the golden threads to attach to her. Not to override the construct’s consciousness but to peer into her memories. See for herself how exactly that encounter played out from start to finish. 

In the stories Aglaea has heard about the Maiden of War, many often claimed that she would cleave men in twain with a blade forged from bone. This was one of the many aspects of those stories she found questionable. However seeing Castorice’s opening strike makes a rush of excitement flow through her golden blood. She had tried. She failed to do so but she actually tried to cut that Titankin in half at the waist. 

It makes Aglaea wonder what sort of sight those soldiers who faced her saw. If Castorice appeared to be a phantom straight out of the River of Souls. A daughter of Thanatos come to drag them into its depths. Dressed in the blood of those that had fallen before them. And then when the deed was done, how she might return to the temples in Adionia to cleanse her body in basins set by the altars. Washing away those impurities before the indifferent eyes of her Titan. 

(Long ago, Aglaea would sometimes stand by Cerydra’s side as she awaited Hysilens’s return. Once the siren would emerge before them bloodied, the Imperator would shower her in praises. Struggle to remain still while exhilaration thrummed beneath her skin. Her wings would always give her away without Aglaea needing the golden threads to recognize it. How they’d flap twice before curling around Cerydra’s waist. A brief gesture that those unfamiliar with her could easily mistake as a mindless adjustment. But the Goldweaver knew that the Imperator’s wings were just as expressive as a cat’s tail. 

Aglaea would judge her for it. She disliked how hollow Hysilens would feel upon retruning. How she would curl into a shell of apathy after sheathing her blade. One that she all too often wouldn’t crawl out of until after she drowned in ambrosia and song. Surely Cerydra of all people should have been able to pick up on those things. For no one was closer to her than her beloved siren and vice versa. But now… Now, Aglaea understands why Cerydra would react so.)

Castorice does not move through the dance that is combat with any sort of grace. Her movements are simple, clumsy even. Swings meant to strike with brute force rather than finesse. But that does not mean they lacked forethought. Aglaea notes how she targets the spots where the Titankins’ carapace is thinnest. Aiming to either cripple or kill in a single strike. Swift and effecient seems to be her modus operandi. 

Satisfied, Aglaea disconnects from the Garmentmaker. She and Tribbie make their way to the gate they’ll re-enter Okhema from. Just as the Goldweaver had promised she’d do. By the time they reach it, they don’t have to wait long for their friends to pass through. The guards standing watch immediately recognizing them and letting them in without any fuss. Or at least they would if they weren’t dragging another alongside them. 

Aglaea pokes and prods at the young man with her invisible threads. Getting a proper feel for the shape of his figure. He’s tall and rather muscular, clearly a warrior at heart. Yet his heart trembles with nervous confusion and he stands with his shoulder’s slouched and head bowed. Lacking the natural confidence that comes with age or experience. Awkward as all Chrysos Heirs have been when the call of the Flame-Chase first reached their ears. 

“Agy, we’re back!” Trianne calls the moment she spots the Goldweaver. She runs towards her, dragging their newest acquisition behind her by his sleeve. 

“Welcome back.” Aglaea greets both the excitable Demigod and the two trailing more slowly behind them before turning her attention to the unfamiliar figure. “Phainon, was it? I am Aglaea, Dressmaster of Okhema and leader of the Chrysos Heirs.” 

“And we’re Tribbie. Nice to meet you Snowy!” Tribbie waves her free hand, the other keeping a firm grasp on her junior.

“The Goldweaver?” Phainon mutters under his breath. He straightens, attempting to take on a more proper posture. All he succeeds in doing is coming across as awkwardly stiff. “Ah, um, thank you. It's an honor to meet you ma’am, and you as well Tribbie.”

“There’s no need for such formalities. You may simply refer to me by name.” Aglaea chuckles, charmed by his attempt. It’s always adorable seeing the young flounder when meeting her for the first time. 

“Lady Aglaea then.” That small concession eases some of the stiffness marring Phainon’s shoulders. Smoothing out his nervousness. “I must confess that I’m not sure why someone of your status would personally come to greet me.” 

“Did Trianne not explain things to you on the way?” Aglaea can easily see her neglecting to convey the details in her excitement. To be honest, she probably would have as well had she gone with them. 

“We totally did! Who do you take us for?” Trianne, however, takes offense to that. Interpreting it as a personal slight rather than an understandable mistake. 

“It’s more like this is all so sudden. I’ve heard tales of heroes that seek to bring the Titans to heel being based in Okhema but nothing about a prophecy.” Phainon clarifies before the Goldweaver can try to pacify Trianne. “Nor did I expect to meet them and be told that I’m destined to be one of them.” 

Castorice not knowing about the prophecy was one thing, but he doesn’t as well? Strange, it used to be common knowledge across all the lands. Then again it has been a few centuries since the first failed Flame-Chase. More than enough time for multiple generations of ordinary humans to be born and die. While the Chrysos Heirs that would have been alive at the time must be old and grizzled. People must not talk about it much anymore outside of Okhema and the Grove. Or when they do they give a more summarized version of it. No matter, it is of little consequence. So long as people still know that there are those fighting to put an end to Amphoreus’s encroaching demise, that is enough.

“Fate does so enjoy catching people by surprise.” Not just him, but them as well. The second Tribbie had told Aglaea about him she could hardly believe it. This all seems too convenient to be true though she dare not say that aloud. Not yet. “Those people you were traveling with, are you close to them?” 

It’s a fairly small group. Consisting of twelve total, including Phainon. Four men of fighting age, three women, four children, and one elderly. All of their clothes bear clear signs of traveling for a good while. Integration into Okhema is always awkward for refugees but it does tend to be easier for the groups with less people. 

“Not really. We were just a collection of stragglers who happened to be going to the same destination. So we figured it’d be safer to stick together while on the road.” Phainon shrugs. Traveling together can help forge bonds but in this case it was not for long enough to craft one he cares to last long term. 

A smart choice. It also means that the appropriate branches can deal with them. Aglaea usually doesn’t directly involve herself with helping refugees get settled. It can take a long time to figure out the details and she’d rather focus her attention on other matters. Such as the two who had done most of the heavy lifting this time. 

Cipher and Castorice are standing a little away, observing their interaction with seemingly no interest in getting involved. The threads around them are buzzing. A sense of caution thrumming through them. They no doubt have things they want to say about this sudden development and Aglaea would like to hear their thoughts as well. But it’s difficult to voice such opinions with no restraint while the subject in question is right here. 

“Tell me Phainon, was there any particular reason you decided to come to Okhema?” For now Aglaea decides to probe him a bit. Figure out what his intentions are before coming to any concrete conclusions.

“To be honest I was sort of hoping to help with the fight against the Black Tide. So in that regard, it seems fate has decided to be kind.” The threads don’t react at all so Phainon is speaking from his heart. A simple yet commendable desire. “While I wouldn’t consider myself hero material, I’m more than happy to offer you my blade if it means getting to strike down evil.” 

“Spoken like a knight straight out of a story book.” So he’s the eager, humble type it seems. Aglaea has a great deal of experience handling people like him. Was like that herself once upon a time. “Now, as for the issue of where you’ll stay… Hm…” 

She had mostly given Castorice a room in her abode as a precautionary measure. Both because it made keeping an eye on her easier and because it's isolated enough to where it's obvious when anyone with ill intent draws near. It was the safest option for everyone. Aglaea sees no reason to take such measures with Phainon but at the same time there’s not really any downsides to giving him the same offer either. 

“You may have a room in my family estate for now.” Plus Aglaea highly doubts he’ll make himself a nuisance. And if this first impression she has of him turns out to be wrong, then she has plenty of ways to correct any such undesirable behavior. 

“I couldn’t possibly- That is kind of you to offer Lady Aglaea, but to let a stranger into your home so easily…” Phainon’s reaction only reinforces her belief that she has nothing to worry about. It also pulls a scoff out of a certain cat. 

“Trust me Hero, each one of us could kick your ass a hundred different ways if we wanted to. So just accept the offer.” It’s far more blunt than how the Goldweaver would’ve put it, but Cipher isn’t wrong at all. “Unless you like shacking up in the streets. Hehe, not that I’m one to judge.” 

“My place has more than enough room to fit another, if that is your concern. It doesn’t have to be permanent either. You’re more than free to move out at any time if you so wish.” Aglaea doesn’t really care either way. Having another to provide for under her roof is of no consequence. It’s certainly better than letting all the unused rooms collect dust.

It also seems to be becoming a habit to offer at this point. Starting with Cipher back when she was still attempting to reclaim her lost family fortune and only had a cramped weave shop to her name. Now that same hand has been given to Castorice and Phainon. She can so easily hear the words Cerydra would say. How she’d tut and raise her chin, wings fluffing out in poorly concealed amusement. 

“When I ordered you to take after me, this is not what I had in mind. But what’s done is done. Just make sure you properly bring them to heel so that they will become worthy of the grace you are so generously granting them, as I have done for you.” 

Aglaea’s thoughts have been drifting more and more to her predecessor as of late. The weight of leadership has burned heavy since it was forced upon her, but only recently is it truly starting to settle into place. After so many years of stagnation the Flame-Chase is regaining momentum. So she can’t help but compare herself to Cerydra. Contemplate how that decisive Imperator would’ve handled things if she were still with them. 

“Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I have no reason to refuse.” Phainon laughs. Though there’s a wisp of nervousness to it. With the way he tilts his head, she is certain he is shooting a glance at Cipher. 

“Now then-” This has stretched on long enough. Aglaea slips her hand out from Tribbie’s and turns to the two siblings. “Teacher, would you help him get settled while I deal with things here?” 

“Sure thing Agy.” If Tribbie is aware of her true intentions, she gives no hint of it. There’s a fity-fifty chance of if she is or not. The first Demigod might be wise but she still retains the purity of a child. Always thinking the best of people first and foremost. 

“Snowy are you hungry? We know the best stalls in the whole city!” Trianne once again grabs him by the sleeve. She has to hover slightly off the ground to get a proper hold with how tall he is. 

The two of them drag a stumbling Phainon away. Aglaea waits until they can no longer see them to turn to the remaining two. Cipher huffs, tail twitching in agitation. While Castorice is leaning most of her weight against the Garmentamker still. Which is concerning. That blow she took is the farthest thing from being fatal. However that doesn’t mean it should be ignored. 

“Cas, are you certain you don’t want to see a doctor?” Aglaea had respected the Holy Maiden’s wish against her better judgement. Now she is wondering if she should have called one anyways. 

“I’m sure. It won’t make a difference if I do or not.” Castorice straightens. She puts more weight onto her feet, as if to prove a point. The Garmentmaker keeps an arm around her waist to be safe. “Besides this is nothing compared to what I’ve endured while fighting on the front.” 

Cipher’s tail grows still and her ears tilt back. She is no doubt having the same realization Aglaea is. No doctor can properly tend to Castorice. There’s also the question of how many actually possess the fortitude to be able to stomach being close enough to her to inspect her injuries. It’s difficult to imagine there are many. One that’s grown used to the aura she naturally gives off from repeated exposure could, but had any actually done so? 

Then there’s the priests that served as Castorice’s handlers. They would have done everything in their power to ensure their Holy Maiden survived. However there are also plenty of examples of prisoners being gravely injured while they were apprehended. How they would be handled with the bare minimum treatment and made miserable all the while. Aglaea hopes this is just her being pessimistic. That she’s overthinking things and they at worst treated Castorice with a cynical neutrality. But the tiny snippets the Holy Maiden has told her paint an unpleasant picture. 

“Why are you both looking at me like that? I really am fine!” Castorice says that but when she takes a step back she stumbles, legs struggling to hold up her weight. The Garmenmaker keeps her steady. “More importantly, shouldn’t we discuss the matter of Lord Phainon?” 

“You’ll even slap a title on that country bumpkin’s name? Hmph, and here I thought we were special.” Cipher turns up her nose, accentuating the gesture with an intentional flick of her tail. 

“It’s a habit. The only people I’ve spoken to off the front lines were nobility or priests, so I just…” Castorice begins to gesture with her hands but then clasps them together. Holding them to her stomach.

“It’s a charming quirk so don’t feel as if you must force yourself to stop.” Aglaea shoots a pointed look at the thief, who sometimes fails to properly convey when she says something in jest. “And don’t take Cifera seriously either, she’s only teasing.” 

“Of course I’m just joking” So Cipher says but the way her tail roughly jerks tells a different story. Agitation brought to life in a single movement. 

The thief has a tendency to be somewhat possessive. Aglaea doesn’t know if it’s a side effect of her upbringing, the culture of her people to be territorial, or a mix of both. One thing is certain, Phainon has made her feel threatened in some way. The Goldweaver silently asks the Garmentmaker if she knows the cause only to be met with the same degree of confusion. 

“But our princess is right. Last I checked, the prophecy is stupidly vague about who's chosen. So how the hell did Big Sis know he’s one of us just from looking at him?” Or maybe he didn’t do anything in particular, and Cipher is just wary of him in general.

Aglaea would prefer to worry about Castorice first, but stubbornness is a difficult wall to get over. Cipher would know being someone who also hesitates to let people fuss over her. Something they are appareantly all guilty of. Which is why the Goldweaver knows the sooner they finish this discussion the less excuses Castorice will have to refuse treatment. 

“Apparently the moment Trianne saw him, a single word reverberated through all of their heads: Deliverer.” It’s an old story trope, one that was far more common back in the old era when corruption was rampant. Tales of a hero from a humble background rising up and delivering the world from evil. “Teacher doesn’t know why this has only happened with Phainon either. It’s certainly not something we can ignore.” 

“I’ll admit, that kid does give off a weird smell.” Cipher crosses her arms, her tail curling around a thigh. “Kinda reminds me of sulfur but way more diluted, and as far as I could tell that’s just his natural scent.” 

“So you get the sense that he is different too.” Aglaea hadn’t prodded that deeply into Phainon with the golden threads. Only skimming them across the surface. If she were to poke deeper, would she also feel something? “Cas, what did you detect from him?” 

“Ah, that’s- It was-” Castorice stumbles which makes the Goldweaver’s frown deepen. She had a rather visceral reaction to seeing Phainon. One that looked like a panic attack from the Garmentmaker’s eyes. “The scent of Death has permeated into him.” 

“Are we talking he’s going to die soon or is it like when you jumped that spy?” Cipher outright says what both she and the Goldweaver are thinking. As there are few things the Holy Maiden could mean by saying that.

“Ah, no, how should I put it?” Castorice takes a moment to contemplate, having never needed to explain this until now. “When people die, even if their souls move on, they leave imprints behind on the objects and the people that were nearby. Lord Phainon has witnessed many people’s deaths that have left deep traces on him, but they don’t feel malicious towards him.” 

“A survivor of a tragedy then? It’s unfortunately not at all uncommon.” Aglaea muses aloud. In the back of her head, she questions if Castorice can feel something similar from her considering her own history. However there’s something more immediate that she notes. 

What Castorice is saying and the way she reacted aren’t matching up. Her explanation makes it seem like it’s not a big deal. So either it wasn’t actually Phainon that caused her brief moment of panic on the road- In that case, it could have been the pain that set her off- or she’s not telling them everything. 

“Was that all you felt from him?” Aglaea blatantly probes. If she really, truly wants to know then she could use her golden threads to pry the truth out of her. An idea that is immediately discarded. She does not want to break the trust they’ve begun to develop between them. 

“There was one other thing but…” Castorice easily confesses. Pausing as she curls her fingers together. “I don’t know how to explain it or what it could mean. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s alright but at least tell me this: Do you think Phainon is dangerous?” Him being dangerous doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll be a threat to them. The meek Holy Maiden in front of Aglaea is one such example of this. Cerydra was another, ruthless as she was. It just means they’ll need to handle Phainon with a degree of caution until they have a better understanding of what they’re dealing with. 

“At the moment, all I can say is that he has the potential to be.” Castrocie isn’t confident enough to give a concrete answer either way. That in itself says enough. 

“It’s always the sunny ones that have the darkest shadows.” Cipher remarks. A rare display of poetics from her usually crude lips. “If he’s as young as I think he is, then it shouldn’t be that hard for us to whip him into a proper hero.” 

“I must say, I’m surprised that you’re including yourself in that. Shall I take this as you volunteering to help?” Aglaea lets slip before she can think better of it. But it's true. Cipher has been growing increasingly involved since she returned despite declaring she wanted nothing to do with the Flame-Chase before disappearing. She wants to outright ask if she’s had a change of heart but is afraid the reminder will send the thief scurrying. 

“If it's not too much of a pain. Though a bit of compensation could help motivate me.” Cipher raises a hand and curls her forefinger to make a money sign. As if she hadn’t snooped around in the Goldweaver’s treasury twice in the past week. 

“Then how about I wash your clothes for you?” Aglaea makes a point to scan her sightless eyes up and down her figure. To the now dried ichor that stains her front. 

It’s hardly the first time Cipher has returned to her in such a state. The Demigod of Trickery does not seek out violence but she doesn’t shy away from it either. More than happy to show off the brutality that Dolos cats were once infamous for. They might not have the size and bulk of mountain dwellers nor the hypnotic tricks of sirens, but instead are blessed with a nimble strength and keen senses. Predators through and through. Once their teeth latch onto their prey, they will not let go until one of them is dead. As evidenced by the gore that’s starting to stink up the air around them. 

“I guess that’ll do for now.” Cipher dramatically sighs. It’s followed by a sharp sniff and her scratching at her leotard. Peeling off some of the blood that had crusted against the surface of it. That gives the Goldweaver an idea.

“In fact, let us go to the bathhouse so you both can wash up.” It’s two birds with one stone. Aglaea can have her Garmentmakers clean their clothes in the meanwhile and Castorice will receive a treatment of sorts. 

“You mean the public one? I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” Except the Holy Maiden shrinks at the thought. Curling in on herself as much as one can while standing. 

“I’m not getting into the water either. No way. You know how I feel about that.” Cipher is equally opposed to the suggestion. Crossing her arms into an x to help get across her refusal. 

“A true shame then that I’m not giving either of you a choice.” Aglaea had expected this and her cold words make them both jump. Still, she deems it appropriate to offer their newer member an explanation. “The waters in Marmoreal Palace are blessed by water nymphs of Phagousa. Thanks to that, soaking in them can help cure any ailments faster.” 

Of course it should not be used in place of actual medicine, but it does make a noticeable difference. Helping ease any pain or discomfort while speeding up the body’s natural recovery. That punch Castorice took will inevitably become a nasty bruise, if it hasn’t started to form already. For those kinds of surface level injuries that hurt like a bitch, the blessed waters truly are a gift straight from the Gods. 

“Oh, I see. Even then, for me to bathe with other people is too dangerous” Castorice loosens but is still hesitant. Crowds, especially in small spaces, are an issue for her and understandably so. Thankfully they won’t have to worry about that. 

“There’s a private bath reserved for us Flame-Chasers. No one else is allowed in there without explicit permission from one of us.” It also hasn’t seen much use lately. Aglaea bathes in Marmoreal regularly but there’s something lonely about resting in such a large pool by herself. While her teachers overheat too easily to stay in there with her for long. 

“You go have a nice, long soak Princess. In fact, I’d bet my whole fortune that you’ll love it.” She can hear Cipher’s grin as she says this. Ah right, one of the side effects of the nymphs’ blessings is that it gives the waters a golden tint. If the thief’s theory is right then it won’t just be the comfort that Castorice will enjoy. 

“Since you both insist, I will trust your judgement.” Being pincered on two sides is enough to get Castorice to give in. There’s still a hint of nervousness in her tone but hopefully that will go away once she actually sees the Chrysos Heirs’ bath. 

“As for you Cifera…” Nervousness clutches at Aglaea’s heart. Despite her earlier confidence, she knows she can’t actually force the thief to come along. “I’m not saying you have to sit in the water, but at least bless us with your company. Please.” Let me take care of you too.

There’s a good chance she’ll refuse. Cipher hates getting her fur wet, says that it feels gross. Aglaea fully expects her to. Yet she asks anyway because the thief has indulged her once already. Had basically admitted that her inconsistent behavior is due to her own confusion. Aglaea observes the way her ears flick, one staying upright and the other tilting sideways, and how her tail remains still. 

“Alright fine, I’ll dip my toes in but that’s it.” Cipher concedes with a huff. She places a hand on her hip and raises her chin. “So stop giving me those puppy eyes.” 

Aglaea beams, her heart racing a little faster now that she’s convinced both of them to share a bath with her. It feels like it's been an eternity since she’s properly soaked in the waters with another. Since she’s been able to completely lower her barriers before someone she wholly trusts. 

Her Coreflame flickers within her chest. Its flame spreads a soothing warmth throughout her. Almost as if Mnestia is congratulating her from beyond the River of Souls. She idly wonders if that is a contributing factor for why Thanatos has been so silent. Because they are indulging in the company of their fellows. If they have to constantly get between Mnestia and Zagreus’s bickering in whatever awaits them all beyond the West Winds. An amusing thought that warms her further. 

“Ah, I almost forgot.” Thinking about that also reminds Aglaea of something. She had gotten so thrown off by Phainon that she neglected to say the most important thing. “Good work, both of you. The end results of this little endevour were well beyond my expectations.” 

Castorice’s elongated ears immediately flick up, pointing high. Cipher’s ears similarly perk. How Aglaea wishes she could see their expressions, knowing full well that they both must be trying to suppress their joy. It almost makes it hard to believe they’d just returned from killing Titankin with how a bit of praise is enough to make them grow shy. It’s cute. Were things not strange between them, Aglaea would cup Cipher’s cheek and kiss the bridge of her nose as a reward. She would happily do the same for Castorice as well were it not for her deathly touch. 

Hm… Maybe her teacher was onto something after all. 

Chapter Text

Marmoreal Palace serves as a hub of sorts for a variety of facilities. The main two being the Garden of Life and the public bathhouse. People constantly move in and out of the grandiose building because of them. With most going through the thin waterfall flowing out from the main archway to reach them. However there are also a fair share of side entrances should one know which beaten paths to take. Primarily utilized by Marmoreal’s staff and maintenance crew, they also serve as a great way to slip in if one wants to avoid the crowds. 

With that said, avoiding everyone is impossible. Especially during the slow walk to actually reach Marmoreal Palace. There were a few whispers and pointed stares directed at the two Demigods and the Holy Maiden that will no doubt cause gossip. Especially considering one of said Demigods is very clearly coated in golden blood. 

Cipher will admit she might have gone a teeny tiny bit overboard. Does she regret her actions? Not at all. The bastard had it coming. Trying to set up an ambush for people traveling on the road is just plain cowardly. Not to mention in a fight to the death anything is fair game. Notions of “honor” and any “rules of combat” only exist so people can glorify killing. What difference does it make if a man dies by a stab to the heart or a Titankin by having his guts ripped out? Still, Cipher is starting to feel icky now that the adrenaline has worn off and the ichor has dried.

All that aside, they make it to a changing room occupied only by a couple of Garmentmakers without any fuss. The one supporting Castorice guides her to sit on a bench. At the same time Cipher takes the opportunity to look at herself in a mirror and- Oh, no wonder people were staring. She knew she was bloodied but didn’t think it was this bad. It almost looks like a bucket of yellow paint had been splattered onto her with how thick it is. 

It doesn’t take much to wiggle free from her leotard. A couple of carefully hidden clasps are undone then all Cipher needs to do is pull her arms out of the sleeves and her head from the hood. Her face scrunches when she sees that the ichor has soaked into the undershirt and shorts beneath it. The white color of them both making those stains obvious. She sheds them too and hands it, along with her leotard, to the Garmentmaker that offers to take them off her hands. 

A pained hiss makes her ears flick upright. Cipher turns to see another Garmentmaker prodding at Castorice’s collar. Right where her skin is starting to turn a bluish-brown. The thief holds nothing but pity for her. With how close that bruise is to her shoulder, moving that arm is going to be uncomfortable for the next day or two. 

“Are you able to lift your arm?” Aglaea asks her as she directs another Garmentmaker to gently wipe clean the Holy Maiden’s chin. The cut that had stopped bleeding starts dripping again as a consequence. A bandage is hastily stuck on to stem it. 

Castorice tries moving her limb. She manages to straighten her arm out with no issue but winces when she starts bending it up. The pain isn’t so bad that she stops. She’s able to raise her arm fully without any issue and quickly lets it flop back down to her side. 

“I told you, I’m fine.” Castorice glowers. Cipher thinks she’s trying to look tough, but it just makes her look like a sad puppy. “This is nothing a night’s rest can’t fix.” 

“You’ll have to forgive my fussing as I’ve grown used to being surrounded by people who care little for their well-being.” Aglaea says it casually and without any bite, yet the thief knows when a barb is being directed at her. 

“Hey now, I’m not anywhere near as bad as I was when we first met.” Cipher turns to fully face them both, placing a hand against her bare hip. Okay so she had a reckless streak when she was young- and still does- but it’s been centuries since she last snuck into the Goldweaver’s place while bleeding. 

“You’ve certainly gotten better at avoiding getting hurt if nothing else.” Another barb with no real bite behind it. Instea laced with nn old and far too familiar softness that leaves the thief shuffling on the balls of her feet. A conflicted tightness gripping her chest.

Their little back and forth makes Castorice glance over at Cipher. At first it's a brief look, the kind where one’s eyes are naturally drawn to a sound. She turns her gaze back to Aglaea before realization sets in and she snaps her head back to the thief. The speed with which red spreads across her face is honestly impressive. Those pretty eyes of her’s might as well be bulging out of her skull with how wide they become. 

Cipher doesn’t bother to hide her grin, especially not when she picks up on the tell-tale rumble starting to form in the Holy Maiden’s chest. Too quiet for Aglaea to hear, but obvious to the feline-blooded Demigod. This right here is one of the reasons Cipher agreed to come. She knew Castorice’s reaction to sharing a bath with them would be adorable. Speaking of which-

“Exactly, don’t have to worry about licking my wounds if I don’t get any.” Cipher flicks her tail and her fangs revel in the light as her lips part. “Now are you just going to stand there, hovering over her, or are you going to change?” 

Aglaea huffs but doesn’t say anything. She steps away from Castorice to give her more space as she reaches around to take off her neck piece. Having not yet picked up on why Cipher is urging her to hurry up. Being blind means that Aglaea is somewhat desensitized to nudity. In moments it does affect her, it’s more so because of the mood or the context than because someone is naked. That also means she forgets that not everyone is as unbothered as her when it comes to changing in front of others. 

Cipher watches Castorice, observes the way her unblinking eyes dart up and down her figure. Unsure of where to look. Still too shocked for embarrassment to settle in. Cipher saunters over to where the towel racks are, her path “conveniently” putting Aglaea within the Holy Maiden’s line of sight. 

It gets exactly the kind of response she was hoping for. A noise that’s the lovechild of a surprised squeal and a whine escapes Castorice. Likewise her purring grows louder. It sounds deeper, almost like growling, when compared to Cipher’s purrs. The combination of it and the sight of Aglaea’s bared back makes the thief’s chest start to rumble as well. 

Those combined sounds make Aglaea pause midway through loosening the pinch of her dress’s waist. She tilts her head, trying to better pick out one set of purring from the other. A smug smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Small but oozing self-satisfaction. 

“Seems I was right to choose this as your reward.” Aglaea’s more playful side rises to the surface. She lets her dress drop to her ankles and then pretends to fuss with her hair. 

Cipher allows herself a moment to greedily drink in the sight before turning her attention back to Castorice. Watching the way those pale pupils of her’s thin into sharpened slits. They flicker back and forth between the two Demigods, her chest having gone still as if she is holding her breath. Her nostrils twitch and it's the only warning before droplets of gold begin to drip out from them.

Maybe it's rude of Cipher to burst out laughing, but she can’t help it. This girl is far too cute. And in some ways it reminds the thief of herself when she was younger. Had she been a little less guarded, then Cipher is confident she would’ve folded as quickly as Castorice does around Aglaea. Truly there is no one better suited to being the Demigod of Romance than one who looks like she was molded by Mnestia themselves. 

Her laughter, as well as the panicked fussing of the Garmentmakers pressing a cloth to her nose, finally snaps Castorice out of her haze. The red of her face somehow manages to darken and rapidly spreads. She covers her face with her hands, turns away, and mutters an apology that is barely audible to Cipher’s feline ears. 

“Cas, dear, are you alright?” Though Aglaea’s words are meant to show concern, the thief would be able to see the excited glint in her hazy eyes from a mile away. 

“What’s wrong Princess? Never seen another woman undress before?” Cipher has to fight back the urge to run up to Castorice and pry her hands off her face. She’s lucky her curse forces the thief to keep her teasing hands-off. 

A groan is all she gets in response. Castorice brings her knees up to her chest and lets her head thunk against them. Then she nods her head. 

Now that Cipher thinks about it, this Holy Maiden of Thanatos must not have interacted much with women that weren’t old hags. If that’s true, then this goes beyond simply being repressed. This is no different than if someone were to live underground their whole life only to be blinded by the moon when they step outside for the first time. 

The thief places her hands on Aglaea’s shoulders from behind. The Goldweaver jumps slightly at the contact. She turns her head back as Cipher leans in. Their cheeks brushing together. This proximity and the feeling of bare skin on skin makes the thief’s heart increase its pace. She does her best to ignore that in favor of focusing on the idea swimming in her head. 

“Do you think my trick could work on her curse?” Cipher asks barely above a breath. Not wanting her voice to reach Castorice’s ears in this otherwise silent room. 

“It operates on a scale, doesn’t it? The bigger the lie, the more people that need to believe it.” Aglaea mutters back. The thief nods, their close proximity making it seem as if she’s rubbing against her. “Considering this curse originates from Thanatos, I imagine the number of people needed would be unfeasible.” 

“If you hadn’t made her curse public knowledge-” Cipher snaps just so she doesn’t think about how close they are. How much she wishes she were nuzzling against the Goldweaver, marking her with her scent. 

“I have already explained why. We are not discussing this again.” Aglaea bites back. What’s done is done, there’s no taking that back. Not that she thinks it would actually matter. “Besides, the most important person you’d need to convince would be impossible to deceive.” 

Cipher hates that she’s right. She could proclaim to the whole world that the Holy Maiden of Death is safe to touch and it wouldn’t mean jack all if Castorice herself doesn’t fall for that lie. It would take one hell of a set up to trick her into genuinely believing her hands won’t kill for once. Even if Cipher were to somehow put on a convincing enough charade, the slightest bit of doubt would risk shattering the illusion. 

Just like the fragile lie keeping Okhema from descending into darkness. How lucky you are that Aglaea hasn’t tried to pry. But who knows how much longer that will last.

Cipher clicks her tongue and slides her hands off of Aglaea. Her long nails drag down her shoulder blades before separating completely. The sensation of it makes the Goldweaver shiver. That faint tremor picks at the greedy part of her heart. The one that still yearns for that which she had thrown away. And to make matters worse, it's started to crave more than just that. 

She turns her back to the other two women and searches the shelves for a bathing robe. The Hero’s Bath might be a private pool however it's still a unisex one. Were it not for the surprise addition to the Flame-Chase, then Cipher wouldn’t have cared about that. She highly doubts the triplets would bring Phainon up here at this hour but better to be safe than sorry. Otherwise she’d have to crack that kid’s head against the tiles and none of them would want that. 

Only once she is covered and has had time to let her heart settle does Cipher turn around. Aglaea had followed her lead and dressed in thin clothes. She’s scouring the shelves for another set, one she sets down on the bench beside Castorice. The Holy Maiden is still curled into herself. The Garmentmakers have loosely surrounded her and are attempting to reassure her. One by rubbing her back, another by trying to urge her to lift her head, and the third is pacing beside the first two. 

“Cas, we’re dressed now.” Aglaea shoos them off of her with a flick of her wrist. Her constructs’ personalities are based off of her’s, specifically what she was like before her humanity started wanning. So they can be even fussier than their master. 

Castorice peeks over at her from between her fingers. Raising her head once she’s confirmed it to be the truth. Her face is still a ruddy red, the flush having dulled somewhat. The cloth in her grasp has a noticeable yellow stain on it. Though no more blood seems to be coming from her nose. 

“I’m sorry. It was rude of me to stare like that.” Castorice’s voice comes out a little unsteady, cracking halfway through. 

“You’re welcome to look all you want, Princess.” Cipher winks at her, grin never leaving her face. Satisfied by how it makes the Holy Maiden duck her head. “None of us are strangers to being enchanted by pretty women.” 

“It is a perfectly natural reaction. Especially for one who has lived as sheltered of a life as you have.” Aglaea, as always, attempts to pacify the situation. Though the thief knows deep down she enjoys seeing Castorice squirm too. 

“Even so, that was crass.” Castorice glances between the clothes the Goldweaver had brought her and the two women. 

Cipher turns away to give her a sense of privacy. She doesn’t check if Aglaea does the same, not that it would actually matter in her case. The thief's ears twitch when they pick up the rustle of fabric. 

“As a kitten, I’d get so damn flustered seeing other women undress that it felt like I was going to explode.” Cipher was such a mess at that age in multiple ways. To nobody’s surprise, trust issues don't mix well with teenage hormones. “I thought I was embarrassed- That I was self-conscious of how ratty I was compared to them. Nope, I was just being a huge lesbian.”

And oh how much she suffered after realizing that too. Mainly because it came with the additional realization that she had a big, fat crush on her benefactor. It’s honestly amazing it took so long for Aglaea to notice. Then again, Cipher was also extremely flighty back then. She probably mistook some of her reactions for nervousness. 

“It was different for me since I would often bathe with my relatives while growing up. By the time I was of that age, I was already accustomed to the sight of mature women.” Unlike her, Aglaea had a normal childhood and could more comfortably go through her awakening. “I came to realize because I found myself completely uninterested in the company of men. Yet when it came to women, I was drawn to them. Wanting to get closer and feel their bodies against mine.” 

Cipher feels her face grow warm at that. She knows what Aglaea means, that she’s referring to things like holding hands and kissing instead of just the general horniness that comes with being a teenager. But dammit it all sometimes she words things in ways that paints an indecent image!

“Followers of Mnestia are pretty laid back when it comes to these kinds of things, aren’t they?” As far as Cipher is aware, she’s somehow the first person Aglaea has actually dated. Though that does not automatically mean the Goldweaver didn’t have any flings before then. What an unpleasant thought. 

“To an extent. Our doctrines state that while we should fully appreciate the human form, we should also not let attraction take precedence over all else.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Aglaea press a hand to her chest. “A licentious person cannot perceive the beauty of the heart and is thus doomed to a lonely life.” 

“And so as Mnestia decrees, don’t be a whore.” Cipher puts on her best “priest” voice. It pulls an amused huff out from the Goldweaver, as well as a giggle from Castorice. Pride wells up in her chest at that. “What about you Cas? Where did your journey as a sapphic start?” 

She turns around, the rustling of fabric having stopped. The Holy Maiden is standing, draped in a bathing robe that’s a little too big on her, and is fiddling with her hair. Those pale strands reach all the way to her waist. Cipher could never. Preferring to keep her hair somewhat short so it doesn’t get in her face while she’s running or climbing. 

“I suppose it was thanks to the stories I read.” Castorice eventually answers after a prolonged pause. She lets the strand of hair she was twirling around her finger drop.

“Oh, spicy.” Of course she’s a bookworm. Cipher is really curious about what kind of stories she likes. She can see the Holy Maiden gravitating towards any genre.

“Not those kinds of stories!” She was joking but it seems Castorice has read risque books. Good to know. “When I would read, I’d often imagine myself in the shoes of the characters. That way I could pretend that I wasn’t…” 

Castorice waves an arm, gesturing to nothing in particular. The motion drawing attention to her hand. Though she doesn’t finish her sentence, Aglaea and Cipher understand. Indulging herself in fantasy is her coping mechanism. It’s how she has managed to cling to her sanity while draped in the shadow of Death. 

“In the books that had romance, I had a tendency to imagine myself in the men’s role.” Castorice tilts her head and her bangs fall into her face. She blows them off before continuing. “At first I only did it because I enjoyed the prospect of protecting my partner, but after a while I realized that imagining myself with a man made me uncomfortable.” 

“So you wish to be the provider in the relationship?” Aglaea waves her hand and one of the Garmentmakers floats over to the Holy Maiden. Helping her straighten out the mess that has become of her hair. 

“I suppose?” Castorice leans back into the Garmentmaker’s caress. Humming at the sensation of porcelain fingers scratching her scalp. “I don’t like being idle in general but there aren’t many passtimes that are both invigorating and don’t involve others.” 

Huh, and here Cipher clocked her as the homebody type. Well, she is, but apparently not by choice. The thief is pretty confident she’d still be a huge introvert without her curse. She’d just be one of the more active types of introvert it seems. Cipher should invite her to go treasure hunting sometime. It's a good way to stretch the legs and the odds of bumping into other people is practically zero. Though maybe that’s not such a good idea with Castorice being sensitive to death and all that. 

“I assumed you’d prefer a more peaceful lifestyle.” Her internal musing is interrupted by hands tugging at the longer sections of her hair. Aglaea pulls them back and starts criss-crossing them together. “Then again, you have been rather eager to deal with our enemies.” 

“You’re not entirely wrong. I just like being useful.” Castorice pointedly ignores the jab at her growing tendency to snap like some sort of guard dog. 

“Careful Princess. Being a people pleaser is fine and all, but make sure you don’t become a door mat in the process.” Cipher cautions. It’s far too easy for people with that kind of attitude to be taken advantage of. “Everyone deserves to be a little selfish now and then.” 

“You could afford to be a little less selfish at times.” Aglaea pokes the back of the thief’s head, making her ears stand straight. 

“I haven't run away yet, have I?” Though it could be argued that being here is an act of selfishness on Cipher’s part. However the Goldweaver doesn’t know that. Has yet to figure out why she ran in the first place. 

Aglaea says nothing to that. The weight of her sightless stare conveying more than words ever could. A question sitting on the tip of her tongue, one she is too nervous to ask. While Cipher pretends she doesn’t know exactly what it is. 

When Aglaea and the Garmentmaker finish tying their hair- Cipher’s in a small braid that reaches just past her nape, and Castorice’s in an impressively intricate bun- the Goldweaver leads them out into the Hero’s Bath. An extremely ostentatious and fancy pool that probably cost more to make than Cipher could ever fit into her many hideouts. It was Cerydra who instructed it to be built. Done to impress a certain siren who was feeling homesick. 

At least, that’s the story Aglaea told her. Which Cipher never bothered to confirm the validity of because it’s believable without any proof. Cerydra could be insufferable when she was in the mood to dot on and spoil someone. Doubly so when her chosen victim was Hysilens. The lengths their Imperator would go to in order to make her queen happy was terrifying. 

Though it was designed to please the palette of a siren, it seems to have a similar effect on dragon-adjacent(?) girls. The moment Castorice’s eyes land upon the gold tinted water they practically start sparkling. She kneels at the pool’s edge and sticks her fingers into it. Feeling the warmth of it as well as swishing around the water to watch how the golden tint within it swirls. 

Cipher wishes she could share in her joy but water and cats do not mix well. Okay that’s not true, there are plenty of cats out there that enjoy swimming. However this one doesn’t. The humidity alone is making Cipher’s fur grow frizzy. She hates the sensation of it and she hates how easily water gets into her ears. But so long as the water is shallow enough that she can stand in it then the thief can be convinced to tolerate it. 

“This water feels… enriched? I’m not sure how else to describe it.” Castorice cups the bath water within her palms. Watching it slip through her fingers and how it leaves behind faint glitters against her skin. “Something like this is more than what mere nymphs could do.” 

“Hysilens was fond of these baths. It would not surprise me at all if she used the divine authority granted to her by the Ocean Coreflame to bless them.” Aglaea sinks into the waters, sitting along the low benches bordering the bath. Releasing a relieved sigh as the warmth envelopes her.

Castorice follows her lead, though instead of settling on the benches she slips into the center of the pool. Submerging herself so that only the top half of her face is above water. Completely relaxing the moment she gets comfortable. While Cipher does exactly what she said she would and merely dips her feet in. Sitting atop the edge of the pool and stretching her legs out. Her tail flicking back against the tiles. 

“See, told you that you’d love it.” Cipher snickers when she receives a garbled, incomprehensible response. Whatever Castorice says gets swallowed by the water. 

“Would either of you like a drink?” Aglaea reaches a hand out, taking the cup being handed to her by a Garmentmaker without turning her head. 

“Are you seriously drinking in the middle of the day?” Cipher watches the construct pour a suspiciously dark liquid into that cup. She doesn’t smell the distinct musk of alcohol but the humidity of the bath is also interfering with her senses. 

“It’s grape juice but I can procure wine if that’s what you want.” Aglaea offers before taking a sip of her drink. Throat bobbing each time she swallows. Moisture dripping down the column of her neck.

“Maybe another time when we don’t have to babysit a kid after this.” Cipher turns her gaze away and forces her mind away from the thought of pressing her lips there. “Bet you that country bumpkin is all starry eyed and making a fool of himself as we speak.” 

Mentioning that kid has Aglaea curling the fingers of her free hand. Plucking the strings invisible to the thief’s eyes. Following their path to check what their newest member is up to.

“It seems you weren’t far off. Phainon is completely entranced by Chartonus’s work.” The Goldweaver chuckles as she lets her hand fall back into the water. 

“That poor bastard.” So Cipher jests but that old smith is probably happy to have someone new to talk about his craft with. Those two can have all the fun they want sweating over a furnace. She’s perfectly content enduring humidity if it means bieng with cute girls, so long as one of them doesn’t drown that is. “Cas, don’t go passing out in the water.” 

While the two of them were chatting, Castorice had sunk further down. Her closed eyes are still above water but only barely. Her nostrils on the other hand are completely submerged. Cipher is debating pulling her out when she pops her eyes open and lifts her head. 

“I wasn’t. This water feels nice.” So Castorice says but she sounds much sleepier than she did before. 

“Why don’t you come here and sit beside us.” Aglaea pats the bench she’s reclining on.  “You can lean on the edge and take a nap if you’d like.” 

Normally Cipher would disagree with such a suggestion but a small power nap couldn’t hurt her. Especially if Castorice is close enough that either the Garmentmaker or Cipher could easily catch her should she slip. The Holy Maiden certainly looks like she wants to shut her eyes for an hour or two. 

“With all due respect Lady Aglaea, I would pass out for a different reason.” Castorice, in a surprising act of brazenness, admits. Her eyes flicking between the two Demigods dressed in flimsy robes that leave little to the imagination.

“You hear that Agy?” Cipher leans towards the Goldweaver, mock whispering more than loud enough for Castorice to hear. “She thinks we’re so hot that being near us would make her faint.” 

“I cannot blame her. You are quite the dashing lady.” Aglaea mock-whispers back with a teasing lilt that makes her seem a thousand years younger. “Any woman would blush when faced with your charms.” 

Heat crawls up Cipher’s face. The tip of her tail wags. She wants to counter with a jab of her own but finds herself at a loss for words. So she instead falls back into an old habit. Cipher bumps her head against Aglaea’s, nuzzling against her with a huff. Only realizing what she’s doing when she hears the Goldweaver’s surprised gasp.

Ah. This is an affectionate gesture Cipher used to do to Aglaea all the time. They would banter a lot and this was the thief’s way of saying “You won but I’m too stubborn to admit it”. This situation, the casualness between them, it’s so painfully familiar that she did it as if it were second nature because at one point it was. Separated for hundreds of years, Cipher’s body still remembers loving Aglaea as if they were never apart at all. 

She stops nuzzling against the Goldweaver but she doesn’t pull away either. Caught in a rock and a hard place where she either commits or basically admits to making a mistake. Which Titans knows how Aglaea would interpret that. What to do, oh what to do here…

“Oh I see how it is. Ditching me to be all lovely dovey.” 

That voice calling out from directly behind Cipher, so very close, makes her tail puff out. She hisses as she tries to turn towards the culprit but she slips against the smooth tiles. In her panicked scramble to regain balance she careens back, whole body tipping sideways. 

In the next instant Cipher is submerged. Plunged into the pool with a great splash. However since the water isn’t that deep she just as quickly rises back out of it. While standing it reaches up to just below her knees. Although the damage had already been done. Her tail is heavy with water and she can feel liquid sloshing in her ear canals. Terrible, horrible, disgusting sensations. 

“You!” Cipher’s frustration points to the culprit. The only person in this world who can sneak up on her. “You damned overripe grape! Don’t make me dunk you in the River of Souls!” 

“Ha! This is just your karma for running off on me without a word!” Bartholos of course laughs at her misery, just as she would do for them if their positions were reversed. “Honestly, ditching your bestest pal like that, and for what? For girls? How sleazy of you Boss.” 

“Batholos, it’s been long since you and I have been in the same room.” Aglaea cuts in before Cipher can unleash the barb armed on her tongue. Greeting the intruder as though they were a quest. 

“O’ benevolent and loathsome Goldweaver. What a great dishonor it is to see your lovely face.” Bartholos returns her greeting with their own snarky one. 

“Tell me, are you aware of the punishment bestowed upon those that walk in on women bathing?” Aglaea shows her claws in turn. Sweet words charged with an underlying threat. 

“Oh please, I don’t have anything for you to chop off. Even if I did, as if I’d ever be interested in something so yucky.” Bartholos mimes gagging. Not that they actually have a throat or proper stomach. “Shoving gold into my gullet is a much greater pleasure.” 

“You’re as charming as ever I see.” That little game concluded, Aglaea has her Garmentmaker present to them the bottle she’s holding. “Care for some grape juice?” 

“I take it back, seeing your face is a blessing in disguise! Don’t mind if I do.” Bartholos snatches it from her grasp and doesn’t hesitate to pour it down their maw-like hatch. What a glutton.

“Ah, the kin of Zagreus. Hello again.” Castorice tips her head to the Titankin. Unintentionally submerging her chin again. 

“Hello to you too sweet Maiden of Death.” Bartholos chitters with laughter as they wipe their mouth. 

“Wait, hold on, when the hell did you meet Cas?” Cipher’s eyes dart between the two. A suspicion quickly bubbling forth. “Did they steal from you?” 

“A notebook but I got it back.” Her growing concern is confirmed. At least it wasn’t anything major. Stealing from cute girls is the job of a Demigod. Not a washed out senior. 

“She threatened to kill me. It was very… How would you put it?” If their mouth could, then Bartholos’s would be stretching into an evil grin right now. “Oh right. It was very hot of her.” 

“Alright that’s it.” Cipher takes out one of her coins. From where, that is between her and the coin itself. She positions it against her fingers as if about to flick it. “Time for a one way trip to the Netherealm.” 

“It was a joke! A joke!” Bartholos raises all four of their hands and puts Aglaea between themselves and the irate cat. “It actually felt like being held beneath Thanatos’s claws again!” 

“Is that another of your fabrications or have you actually met Thanatos before?” That offhand remark piques Aglaea’s curiosity. 

“I have a very long time ago. Long before any of you were born. Don’t bother asking me about where they are now though, because I couldn’t tell you.” Bartholos answers about how Cipher expected. A quick affirmation and an event quicker refusal to say more. 

“A pity. I would’ve paid handsomely for such information.” Yet Aglaea is shrewd in her own ways. Presenting the possibility of riches without actually promising it. 

“I can’t tell you where they are now, but I can tell you a story related to them.” A hook that Bartholos latches onto. A trickster that’s easily deceived themselves. “An old, old tale lost to time. It goes something like this:” 

There once was a village beset by an evil dragon. That dragon demanded the villagers offer up a sacrifice in the form of a fair maiden or else it would raze the whole land in flames! The people were thrown into a frenzy for their humble town was no home to warriors or heroes. They could do nothing but comply with the dragon’s demand if they wished to survive. 

As they were discussing what to do, a young maiden volunteered herself as that sacrifice. For she was born with a weak body too frail to work or to become a mother. All she could do was spend her days being coddled and taken care of by others. Yet the villagers never minded and loved her all the same. She wished to repay their kindness in the only way she could: By offering up her heart that was filled with love for her friends and family. 

Not one villager rejected the idea, for it was indeed the most sensible solution. Someone had to die, so why not have it be the one whose life could barely be considered a life? Yet there was one who quietly abhorred that idea. The maiden’s older twin sister, she despised the idea but could not bring herself to voice this while everyone else was thanking her sibling for her selfless decision. So the older sibling kept quiet and began brewing a plot. 

When the promised time came to offer the life of a maiden, it was not the weak younger twin who was brought to the dragon’s den. Instead the older sister had pulled a little trick, fed her younger sister medicine that would keep her unconscious, and pretended to be her. 

Once the younger sister awoke and realized what her elder sibling had done, she rushed to the dragon’s den as fast as her weak body would allow. When her legs gave out beneath her feet, she crawled instead. 

Somehow, by some miracle she managed to make it to that treacherous place. When she entered the dragon’s den she did not find an evil monster awaiting her but a magnificent beast weeping in the dark, cradling her sister in its arms. A dagger pierced into her chest. 

The dragon, knowing what had happened, solemnly greeted the younger sister and asked her if she hated the villagers for so easily sacrificing one of their own without even trying to fight back. 

“No.” The sister had answered. “I only hate myself for failing to recognize the conviction in her eyes.” 

The dragon wept harder and made an offer to the maiden. That if she were to carve out her pure heart then the dragon would save her sister. To which she of course accepted. The next day, when the villagers went to check on the den they found no dragon or any signs of the siblings. Only a pair of infants weeping within the dragon’s abandoned nest. 

Bartholos concludes the tale with a bow. Cipher tilts her head, eyeing them suspiciously. This story sounds like just another fairy tale but the same could be said of that story of the dragon and princess of Styxia. Goddammit, she’s going to be suspicious of every fairy tale she hears now. Though in this specific case Cipher would argue that it’s justified. 

“A classic tale of morality I see. Might I presume the dragon is Thanatos and them asking for a sacrifice was a test?” Aglaea half-asks and half-ponders aloud. There exist many myths follwoing a similar theme. Where a Titan disguises themselves as a mortal or beast to see how people will respond while not standing facing a God. 

“Something like that.” Bartholos shrugs with their smaller pair of hands. “As I said, this is a very old tale that even I don’t fully remember. So I took a few liberties with it.” 

“It’s familiar, yet I do not recall ever hearing such a story before.” Castorice narrows her eyes, brow furrowing in deep thought. “It’s not one of our myths, and I don’t believe it's from a book either.” 

Cipher’s ears flick. The subtle sound of stone-like teeth grinding together. A nearly inaudible tsk clicking.

“You might have heard a different retelling then.” Yet Bartholos does not let that frustration show. Maintaining their happy-go-lucky facade. “It wouldn’t surprise me if the most devoted followers of Death managed to pass down an even more distorted version of this story.” 

“If I had, it must not have been as sweet of a story as your version.” And Castorice remains oblivious to their little slip up. Features relaxing into a quiet joy. “Thanatos truly is a gentle Titan.” 

“You sure about that? I mean, they still basically told one of the sisters to kill herself in the end.” And is arguably responsible for the death of the first. Though Cipher keeps that comment to herself. 

“That was only so that the sisters could be reborn together instead of separated.” Castorice doesn’t seem to be at all bothered by her words. And why would she be? As far as she’s concerned it's just a story from the distant past. 

Maybe it’s because she’s too much of a pessimist, but Cipher highly doubts things went that smoothly. After all the sisters were still in the same town that was more than happy to sacrifice one of them by the end. So best case scenario, nothing changed. Worst case the villagers assume those two infants they find in the dragon’s nest are some sort of bad omen and kill them. If this fairytale is based on a real event like the Styxia one, then reality probably went something like that.  For people all too easily resort to cruelty when gripped by superstition. 

“It is an interesting tale but rather than the story itself, there’s something else I’m more curious about.” Aglaea inclines her head, gentle features sharpening ever so slightly. “Did Thanatos often appear before people in the form of a dragon?” 

“I haven’t known them to take on any other shape if that's what you’re really asking.” Bartholos clacks their teeth together. Knowing when they’re being pried for information and how much to give to avoid further questioning. 

Thanatos favors the form of a dragon… Cipher’s mind immediately drifts to the breathing corpse. A thought she immediately denies. That can’t be the case, otherwise that would mean the Death Coreflame has already been claimed. However there have been no sign of the Demigod of Death being born despite how much time has passed. This here is a prime example of overthinking things and trying to connect dots where there are none. 

She peeks at Castorice, finding the Holy Maiden brimming with repressed excitement. Yet her down-turned ears imply a hint of anxiety. From what, Cipher isn’t sure. She supposes the Holy Maiden must have more complex feelings towards Thanatos then what she allows to show on the surface. 

Aglaea must sense something too for she urges Bartholos to tell another tale with the promise of more grape juice. They start going on about how they once accidentally crashed a royal wedding. Cipher doesn’t really pay attention. More focused on the odd overlaps between the fairy tale they’d just told and the Styxian one. 

What were you actually trying to say, Zagreus? What reaction were you hoping for from Castorice?

Her thoughts provide no answer and she knows she won’t get one out from the Titan pretending to be a kin. Another mystery piled on top of the others. 

Chapter Text

Dreams can be fickle things. Some nights, they can be as clear as the waking world. In other’s they are vague and barely present. A snapshot of emotions and sensations more than actual imagery. Light creeping down from over a roof. A hand clasped within her own. The scent of blooming flowers alongside familiar voices. A concoction that tugs at the heart, yet whatever story they have told becomes lost as consciousness starts to grip the mind. 

Fingers twitch and a head turns. The echo of laughter rings within Aglaea’s ears as she lowers her arm from where it rests over her eyes. The hand that had been nudging her shoulder retreats. The golden threads that stretch out from her bed whisper to her of a feminine shape that lacks a head or legs. The Goldweaver begrudgingly sits upright. She rubs at her eyes, attempting to brush away the crusty feeling infecting them. 

The Garmentmaker that had awoken her stands beside her bed and waits for her to fully awaken. How strange for there to be only one. It used to startle her to wake up and be surrounded by them. Her constructs do not need to sleep and thus find themselves awkwardly idle while Okhema rests. Most of them having little to do during the night except wait for the hours to pass. With some of them choosing to do so at her bedside so that they could help her prepare for the day. A quirk that Aglaea has long since grown used to. 

She doesn’t question it until she traces her fingers along the face of her clock. Feeling where the hands of it currently point, indicating that it's still well into the curtain-fall hour. Aglaea turns to her lone companion. Her question and concern buzzing through the threads that connect them. 

“Apologies for waking you up at this time. We were uncertain of what else to do but seek out your advice.” The Garmentmaker bows, inclining her faceless head low. 

“What could possibly have happened for you to come to that conclusion?” Considering she waited until now to speak up, Aglaea presumes it's not some sort of emergency. Which serves to stoke her confusion. 

“It’s about young Phainon.” The Garmentmaker’s next words do nothing to distill it. Instead she adds even more coals to the fire. “He is pacing the halls as we speak.” 

Aglaea’s cheeks crease as her lips form into a frown. She pulls at the threads, extending her senses to beyond the boundaries of this room. It doesn’t take pinpointing Phainon’s location to understand why the Garmentmakers felt the need to disturb her slumber. The golden threads are buzzing, reacting to the onset of emotions they're picking up. A degree of stress that’s too much for her half-awake mind to pick apart. Aglaea cuts herself off from that flow, an option her Garmentmakers do not have. She understands now why they decided to seek her help. 

Aglaea doesn’t bother changing out from her sleepwear. Instead she stumbles out of her room, usually sharp senses blurred. Without using her golden threads it's like stumbling through a pitch black tunnel but one she has memorized the inner workings of. Aglaea does not need any form of sight to navigate through her home, jarring as it is to not have perfect clarity. 

The halls of the estate are long and cavernous while Aglaea is not connected to her golden threads. Her footsteps echo loudly, joined only by the restless pattering of another’s feet. The sound of them growing louder and louder the closer she gets to the distraught boy. 

“Phainon.” Aglaea calls out when she thinks he is within sight. She hears the scraping of feet skidding to a halt and what she thinks is an elbow bumping against a wall. 

“Ah- Lady Aglaea. Did you need something?” It seems Pahinon was so stuck in his head that he didn’t notice her approaching at all. There’s an alertness to his voice that doesn’t give way a hint of exhaustion either. Which means he must have been awake for a while now. 

“I suppose if you count the fact that your distress is unsettling my Garmentmakers.” In her tired state, the admittance leaves Aglaea without a single thought of how that could come across. 

“My apologies. I’ll return to my room.” She only realizes once she picks up on how meek Phainon’s voice grows in response.

“Wait, that’s not what I-” Aglaea groans at her own foolishness. She takes a deep breath and tries again. “What is it that’s disturbing you?” 

“It’s nothing that you need to worry about. Rather I’ll begrudgingly admit that you would think me childish for being so affected by something so minor.” So Phainon claims but she doesn’t believe him for a second.

It’s hardly anything “minor” if it has him awake and pacing at the height of curtain-fall hour. Aglaea could presume him to be uneasy in a home unfamiliar to him, but this feels too extreme a reaction for that to be the sole cause. If it’s not that then maybe-

“Were you awoken by a nightmare?” Aglaea hears the fabric of his clothes shift, as if he had shuffled or looked away. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. They plague me at times as well.” 

She tries to aim her eyes towards his, but it's much harder to do without the aid of her threads. Especially since she’s not that familiar with Phainon and his figure yet. Still she does her best, using the sound of his voice to get an idea of where to look. Aglaea can only hope she isn’t too terribly off. 

Phainon says nothing but she can feel his stare, and can practically taste his hesitance with how thick it runs. Aglaea thinks back to her youth, how Tribbie would be there to sooth her when the night terrors became too much. How her teacher would whisk away her fears with a bowl of midnight oatmeal and by sharing tales of her other fragments’ exploits. There is nothing that can be done to defeat the demon that is loss and grief, but another can provide a place of rest from its torment. 

Aglaea offers a hand to Phainon, her palm raised and waiting. At first nothing happens and she worries that she might be overstepping a boundary she didn’t know was there. Just as she’s debating retracting it, she feels Phainon place his hand over her’s. She glides her fingers up the length of his palm. Muscles twitch under her touch but he doesn't pull away. 

Phainon’s hand is thick and wide. The skin roughened from callouses that have no doubt been with him since his childhood. The marks left behind by those who often wield tools, whether that be the farming variety or a weapon. 

“Who taught you how to wield a sword?” Considering how interested she was in Chartonus’s work, Aglaea imagines it's not a skill he picked up purely out of necessity. 

“No one did. I made a dummy out of an old scarecrow and would beat it up with a wooden sword my father made me.” Phainon’s voice cracks near the end. Yet he continues as if nothing had happened. “I’ve met a couple of travelers on the road who have given me some tips and everything else I’ve been figuring out on my own.” 

“Teaching yourself with no guidance is a difficult task that few could accomplish.” It’s a sign that someone possesses both the determination to learn and that intelligence to figure things out on their own. An impressive talent that Aglaea would happily encourage. “With a proper teacher, you will undoubtedly grow into a master swordsman.” 

“Do you really think I’m that capable?” Phainon clears his throat, giving her hand a brief squeeze. “I mean, we hardly know each other. Not to mention I’m just some random country bumpkin and you’re the Goldweaver.” 

Aglaea makes a mental note to tell Cipher to keep any disparaging remarks about this boy to herself. Or to at least reserve them for when Phainon isn’t around to hear them. That’s a conversation for the future. Right now she has a distraught young man to soothe. 

“What sort of things have you heard about me?” Aglaea asks both to get an idea of how severely he’s putting himself down, and because she’s genuinely curious. 

“That you’re the guardian of Okhema who has been protecting the golden city for hundreds of years. A woman who holds both status and wealth and is a king in all but name.” All of that checks out from how the common folk of this city perceive her. Accurate albeit exaggerated statements that know nothing of her origins.

Aglaea positions her palm to lie flat against his. Her hands are by no means perfect, bearing their own scars from years of wielding a needle and a sword. However in comparison to Phainon’s, her hands are slight. Borderline delicate with how much more slender they are. He could completely envelope her palm and have room to spare. 

“Before I became a Demigod, I was merely the daughter of a priest.” Which is true but Aglaea also recognizes that it leaves out a lot of important details. “Granted my family owned that temple and a couple of my relatives were rather successful entrepreneurs, so we were considered nobility on a technicality. But I was the middle child who was not destined to inherit anything significant and was only fawned after for her looks. There was nothing special about me.” 

Her golden blood was the only truly stand out thing about Aglaea. Yet even that claim was not held by her alone, for her grandmother also bore the lifeblood of divinity. Perhaps because of that, her family never made a big deal of it beyond stating it meant she was one of Mnestia’s favored children. 

“That’s difficult to imagine. You have such a commanding yet graceful air about you. I would’ve thought you grew up like a princess.” In a way she supposes Phainon isn’t wrong. She was certainly one of the luckier Flame-Chasers when it comes to each of their childhoods. 

“On the contrary I’d sometimes climb trees to hide from my teachers, and wouldn’t hesitate to wrestle my brothers when they annoyed me.” Aglaea wouldn’t go so far as to say she went through a rebellious stage. More like she had something of an adventurous streak growing up. 

“Would you win?” The slight smile on Phainon’s lips shows through his lighter tone. The Goldweaver imagines a young man who grew up in the countryside is more than familiar with the tussles boys can get into. 

“Not always, but Narcissus was ticklish so if I got a good grip on him then I could make him yield. Whereas Adonis was the type to easily be distracted, which I took advantage of whenever I could.” It was always cheap of Aglaea to do and they would call her out on it. Yet it also added a layer of challenge that they refused to admit they adored. 

She almost asks if he has any siblings but manages to bite down on her tongue before thoughtlessly uttering that question. If Aglaea’s suspicions on what kind of nightmare plagued him are correct, then having Phainon think of his family could sink his mood rather than lift it. In the silence left in the wake of her hesitation, the hand within her’s tightens and a deep breath is taken. 

“How… How did you end up becoming the Goldweaver?” This question was bound to come sooner or later. Whether it be from Phainon or Castorice. Yet it still shakes her to hear it. 

Aglaea plucks at the threads with her free hand, a nervous tick. In doing so she reconnects her senses to them. Is able to see the silhouette of Phainon standing before her, his shoulders slouched and exhaustion oozing from his stance. The golden threads are still trembling though now it's more so a nervous hum than an outright distraught one. 

She wordlessly guides Phainon out of the hall. Leading him to the courtyard and sitting down on a bench. Kephale’s eternal light warms Aglaea’s skin. It’s a gentle touch, a chaste kiss from the Titan who has bore witness to everything. While the soft scent of the flowers helps keep the ash that threatens to creep up her lungs at bay. 

“Though I call this my family estate, in truth it is merely a recreation of it.” Aglaea admits with a heavy heart. “The real one was burned down, and with it so too had my family been buried.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Phainon utters, because what else is someone supposed to say after hearing that? “Was it the Black Tide?” 

“Worse. On paper, the culprits were thieves that took things too far. In reality they were assassins that had been hired to purge my family completely.” A bitter smile creeps onto Aglaea’s lips. “I only survived because I happened to be away from Okhema the night of the attack.” 

There is a grimly curious part of her that wonders if Tribbie had foreseen the attack. It’s something Aglaea could never bring herself to question aloud. For even when her heart was at its lowest, she knew that such an accusation would shake the Demigod trapped in a child’s mold to the core. If it was a prophetic dream that urged Tribbie to insist they visit Janusopolis together, then the Goldweaver doesn’t need to know that. It’s better for both of them that way. 

“That is- Why would anyone do that?” Phainon balks and back then the Goldweaver had asked herself that time and time again. 

“I won’t pretend my family was completely clean, one doesn’t acquire and maintain that much wealth for generations without employing underhanded tactics. It could have been out of revenge. It could have been to dispose of nuisance. Regardless, my entire family was killed and I the sole survivor.” 

Though she was not there to witness the fire, the stench of it lingered for days after the fact. It was burned into her nostrils, as were the sneers disguised as pleasantries from those who attended the funeral. There were a couple who had offered to house Aglaea while she figured out what to do. Yet there was nothing at all friendly about those offers. Either seeking the deed to the land in her possession or in hopes of dragging her into their beds. Vile, atrocious monsters that wore the guise of men. 

“In due time, Okhema came to be conquered by a king.” While Aglaea was wrapped in despair the city-state was in chaos. Forced to heel by a woman who declared herself their new sovereign with an army of Chrysos Heirs at her beck and call. “She learned of my golden blood as well as the fate of my family, and offered to bring judgment upon those responsible. In return she asked that I swear myself to her and join her crusade against the Titans.” 

“So you accepted because you wanted revenge?” That is the natural conclusion to come to. Phainon isn’t wrong but the full answer isn’t anywhere near so simple and straightforward either. 

“There was that, but more so because I was aimless. I had nothing and no one left but a crippled handmaid and a child who served as my mentor. No ambitions to strive for and barely any will to live.” When Aglaea was summoned by the Imperator, she was certain she expected to face her own execution. Instead she was granted a second chance, not that she knew at the time. “I took Cerydra’s hand because she was the only one who was upfront with their intentions to use me. Not a very noble story, is it?” 

“It’s also only the beginning of it.” Phainon sits a little straighter, intrigued. “You found your purpose eventually, or else you wouldn’t have the spark you do now.” 

“Cerydra’s drive was infectious. She was a brilliant blue flame that ignited the dying embers within our hearts.” For as flawed as the Imperator was, none could deny her desire to save Amphoreus. It entranced Aglaea in ways nothing else was able to. Made her feel as if she could actually achieve the impossible. “Through that blaze I found a new family. One I wish to weave a beautiful future for. Whether it be in this life or the next.” 

And if Aglaea were to let her mind wonder, she would picture herself sitting on a bench like this one. With Cipher beside her instead of Phainon, leaning on her shoulder as she struggles to stay awake. Tribbie’s head would be resting against the Goldweaver’s lap. Both of them lulled to slumber by the most beautiful voice Amphoreus has ever known. Hysilens’s humming could put even the best musicians to shame. She would do so while dancing with Cerydra. Casual twirling between the drunken and exhausted Chrysos Heirs that surround them. For after a victory feast they would almost always be the only ones left standing. 

It was those moments that have allowed Aglaea to stay standing through it all. That urged her to fight tooth and nail to cling onto her humanity despite her divinity’s efforts to wrest it out from her grasp. Those days might be over but that does not mean her hope has been lost. For the prophecy dictates that they will all reunite at the end of Era Nova as fully matured Gods. What exactly that will look like, none of them can say for certain. Only that they will see each other again in the tomorrow that will be Amphoreus’s new dawn.

Beside her, Phainon curls his fingers together against his lap. He slouches forward while his mind churns. Processing what he had been told and how that contradicts with the tales of heroism he grew up with. Truly the whole “hero” thing started thanks to the fragments of Tribios’s child-like mentality. Then it was picked up by Cerydra as propaganda to help rally people under the banner of the Flame-Chase. At the end of the day, each and every one of them are merely people who were driven into a corner and had nowhere else to run to.  

“If your family hadn’t- If it weren’t for the Black Tide and the prophecy, what would you have wanted to do?” Phainon eventually asks. Where that question came from, the Goldweaver doesn’t know. Still she indulges him.

“I’m not sure.” Aglaea might have had some aspiration back then that she’s forgotten thanks to everything. Yet there is a brief period in her long life that she can draw inspiration from. “But if fate would allow this tragedy to come to a close, then I think I’d open a tailor shop. A small one that could cater to both the rich and the poor.” 

“Before my village was… A friend and I were preparing to leave. She to become a priestess of Oronyx while I wished to travel the world.” Phainon shuffles in place. His fingers clench around each other and his shoes scrape against the floor. “As we were packing she gave me this.” 

He slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a small, stiff paper that's no bigger than his palm. A card going off of the size and shape of it. He passes it over to Aglaea who runs her fingers along its surface. She can feel the textures and the depth left behind by the paint. From that she can make out the silhouette of a figure standing tall and straight.

“A tarot card?” Aglaea presumes and Phainon affirms such. She moves her fingers to glide across the bottom of it, where such cards usually have their names inscribed. D-E-L-I- Oh. “It must have been quite a shock when Trianne called you that.” 

“It was, so much so that it didn’t fully click until I tried to go to bed.” She hands the Deliverer card back to Phainon. He delicately holds it as if the slightest misstep will make it wither to dust. “Whenever Cyrene read my fortune, this was always one of the cards she drew. At the time it made me think that, hey, maybe I could become like the heroes in the stories I loved. But then…” 

“Then reality proved to be far more cruel than what is writ in the myths.” Such stories never focus on the gritty details. Always glossing over them. Failing to capture how gut wrenching it is to have blood on your hands for the first time. How dreadful it is to watch a body go limp. How loss gnaws away at your insides, always there, sometimes quiet and other times loud. 

“My family, my neighbors, they weren’t just killed.” Phainon’s voice cracks. His shoulders tighten and he curls in on himself. “The Black Tide twisted them into monsters that used their voices to beg me to spare them as I slaughtered them with my own hands.” 

Aglaea places a hand against his shoulder. Initially she merely holds it there to see how he reacts. He leans into her touch and he quietly shakes. So she reaches further, pulling him into an embrace. Urging Phainon to rest his head against her shoulder. Allowing him to hide against her as he cries. He does so without making a sound other than his shaken breathing. The Goldweaver rubs his back. Soft yet solid motions to help anchor him to the present. 

Whenever Tribbie would comfort Aglaea, she would hold her like this and sing a lullaby. It seems silly that an adult would be comforted by that yet it proved to be surprisingly effective. So Aglaea hums a tune from her childhood. The exact lyrics are hazy but she recalls the tempo with perfect clarity. 

They stay like that for a time. Huddled together somewhat awkwardly on the bench. A couple of birds land in the eaves of the roof to watch them. It would be peaceful if Aglaea wasn’t trying to soothe a man that could probably easily lift her with one arm. In time Phainon starts to relax and he lifts himself off of her. 

“I’m sorry, for losing my composure like that.” Try as Phainon might to regain his composure, he cannot keep his despair from his tone. 

“There’s nothing at all for you to be ashamed of.” In turn Aglaea attempts to make her’s firm yet reassuring. “To lose your family in such a way, that is a terrible fate I would not wish upon my enemies.” 

“Your nightmares, did they ever go away?” Phainon asks. A little anxious as he already knows the answer. Yet he wants to hear her answer anyways. 

“Not exactly. They come and go at random, but nowadays I don’t have them anywhere near as often as I used to.” Nor do they rattle Aglaea as much as they used to. She doesn’t know how much of that is because she’s grown used to them, and how much it’s due to her waning humanity.

“I need time is all, is it? That’s something we hear often but at the moment it doesn’t feel very good to be told.” Phainon finds it amazing how such a common phrase can come across so differently when it's actually applicable to him.

“Perhaps I can help you look at things another way then.” Aglaea places her palm against his chest. Feeling the soft thump-thump beating within. “This pain that pierces your heart is proof that you loved them dearly. That makes it a precious thing.” 

She dreads the day she can look back at her family and it no longer hurts for that exact reason. To love is to hate, and to hate is to love. The two intertwined in a messy yet vital knot. The rawest of emotions that beat within the heart of humanity. 

“Why am I not surprised that a Demigod or Romance would find even loss beautiful?” Phainon laughs at her proclamation. A surprised and humorless kind of laughter. 

“Would you prefer if I don’t spout such things?” That worry that she’s being insensitive creeps back up. Aglaea supposes it would depend on the other person this time.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just not the type of comfort people usually give in these types of scenarios.” A hint of amusement manages to slip through Phainon. A sign that she’s managing to do something right. 

“This is my divine domain, so it’s only natural I would have a different view of it than others.” Sort of. The divine authority of Romance isn’t solely about literal romance. Though it does genuinely give Aglaea a different perspective than most. “Love is as much of a curse as it is a blessing. It can both lift people up and drag them down into the darkest depths.” 

“If anyone else were to tell me that, I’d call them crazy.” Contrary to his words, everything about Phainon is lighter. No longer does he seem moments away from breaking. “Thank you. I really needed that. Way more than I ever would have expected.” 

As he says, the threads have stopped trembling. That doesn’t mean he’s no longer despondent. Just that his emotions are no longer intense enough for them to pick up without direct contact. Aglaea has done as much as she can. Mimicking the kind of comfort she received while in a similar state of distress. 

However things are different this time. There are others that can offer different kinds of support from her. The Goldweaver thinks back to Castorice’s words. How she had claimed that the dead have left stains upon Phainon. Aglaea wonders if such a thing can be likened to a haunting. That is, in the sense of how spirits are often said to be able to plague the living with nightmares. 

“If you’re willing to hear more tangible advice, then might I suggest you seek counsel from Castorice.” Maybe Aglaea should actually bring this up with her first before sending Phainon her way. But considering Castorice’s birthright, surely she has experience helping people who are grieving. 

“From the young lady cursed by Death?” Phainon tilts his head. He doesn’t stiffen per say, but he does grow notably more on guard.

“She is Thanatos’s Holy Maiden.” Aglaea imagines the others brushed over that specific detail while explaining her curse to him. “Because of that, Cas may be able to help you find some form of closure.” 

“I’ll consider it.” Phainon doesn’t outright refuse but the way he says it comes across like that. 

Right, to people unfamiliar with Castorice, she is something to be feared at worst and cautious of at best. Aglaea can’t blame him for that or else she would be a hypocrite. Fortunately she realized fairly quickly that the Holy Maiden is a sweet girl beneath her unsettling titles. It hopefully shouldn’t take long for Phainon to come to that conclusion as well. And that is a conclusion he will have to come to on his own. 

“Gosh, I was so tense I hadn’t realized how exhausted I’d become.” Phainon chuckles as he rubs his eyes. It has been a rather exciting day for him, to put it simply. 

“That you’re noticing is as good of a sign as any to try sleeping.” Aglaea stands and smooths down her nightdress. “Will you need help finding your way back to your room?” 

“No, I’ve got it.” Phainon follows suit and dips his head into a slight bow. “Have a good night Lady Aglaea.” 

As Aglaea heads back to her room, she keeps an eye on him through the threads. Ensuring that Phainon actually makes it back to his room and actually goes to sleep. By the time he lies down, Aglaea is standing before her own bed. Yet she makes no move to return to it. Instead she grabs hold of her teleslate and stares down its inactive screen. 

Shortly after Castorice and Trianne left, both Tribbie and Trinnon made a suggestion to her. A seemingly innocent proposal where they made it out as if they just wanted to introduce the Holy Maiden to the other Flame-Chasers. Aglaea doesn’t see why when it was obvious what their real intention was considering who specifically they had named. 

The original plan was to wait until the enrollment period at the Grove of Epiphany. To have Castorice study whatever topics piqued her interest there for a time. Both to give her an opportunity to meet other Chrysos Heirs and to expand her knowledge. Something specific must have caught their attention for the triplets to want Castorice to meet Hyacine earlier. And now Phainon has been added into the picture as well. 

Aglaea doesn’t actually need to use a teleslate to connect to the World Wound Web. For it is her divine powers that allow it to exist and function. However the young doctor had insisted she use a teleslate like everyone else when accessing it. Claiming that doing so will help her remain grounded to her humanity. The screen flickers to life. She is able to effortlessly navigate through its tabs and find the messages she seeks. Aglaea’s fingers glide across the device to type out a message. Reading back through it, deleting it, and then trying again. Eventually the Goldweaver manages to pen a fairly long paragraph that she’s satisfied with. She hits send and then sets her teleslate down. All that’s left to do is wait for Hyacine’s reply.

Chapter Text

There is something about city life that speaks differently than any other kind of environment. A buzz of energy that flows through the streets. Hasty yet not impatient. Never quiet, always filled to the brim with shouts of vendors bartering with their customers or people calling out to one another as they pass the other by. The deep groans and snorts of dromas as they drag carts to and fro. The high pitched calls of the chimeras that are running back and forth. It's infectious in a way that's difficult to put into words. 

Despite coming here many times before, Hyacine always finds herself awestruck by it all. It's so vastly different from her far more humble birthplace. It also carries a different kind of energy than the Grove, where most people try their best to keep to themselves between debates and lectures. In comparison Okhema is as wonderful as it is overwhelming. 

Small chirping draws Hyacine's attention away from the distant visages built around the mountain range. A small pegasus flutters beside her with wings that seem far too small for his plump body. Yet somehow they manage to keep him airborne. Little Ica kicks his hooves as he eyes their surroundings. Not straying from her side but she can see the desire to run about buzzing beneath his skin. 

"Are you hungry?" Hyacine reaches into her bag as the baby pegasus turns to her. Fetching an apple and presenting it to him. "After we talk to Lady Aglaea and get settled down you can play, but until then stick with me. Okay?" 

Ica chirps before taking the offering. Munching away at the apple that rests in her palm by taking a large bite. Hyacine scratches his neck when he lifts his head to chew. She turns her head slightly when she catches a faint jingling sound growing closer.

"I'll try not to take too much of your time for Ica's sake." Aglaea says in place of a greeting. A small, subtle smile on her lips as she observes the pegasus.

"I wasn't expecting you to pick me up all the way out here." Hyacine anticipated having to hunt her down in the bath house or even go straight to her estate. 

"It's only fair since you came all this way at my behest." Polite as ever. Aglaea is every bit what grace and nobility should be. A true role model for all young girls out there. 

Little Ica forgoes his meal in favor of flying up to the Goldweaver. Bumping his snout against her cheek as a way of saying hello. She breathes out a low chuckle and pats his side. Giving the pegasus's belly a firm squish.

"You've gotten even fatter since the last time I saw you dear Ica." Aglaea coos. She is just as weak to Ica's charm as anyone else. It's actually becoming a problem. 

"It's because people keep sneaking him snacks when I'm not looking." No matter how many times Hyacine lectures others and tells them he's just being a glutton, they don't listen. "At this rate I'm going to have to put him on a diet." 

Before Aglaea can respond, her expression twists in annoyance followed by a buzzing. She brings out her teleslate and Hyacine silently cheers as she watches her click away at its screen. Glad to see the Goldweaver still sticking to her advice. Although her reaction to whatever message she received is less desirable.

"You didn't ditch work for me, did you?" Hyacine knows well how busy she tends to be during the action hour. Flitting wildly between procrastination to crunching a week's worth of duties in one day. 

"No, it's Anaxagoras." There's a frustrated bite to Aglaea's words that the physician can't help but laugh at. If it's him then there's no actual issue at hand. "He's been badgering me with complaints since you set off. Whining that I'm stealing his precious assistant." 

"Ignore him, he's just being dramatic." How surprising. Hyacine wouldn't have expected Anaxa to initiate a conversation between them, even if it's just to annoy the Goldweaver. "If the professor really has an issue with it then he can come here and drag me back himself."

"I do agree with him on one point. You didn't need to drop everything and come immediately." Once Aglaea finishes typing out whatever reply she's sending Anaxa, she shuts off her teleslate without waiting to see how he reacts. 

"Lady Aglaea, you messaged me at 2am." When Hyacine initially saw it upon waking up, it admittedly gave her quite the fright. Not yet being conscious enough to actually process the words and only registering that the Goldweaver was asking for help. "Besides, it's not often you make requests like this. So how could I wait?" 

"It was actually Teacher's idea." Aglaea resumes petting Ica when he starts bumping his head against her hand. A look of resignation brieftly passing over her. "I was originally going to discuss it with you over the web today but you could say I had a late night presentiment." 

"Well, the sooner we start working on it the sooner a problem can be solved." Hyacine grabs Ica by his hips and pulls him into a hug. "But before that, how have you been?" 

It's a simple, innocent question on the surface. However both of them fully understand the hidden depth to it. That Hyacine is carefully observing each minuscule shift in Aglaea's expression. Whether or not there is actually anything there for her to discern will depend entirely on the Goldweaver's willingness to open up. 

"Things have gotten rather chaotic since Cas's arrival, in more ways than one." Aglaea starts walking down the road, gesturing for her companion to follow. A barely noticeable jingle following her every step.

Hyacine's eyes widen and her brows shoot up to her hairline as she matches the Goldweaver's pace. Aglaea never addresses others with nicknames. The triplets are something of an exception, but mainly because she's referring to all three of them collectively when she uses "Teacher". So that's less of a nickname and more like a title shared between the three. The physician puts a pin on this detail and sets it into the "dissect after further observations" folder. 

"I can imagine. Someone like her showing up is bound to get strong reactions from people." Hyacine is somewhat glad she wasn't around to see that. It could have so easily grown messy in more ways than one. "Is the Council giving you trouble over her?" 

"At first they did but I've handled it." Aglaea leaves it at that and it's probably for the best knowing how messy politics can get. "I've been feeling things more strongly in general as of late as well." 

"In a good or bad way?" Now that gets Hyacine to stand straighter. Even Ica stops his restless squirming to listen. 

"I don't know." A mixed bag of both then. Emotions can be quite the confusing mess at times. For Aglaea it must be even more so than most. "Cifera has returned as well, which means you'll finally get the chance to meet her."

What Hyacine would have done to be the Nymph on the wall to see however that happened. Though she's never personally met the Demigod of Trickery, both Aglaea and the triplets have spoken about her extensively during their sessions. The things she's heard have painted quite the picture. 

"It's not a simple case of you two making up, is it?" Hyacine won't claim she knows what kind of person Cipher is from second hand accounts. What she does understand is that the Goldweaver is at a complete loss of what to do about this development.

"Initially she only showed her face because she was curious about Cas, as well as concern for how she'd be treated, but over time…" Aglaea starts. A long pause follows, to which she doesn't fill. 

"You're always free to vent to me if you need to." Hyacine picks up that torch. More than willing to help guide the Goldweaver through the maze she's found herself in. "I can't promise to be able to give you advice, but sometimes simply airing your grievances can do wonders by itself." 

"Thank you." That small yet vibrant smile that appears on Aglaea's lips is all she could've asked for in return. "Perhaps I'll take you up on that offer another time. I'd rather you focus on Cas and Phainon right now." 

As much as Hyacine wants to pry her for more, it's important to let the Goldweaver be the one to decide the pace. To give her time to sort out her thoughts. Providing this type of consultation is constantly toeing the line separating encouraging someone to open up and being obtrusive. Push too much when a person isn't ready and they'll just clam up even more. If Aglaea doesn't want to talk about it anymore then that's that. There will be plenty of more opportunities later, especially since Hyacine isn't sure how long she'll be staying in Okhema. That will depend entirely on what her new patients are like. 

From what the Goldweaver had explained in her long message, Phainon's situation is rather straightforward. A classic case of grief poisoning the heart. Possibly suffering from PTSD and/or survivor's guilt. Hyacine already has a few general ideas in mind for how to help him. She just needs to get a feel for how severe his condition is before fully committing to any one of them. 

Castorice's case on the other hand is going to be tricky to handle. Suffering from issues that are wholly unique to her and her alone with no precedent to fall back on. Thanks to her curse, she must be horribly starved of both touch and affection. The former of which there isn't much Hyacine- or anyone for that matter- can do about. That's without taking into consideration the various other problems that she would've encountered throughout her life because of it.

Although Hyacine prefers to err on the side of optimism, she also tries to keep her expectations realistic. Most people are easily intimidated by individuals they deem "different" from the norm. Castorice's deathly touch would exemplify that. She's lucky to have lived in a city-state that worships Death before being found by Aglaea and the triplets. Anywhere else would have- No, best not to think about the what-ifs that don't matter. The main point is, the possibility of Castorice suffering from psychological trauma is quite high. What exactly plagues her, well, figuring that out is part of why Hyacine is here. But to do that she has to actually meet the Holy Maiden. 

She isn't at all surprised by the scene that greets her when they do find the other Flame-Chasers. The triplets are very nurturing and eager to play the role of a teacher. Were they not stuck with the bodies of children, Hyacine has no doubt they would've been beloved mentors to more than just their motley group. The thick packet that rests flipped open on the table is a familiar one to her, having been the victim of their test when she first joined as well. 

What does surprise Hyacine is the tension that runs thick in the air. The young man she easily identifies as Phainon is slouched forward against his seat. His grip on his pen tight enough to make his knuckles white. Tribbie stands across the table from him, eyes flickering between their newest member and the complete opposite side of the garden. Specifically to the lady half hidden behind a pillar as Trianne attempts to urge her out. That must be Castorice. 

"What happened?" Aglaea's stern yet simultaneously gentle voice snaps all attention to her in an instant. 

"Lord Phainon reacted poorly to my curse." Despite her cowering position, Castorice speaks just as clearly. Though lacking the authoritative weight that the Goldweaver bears. 

"He almost hit her." Trianne huffs out. Not angrily, more so frustrated. The type born from a situation that could have easily been avoided. 

"I- I did not!" Phainon jolts upright, his chair skidding back a little from the force of it. When everyone's attention turns to him, he clears his throat and sheepishly bows his head. "What I mean is, it wasn't a conscious act on my part. My body just moved on its own. I'm sorry."

"The fault is mine. I was the one who got too close and startled you." Castorice retorts without any hesitation. The line sounding more rehearsed than anything else. 

"Neither of you are to blame. It was a simple accident." Aglaea rubs the bridge of her nose. Exhaling a sigh before mumbling to herself. "This is the second time… Seems I've severely underestimated how normal people are affected by it." 

Hyacine isn't sure if the Goldweaver meant for her to hear that or not. Either way, she did. Another note added to the "later" list. Right now what's important is calming everyone down and getting rid of this dreary mood.

A bump against her arm draws Hyacine's attention down. Ica stares up at her with his beady, round eyes. She pats his snout before urging him forth. The baby pegasus chirps and flutters over to Tribbie. She gasps, reaching out to him.

"Little Ica, hi!" Tribbie's bright smile washes away the gloom that had overtaken her. She squishes the pegasus's cheeks, making him kick his hooves. Trinnon pops her head out from where she was hidden beside a stack of books. "And, Cinny! You made it." 

"It's good to see you all. It's been far too long since my last visit." Hyacine kneels down with her arms spread open to meet the siblings. Laughing when she feels their weight press against her. 

She wraps an arm around Tribbie and Trinnon each, limbs not long enough to fully embrace them both with just one. From above the tops of their red heads, Hyacine spots Trianne glancing between them and where Castorice is still hugging the pillar. Clearly wanting to join in the group hug but being unwilling to abandon the shy Holy Maiden.

Hyacine taps Tribbie and Trinnon's shoulders before letting go. They too release her without much fuss. Freed from their grasp, the physician goes to Trianne so she doesn't have to leave her "guard post" as it were. The most excitable of the triplets flaps her wings and barrels into her before Hyacine can kneel down. So maybe part of the reason she agreed to come at the drop of a hat was to see her fellow Flame-Chasers again. 

There's a movement out of the corner of her eye that draws Hyacine's gaze. Castorice steps out from behind the pillar. She stays near it and doesn't approach but is no longer hiding. Folding her hands in front of herself and studying Hyacine with muted curiosity. The way she holds herself- back slightly arced, shoulders straight, chin slightly raised- makes the physician think of noble ladies. Yet at the same time there's a discernable tension to it, a guarded air around her, that comes across more like a soldier standing at attention. 

Castorice meets Hyacine's gaze head on. Holding that stare without shuffling or looking away or twitching. Seems calling her shy isn't right then. Not with how steadily those pale eyes meet her's. The physician offers a polite smile and those elongated ears rise in response. 

"Hi, it's nice to meet you." Out of habit, Hyacine moves to offer her hand but then remembers and lets it flop to her side. Those eagle eyes follow that movement before snapping back to her face. "Hyacinthia, though everybody knows me as Hyacine." 

"Castorice. I've heard a little about you." There's a clipped measure to that soft voice. Castorice shoots an accusing glance shot at Trianne, who nervously laughs and looks away. Hm…

Hyacine gives her space by shifting her attention to Phainon. The young man is letting Ica mouth at his palm, little hooves tip-tapping against the table. The physician puts down Trianne and goes to him. Phainon looks up from the pegasus upon hearing her approach. 

"And you must be Phainon." This time Hyacine commits to offering her hand, to which he takes. "I'm a physician of the Twilight Courtyard, so if either of you ever need medical advice feel free to contact me." 

"I'll probably be seeking your help a lot then. I'm not yet at the level where I can leave fights unscathed." Phainon half-jests and half-warns. It is inevitable for all warriors to get hurt no matter how skilled they are. All that experience changes is how frequently and severely they get wounded.

"Do you have any old injuries that still bother you?" Probably nothing major is bothering him if anything. Still, Hyacine asks anyway because small things can become a problem later on if left alone. 

"I did crack a rib not long ago. Around here." Phainon pats the area just under his left breast. Must have been a well placed kick or jab with an elbow that did it if the culprit wasn't human. 

When he lowers his hand, Hyacine hovers her own palm above that spot. Silently asking for permission with her eyes. When he nods, she presses down. Poking and prodding that area through his shirt to see if anything feels off. There's one area where she feels his muscles jolt despite how harmless her touch is. Nothing feels out of place. A simple prayer should do the trick. 

O' Sky, may you bestow upon this hero a gentle rain in the cusp of twilight. Let it wash away his pain. 

Hyacine has reached the point where she doesn't need to voice the prayers aloud. Merely thinking the words is enough to activate the blessing. It comes in the form of a glow within her palm that soaks into Phainon. She can feel his muscles relax under her touch as the prayer does its magic. 

"How does that feel?" Hyacine asks once that soothing cool begins to fade from her palm, signifying the prayer's conclusion. Lowering her hand from that once sore spot so he can prod at it himself.

"Like I just woke up from the best nap." Phainon presses down on it, not feeling a single shred of discomfort anymore. If he didn't know better he would think he hadn't been injured at all. "That's amazing. Thank you." 

"You're a priest." The physician nearly jumps upon hearing Castorice. Not expecting her to join the conversation. She remains physically distant but observes Hyacine with a newfound interest. "The Twilight Courtyard… Are you a descendant of the Rainfolk or the Sunfolk?" 

"Not many people remember that there were two sky clans." To the point where Hyacine didn't think anyone outside of her clan or the Grove know. It's been so long since the skies were abandoned that it's basically ancient history now. 

"It's not common knowledge?" Castorice's response is even more curious. Though that could be a consequence of her isolated lifestyle. "You could say I'm well read on the history of the Titans and the religions that formed around them then." 

"I actually don't know. After Seliose brought Aquila to heel and merged with the sky, the lines separating the clans blurred. It didn't matter as much when everyone was forced to flee the flying cities." Those that didn't settle in a city-state became nomads. Traversing the world without any place to call home. Until eventually their descendants found their own place in this new era. "I probably have a bit of both in me." 

Castorice hums in response, eyes scrunched in thought. It's then that Hyacine allows her attention to trail to her chest. Specifically to the glaring bruise covering her exposed shoulder and collarbone. Deep purple and blue around the edges, it's wider than Hyacine's palm. A nasty looking thing that must be so uncomfortable. That darkened splotch also serves to make the two bony protrusions sticking out pop. They're small, no longer and thicker than a finger, and rounded. Barely breaching skin with faint cracks marring their surface. 

Emboldened, Hyacine summons forth her wand. It helps her channel her powers and can double as a makeshift mace when necessary. More importantly, it can extend the reach of her prayers. Though not so much that she doesn't need to get closer. Castorice snaps back into focus as she approaches. That guarded look returning to her features. She doesn't back away but she doesn't hesitate to voice her disapproval. 

"Keep five paces away from me." Castorice's warning is sharp, bordering on harsh. She squeezes her fingers together. 

"Why?" A single word yet the weight to it cannot be understated. Hyacine watches the way her nostrils flair. Frustration leaking out. 

"You could get hurt otherwise." An equally simple answer is given. Likewise it bears more weight then what is seen on the surface,

Interesting. She's more worried about Hyacine than herself. Normally that would be considered an act of kindness. However, considering what else the physician knows about her, she suspects it points more to how little the Holy Maiden cares about her own safety. 

"I'm tougher than I look, and I know to be careful." Hyacine says. Regardless of the Holy Maiden's reasons, she will not cross this line that's been drawn without permission. 

Castorice studies her and the physician knows well how she looks to others. Many often mistake her for a child when they first see her. She isn't, she's just short and her love of cute things helps fuel that misconception. Though this impression of being "weak" Hyacine gives off does often help her patients grow comfortable around her. So she can't say she's too pressed about that. 

In place of an answer, Castorice takes a single step forward. Barely crossing that invisible line she had set. In that instant Hyacine's throat seizes. Goosebumps run up her arms and a prickle forms against her nape. The kind where it feels like something is leering over her from behind. Her breathing grows short and shallow, while fingers squeeze tight around her wand. The voice of her base instincts roars. Fight-or-flight threatening to kick into effect. 

In the medical field, nothing is more important than keeping a clear head in dire situations. Hyacine knows that she isn't in any actual danger. Castorice will not hurt her. On the contrary, the Holy Maiden loosens her stiff stance as she takes in her reaction. Looking at her with… Guilt? Pity? A mix of both? Hard to say for sure while Hyacine is more focused on controlling her breathing. Preferring to take steps to avoid hyperventilating over analyzing the girl in front of her. 

Yet no matter how badly her body yearns to run, Hyacine holds her ground. She forces a smile on her lips and locks all these bad feelings coursing through her in a small box. She hovers the end of her wand over Castorice's bruise. Hyacine silently mouths the prayer this time. The gentle brush of twilight coursing through her veins helps to relax her far too stiff limbs. It travels up through her wand and flows into Castorice. Her face doesn't shift at all but her shoulder jumps. Sensitive skin jerking upon being stimulated. 

The damaged area shimmers, its healing process sped up. Going from dark purple to an angry yellow to the same shade of pale as the surrounding skin fast enough for the eye to see. When it's done, Castorice presses her fingers to that now non-existent bruise. Her eyes wide and lips parting a crack. 

At the same time, Hyacine stumbles back now that the deed is done. Leaving that frightful aura the Holy Maiden exudes. Except this prickling sense of danger isn't going to leave just like that. She desummons her wand and clasps her hands together to try and still their shaking. Ica comes up from behind and shoves himself under her arm. Hyacine lifts it up and gladly holds him against her chest. 

"You okay Cinny?" Trianne asks. Hovering close while simultaneously trying to not to suffocate her by being too close.

"Mhm, perfectly fine." Despite how unsteady her body is, Hyacine manages to keep her voice from cracking. "See, I'm not hurt at all." 

Castorice's eyes flit over to her, lips thinning into a tight line. Her fingers press into her shoulder. Thumb rubbing against one of those bony potrusions. There's a complicated look on her face. Mixed thoughts churning in her head that are leaking out. But no matter how good Hyacine is at reading people, she can't read minds. Plus the clearing of a throat forces her attention back to the Goldweaver. 

"Hyacine will be staying with us for a time to assist me with certain matters. That's all we came to say." Aglaea briefly explains, turning to Tribbie afterwards. "We won't interrupt your lesson any further." 

Both the Goldweaver and the physician bid farwell to the other Flame-Chasers before leaving them be. The whole time Hyacine feels the prick of a gaze latched onto her. Not leaving until there's a literal wall separating her and Castorice. She casually walks beside Aglaea as if everything is fine, Little Ica held firmly in her arms. Then after they've crossed the hallway her legs give out beneath her. 

Hyacine doesn't bother trying to stop her fall. She lets it happen, lets her knees meet the tiles underneath. Pressing her face against Ica's back with a hitched breath. She hears Aglaea call out her name. Feels the pegasus squirm in her too tight grasp. Hyacine loosens her grip on him and counts backwards from ten. That cold grip encasing her body becomes a little less daunting with each number. 

"I'll be okay." Hyacine mumbles against short fur. She lifts her head to meet the Goldweaver's unfocused yet concerned gaze. "It was just really intense. All I need is some time." 

"Our Coreflames help mitigate the effects of it, but I hadn't realized by how much." Aglaea speaks softly as she rests a hand against the physician's trembling shoulders. 

"I'm actually glad I did that. Helps give me an idea of how people must have treated her." Hyacine gives herself another five seconds before pushing herself back up. The Goldweaver helps her up, while Ica insistently nudges against her collar. "Looks like her isolation was as much for her safety as it was for other people's." 

At that, Aglaea's eyes narrow a fraction. Her brow grows more tense. The full implication not lost on her. Despite the morbid possibilities this brings, Hyacine can confidently say that the absolute worst-case-scenarios being true is incredibly unlikely. Not with how assertively Castorice spoke to her. She clearly voiced a boundary and also initiated a conversation. Both of those things are good signs. 

"They both seem socially functional, with no glaring communication issues." Hyacine was also happy to see how friendly Phainon is. A little awkward yes, but he seems like the sociable type. "Though that assessment could change after I've had more than one conversation with them." 

"I'm more so worried about both of them pointlessly throwing themselves into danger than anything else at the moment." Aglaea says with a huff. There's a difference between being proactive and being foolish, and it's not always clear where that line sits.

That would be a problem. Few people recognize such acts for what they really are, which is a form of self-harm. Albeit an indirect one. It's not as grievously serious as when people chose more direct methods to hurt themselves nor is it something that should be ignored. But Hyacine still needs more time to figure out how to proceed. She's gotten a baseline idea of their personalities from that encounter. The next step is trying to figure out just how deep their scars run. 

"You could always tie them down if it comes down to it. Bet Cas would like that." 

Hyacine, in her surprise, throws herself at Aglaea. The Goldweaver catches her with a grunt, with Ica being squished between them. The pegasus chitters out a complaint. His ire directed at the newcomer that had very nearly made Hyacine scream. A cat-eared woman with a wickedly proud grin. Long fangs peeking out, making that curve to her lips almost look more like a sneer. 

"If you keep doing that then eventually you're going to get hit." Aglaea on the other hand is not at all amused. She breathes out a sigh as she glides a hand down Hyacine's back. Offering silent consolation.

"Good thing you have something for me then." The Dolosian puts one hand against her hip and raises her other palm upright. 

Without a word, Aglaea reaches around to grab something. Unhooking the bell attached to a black bow from where it's pinned to her waistline. Once it's placed within her palm, the Dolosian examines it as one would an uncut gem. Studying the way its golden shell reflects light by turning it to and fro. 

"Lady Cifera, is it?" Hyacine swallows down what remains of her fright. Offering a hand to the woman she's heard so much about but somehow knows almost nothing of. Those piercing blue eyes of her lock onto that movement. "Or would you prefer I call you Lady Cipher?" 

"Just Cipher. No need for any titles or honorifics." Cipher lowers the bell, making it jingle, and takes the physician's hand with her unoccupied one. Except instead of shaking it, she brings it to her lips. Not quite kissing it, but more accurately pressing her chin against the back of her palm. "It's always nice to see a cute little lady around here." 

Little Ica huffs and angrily chitters. He tries to shove against Cipher but she holds him back with her arm without looking away from Hyacine. Her raised tail wags behind her. Excitedly flicking back and forth the way the chimeras' do just before they pounce on another. 

"I should be saying that." So Hyacine doesn't fall into her trap and grow flustered. Instead she decides to bite back. "Having someone as cute as you around is sure to brighten everyone's day." 

Cipher's ears snap upright and her tail goes still. Pink speckles the height of her cheeks as she lets go of the physician's hand. Surprised laughter bellows out from her chest. Embarrassment coloring the sound, marring her features. Flustered that her attempt at rattling Hyacine had failed while simultaneously being amazed that it had. 

"Oh I like you." Cipher straightens and her tail lazily curls around her waist. She brushes her fingers through the dark brown tip, picking out tufts of shedding fur. "How often do people crumble the moment you reveal your claws?" 

"Not many actually taunt me into bringing them out." From this single interaction alone, Hyacine thinks she has a general idea of what kind of person the thief is. Or more specifically, what kind of person she's like towards those she hasn't opened her heart to. 

"Right, of course. Bet people look at you and all they see is a cute and innocent little lady. Never knowing that there's a predator under there." There's a discernible glint to Cipher's eyes. Caution that could so easily be mistaken for playfulness.

"Since you've decided to actually show yourself, does that mean you have your own observation you'd like to share?" Though it's worded like a question, it'd be more accurate to say Aglaea is calling her out.

"That and to propose a question." There's a subtle shift in Cipher's expression. Minor adjustments that make her smile decidedly less friendly. "So, how likely do you think it is that Cas's guardians would hit her?" 

A sharp breath is taken. By who? It doesn't matter. That possibility has crossed all of their minds before this moment. It's merely that the thief chose to be the first to actually voice it. 

"If we're specifically talking about her handlers, that seems highly unlikely." Aglaea answers easily, having turned the thought over more times than she'd like to admit. "They'd know better than anyone else how dangerous Castorice has the potential to be. I find it hard to imagine they'd take such a risk." 

"I think so too, but…" Cipher drifts, tail flicking with agitation. "When we interrupted your dance practice, there was a moment when Cas thought I was mad at her. She had this look on her face. The same one I've seen on kids who had good-for-nothing bastards for parents." 

"Abuse isn't always physical." Hyacine cuts in before they can delve too deeply into assuming that to be the case. "To someone that's in a vulnerable state, harsh words can sting just as much as a palm." Age can play a huge factor in that, with younger victims being more susceptible than adults. "Do you know how long she's had this curse?" 

"Cas did tell me that when she was a small child, the priests of Aidonia would have her lay the sick and elderly to rest with her touch." Not even Aglaea can reign in the anger that bubbles out from that. 

"That's…" Oh dear, Hyacine truly has her work cut out for her. How Castorice didn't end up as a sociopath is anybody's guess. 

"Disgusting. What the fuck?" Cipher snaps out, an animalistic growl following after. "Making a kid do that… What kind of heartless monster do you have to be?" 

"What about her age? Do you have any idea how old she is?" Hycaine tries shifting the topic slightly. Getting angry at people who are probably long dead won't do anything.

"That I couldn't tell you." Aglaea ponders it for a moment. Trying to recall when the stories of the Holy Maiden began to spread. "I believe rumors of the Maiden of War existed before I ascended. So she's likely the same age as me, if not older."

Hyacine blinks at that. There’s a common misconception that Chrysos Heirs stop aging after a certain point. In reality they do eventually go gray and wrinkled. It’s just that the process of getting older slows down significantly for Chrysos Heirs once they’ve reached full maturity. It’s a huge part of why their natural lifespans tend to be longer than their red-blooded counterparts. The only ones that are truly ageless are the Demigods. The divinity granted to them by the Coreflames halts the aging process entirely, granting them pseudo immortality. Whether or not they can actually die of natural causes is yet to be observed. 

If they were still ordinary Chrysos Heirs, then Aglaea and Cipher would both be grizzled by now. For Castorice to be roughly the same age as the Goldweaver and still look so youthful means whatever race she belongs to is long-lived before the benefits of gold blood is added into the mix. 

"That might make things difficult." Hyacine thinks aloud. She had already assumed Castorice to be older, but not by this much. "The longer you hold onto a belief, the harder it's going to be to let it go. The same applies to trauma. Some victims have a tendency to outright refuse help because of that." 

"What do you recommend we do then, Cupcake?" Cipher tilts her head with a flick of her ear. That cute nickname would've made the physician smile under less serious circumstances. 

"Basically what you've already been doing." Immediately both of the Demigods make faces of different degrees of doubt. "Don't give me those looks. The best medicine for an abuse victim is a safe, comfortable environment and to be surrounded by people they can trust. Just don't coddle her too much. At the end of the day, she's still an adult and should be treated as such." 

There exists such a thing as being too protective. A victim should be handled with care, yes, but their autonomy must also be respected. Infantilizing them will only succeed in frustrating them. Hyacine trusts these two to know better but figures it's better to be safe than sorry.

This is going to be an uphill battle either way. A push and pull of taking two steps forward and three steps back, depending on how Castorice reacts. Considering how she reacted to hearing the physician's name, it's safe to assume she's going to resist at first. That's fine. In fact, her willingness to protect herself from a perceived "threat" is good. It shows she still has a sense of self-preservation, misguided as it might be in this specific context. 

Whether they are suffering from abuse, trauma, both, or something else entirely, in the end what all patients need is patience. Both to open up about their ails and to actually heal. It's a good thing then that they are quite possibly among the most patient people in the world. Aglaea and the fragments of Tribios have hearts of gold, while Cipher…. Okay, Hyacine doesn't know Cipher well enough to judge. But she clearly cares about Castorice's well being which is what really counts. All the ingredients for a successful recovery are already here. Now it's just a matter of figuring out how to bake them together through trial and error.