To think that Asphodelos was burning.
This was a catastrophic disaster rarely seen in the history of the clan. Moreover, one of the Five Thrones had been imprisoned in Tartarus—yet another unprecedented situation.
Tartarus, also known as the prison of the gods.
The entrance to the penal chamber only revealed itself when the water dried and the lakebed hardened, and since only Pontus, ruler of water, could open and close it, his trident was revered as sacred—not merely as an instrument of punishment to chastise errant gods, but also as the key to unlocking the bottom of the lake.
That trident, too, had been a gift from Gaia. In celebration of the Anteros union between Pontus and Thalassa….
The floor flowed with lava, causing the surroundings to boil and sizzle.
Ananke furrowed her brow as she looked around.
Could it be like this inside the breath of the sun? She could see thick steam covering everything like a fog. The soles of her feet, clad only in thin leather sandals, were already red and stinging as if cooked.
With an elegant motion, she pressed her hand to her head. Her vision swam.
“I feel as though even my brain might melt.”
But there was another reason she felt dizzy.
Just as her displeasure peaked from the increasingly foul gas, a dead-end wall appeared before her.
There, where lava fell from the ceiling every few hours, Callian hung limply.
Her only child, born from her husband Uranus.
Special from birth, never once causing her heartache; needless to say, a son with flawless character and dignity to match his perfect appearance.
When she discovered the black shackles binding her son’s wrists and ankles, her eyes reddened.
They were said to be made from minerals formed when the breath of Erebus solidified and fell to the earth. She had heard it was a material darker and denser than Keton blood, one that could never be destroyed.
It was said that merely wearing them imparted a weight that felt as though it would crush one’s very bones….
Ananke made an expression as if she were dying of heartache.
“Where have you gone amidst all this?”
Callian, motionless with his eyes closed, looked as peaceful as though he were sleeping. She rose on her heels and embraced her son’s head, sobbing.
“Leaving behind only an empty shell, where in the world have you gone….”
Though Ketons were immortal and omnipotent like gods compared to humans, a strict hierarchy existed among them.
What determined it were their individual abilities.
Among the clan, some manifested special abilities that surpassed supernatural will. Usually signs appeared before reaching maturity, and their temperament became clear around the Day of Selection; such abilities could only be completed through repeated training and bone-cutting effort.
The clan likened this growth process to a furnace in which embers flared, calling it the Crimson Furnace.
Those who safely completed the Crimson Furnace finished a flame imbued with their own individuality, grasping a special ability. And according to the nature of that ability, they obtained a special title.
Gaia of Earth, Uranus of the Firmament, Ananke of Fate, Pontus of the Sea, Nyx of Harmony. These were the titles held by the Five Thrones.
From birth, Callian could control the wind, just like his father, Uranus. Noticing this, Gaia bestowed upon Callian—who had not yet reached full maturity—the position of Guardian of Asphodelos.
Of course, Aris had also been tasked with the duty of Guardian of Hestia, but because all attention was focused on Callian, no one paid him any mind. Some even suspected that Gaia had handed Hestia to Aris, Callian’s close friend, as a favor.
At any rate, Callian later received Hades from Nyx, and whether he liked it or not, even took on the task of handling the Maenads, causing his presence within the clan to grow as great as that of the Five Thrones. Thus it was considered only natural that Callian would become a member of Olympus.
Of course, no one in the clan had properly confirmed his special ability, but he was someone who needed to prove nothing from birth. Most of the clan believed he was born with his special ability innately and had no need to undergo the Crimson Furnace.
But Ananke knew. That the Crimson Furnace, like a moon’s reflection surfacing on water, had finally begun for her son as well.
“Have you returned?”
Callian slowly opened his eyelids, looked at the steaming floor, then raised his head.
“Normally, no one may visit a prisoner of Tartarus regardless of the reason…. But Pontus made an exception.”
Ananke loved exceptions as much as her capricious nature. She considered herself an exception to the clan and had a temperament that sought privilege in any situation.
Pontus, knowing her character well, had allowed a brief conversation under the guise of consideration. Otherwise, it was obvious she would plague him for eons to come.
The pupils of Ananke, who had been struggling to maintain her composure, trembled in the wind. Lava was flowing across the ceiling like a serpent.
Red lava seeped through rock crevices and dripped onto Callian’s shoulder.
With a hiss, hot steam rose from the ground.
His shoulder bone exposed white, Callian let out a pained groan through his teeth. The melted flesh of his shoulder soon sprouted anew as red flesh. But more lava fell upon it, and the flesh charred black again.
Ananke covered her mouth, not knowing what to do.
Her only child. The one she had carried in her womb for ten months, screaming through nights and days to bring into the world.
As the eye of the clan and the one who governed fate, how could she fail to notice the impurity that had seeped into the blood of the child into whom she had poured her very heart?
“Has… an Anteros occurred?”
Her voice sank, unable to suppress her emotions. Her lower lip, bitten and crushed, quivered.
“Yes.”
He did not deny it. Ananke squeezed her eyes shut. Cold sweat ran down her back.
“It is not the blood of a Keton, is it?”
“….”
“The blood of our clan does not feel like this. This is, this is….”
Tears welled in Ananke’s eyes. She knew—this feeling, this unease.
“Is it human?”
“Yes.”
“Callian!”
She collapsed to the ground, crying out in sobs.
It was the first time he had seen his mother’s tears. Callian’s eyes flickered.
“Who is it?”
“….”
“No, there is no need to ask. Is it Demeter’s princess?”
“….”
“Was that why I felt the poison of Himeros? Because you felt lust for that child? Because of that, did you create an Anteros?”
“I thought the longing would disappear.”
“And? Did it?”
His eyes, staring into empty space, lost their strength, and his expression turned hollow.
“Longing is not something that disappears. It is something that is filled.”
“When one is thirsty, one usually drinks water. But as time passes, eventually one’s throat grows parched again, and one must drink once more. Love is the same. It leaves one endlessly thirsty. It must be endlessly filled.”
Ananke let out a hollow laugh, as if speechless. The insolent boy was quite the eloquent speaker.
“You were a child without even a speck of desire. For you to…. Perhaps it was because it was the time of your coming of age. Of all times….”
“I thought so too at first.”
But then she had spoken thus.
“Desire is not born from deficiency. It stems from its object.”
Despite having lived only a few short years, every time he opened his mouth, plausible answers flowed forth as if he had poured his brief life entirely into contemplation.
And yet, there was a strange charm that made one lean in to listen.
Was it because of the playful light in her eyes that contrasted with such philosophical subjects? Or because of the innocent smile she wore, resting her chin on her hand with a deep dimple?
“Just as I have craved the King’s love all my life, just as recognition and praise from anyone other than the King are useless… even if all the people of Cocytus loved me, this thirst could never be quenched.”
His lover was a lonely, pitiful being. And yet she was dazzling. Not even deeply cast shadows could cover her soul, white as an asphodel.
Ananke leaned her back against the cave wall.
She remained lost in thought for a long time. Until the moon, seated on the ridgeline, tilted beyond the black peak. After pondering and sighing for some time, she gazed into empty space.
“Did you just come from seeing that child?”
“….”
“Do not think I would not know. Have you forgotten who bestowed upon you the title of Callian the Arbiter? I already knew that power would one day awaken.”
“Since when did you know?”
“Well…. Perhaps ever since you created the Hanpung?”
It had truly been an event that shocked the entire clan. At the time, Callian had been nothing more than a young child.
Gathering the biting winds drifting over the snowfields and bestowing upon them an ego to forcibly create a spirit—the Hanpung.
At a glance, it seemed similar in principle to her butterflies or Nyx’s jackdaws, but it was fundamentally different.
Her butterflies and Nyx’s jackdaws were illusions, not real. They had no substance. On the other hand, Callian’s Hanpung was real wind.
One could feel it brush the cheek, the chill of its breath, the sensation of sudden gusts—all truly existed.
“When I first saw the Hanpung, I thought I understood why Gaia had designated you as the Guardian of Asphodelos. She had probably noticed a step ahead of me.”
That you were the same as her.
Gaia had certainly glimpsed in Callian a hope worth betting the clan’s future upon.
“You must know well that what makes Gaia special is her power of creation. Gaia would frequently make clay dolls in human form, transfer her consciousness there, and mingle with them. It was perfect. While Gaia lived as a human, I kept her true body. She left it with me without permission. With her eyes closed, she merely looked asleep—just as you looked moments ago. In truth, it was a wondrous state where her consciousness itself resided elsewhere, but….”
It was a story she was hearing for the first time. Anecdotes that perhaps only her mother knew, even within the clan.
“If Gaia used clay, I believe you are able to thread your consciousness through the atmosphere. Gathering drifting winds and bestowing an ego to make them into Hanpung seems, in some ways, to follow a similar principle….”
Callian waited for the next words with a hopeful heart. Ananke, seeming to read his thoughts, shook her head.
“You mean the clay dolls? I do not know how to make them. I have never seen how it is done. I did not pay it any mind, thinking I could not replicate it even if I knew. Everyone was the same. What Gaia did was something only she could do. No one interfered. Even Nyx did not disturb her when she worked before the flames.”
What Gaia had done while mingling with humans, what thoughts had driven her—there was no way to know now. She should have asked, at least once.
“Despite being her only friend…. Whenever it concerned Gaia, I deliberately pretended ignorance. Perhaps, deep down, I wanted to act spitefully.”
At Callian’s questioning gaze asking why, Ananke smiled weakly.
“She was an opponent against whom my ability did not work at all. I never once glimpsed Gaia’s fate. I could not see it….”
Not even Ananke, the eye of the clan and the goddess of fate, could peer into that Keton. An existence she could not help but acknowledge as superior and magnificent.
“And yet another such being has appeared.”
Ananke held a disbelieving smile, as if she still could not accept it. As soon as she returned to Oceanus, she recalled a conversation she had shared with her husband, Uranus.
—I could not read…. I could not read it at all.
—What do you mean?
—That child. The princess of Demeter, that child….
—You could not read her inner thoughts? You, Ananke?
—It is a strange feeling. I could certainly feel something…. And when I said it was not a lie, that was truly just a guess. My butterflies could not reach that child at all. It was as if….
It was as if she were like Gaia.
The swarm of butterflies Ananke commanded had been born together with their mistress, feeding upon the primordial darkness. The fluttering of the butterfly swarm was like the breath Erebus had left behind.
Whether she wished it or not, they freely roamed the interstices of Erebus as if breathing.
Ketons born from Erebus inherently carried darkness in their souls. Ananke’s butterflies devoured that darkness, folded their wings, and hid within. That was how she glimpsed fate.
Yet there had been an exception even to that ability—Gaia.
She had seemed free, as though she had escaped even the clutches of Erebus, which could be called the shadow of their father, Chaos. There was not a single dark corner to be found.
Ananke’s butterflies, which could only settle in darkness, perished like dust the moment they flew into Gaia’s consciousness.
No matter how many times she tried, it was the same.
“I could not read her, just like Gaia. That child of Demeter, despite being a mortal human….”
All humans necessarily have light and dark in their souls, so why do my butterflies crumble to white dust before they even touch that child’s soul?
“I still lament these two eyes of mine that could not see Gaia’s fate. Setting everything else aside, I resented myself so much for failing to foresee at all that she would disappear like this. It was truly agony.”
Ananke gazed at her son with sorrow-filled eyes.
“Callian, do you love that child?”
“….”
“You need not answer. Your eyes alone…. I feel I can tell without words.”
A brief silence passed.
“Are you confident you will not regret this?”
“Yes.”
His composure was astounding. As he always had, her only son maintained an elegant demeanor without hesitation.
What more could be said?
Ananke bowed her head and covered her eyelids with the back of her hand. They burned hot.
“Yes, I suppose so….”
Barely holding back her sobs, she forced strength into her reddened eyes. Her son’s will was already firm. It would not do for a mother to collapse in weakness.
“I have no intention of repeating the same mistake. Arrogance is the product of folly. I cannot send you off like Gaia. I will not suffer such futility a second time.”
Ananke raised her index finger. From within her hair, a butterfly took flight and gently settled upon her finger. Its wings were tinged yellow, as though holding moonlight.
“Uranus encompasses all things of the atmosphere, and I possess the power to penetrate the root of all things. You have inherited both our abilities and even surpassed them. You are the master of the wind. You encompass the breath of the sun and the breath of the moon, and even grasp the darkness scattered by Chaos. All of those exist to lie at your feet and slip into your grasp. Is that not so?”
Ananke held a faint smile at her lips.
“There is no time, so let us begin at once.”
“….”
“The moon still hangs in the sky.”
Her face had already returned to a fierce expression.
“If you wish to protect that child, you must first be able to manifest this ability freely. To materialize your consciousness using moonlight and wind. What is the biggest problem at present?”
Callian, who had been silent, opened his mouth.
“Maintaining the form for a long time, and solving the phenomenon of being pulled back into the main body regardless of will—those are the two issues.”
“The form….”
Though he could create a visible form using the moon’s energy, it was insufficient to exert physical influence.
If only Gaia were here, she would surely have taught him the solution.
“Let us continue practicing for now. That is the priority.”
Callian lowered his eyes in concentration. Gathering all his nerves to the tip of his shackled left hand, he suppressed his breathing.
Whoosh.
The entrance to the penal chamber was a massive salt lake located in a volcanic crater where lava churned.
A sharp whistling wind began to blow. Then the lake’s surface gleamed, flowing like a mirror.
The moonlight falling upon the water scattered into white powder following the mountain wind’s breath, then formed a thin, transparent membrane and seeped beneath the surface.
The light particles that pierced through the water gathered into one beneath the surface, forming a giant pillar of light. Cutting through the dark water, it reached the cave entrance and swam all the way to Callian’s fingertips.
Callian slightly opened his eyelids and gazed at the pillar of light touching his fingertips. Sparkling like the Milky Way, it was beautiful as a mermaid’s hair, filled with wondrous and miraculous power.
He focused on the moonlight beginning to be absorbed through his fingertips, while simultaneously separating his consciousness from his body outside.
It was blinding. Never had he seen such a blinding moon. The sun illuminated the darkness, but the radiance before him was a light worshipped by darkness.
With reddened eyes, Ananke muttered like an incantation.
My son, you are the one who grasps the blazing breath of the sun and the sighing breath of the moon, who lashes and drives away the darkness scattered by Chaos. Night shall prostrate at your feet and run wherever you command, and dawn shall cling to your shoulders and become your canopy. You are the child of Ananke, who holds the skein of Chaos, and the successor of Uranus, who wields the blade of Erebus.
At this moment I am certain. You will surely become the clan’s new beacon.
Ψ
It was a night where the moon, buried in thick clouds, was as hard to find as a ball sunk in a swamp. The bumpy road was enveloped in darkness, making it hard to see an inch ahead, but it was perfect for avoiding pursuit.
“My lady Asteril, are you alright?”
“Yes?”
“Your expression seems dark….”
Monera, sitting opposite in the rattling wagon, was watching while tightly embracing the sleeping Metione.
She had been watching with worried eyes as Asteril, lost in thought while fiddling with the statue of Kore since earlier, was snapped out of her reverie.
Rea, who had been supporting Asteril’s arm, rose licking her forepaw. Asteril pulled Rea’s head toward her chest, whispering, “Shh, come here, Rea,” lest Monera be startled.
Monera, who had safely escaped the palace with Gainas’s help, had headed straight for the agora and was able to reunite safely with the old woman who had been caring for Metione.
Asteril, too, had headed for the agora after escaping the palace. When she arrived at the infirmary, Monera and Ibar, as well as the old woman and the merchants, all heaved sighs of relief, raising both hands in thanks to the gods.
It seemed best not to speak of what had happened with Prince Perius. They were overjoyed simply by her return to the agora; there was no need to dampen their spirits.
But to avoid bringing harm to them, it was impossible to stay here any longer.
That night, after putting the child to sleep, Monera prepared to leave. Ibar volunteered to accompany them. Monera had been planning to leave without a destination in mind, and when Asteril said she was going to Nisa, Monera said she wished to go together.
“Soon the moon will hide in Eos’s hair. Let us move then.”
They still had to wait another hour before the moment when the deepest darkness kissed the earth.
Monera, watching the campfire crackle, opened her mouth.
“My late husband was originally a miner who worked in the natron mines.”
Seeing the curious expression on Asteril’s face across from her, Ibar quickly added an explanation.
“Natron is a type of salt. It is usually used for embalming corpses. Right now, funeral customs from the eastern continent are very popular in Poseidonia.”
Asteril hesitated again. She wondered what this funeral custom from the eastern continent was.
“Mummies.”
Monera smiled as if she had expected the question. The yellowish light reflected on her cheeks looked like a flush. Looking closely, Asteril realized she was around the same age as herself.
“A corpse preserved from decay through embalming is called a mummy.”
She tried to ask, “How is this embalming done?” but hesitated again.
It felt like touching forbidden knowledge. For a priestess, life and death should be the domain of the gods; could she be secretly peeking at the hem of a garment hidden by the gods with a mortal body?
Monera and Ibar looked at each other and smiled, as if they understood her confused feelings.
Ibar in particular confessed that it had been a tremendous shock to hear about preserving corpses as mummies, as his hometown in the north generally practiced burial or cremation.
“Embalming is a very demanding and delicate process. First, the body is washed with water, then fragrant oils with preservative effects are applied. These oils vary wildly in price depending on the type. Poseidonia cannot produce the oils itself, so most are imported from the eastern continent or Delphi. After applying the oils, next a hole is made in the back of the head to remove the brain, and the abdomen is slit to take out the other organs except the heart. The removed organs are washed clean, wrapped in linen, and placed in canopic jars. This is truly difficult. Without skilled technique, it is nearly impossible. Some clients request their names or phrases to be carved on the jars, or ask for separate jars for each organ. It costs a great deal of money, but they are all wealthy. After that, the inside of the body is packed with natron, a preservative salt, wrapped in cloth, while the outside is coated with fragrant oils and dried. That takes about two months. Finally, the mummified body is wrapped in layers of linen until it reaches a size similar to the original, then placed in a coffin. Some finish it at that stage, while others have a mask made resembling the deceased’s face, or have paintings drawn on the linen wrapped around the face. This costs extra too, but is so popular that reservations must be made in advance. Ah, decorations and carvings for the coffin cost extra as well.”
Asteril let out a dazed exclamation. Hearing the detailed explanation, her mind naturally formed images, making her feel dizzy.
“Are you alright?”
“Ah, yes…. I’m sorry.”
“Not at all. Everyone is shocked when they first hear. Those with weak stomachs even vomit. And yet, in Triton recently, there is a long line of people who want to preserve their family members as mummies. They even want to make their pet dogs or cats into mummies.”
“But once the god of the underworld kisses them, they can never return….”
“They do it because they can return.”
“They can return?”
“In the eastern continent, they believe that if a corpse is preserved as a mummy, it will someday resurrect in that body and reunite with loved ones. They say there are people who have actually come back to life.”
Asteril, who had been thinking it a fascinating custom, widened her eyes in surprise.
“Corpses come back to life?”
“Yes, my lady. Some people have truly come back to life. That is why everyone is in such a frenzy.”
A human who is not even a Keton? Dead and then alive again? Could she have misunderstood?
“Even the palace is trying to make mummies now. Of course, they would do it in secret.”
“The palace?”
“Yes. That was why I was called to the palace. Surprisingly, the one who called me was… King Tyndareus.”
Even Ibar, who had been loading luggage onto the wagon, turned around in surprise.
“The king called you? Why? Did he ask you to make him into a mummy when he dies?”
“That is what he said. He even summoned me directly to his bedchamber. At first, I had all sorts of thoughts. I had heard the old king was quite the lecher—could he possibly want me? I went with my hands trembling, but when I saw the king lying there, a hollow laugh escaped me. He looked like he couldn’t even hold a spoon with his own hand, let alone share a bed with a woman. Shrunken like a dead tree, with only his eyes rolling around to barely look down at me…. His complexion was dark, and the whites of his eyes were yellow. He couldn’t even voice properly, so he communicated by shaking a string with paper attached—once for yes, twice for no. He asked if I could make him into a mummy when he died. Ah, of course, the questions were relayed through the physician attending him.”
“And then?”
“I couldn’t give a definite answer at first. I was bewildered. In the meantime, the king asked several more questions. He was the one in a hurry. He looked like he could die at any moment. When I hesitated, the king eventually got angry. That old man seemed to be looking for a different embalmer. He probably thought I was one of them.”
Before they knew it, the old woman and the other merchants had approached the campfire, listening with rapt faces.
“By ‘them,’ do you mean the Kokinos clan?”
The old woman asked with an ominous look. While everyone tilted their heads in confusion, only Monera wore a heavy expression.
“The king was looking for that red clan?”
“Yes…. That’s right.”
Kokinos means “red” in the eastern tongue. Poseidonia and Crete were close to the eastern continent, so their languages were similar.
“They’re already famous among the highborn, you know. A wandering tribe from the land where the sun rises in the east… Not only are they skilled in embalming, but their craftsmanship in sculptures and ornaments is said to be extraordinary. Rumors spread far and wide that when they make a mummy, it comes back to life, so everyone and their mother has been seeking out the Kokinos Clan.”
A wandering tribe from the land where the sun rises in the east? It was a story she had heard often before. Asteril furrowed her brow.
“By the way, if King Tyndareus dies, will Prince Perius ascend to the throne?”
“I suppose so….”
The conversation continued among the merchants in a tone of indifference. Even if the king changed, nothing would improve or change in their lives. They were all the same, after all.
“Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if Lady Asteril had been our princess of Poseidonia?”
“Exactly. Lucky Demeter.”
Asteril countered, “Why?” to the merchants who were sighing deeply.
“Because you care for lowly people like us, Lady Asteril. You comfort us with such precious hands….”
“But Poseidonia has Princess Tethys.”
“Princess Tethys? Oh, goodness! It seems you are not aware, Lady Asteril, but Poseidonia has fallen into this state all because of that Princess Tethys!”
At the muttering merchant’s words, everyone frowned and agreed.
“That’s right, that monster of Nysa—why do you think it appeared?”
“It’s because that princess said she was looking for a groom; that’s how this mess started.”
“If only she hadn’t said things like slay the monster of Nysa….”
“Are you saying Princess Tethys said such things? Not King Tyndareus?”
“Would the king have said such things for no reason? He did it because his daughter, Princess Tethys, wanted it….”
Asteril bit her lip.
“No, Poseidonia fell into this state because King Tyndareus was foolish and selfish. Instead of searching for his missing queen, he frolicked with concubines; even as public sentiment wavered over the gloomy state of affairs, he indulged in luxury and pleasure, exhausting the national treasury; and he grew to hate his daughter who offered earnest remonstrance, eventually driving her out to a foreign land. Princess Tethys grieved and lamented through all of this.”
“He drove Princess Tethys away? Not keeping her cherished and hidden away in the palace? To which foreign land?”
“See here, your own kingdom’s princess was offered up like tribute to a foreign king, yet none of you even knew? I met Princess Tethys in the royal palace of Hades. I was sent as a tribute maiden, but she volunteered to go to Hades. To protect her younger sister and to survive herself.”
“She went to Hades to survive? That Thanatos… to the place where the army of death dwells?”
“For Lady Tethys, the royal palace of Triton was a place more terrifying than Hades. Somehow, she managed to return to Triton, but… look, as soon as she came back, she was sent off as an offering to the Valley of Death.”
“Why was the princess sent as an offering to Nysa?”
“King Tyndareus and Prince Perius are desperate to shift all the blame for the ruined state of affairs onto Princess Tethys. They need someone to bear the people’s anger and resentment fully, and Princess Tethys is the perfect fit. Someone who is their political adversary yet can become the royal family’s scapegoat.”
The merchants fell silent, their expressions showing they had lost all words.
“I will go to Nysa and bring Princess Tethys back. She is the only one who can change Poseidonia.”
At her words, they clasped their hands behind their backs, appearing conflicted. Their eyes seemed to ask what difference it would make. Yet, at the same time, they betrayed a desire to cling to even a single thread of hope.
The misunderstandings about Princess Tethys would not melt away like snow in a single moment, but many of them wore expressions shaken by her explanation.
“You must return safely, Lady Asteril.”
When Asteril nodded, Rhea, who had been hiding in the bushes behind the agora, sprang out.
As the merchants screamed and shrank back at the appearance of the black panther, Asteril lowered herself and embraced Rhea.
“It’s all right! Do not be afraid. This child is called Rhea. She is a guardian beast who protects the Great Shrine of Cocytus. She would never act against my will. She came all the way here from Cocytus alone to protect me.”
As Rhea crouched low and purred contentedly, the merchants stared with wide eyes, transfixed.
Just then, Ivar, who had been checking the sky and the stars, shouted “Lady Asteril!” and gestured from the front of the wagon. It meant it was time to depart.
“Let’s go, Rhea.”
As Asteril led Rhea away, an old woman stood with her hands behind her crooked back, gazing at the brazier illuminating her feet. She remarked that it was truly strange.
“They say the dawn goddess Eos possesses long, dark hair like a veil draped across the sky… Is it not peculiar? At times she seems like an incarnation of Gaia, at other times brave like Thalassa, mother of the sea, and now she is as mysterious as Eos who treads upon the deep blue night….”
At her words, the merchants watched Asteril’s back with regretful eyes as she climbed onto Ivar’s wagon.
“Surely she must be one whom the gods sent down to lift the darkness from Poseidonia, surely that is the case….”
Why must Cronus, god of time, be so cruel? If only this body were twenty years, or even ten years, younger… then I would cast everything aside and follow behind her to serve her.
The old woman’s sorrowful gaze followed their shadows until Ivar’s wagon left the agora and reached the city gates.
“Lady Asteril, do you see? The sun is rising. We are fortunate to have escaped without incident. These days, the night roads in and out of the city are not what they used to be. Try to get some sleep now. We have a long way to go.”
Asteril cast her gaze over the shoulder of Ivar, who sat holding the reins at the front of the wagon. The sky, which had been strewn with a faint Milky Way, was turning pale blue.
She threw off the blanket covering her body and furrowed her brow. The light was blinding. Never before had the crimson waves spreading wide to the left and right along the distant horizon seemed as beautiful as they did today.
“If we sleep, won’t you grow even sleepier, Ivar?”
Monera covered the eyes of her sleeping daughter in her arms with her hand, blocking the light.
“Hmm? Wait… please stop the wagon for a moment, Ivar!”
Asteril shouted while looking outside the wagon. Ivar glanced back and pulled the reins, reining in the horse.
As soon as the wagon stopped, Asteril gathered her hem, stepped on the wheel, and leaped nimbly to the ground. At her urgent and agile movements, Monera and Ivar wore bewildered expressions.
In the distance, a fork in the road was visible. It was a three-way junction where the main road split into two.
In the center of the fork stood a statue serving as a signpost. The stone statue, bathed in ruddy sunlight from the sunrise, had red ochre dye applied elegantly to its lips.
“That Kore statue… it looks similar to the three-faced statue you have been holding in your hand, Lady Asteril.”
At Monera’s words, Ivar, who had been yawning while holding the reins, echoed, “The three-faced statue?”
The two of them looked again at Asteril, who stood at the crossroads staring blankly at the statue.
Identical.
The three faces, the symbols and totems held in each maiden goddess’s hands, the poses and expressions they assumed, even the shapes of their clothes and ornaments. Everything matched perfectly.
“Our tribe has no fixed home. We lead the life of wandering nomads without trace, following the moonlight. However, they say we mark our tribe’s location on this three-faced statue to leave clues for those who seek us.”
She had to find the clue marking the location of the Hecate tribe.
The three maidens standing back-to-back. At each of their feet lay stone cairns built up with layers of rock and withered stalks of barley, yellowed with age.
These were the traces of offerings and prayers left by passersby.
On the smooth insteps of the maiden statue, graffiti and phrases scratched with pebbles were carved haphazardly.
“Lady Asteril, what are you doing?”
Unable to contain his curiosity, Ivar came over, craning his neck.
“Ah, it’s nothing. Sorry for the delay. I’ll take a quick look and we’ll be on our way.”
“Yes, well, I don’t mind.”
Asteril examined the graffiti left on the statue’s insteps once again. Ivar stole a glance over her shoulder and interjected slyly, “That?”
“It’s written asking for safe protection from bandits or beasts one might encounter on the mountain path. The maiden statue at the crossroads is the guardian deity of traveling merchants, you see.”
“Ah… I see.”
“It’s full of hard-to-read letters, isn’t it? Poseidonia has many immigrants like me, and the dialects vary heavily by region, so the languages are quite different. Usually, people write wishes or prayers on the maiden statue’s insteps, and if you look at the beasts the maiden goddess treads upon or the totems wrapped around her hands, there will be messages exchanged among merchants.”
“Exchanged messages?”
“Yes, traveling merchants sometimes leave signposts for other merchants. For example, that mountain path is dangerous, do not go; this way is a shortcut, and so on. And occasionally, you’ll find love letters left like secret codes between lovers. Most of them are trivial flirtations, but… some idle fellows leave grand works of art, too. Oh, there’s one there too. On the top of that jar….”
Ivar pointed with his hand at the mouth of the jar resting atop the maiden statue’s head, who held a torch.
“It might be a stretch to call it art, but I suppose they left it thinking it was a masterpiece.”
Asteril stood on her tiptoes. Tilting her head back, she could see the spot Ivar had mentioned.
“They went through quite a bit of effort to leave it where no one could erase it. Something in that position is most likely meaningless graffiti… either a piece of art only they acknowledge, or perhaps some kind of cipher?”
It was a crude line drawing, like hastily scrawled graffiti. A single great tree with a star floating above it. Beneath the tree was carved a small, brief phrase.
Ivar folded his arms, humming “Hmm…,” and squinted as he read.
“The jar in the earth shows fate? What kind of dog from some backwater left this gibberish? Did he get drunk and try to write a poem or something….”
He cast a dubious glance toward the jar the maiden statue carried.
“Could something valuable be hidden inside? I’ve heard that thieves sometimes hide gold trinkets in places like this….”
Ivar, who had been pacing in place with a scowl, began stepping onto the maiden statue. Watching this from the wagon, Monera gasped and turned her head away. May the merciful maiden goddess not vent her wrath upon that foolish foreigner.
“It’s not like this maiden goddess is a deity I serve, and we don’t have such gods in my homeland, right? So it should be fine.”
Grabbing the statue’s arm and finally standing on tiptoe, Ivar peeked inside the jar with wide eyes. A disappointed voice followed.
“Ah, damn, what the….”
As empty as his widened pupils, the inside of the jar was hollow. Asteril’s eyes, looking up at the jar, glistened wetly and rippled deeply.
“Would you tell my fortune?”
“My fortune?”
“The future of us two. Aren’t your divinations never wrong, Lady Asteril?”
Asteril smiled with reddened eyes.
“Please come down, Ivar. That was left by my friend.”
“Huh?”
“The graffiti drawn there, above the jar.”
“This was drawn by your friend, Lady Asteril?”
An expression that seemed to ask how she knew was visible.
“The star drawn above the tree. My name is derived from the ancient word Asteria (Ἀστερία). Asteria means shining star.”
Ivar, about to ask how this star could signify Lady Asteril, scratched his head when Asteril smiled with a face full of certainty. If the priestess said so, then it must be so.
“Ivar, that star’s position in the drawing. Can you tell which direction it indicates?”
“Direction?”
Ivar, hanging from the maiden statue with one hand, looked around and pointed somewhere with his index finger.
“That way. It’s the direction to Nysa.”
Asteril broke into a delighted smile. As Rhea, sprawled on the wagon, yawned, a cool south wind blew over her.
Ivar swept his hair back, remarking that the headwind was refreshing. Monera gazed at the brightening dawn from atop the wagon.
For some reason, she had a good feeling.
When the gods illuminate one’s future, a south wind blowing is usually considered a favorable omen.
“The cipher is Hecate, Lady Asteril.”
Follow the direction led by the maiden goddess of the crossroads. Then you may have a very joyous reunion in Nysa.
Ψ
A bearded vulture soared upon an updraft and cried fiercely as it looked down upon the shaded forest.
As storm clouds draped over the mountainside like the bowed head of a steep cliff, the valley was engulfed in darkness.
An altar rose within the sunken valley.
Crumbled walls and faded pillars had lost the beauty of the once-perfect structure long ago, remaining only as a desolate landscape.
Swish.
With a clap of thunder, a refreshing downpour poured down. Were certain gods coupling in secret, having spread their dark garments? It seemed they sought to share passionate love hidden from someone’s gaze.
Hush.
Hold your breath, all of you. For on days when a tempest pours, the master of the valley grows ever more ferocious. Cast your eyes down and dare not raise your heads.
It was a brief shower. The earth was dampened by the passing rain. As if the moisture-laden ground exhaled a groan, a hazy water mist began to rise.
A land as uncanny as befits a place once called the cradle of the gods.
As the storm clouds lifted, bright sunlight slanted through the dense trees. Floating dust and flying insects drifted about, borne upon the clear air.
On the remains of pillars left like stumps, piles of dried petals cast shadows like fish scales, and black patterns continuing like fingerprints swayed in the wind.
The long, twisting shadows, like someone’s tangled memories, swayed, lost their shape, and then repeatedly found their place again, as if settling into position.
— Pyrrha, my Pyrrha….
How wonderful would it be if I could simply forget? If only I could return to the bosom of primordial Erebus and curl up like a baby to sleep forever….
An old brazier lay overturned as it had been thrown into the mud. Beneath it, altar vessels were buried in pieces. The rotted animal carcasses turned to bones were traces of past offerings.
An altar forgotten in the distant ages—could there still be those who perform rites here?
It was the hour when the dusky sunset of early evening sank behind the mountain ridge as if collapsing.
Jackdaws flew onto the crossbeam and settled with a flapping of wings. A shadow that met their crimson eyes emerged from the bushes, clearing its throat as it walked out.
“Have you arrived, Lady Nyx?”
A dark dimensional space formed, and from a fissure splitting through the center, Nyx appeared. Her steps were neurotic, her gaze brimming with displeasure.
Her bloodless complexion looked especially pale today. Her purplish lips quivered with rage.
“Se阿特.”
“Yes, I am here.”
The male keton who had come out to greet her raised his hand with a nervous expression.
The band of followers waiting for Nyx’s return stood in a line at the altar entrance like an array of bees, gauging her mood. Most of them were young ketons near or at the age of maturity.
As Nyx ascended the narrow stone steps, she snatched a crow from the air and throttled its neck.
“Gack! Ga-aack!”
The crow, twisting as if in agony, drooped its wings and died.
Nyx flung herself onto a chair prepared atop the altar and shouted.
“Bring wine, unmixed!”
“Understood.”
When Se阿特 signaled with his eyes, the pale women standing in the shadows moved nimbly.
“Impudent wretch… What of it? Ha!”
Nyx bit the gaps between her teeth with a bitter expression. Though she was always capricious as boiling foam, it was rare to see her so agitated.
Was she not Nyx of Harmony, who would distort even anger into a twisted smile in an instant?
Se阿特, pouring wine into the cup, asked cautiously.
“Of whom do you speak?”
“The son of Pontus!”
“Do you mean Aris?”
“Yes, that fool who was all puffed up about being Hestia’s guardian or whatever! What did he say? That he would keep watch over that Demeter princess? That he would become her observer or whatever and make sure the wench doesn’t do anything useless? Who is he? Who is he to guard, watch, and make a fuss! Is it not laughable?”
“It seems… he has caught on to something.”
Se阿特 was the leader of the followers who served Nyx. He currently oversaw the valley of Nysa and was also the figure who enjoyed Nyx’s deepest trust.
He believed that Nyx was the first keton Chaos had plucked from Erebus and the being closest to the essence of darkness.
The moderate faction, including their leader Uranus and the rest of the Five Thrones, were weaklings who had lost their true natures. He spread such claims to his peers and the young ketons, turning even his own moderate parents against him.
“Aris must suspect me. After all, I was the one who asked him to light the sacred flame, and I was the one by the brazier while he left his post searching for Callian.”
“Do not worry about that. Would he dare admit it himself, even out of shame? That he was fooled by a greenhorn and burned Asphodelus to the ground. He would much rather— a hundred times, a thousand times— bear the blame himself and be dismissed.”
Se阿特 had been about to add that he and Aris were not born so far apart, but stopped himself. In the eyes of Nyx, one of the first ketons, they all looked like mere blobs of blood, after all.
“It seems he still firmly believes that only he can handle Hestia… Seeing as he cannot even begin to doubt that premise, he is certainly a brat. A guardian of Hestia who knows not the slightest thing about Hestia’s true nature, tch.”
“How did such a wretch become Hestia’s guardian in the first place? Why was that noble sacred flame given to the likes of him….”
“How should I know? It was Gaia’s choice.”
“Ah….”
Se阿特 quickly shut his mouth. It was wiser not to reveal any opinion about Gaia in front of Nyx. The answer was simply to bow unconditionally.
But Gaia was said to have disappeared. Why, then, did Nyx still obsess over her, unable to let her go, when she was not even Anteros?
“In the first place, Hestia was a fire made for humans.”
The sacred flame, which some say Gaia created by burning her own flesh, and others say by burning her blood.
A flame imbued with divine authority could annihilate anything. Yet she had used it merely to fire clay pots.
Gaia was ever plagued by excess sentiment, then and now. It was no doubt because of that damned compassion that she passed down such absurd positions to the children of Ananke and Thalassa.
Nyx pressed her brow bone, as if a headache were coming on, and tilted her head back.
Damn that son of Pontus.
Because of him, the plan went awry. Callian was dragged off to Tartarus, so I was about to finish off that wench while I had the chance, yet he came all the way to Oceanus and knelt before the Five Thrones?
It was obviously an act. And a terribly clumsy one at that.
The memory of Aris begging with a resolute gaze before the Five Thrones gathered at the Rock of Olympus, pleading for just one more chance, made her teeth chatter with fury.
— I was negligent. I feel the weight of responsibility. Please grant me a chance to make amends. I wish to find out why Hestia obeyed that human princess. Please permit me to become that woman’s observer.
It was absurd. Who did he think he was to speak of feeling responsibility and asking for a chance?
How strange.
He took after his father Pontus—stubborn and utterly lacking in the knack for looking after his own interests. That he had devoted all his pure, rowdy love to Callian was infamous enough to make the entire clan click their tongues.
How had such a dullard devised such a scheme?
As expected, Uranus was moved. The other Thrones as well looked upon Aris’s attitude of sincere remonstrance as admirable.
— Very well. From this moment forth, Aris, child of Pontus and Thalassa, is appointed as observer to the Princess of Demeter. No one else in the clan, save Aris, is permitted to approach her.
“Was it approved that easily?”
“That whelp Aris played his hand very slyly. He added a condition. If anything happens to the Princess of Demeter, or if the girl fails to bring ambrosia, he told them to throw him into Tartarus. Ha, with him saying that much, would Uranus refuse? Especially with his father Pontus watching from the side with wide eyes?”
Irritation surged. Nyx rubbed her brow even harder.
“No matter how I look at it, someone clearly scripted all his lines behind the scenes. This is not something that could have come from that child’s own head.”
“Please do not let it anger you so. The order forbidding approach to the Princess of Demeter is unfortunate, but it is hardly a major problem. In other words, we need only not touch her directly ourselves, do we not? Even without acting with our own hands, there are limitless ways to dispose of that human wench.”
When Se阿特 cast his gaze toward the bushes, the pale women met his eyes and bowed respectfully. Within their longing gazes lurked a shadow of hunger.
“Indeed… We have no shortage of things to use.”
Nyx rose as if suddenly reminded of something.
“Where is that child? That golden-haired human wench brought from Lethe.”
“The girl you ordered to burn Asphodelus?”
Nyx kicked Se阿特 in the abdomen with a thud. Sent flying toward the bushes, Se阿特 crawled back before the sneering Nyx and knelt.
“Can you not watch your tongue? Who knows where Ananke’s damnable spies are hiding! You foolish thing….”
“I-I am sorry.”
“That woman Ananke is coming and going from Tartarus every day, scheming something. Pontus is openly turning a blind eye.”
“That Pontus?”
“Who in the clan could possibly overpower Ananke? Pontus has no choice. She is like a sister to his consort Thalassa, and the mother of the one his son is so desperately obsessed with—what can he do?”
Something was suspicious. Given Ananke’s personality, he had thought she would force her way to extract Callian from Tartarus, yet….
Nyx descended the steps lit by layered torches and walked into the darkened bushes. Passing old oak trees, she saw a human figure crouched and hiding in the undergrowth.
“Child.”
Psyche, who had been covering her ears tightly, started in surprise and raised her head.
“Dear me… Has someone been tormenting you?”
Her once-lush hair was torn out as if gnawed by rats, and her brooch-adorned coat was nowhere to be seen, snatched by someone.
Her thin linen tunic was ripped to shreds and reduced to rags. Because of this, her exposed shoulders were covered in dark blue bruises.
But the worst was her face. Her eyelids and cheeks had burst and were bruised, and her lips were torn and swollen.
Even amid the traces of ruthless violence, Psyche gripped the dirt floor tightly as if resisting. As though she would grab a handful of gravel-mixed sand and throw it at any moment.
Se阿特, who had followed behind, flinched at the sight of Psyche’s bruised body and made excuses.
“I definitely ordered them not to touch a single hair….”
“Who did this?”
When Nyx pressed with a narrowed gaze, Psyche glared at her with slanted eyes.
Her nursemaid had once told her a story. Among the male slaves sold by foreign slave traders were those who had lost their functions as men. Their faces would become pale and fair like women’s, and their voices thin and high, she had said. Like the dark, pallid figure before her now.
“Was it they who did this?”
When Nyx pointed toward the bushes with her finger, the women who had been waiting with straightened bodies looked this way. Psyche’s pupils dilated and grew large at the sight of them.
The pale women.
Their demeanor was so docile that one might wonder if the mad frenzy of the past few days had been a dream. Their behavior like ordinary women one might see anywhere was even more terrifying.
Those mad creatures had torn beasts apart alive and eaten them.
The middle-aged woman who appeared to be their leader, in her forties, lightly twisted the neck of a small rabbit. Then she slit its soft belly with a rusty sword, pulled out its entrails, and tore off a chunk of flesh without even plucking the fur, stuffing it into her mouth.
From bits of conversation she had overheard from Se阿特, she was supposedly a high-status woman who had lived in the royal palace… Seeing such horrifying deeds made it impossible to believe.
The women wiped their blood-stained mouths with the backs of their hands, then took up cups engraved with vine patterns and raised them to the sky in praise and worship.
The leader woman poured an unidentifiable liquid into the cups of the other fanatics, and the excited women doused it over their heads and entire bodies.
They licked their bodies all over, drenched in the unknown substance, whether it was alcohol or something else. Then they lit a bonfire and danced a frenzied dance naked around it.
The drumming continued throughout the night.
Hidden among the bushes, Psyche held her breath. As the moon slipped behind the clouds, she finally felt that the chance to escape had come.
Lying flat against the ground, she crawled on her belly along the shadows of the bushes. Just as she was barely breaking free, she felt her elbow wrench out of place on the downhill slope.
It happened in an instant.
Buried under heaps of earth and falling leaves that came crashing down, she had tumbled down in a slide. She clamped her mouth shut for fear a scream would burst out, but the moment she staggered to her feet, she sensed a presence behind her.
Women who ran on all fours like beasts snatched her by the hair and wrenched her head back with savage force. She flailed, but it was useless. It felt as if the skin of her face was being seared off from the crown of her head, gripped by the roots.
They ruthlessly punched her face and abdomen with bare fists. A torrent of unintelligible curses poured into her ears. The women tied her unconscious form to a large oak tree and put her on display.
Overcome with emotion, Psyche shouted, her face twisted.
“That’s right! It was those women! Those women did it….”
How had her life, which had dwelt in the highest, most brilliant place, come to plummet into such darkness?
Her unwashed body of several days emitted a foul stench, and her hands, smeared with all manner of filth, reeked of urine.
She thought it fortunate that she could not check her own wretched appearance. If she saw her face reflected in a pond, she would surely want to throw herself in and die.
She was the sole daughter of the Head of the Senate. She had grown up precious and cherished; even fellow nobles dared not hold their heads high in her presence.
Yet they had struck her cheeks countless times, punched her face so viciously she could not speak, and torn handfuls of her fine golden hair—praised as tresses fit for a goddess.
“Please save me.”
Psyche clung to the hem of Nyx’s robe and pleaded, as he looked down at her with seeming pity. Before that, she did not forget to shoot a glare filled with betrayal at Seateu, who stood behind Nyx.
“Please save me. I did everything you told me to do. I believed only in your promise and did as you said. I even set fire to the trees bearing red fruit, and I came here and stayed quietly in a corner of the altar where I could not be seen. So why….”
She wanted to demand why they were not keeping their promise. But Seateu stood behind Nyx, looking down at her coldly.
*Foolish human girl, I said I would take you to paradise. I never said it would be your paradise.*
His twisted lips seemed to say so.
Yes, Seateu was right. She had been foolish and hasty. If this place was the abode of the gods she had so longed for, she had no more attachments to it.
“Then please kill me. I have no confidence in living on in this state anyway, so with your almighty and great power, please kill me painlessly and peacefully. Right here, right now….”
“Well, yes, I could grant that, but….”
Nyx narrowed his eyes and asked.
“My child, did you not come here because you desired something?”
“Pardon?”
Psyche unconsciously wiped her eyelids with hands that she had wanted to cut off in revulsion at their filth.
“I heard from Seateu. You came to Lethe alone? You said you wished to meet a god.”
Her eyes widened blankly.
“So you followed me all the way to Nysa…. You said you came looking for Nyx, did you not? Which one did you come looking for?”
“Pardon?”
“I asked—which one did you come for? Nyx of Night, or Nyx of Day?”
“What do you mean….”
“So I ask, which one!”
When Nyx suddenly shouted in irritation, Psyche flinched and grabbed a pebble from the ground.
Which one? She had no idea what he was talking about.
That day, the scene she had glimpsed through the crack of Princess Asteril’s chambers came to mind.
A mysterious, beautiful male deity, as though painted by the breath of the dark-blue night and the stream cast down by the Milky Way.
They had said he was the King of Hades.
She had thought that since he was one of the gods, she might meet him if she went to paradise. The boatman Charon had said his name was Nyx.
That was all she knew.
But which one, between day and night? Did he mean there were two Nyxes? That such a beautiful male god existed as two?
After a moment of worry, Psyche answered cautiously.
“N-Night…. Nyx of Night….”
“Is that so? You too are of the night….”
Nyx gazed at her without interest. Psyche silently unclenched her fist. Dirt and pebbles slipped from between her fingers.
*What am I doing?* This was not an opponent who would be felled by such a thing. One for whom any notion of defense was meaningless. Neither lies nor deception would work. If she tried to narrowly escape the moment, she would lose everything.
A terror of a different dimension struck her like a slap to the cheek, jolting her awake.
“What… do you want from me?”
“That is a question I should ask. What did you come here to obtain?”
The man with a pale face and black hair possessed a boyish countenance, too immature to be called a young man. Yet he seemed to pierce through all things—with dead, lifeless eyes.
“Immortality? Have you come seeking such a thing as well?”
Psyche could say nothing, as though her vital point had been struck. Nyx’s gaze grew clouded.
“Yes…. I suppose so. Those who come seeking through the night are all alike.”
Psyche bowed her head. Her fiercely rigid lungs exhaled in a rush. Her breath quickened. Finally, it seemed the things she desired would be granted, yet she was terribly afraid.
“I-I…. I came seeking the food of the gods.”
What humans desired was always obvious. So obvious it was infuriating.
But Nyx did not get angry.
Anger might instill fear in them, but only for a moment. The only way to punish humans was through despair.
“Why do you wish to eat the food of the gods?”
“I am human. With this worthless body, I age and grow older day by day.”
“And so?”
“I have heard that if one eats the food of the gods, they can return to their former appearance. That they can become young again. Just a year ago, I was much more radiant and beautiful than I am now. There was not a single fine wrinkle around my eyes….”
Psyche dropped her head in despair. Nyx let out a scoff. His mockery reached her ears, but she did not give up and continued.
“I….”
*Why was I born as a human daughter?* The devotees who wished to kiss the tops of her feet were more than enough to encircle a mountainside. The problem was that the offerings meant for the altars of the gods had decreased by just that much.
Had she earned hatred for receiving greater worship than the gods despite being a mere human? Or had Ananke, known for her hideous appearance, been enraged and laid a curse?
The sad figure of her nanny, who had smiled pitifully and said, “I too was once beautiful,” flashed through her mind. It was true horror.
“I want to be a being as beautiful as the gods. To never age for eternity—at the very least, to remain exactly as I am now….”
There were many old servants in her father’s mansion. To her, their very existence was death itself.
Men who had once been robust youths aged into withered husks like trees on the verge of rotting, nothing but skin over bone, blinking only their eyes. When they reached the point where urine trickled from their slackened groins, they died with mouths agape for flies to come and go.
And the old hags? The corners of their mouths sagged with wrinkles like chrysalises; the flesh of their backs and buttocks, drooping in folds like countless layered necklaces, had discolored and gave off a reek like putrid fish.
Aging was something no one could escape.
She too would eventually end up with a few white strands of hair left, a bald crown like a barren mountain. Then she would have to buy young maidens’ hair and beg for it, covering her peeled scalp like mushrooms grown in damp shade. Her skin, having lost moisture and grown coarse, would be covered in warts and liver spots; her lips, having lost their rosy vitality, would turn dark purple as if scorched by fire.
The very imagination was horrific. She would rather die before it came to that.
“Are you not curious what the food of the gods is?”
Somehow, Nyx’s strangely favorable attitude gently rocked Psyche’s anxiously trembling heart, as though soothing it.
“Seateu.”
At Nyx’s call, Seateu went into the bushes and dragged one of the women out by the neck, hauling her along. She was gurgling, but when Seateu embraced her, squeezing her ribs, her eyes took on an ecstatic look.
Seateu, mouth slightly open, bit down hard on the woman’s neck. Psyche gasped. A stream of red blood flowed down the woman’s pale, drooping neck.
Blood was smeared on Seateu’s mouth as he raised his head. It was horrifying, yet obscene.
“What we consume is human blood. All the women here are our sustenance. Sometimes they become tools of pleasure, sometimes targets for venting rage. I will not deny that. However….”
Nyx leaned down and whispered sweetly.
“To you who become our food, we grant a small reward in return.”
As far as Psyche knew, these were not beings who performed acts of reward or gratitude.
“Strangely enough, all those who seek us out say much the same things as you. Youth and beauty, immortality and longevity. We give each other what the other needs. We drink your blood, and you drink ours.”
“Blood?”
“Yes. The blood of the gods that you so fervently desire.”
She suddenly remembered the naked women, who had poured something from Kirites onto their bodies and licked it up like madwomen.
Psyche looked at Nyx with an anxious face.
“You wouldn’t want to become like them.”
Someone spoke as though peering into her very heart. Psyche stared into the bushes.
“No matter how much one desires youth and beauty, one wouldn’t want to become a monster.”
A man in a black cloak with a drawn hood was walking out of the darkness. A smile spread across his handsome lips. His right hand leaned on a long, elegant cane. On the front of its curved handle, a teardrop-shaped amber was set, glittering brilliantly.
“Eleusis, is it?”
“I pay my respects to the dignified lord of Nysa.”
He knelt on the dirt and bowed to show respect. Nyx looked down at the young man indifferently and gestured for him to approach. Eleusis crawled across the ground on both knees.
Nyx stared at the back of his bowed head, then suddenly asked:
“I hear you’ve been imitating me?”
“….”
“You’ve been up to some amusing things in Delphi.”
“You knew?”
“My eyes and ears are everywhere and nowhere. Have you already forgotten?”
The rooks perched in Nyx’s tree cawed fiercely, opening their beaks as if in warning.
“Everything is for Dionysus, and to increase the offerings and followers of the altar.”
“Hmph, you speak well. Even now, do there not seem to be enough offerings and Maenads?”
He seemed to know Nyx’s temperament well. He adopted the gentlest tone possible so as not to offend him.
“But do you not prefer those who come of their own accord?”
“….”
“Is it not your wish that they run passionately to you as though in love, and plunge into the inferno as if struck by lightning?”
It was part of the Cetons’ routine to couple with the Maenads to heat their blood. Human blood is sweetest when they are aroused or terrified. The Cetons of Nysa were addicted to that taste.
“Well, yes….”
Nyx trailed off as though he would not deny it. Both of their gazes turned back to Psyche.
“That person does not seem to be a follower, however.”
“She is a child Seateu brought. She says she wishes to eat the food of the gods. However, it seems she doesn’t want to become like the Maenads.”
Having heard the story, Eleusis removed his hood. His blond hair shone as brightly as the sun rising over Pontus.
He regarded Psyche with closed eyes. The two of them silently crossed gazes. After a moment, Eleusis asked.
“How old do I look?”
His voice was like that of a boy who had just become a young man. His rose-colored lips looked pure, as though they had never kissed anyone.
“Well….”
Psyche trailed off. Though he was speaking in a priestly tone, feigning maturity, he couldn’t have been much older than twenty, could he?
“I am nearly forty.”
“What? No, what did you say?”
Eleusis smiled gently.
“Of course, almost no one knows my real age and identity. It is a secret even from the Sibyls.”
Psyche stared at the cane Eleusis held and suddenly realized.
That man was blind.
She should have realized it the moment she saw his closed eyes. But his gait, the angle of his gaze during conversation, and so on were so natural that she had not suspected in the slightest.
Besides, she had heard that those with physical impairments usually lived more miserably than slaves…. Yet this man exuded an elegance nobler than that of any aristocrat.
“Um….”
“Be off with you, Eleusis.”
At Nyx’s gesture with his chin, Eleusis gave a short bow. As he turned to leave, he paused briefly and cast his gaze over his shoulder.
*Could he truly be blind?*
When Psyche nodded as if bidding farewell, Eleusis smiled, raising the corner of his mouth, and then shuffled away into the darkness.
“Did you bestow your blood upon him as well?”
“Who? Do you mean Eleusis?”
“Yes, he seems different from those women.”
“Eleusis is special. Fundamentally different from the Maenads. You don’t mean…. You wish to become like Eleusis?”
Nyx looked at Psyche’s expression and tittered. He now seemed to understand what she wanted.
“Very well. If you do as I say, I shall tell you how to become like Eleusis.”
“Is that true?”
Psyche asked, brightening. It was hard to believe, but she felt as though she glimpsed a ray of hope.
“Yes, it is true.”
“I will do it. I will do as you say.”
Psyche bowed her head as low as she possibly could. Her heart pounded like a hammer.
She did not know much about the gods, but she engraved every teaching she needed into her heart without missing a single one.
“The gods do not easily grant your desires, or so it is said, but they lend their ears to wishes born of true earnestness. And they weigh them against the principles of the world to measure their validity.”
The benevolent priestess Clytie knew this well. For trainees whose faith was still shallow, sweet fruit wine was more effective than a fearsome thunderbolt.
The skeptical Psyche of old might have sneered at her teachings and brushed them aside. As a politician’s daughter, she had seen countless people spouting empty words.
But life having grown harsh, she now opened her ears and listened attentively, nodding her head vigorously at any words that brought her comfort.
Wishes and fervent desires.
She had no way of knowing that those two words she had become fixated upon were ones that universally stirred people’s hearts, for she had never once crossed the threshold of a temple in her entire life.
“Do you know of Asteril? The princess of Demeter. I believe she was the maiden offered to Lethe this time?”
“Yes, I know her.”
“Kill that woman.”
Startled, Psyche snapped her head up.
“What? Wh-what did you just say….”
“I said kill her. The method doesn’t matter. You need only stop her breath.”
Psyche looked down at her wrist, where gooseflesh was prickling up. It felt as though a sharp metal blade was pressing coldly against her skin.
Kill her?
With these soft hands that had never snapped even a flower branch, let alone a beast’s neck—hands so tender that even the wind was said to close its eyes and caress her cheeks? They wanted her to sever the breath of Demeter’s princess?
Of course, her life having fallen into ruin, she had suffered all manner of humiliations and had unwittingly committed fraud, theft, violence, and the like—but they had largely been acts to evade her circumstances and survive.
“And she is not even Gaia…. She truly irritates me.”
Nyx, chin resting in his hand, furrowed his brow savagely into a vertical crease. His twisted face was full of irritation.
“A wench who keeps causing trouble, so she must be dealt with quickly. Strike when she is thoroughly alone.”
Her vision blurred.
For now, Psyche answered, “Y-yes….” Biting down hard on her molars, her unfocused gaze trembled anxiously above her lips.
“Seateu!”
“Yes.”
Seateu raised his arm horizontally across his chest. As he slightly bowed, pale women could be seen over his shoulder.
“Bring all the Maenads.”
“Pardon?”
Seateu raised his head with a puzzled expression.
“From now on, this child is in charge of the altar of Dionysus. Entrust all contact with Delphi to Psyche as well.”
“Wh-what?”
Seateu’s mouth hung open as he repeated the words, but at Nyx’s gaze telling him to stop talking and carry it out at once, he could raise no further objection.
Psyche waited quietly while prostrated, glancing left and right.
Past Seateu’s feet, she could catch glimpses of what seemed to be dresses worn by pale women, and bare feet.
Soon, those who approached before her dropped to their knees with a thud, pressed their palms and foreheads to the dirt, and bowed deeply. It was a servile posture, like livestock.
“From now on, they will respectfully obey and serve your every word.”
Psyche raised her head. Her blue pupils trembled finely as she took a deep breath.
Only a few hours ago, these same creatures had tied her up like a beast, beaten her as if to kill her, and trampled her underfoot; now they lay flat on the ground, changing their attitude as easily as turning over a palm.
She felt as though her stomach was turning inside out.
At times they displayed behavior no different from beasts, having completely lost their reason, yet the moment Seateu or his companions appeared, they sobered up as if doused in cold water and became docile.
Women with complexions as pale as corpses, crawling on all fours beneath the altar and roaming about, begging for the warmth of a god steeped in blood.
The image of Eleusis looking down at them with pity came to her mind. And what of Seateu? He stood high upon the altar, looking down at the fanatics as though they were insects and working them mercilessly.
She had lived a life of being followed and exalted from the moment she was born. There had even been a rumor that a child who should have been born a goddess had mistakenly been born a human.
What mattered was dominion and rule. She had realized for certain only after coming here: what determines a god is the followers who obey them.
Authority was built upon the backs of those who prostrated themselves; thus, the crucial point was how many people worshipped you.
“Take them away.”
When Seateu spoke with a frown, Psyche bowed courteously and turned around with the Maenads.
He watched Psyche’s retreating figure walking proudly with her shoulders straight, unable to hide his displeasure.
“That child knows too much. Would it not be better to simply get rid of her?”
“She is but a mere human girl. There is no need to feel uneasy.”
“But….”
“What that child wants is not me. She did not come searching for me.”
“What… do you want from me?”
“She will likely obey my commands but not follow me. That is why she may prove more useful than expected. She is a peculiar girl. Even so, she might act recklessly out of her own greed, so it would be best to have a safeguard.”
Nyx plucked a wildflower blooming between the rocks and crushed it in his hand with a crunch.
A moment later, he opened his palm flat; upon it lay crushed petals, scattered messily and shapeless.
“Are humans not an impudent race? I showed them a flower, yet they smile at this hand? Not knowing which side their fate lies on. Truly, they are such foolish things….”
“Is it not because they do not know their fate that they come all the way to Nysa?”
“Yes, indeed a correct thing to say.”
Only then did Nyx tear his mouth wide in a grin, as if finally pleased.