The sun set and the moon rose. Kalian, who had been sitting collapsed upon the hill for some time, began to rise but then looked down at his own hands with vacant eyes.
As the darkness deepened, his mind grew serene. He thought it was the process of death arriving. He accepted it without much concern, thinking that becoming ash was far less noticeable than he had imagined. Being swallowed once more into Erebos’s throat felt like sliding across a silent tongue.
Listening quietly to the beating of his heart, he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine and looked around.
“…Lil?”
He couldn’t sense her presence anywhere. Was this not the end of life?
Kalian aimed at his own left chest to be sure. Gathering the wind into a spear, he pierced his chest deeply.
*Fwish.* The sound of his heart rupturing, and a hole bored through his left chest. Reeling from the impact, he stared blankly at his left hand. He could feel the veins throbbing at his wrist, drenched in red blood.
The hole in his chest immediately began to recover. The skin tissue whirling and patching itself over filled him with a fiery sense of betrayal.
He targeted his heart again and again, rupturing it repeatedly, but it was the same. It would be the same even if he aimed for his head. He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t follow her.
What had happened? A hollow question settled thickly. Confusion amplified. She who had departed on a distant journey had already vanished into the darkness….
Only then did he realize something had gone wrong. He clutched his chest. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, chasing after Anteros’s presence.
Only a gasping breath in the dead silence could be heard. His pupils, stained with rage and terror, began to redden.
Nothing. Her vitality could not be felt anywhere. She did not exist in this world.
She had left.
Leaving me behind, all by herself.
He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky. A livid, blade-like edge spread across his pale, bloodless face.
“Chaos!”
His shout, bursting forth as if to tear the heavens, split the sky like a hand wrenching Eos by the hair.
“Chaaaaos!”
A furious howl erupted. A meteor flickered and fell between the dark-blue clouds, like the sidelong glance of the Father God.
“I cannot understand this incomprehensible situation at all. Having lost my Anteros, is it not right that my body too should enter eternal rest?”
The sky silently let flow the Milky Way. The Father God closed the clouds, as though unworthy of an answer.
Kalian called out Chaos’s name again.
Chaos…! O Father God Chaos! O aggregate of father gods! I know you are watching. I know your plan. No, I do not know. Whatever it is, it has gone wrong. It does not align with the providence of the Ketons.
All night long he vomited blood from his throat and howled. He cried out against the injustice. He poured forth rage. He struck the ground until it cracked and trembled. He raised winds and swept away the surrounding trees and grasses.
Finally, he fell to his knees and pleaded. Please, no matter where that place was, send him only to the side of his Anteros.
Ananke watched the scene from afar together with Ouranos. A Keton begging for death. Ananke wiped away streaming tears with the back of her hand and turned away. She could bear to watch no longer.
For a full fortnight, Kalian vomited blood and howled wretchedly, repeating shouts and pleas until his vocal cords tore.
“Chaos! O Chaos…!”
“Send me to her side. To the side of my Anteros…. Something has gone wrong. Something has gone wrong….”
He collapsed onto the ground, his entire body mangled. The throat that had sobbed blood had completely lost its function.
Holes were bored through his left and right chests, his left eyeball had ruptured, and half his face was blown away. Yet death did not come for him.
He lowered his remaining eye. Rage and despair intertwined. Veins bulged in his neck, which was already beginning to recover.
“So if I die, you die too?”
“Why did you make me an Anteros, beg for death? Why?”
You were wrong. I am still immortal. Erebos has seized my breath and will not let go.
Even in the place where you are not, I am breathing perfectly in this complete form. Even if I shatter my entire body and tear out my limbs, I cannot reach the place where you are.
My life is still distant. Eternal without you. I must live infinite ages without you.
His mind flickered and went blank; no thoughts came. It was so cruel just to think that he lost all words.
Eos lay down, covering the sky. The damp breath of the darkened night pressed upon his eyelids. As if avoiding his gaze boring into it, the moon hid behind the clouds. It made sense. Eyes seeking someone to resent brimmed with blue-black killing intent like a freshly sharpened blade.
“Hanpung.”
*Swish.* The wind blew and stopped as if slipping. Kalian turned his gaze, which had nowhere to go, and looked at his servant. Powerlessly, he opened his mouth.
“Tear my body to shreds and grind it into powder, leaving not even my brain matter. The moment cells regenerate, shatter them endlessly. I no longer wish to ever open my eyes.”
Hanpung hesitated. It was the first time he had been unable to immediately obey his lord’s command.
“Hurry.”
The wind cried out as if groaning. Hanpung circled Kalian’s shoulder once. He clung to him as if telling him not to.
“…It is a request, not an order.”
At his words, the wind paused. Bloodshot pupils were visible. Empty pupils holding nothing. A breath that had let go of everything.
A sorrowful current wavered briefly, then ceased. Silence followed, as if paying final respects to the lord.
Left with no choice, the snowfield’s breath raised its blade-like winds and began to tear him limb from limb, starting with his arms and legs.
“Krk….”
A spectacle too terrible to watch with open eyes began to unfold. Even Eos, who had been casting sidelong glances through the clouds, was horrified enough to recoil in shock.
The half-moon quickly moved between the clouds. The beasts moving in the darkness along that light fled back the way they had come, terrified.
His body was torn into chunks like lumps of clay, left behind and clotted beyond recognition.
Yet Eos’s sigh, imbued with life, reflected off the smooth lunar surface, rode the wind down, and soaked the dirt and blood through the dew. It permeated the breath drifting upon the dawn, and eventually regenerated his body.
Flesh rising within bubbling foam instantly formed a balanced body, and the eyes that had never wanted to open again were forced to look up at the sunlight, seated even more perfectly upon his statue-like face.
Kalian turned his gaze fleetingly. And he stared at Hanpung. The wind seemed exhausted but could not defy its lord’s will.
Again.
Shatter me again.
Hanpung gathered needle-sharp currents and formed blade-like whirlwinds.
*Crack, squelch.*
He crushed his lord’s bones again, tore the already once-butchered body into even more ragged pieces, and sent the blood gushing from the veins flying even farther.
*Crunch crunch, thud, swish.*
Pain beyond even screaming repeated infinitely. This was better. Far better to infinitely repeat only destruction and regeneration in pain so great, with his flesh torn to pieces and his mind fading before he could even think.
Cast my soul and spirit into the endless fiery pit of torture. So that I can think nothing, so that I cannot exist as myself. So that I cannot even perceive this life without her.
Ψ
The seasons of water and earth kissed the grasses and soil countless times; the seasons of fire and wind danced toward the sky honoring Gaia, innumerable times.
Thus time passed.
Deceptively serene, yet fierce. The sun god’s radiance remained, but Eos’s sorrow deepened.
It was one such day. Ananke came to find Kalian, sprawled upon ground rotting from accumulated blood, regenerating his body.
She snatched the tail of Hanpung, who had been waiting only for new flesh to sprout upon him, and ruthlessly dragged him to Oceanus. Then she commanded Pontos to open the lake gate, and bound the already wordless but now even quieter breath of the snowfield to the lake-bottom seaweeds, imprisoning it forever.
When she returned days later, Hanpung was sobbing and whimpering. The creature had bound itself in the seaweed and buried his head among the sedimentary rocks where the current flowed, sniveling.
Ananke wore a troubled expression.
How could she blame this simple creature that knew nothing but its lord? She eventually released Hanpung into Oceanus. However, she left a stern warning that he must never return to Kalian.
Dry leaves covered his lips, patchily piled snow covered his cheeks, damp moss spread to cover his entire body.
He lay thus upon the frozen earth like a corpse, spending a fleeting eternity—or a distant eternity.
“Rise.”
Aris kicked the mound of earth that had risen like a grave-mound and spoke. Clumps of hard dirt fell away, and arms and legs clad in a black chiton were revealed.
“Madman. How long were you buried in the earth?”
Aris brushed away the leaves and dirt covering his head. Kalian, who had been buried without a coffin, slowly opened his eyelids.
The slowly, heavily opening field of vision shut immediately upon seeing Aris, as if it had never opened.
“Wh-what… did you just close your eyes again after seeing me? I said rise!”
Aris set down a water jar and crouched beside it.
“I happened to pass through the village of Phrear…. Remember? That village with many old people. The old ones I saw then are all dead now. Anyway, someone had placed this upon a crumbling altar. I thought you’d want to see it, so, well, I brought it.”
Aris sighed as he looked at Kalian, keeping his eyes closed silently. He turned his head to stare between the green bushes. It felt as if she would pop right out with her mischievous expression, saying, “Oh? Lord Aris?”
“If she saw you like this… what do you think she’d say?”
Aris asked with gloomy eyes, stroking the dirt, then answered himself.
“…I think she’d resent you terribly.”
Not a word came from within the earth. Aris sat beside him for a long while. There was much to count even in silence. So many memories had been made in that short time.
After a while, he stood up. He didn’t say he would come again. But Kalian knew he would.
The midday sun set toward the west and shadows fell. It was the season of fireflies mating. Pale yellow lights drifted like the breath of an ancient forest.
Kalian suddenly raised his body. The dirt covering him poured down his arms as if slipping off.
He glanced sideways. The water jar Aris had left was buried in the earth with only its mouth exposed.
He raised his hand from the frozen ground and dug away the dirt. When the red clay jar revealed itself, his eyes flickered.
*Loutrophoros.*
It was the first jar from which water had been drawn from the sacred spring Kalliroe on the day the Gamos was held. Upon its outer surface was vividly painted the scene of his Gamos with Asteril.
The bride looking away as if shy, and the groom leaning in as if to kiss her, holding her hand.
As if the folded memory of that day was spreading open, the painting on the jar became a vision before his eyes.
“The groom shall kiss the bride!”
It was the first time. A feeling of hating it yet liking it. He felt his heart flutter as he stole glances at her standing beside him. It was the first time he had felt such an emotion as a Keton.
Kalian fumbled with the round clay jar, then slowly drew it into his embrace. The time he thought had stopped began to flow again like a river.
“Humans are not beings who feel only one emotion in a single moment.”
Then it seems I am human now. When I think of you alone, countless emotions tear at my heart and cross paths.
“I love you, very much.”
Her flushed cheeks reflected in the bonfire seemed still to be smiling at a touchable distance.
He bowed his head deeply and ran his hand over the jar’s surface until it wore smooth.
As if it were her cozy body, as if it were her soft skin. So that he could feel her existence, as if she still lived somewhere in this world.
“Asteril….”
A voice hoarse and clogged leaked out. At the name spoken aloud after so long, someplace deep in his chest became muddied like the bottom of an old well, then fell barren.
You would be upset. I ended up learning to cry before I learned to smile.
Still, it was a relief. This jar would not disappear even after a hundred years, even after a thousand. And so our Gamos would be eternal….
Ψ
The constellations darkened. Chaos, who loved to toy with the night, cast down its gaze.
Due to the heavy rain of the past few days, the waters of the earth overflowed. Waves crashed and reached the sandbars to kiss them; water between valleys babbled as if chasing one another.
The edges of the sky whitened. The shadows upon the earth lifted and day was breaking.
A hill resembling a goddess’s shoulder was visible. Green grass and reeds lay as if covering the slope, gazing at the fading constellations. The wind that had been passing like combing soft leaves paused briefly.
Kalian, who had been sitting on a flat rock appreciating the sound of water, brushed himself off and rose. Between the breath rising through the strata, he heard spirits whispering.
The world was unchanged. The sidelong glances of Eos and Helios, the friction between heaven and earth, were all painfully the same.
His feet stepped silently across the ground. The earth that should have prostrated itself stood dumbly as if struck numb, then belatedly turned pale and froze.
*How long has it been since witnessing the visage of a supreme being? Is this not the ruler of Lethe, before whom even fellow Ketons tremble? I had heard he entered the earth and bound himself forever; when did he return?*
*—But why is he here instead of Lethe?*
*—I don’t know, be quiet.*
*—That jar… what is it?*
*—Shh, I said shh!*
As the sun rose silently, the farmlands spread out like patchwork were dyed golden.
A ridgeline where a goddess lay reclining wrapped around the city protectively, as if guarding wheat fields ripened temptingly like honey.
Farmers stopped their work to look at the winding mountain waist and bowed, saying it was the protection of the Mother God.
Kalian sat astride a hill that raised its head toward the sky. His languid gaze looked down to see the city where the day’s work had begun.
Farmers who had paid respects at the earthen jar busily headed to their fields. The ripened fields were full of grains formed temptingly like honey, giving them indescribable joy.
Those walking along the rice paddy ridges waved at the cart heading toward the temple. The rattling cart was loaded with jars of votive wine and a kid goat for sacrifice.
The Grand Temple of Cocytus came to be called Persephone’s Temple as the ages passed. It was told that the royal princess who had been its high priestess was abducted by Hades and became the wife of the chthonic god. Though there was a time Demeter had fallen into sorrow because of this, it was forgotten so quickly it wouldn’t even be recorded in history.
The harvest festival was at hand.
The stone temple was busy from morning. Workers carrying sheaves of grain on carts and jars of freshly squeezed goat milk on their shoulders bustled in and out of the temple entrance without rest.
Taking advantage of the gap, a splendid palanquin moved silently, but no one noticed. Someone arrived riding on an ox cart with her legs tucked in. The woman in hemp-woven clothes had pressed evening primrose juice upon the back of her pale hand—a sign signifying Ananke’s protection.
A servant who saw it rushed over, flustered at how an esteemed person could ride such a thing, but she merely laughed refreshingly. She said that when hunting with female warriors, they camped out for days on end, so what of this?
A youth with a glittering bow across his shoulder also came. He entered very easily. It was relatively common for young hunters to pray to the Mother God before going out to hunt ahead of the harvest festival.
Thus kings, princesses, and chieftains of a certain clan gathered. Into a hidden room at the end of an old corridor deep within the temple.
A wide table and long chairs were set out. An elaborate tripod and beautifully patterned beast hides were brought. Male slaves in short tunics wiped sweat from their brows with the backs of their hands as they carried food and wine.
Watching the scene, the youth ran his hand over the smooth bowstring as if showing off. Then a mysterious display occurred, as if a god’s breath spread whitely. It was a divinely imbued bow.
“So that is the famous bow of Ischys.”
The King of Aphrodisias, who had no small knowledge of bows, spoke with interest. The evening primrose juice stamped and spread on the back of her hand was a symbol indicating the rank of high priestess.
“Yes, it is an inheritance received from distant ancestors. It originally belonged to my sister, but she died of illness the year before last, so it came into my hands.”
The youth was the only man in the gathering. He was also the only one not of royal blood. Intoxicated by that uniqueness, he enjoyed the curious sidelong glances of the women.
For a long while the youth rambled about his bow. He recounted tales as if bragging about how his ancestor had received a weapon imbued with a god’s breath, an anecdote that had grown as grandiose as the spear of Diocles.
“Having defeated the giant silken serpent blocking the entrance to the underworld, the chthonic god bestowed this in recognition of that merit. Infused with a god’s breath carrying the power of immortality.”
Kalian, listening with his chin resting on his hand atop the temple roof, was too dumbfounded to continue. Ischys defeated the silken serpent blocking the underworld’s entrance? Recognized his merit…? By me?
Astounded, he listened to see how far the bragging would go. The rest was nothing special. It was the sort of story about how such a mighty bow couldn’t possibly be wielded by just anyone; only someone like him could handle it.
By now, it was necessary to doubt whether the spear of Diocles had ever really existed. Tyndareus seemed truly to have been a pathetic king who chased after mere illusions and died.
“Now, it was my turn this year, was it not?”
Metaneira, the Anassa of Demeter, smiled and rose. She gently placed a fig leaf upon the ash-wood chair set upon the oak-wood dais. Then, wearing a nervous expression, she prostrated herself toward the chair and prayed.
Myrrh smoke someone had lit scattered in the wind with a whoosh. A whispering voice seemed to be heard. It was the sound of the wind rustling and brushing branches and leaves, but humans usually interpreted such natural sounds as the voice of a god.
Everyone raised their bowed heads and looked at each other.
“Did you hear it? Persephone came and went.”
“I heard it too.”
They rejoiced greatly and raised their cups.
Kalian now looked as if he took such things in stride, having seen them too often. Even feeling contempt had grown tiresome.
This was a world where his Anteros had become the goddess called Persephone. Nothing was impossible.
He cast a sidelong glance and spoke to Asteril in the jar’s painting.
“Did you know your likeness is carved at the entrance to the Poseidonia palace?”
At first he wondered what it was. A newly worshipped goddess in Poseidonia? It also resembled the nymph from myth who had run from Apollo and become a laurel tree with stiffened limbs. But the name carved there was familiar.
*For my wise spear, Asteril.*
It is said Tethys never held a Gamos with anyone in her life. The only descendant she left behind was the Library of Alexandria. That became a truly great legacy.
The Chamber of Roses was closed after her death. Later generations believed it was a place where Thalassa, her guardian deity, occasionally descended to whisper divine knowledge. In truth, it was simply a place where Melinoë, who had become the ruler of Aphrodisias, often held secret meetings—sometimes with Leuce and her lover as well.
They also met at Cocytus. It is said this began with an invitation from Cyane, the lord of Demeter’s domain, and it was during her reign that the Grand Temple of Cocytus became Persephone’s Temple.
Thus the tradition that began in the Chamber of Roses strangely continued its line at Cocytus, and active exchanges were still taking place even now.
Word from the North Wind had it that while Kalian lay beneath the earth, he occasionally visited them and blew his breath toward a fig leaf. At first it was a jest, but gradually it became a sense of duty.
Because whenever they saw a fig leaf floating suspended in the air, everyone would observe a solemn silence, sharing a time like a ritual.
Once, he accidentally dropped the leaf into Melinoë’s wine cup. Seeing it, she was overcome with some thought, choked and unable to speak, then soon sobbed. That day the gathering was a sea of tears all day long.
As dusk approached, people were carried out one by one by attendants. The youth who had boasted so much about his bow snored, unaware that his bow had fallen under the table and was rolling about.
The temple quieted as if nothing had happened. Only Kalian, sitting atop the gabled roof, still looked down at the spot with his chin in his hand.
There had been a boisterous night. A day when his only lover was celebrated, shining more brilliantly than any goddess. The laughter of gods floating like clouds existed to honor her, and she, sitting beside Ananke with a shy smile, was as beautiful and secretive as a pearl submerged in water.
In contrast, this place was terrifyingly silent, where even cricket sounds didn’t reach. He heard his own breathing. The sound of a solitary survivor’s loneliness being swallowed. He was used to such things. There was no Keton in the world who feared loneliness.
Kalian thought. How many more countless days would he live like this, sitting alone, watching over those who remembered and revered her, if only conceptually?
He had circled the world thousands of times. He had examined all records related to her. There were stories he didn’t know, which had been quite interesting. He had learned the final moments of all mortals connected to her. He had watched the lives of their descendants.
“Even so, I have yet to find the way to you.”
He spoke in a drunken voice. In truth, he wasn’t drunk. No matter how much he drank, he couldn’t get drunk. At times like this, he envied humans. Bodies that could easily get drunk, easily forget, and easily die.
“…The clan is preparing to leave.”
Ananke looked upon the dazzlingly advancing civilization of humans and glimpsed the fate of the clan that would decline before it.
But he could not go. With this land suffused with memories of her, he couldn’t go anywhere….
Aris had come to persuade him many times. Yet Kalian would not bend his will.
This land was now his lover itself. Memories of her gushed forth everywhere as if breathing. It felt like chasing smoke that couldn’t be held for a lifetime, yet even so….
“It doesn’t matter.”
He muttered. Even if he became the only Keton remaining in this world where Chaos and Order had contended.
“I shall simply live as the only god.”
Yet what he feared was the world forgetting her. If no one sang of her or remembered her any longer, from what and where would he find meaning in life?
The new Anassa often brought her eldest daughter, her successor, to the gatherings. The child, now said to be nine years old, mostly resembled her grandmother, but….
“Strangely, her eyes alone resembled yours.”
That was the amusement of it. Looking down at their descendants occasionally from atop the temple roof like this.
It was the only meaningful time of the year for him. They wouldn’t know it, but it was.
But humans were not so generous. They would soon replace her with another god. Easily overwrite her. Like a faded mural.
Loneliness was familiar, but forgetting was terrifying. He felt he understood why Cyane had built Persephone’s Temple. And why Tethys had carved Asteril and engraved her name.
A king may be forgotten, but a goddess survives.
Humans understood immortality far better than Ketons.
Darkness approached cunningly again. At the time he was weakest, taking advantage of a moment’s complacency.
He sat alone in the shadows. His pupils, which seemed to have lost all will, were now a faded, pale purple. There was no strength in their focus. Suddenly he stared at the back of his hand, paler than before.
He had not eaten ambrosia even once since she left. Though he had expended tens of thousands of times more than the power of Erebos he had used his entire life, endlessly destroying and regenerating his body, he had not put fruit to his lips.
It was the body and soul revived by devouring all her vitality. The mere sight of it nauseated him. He would rather sustain only the bare maintenance of existence like a dead leaf than eat that.
The North Wind placed milk and honey beside him, as if pleading that he please at least drink this.
But Kalian only cast a fleeting glance. His head felt heavy and his vision swayed.
His flesh was reaching its limit. That was what he wished for. If he lived like this, wouldn’t Chaos eventually annihilate him?
If only because it must be sickening to see the child he created living in such a pathetic state….
He wished desperately for it.
Ψ
The answer came without warning. Even the foresight inherited from Ananke was useless before the whim of the God of the Underworld.
A single black eagle flew in, shooting through the shaded forest like an arrow. Kalian rose upon seeing it. He knew the instant he laid eyes on it. That was the Nether God’s messenger bird.
From the wings of the divine bird he had never seen before, the power of Erebos spread out like a spiderweb.
Suddenly, the back of his neck went cold. The whispering of Chaos brushed coldly across his skin. The God of the Underworld guided his destination as though holding the shadow attached to his feet in his hand. He had no choice but to move.
Kalian walked along the ebony path behind the temple. It was narrow and shaded. The land, long untouched by human footsteps, was overgrown with tough weeds like a swamp. Only the occasional traces of beasts remained.
Yet fresh footprints had been left behind. While carefully studying their direction, he kicked off the ground and moved in an instant.
The black panther glanced back. Its eyes met Kalian’s as he stepped out from between the swirling gusts. Rhea. At his low call, the creature slowly blinked its yellow eyes.
Before long, it pricked its ears and turned around as if telling him to follow.
At the site of the old temple, faded weeds poked sparsely through the crumbling piles of stone.
Near the puddles formed after rain, dragonflies flew low. The stone pillar reflected white upon the water’s surface had collapsed and been cleanly sheared in half. The altar stones, worn by centuries of wind and waves, had chipped corners where ants and ground beetles scurried through the gaps.
At a glance, it was a landscape where one could hardly dare imagine what history permeated the place.
Yet there was a solemnity that seized the gaze. Where angular boundary stones lay side by side upon the ground. Where two pillar-like columns stood tall. Atop them sat two panther statues facing each other.
The gap between the two statues was wide enough for a cart carrying flowers for the altar to pass through.
Rhea leaped lightly through the gap. Then it disappeared beyond as if an invisible door were there.
Kalian checked the surroundings with a sidelong glance. He felt no presence whatsoever. He walked slowly and reached his hand between the two statues where Rhea had leaped.
A tingling sensation crawled over him. His outstretched hand disappeared and could not be seen. When he pulled his arm back, his hand reappeared.
This is a barrier.
An unidentifiable power was being detected. Then, a clunking sound of something moving rang out. A heavy mechanism began to turn with a clack. The tail of the stiffly erect panther statue dropped down with a thud like a plumb bob.
Zephyros sat atop the collapsed stone pillar, chin propped in his hand, looking down at him languidly.
Zephyros, how long has it been?
It was a reunion neither pleasant nor unpleasant. Throughout the years gone by, he had thought it strange that he could not find a single trace of him anywhere. Looking back on it now, he had not come even when Asteril perished. There was no way he did not know of her condition.
To Zephyros, she had been a precious treasure. She was the sole bloodline of the one he admired, the object of his sworn duty to protect, and an existence he could not easily tear his eyes from, like a child or a lover.
“Why are you still here?”
— What do you mean?
“I asked why you remain in Cocytus when you no longer have any responsibility to feel as a gatekeeper.”
— Ah.
Zephyros paused briefly. Both knew well, without needing to put it into painful words, that they despised each other. Yet it was precisely for that reason that they were also the most trustworthy of adversaries.
— That is probably because my duty has not yet ended.
At his answer, Kalian gazed between the stone pillars.
“Is this… Kronos’s Sickle?”
— You know of it.
“I have seen it in Delphi. A barrier that blocks the power of Erebos. What are you hiding inside it?”
— Hiding?
Zephyros laughed, as if the notion were absurd.
— Is it not a shelter made by Gaia at the request of the God of the Underworld? If you must say something, say that I am protecting it.
Kalian felt a sense of incongruity at his answer. Zephyros was cunning and full of schemes. Yet he was a seasoned gatekeeper who unfailingly carried out his duty.
Zephyros had known. That Asteril would perish. That she would fall into all manner of danger if she went to Hades as well.
Even so, he had not followed.
Apart from her, Zephyros had a duty to protect the old temple as a gatekeeper. Unlike Boreas, he had known from early on the original purpose of the old temple and the power dwelling here.
Shelter. An unfinished duty… That one had hidden something inside the barrier. And he had been guarding it all along. By Chaos’s command and with his aid.
Kalian walked straight ahead and placed his hand on the pillar. He felt a force from within trying to push him out. He stubbornly stepped forward and entered between the two stone pillars where the barrier was cast. Zephyros watched in silence.
Swoosh.
Suddenly, a fierce wind rose. Kalian stared as if piercing through it. White, translucent flower petals scattered like a blizzard. Between them, pillars standing tall like hands bearing up the sky appeared, forming a circle.
The surrounding scenery swayed like mist flowing through a canyon. The desolate ruins were changing form. The cunning illusion placed by Chaos vanished in an instant.
Soon, in the center of the circular altar, a tree that had been invisible from outside the barrier revealed itself.
Drooping branches moved as if dancing in the wind. White flowers poured down like rain around the sacred tree.
Swooshhh.
Pink flower petals flew and alighted upon his palm. Like a continuous succession of shy kisses carrying bashful affection…
His heart pounded, and a sense of déjà vu washed over him. His heart was reacting to something.
“Then what if I become an unseen wind?”
“Even the wind is visible to me.”
“No, I mean… what if I become something invisible to the eye?”
On every branch spread out like a fan, plump buds swelled as if about to burst into laughter.
— Kal…
A sweet voice reached him like a hallucination. He stared straight ahead. The branches swaying in the wind shook delicately like threads. Like her white and slender body.
“Are you saying you would recognize me no matter what form I take?”
Pale pupils flickered as if shaken. His dried, parched lips barely parted.
“…Ril?”
As if answering his call, the tree’s fragrance burst forth strongly.
A gasp burst from him. Kalian looked at the sacred tree as if he could not believe it.
A gentle breeze swept past, pressing its lips to each leaf like harp strings. Then the gray-brown tree swayed its branches, producing a clear sound like water flowing through a valley.
Asteril.
The rims of his eyes reddened.
It was her laughter.
Ψ
After a moment, Kalian opened his mouth with a choked voice.
“Speak, Zephyros.”
The crouching wind shifted to a nearby pillar.
“…How she came to be here.”
— I gathered the ashes scattered across the night sky, vast as the breast of Chaos, and buried them here. It took half a century just to find them all. And another half a century for a sprout to emerge from the ashes, and again half a century to become a sapling…
Kalian embraced the tree with both arms. The bark was softer and more tender than he had expected. He pressed his forehead against the trunk and whispered low.
“You are so terribly slow.”
The days when his blood seemed to dry up, the times when his insides rotted black. It felt as though all things were being rewarded. Only now did he feel he could truly breathe.
Kalian dug up the soil near the tree roots and buried the Rutropos. Then he climbed onto the thickest branch, settled in, and sat astride it. A white ring had already formed around his pupils. It meant the power of Erebos was nearly exhausted.
He gazed at the flowers blooming on each branch with lifeless eyes. How many more years would it take now to bear fruit?
Shadows were short. It was when the sun rose highest. Chaos would briefly turn its back behind the sun chariot and enter the net of darkness. It was the time when the consciousness of nature imbued with light was at its clearest.
— Let all that is supernatural know…
That low voice carried an authority that made all beings prostrate themselves.
— I, Kalian, declare that I shall now enter a long sleep. None shall dare disturb my rest and that of my Anteros…
The wind spirits who heard this moved like arrows, carrying the will of the Supreme One. To Oceanus where apple blossoms scatter, to Pontos where legends surge, to the mist-wrapped canyons of Delphi…
Zephyros flew up to the panther statue and firmly took his place. With a clunk, the panther statue’s tail rose. The power of Kronos unfurled. The invisible barrier billowed like a transparent membrane, enveloping the surroundings.
Watching this, Boreas yawned and lay down with his tail curled at the treetop. Kalian already rested his shoulder against the branch, quietly closing his eyes.
Rhea sauntered over to the jar buried in the ground, then stretched out his limbs wide. After that, Leto approached and naturally lay down beside him, belly to the ground.
They all knew. That this would likely become a wait without promise. Still, they joined gladly. There was no fear or dread. Everyone looked cozy and comfortable.
It would be alright. Kronos’s Sickle had dulled, the two black panthers were together, and even Erebos gazed kindly upon this place. It would be unfathomably peaceful.